May 14, A Day That Will Live In Infamy

Why This Day Is So Meaningful...Especially For Me

Fifty-two years ago today, my father died. He was fifty years old.

Seventy-eight years ago today, Israel declared its independence — one of the most consequential moments in modern Jewish history.

Somehow, I never connected those dots until this morning, which proves why I live in LaLa Land.

There’s something fitting about this monumental revelation now — at this particular, painful, defiant moment in history — when holding onto who we are feels more urgent than ever. And remembering my father adds a layer of reverence.

My dad was not an easy man to know. He was always working, always providing, rarely present in the way a child hopes a father will be. We loved each other — our family was affectionate — but the father-son moments were few and far between.

Simon Gurko spent his teenage years during World War II imprisoned in a Siberian gulag. He escaped and found his way back to Germany — of all places. And then — in a choice that still staggers me — he joined the underground, Bricha, a group who saved thousands of Jews from the DP Camps, by walking them to freedom and placed onto boats to Israel. He wasn’t one to talk about the war, about what he had survived, about what he had seen and done. Surely, those memories burned just beneath the surface, unspeakable.

He died on Mother’s Day in 1974. The last words I had said to him, in a rage I will carry forever, were words no child should ever speak to a parent. I have written about that night in my memoir, Won’t Be Silent — the horror, the ambulance, the hospital, the waiting, the clock that wouldn’t move. The moment the doctor walked out and placed his wedding ring in my hand has left an unfilled hole in my heart — perhaps forever.

Much of the chaos I’ve brought on to myself started on that fateful evening. I know that now. The deep end is a difficult place to swim back from.

It has taken me a long time, yet happily, one is never too late to rejoin the living — owning who I am — especially when it includes embracing my heritage: standing up, saying out loud “I am Jewish and proud and we’re not going anywhere.” My father never had that problem. His whole life was a testament to Israel. He knew what it meant to fight for survival. He had done so — literally.

Yet I opened the news to find that New York City Hall is honoring something they’re calling Muslim Day. On this day. During our month. The audacity is almost laughable — and borderline pathetic — if it weren’t so deliberate.

I want to be precise: this is not about anyone else’s faith or their right to celebrate it. But Jewish Heritage Month is our jam. The designated time to say: we exist, we endure, we matter. Really matter. Especially now, and selfishly, today in honor of my father — an unsung hero.

To have it so deliberately overshadowed by Mayor Zohran Mamdani is an abomination — and it is entirely consistent with who he has shown himself to be.

This is the same mayor who, on his very first day in office, scrapped the city’s official definition of antisemitism — the internationally recognized IHRA definition that classifies certain forms of anti-Israel rhetoric as discrimination against Jews. Gone. Day one. His antisemitism czar later told the City Council they would not be replacing it with anything at all, saying there is no need for a codified definition. And his very first mayoral veto? Used to strike down a bipartisan bill that would have expanded security protections for students at schools facing antisemitic protests. A nightmare doesn’t begin to cover it.

The antisemitism rising around us is not background noise. It’s front and center, in our faces — blinding and deafening. It has destroyed the vibes on campuses, stunk up countless city halls, and soiled the streets. The vitriol directed at Israel and at Jewish people in the name of Zionists has reached a fever pitch that demands a response from every person of conscience, regardless of faith and political leaning. Humanity? Hello!

Enough better be enough.

My father and those who survived the Holocaust set the example for immigrants in the United States — by building, by giving, by never looking back. I'm thinking of him today while celebrating our homeland, hoping he's looking down from heaven and is proud. I will use my voice in his name, in his stead, for his love of Israel.

For my father, I won’t be silent.

Am Yisrael Chai.

Won’t Be Silent - Don’t Stop ‘til It Matters.

Click here.