Finding out that a Chabad rabbi was kidnapped and murdered in the United Arab Emirates was heartbreaking, but oddly not startling.

Forty years ago, hearing that a rabbi was even visiting the UAE, never mind living there, would have raised eyebrows in incongruity. “What in the world is he doing there?” we would’ve asked one another.

But, by now, the word Chabad is inevitably followed by the word ubiquitous: expected to be there, wherever “there” is. With a bowl of warm soup, for whomever.

And while many are startled that the past year has unleashed open season on Jews worldwide, Chabad rabbis were not surprised. Wearing a kippah, beard and full regalia makes one a lightning rod while the storm still gathers.

And because we were not caught by surprise, we were uniquely positioned to respond.

When Jewish students were fleeing for their lives – both literally and figuratively – the doors at Chabad were wide open, the soup was on the fire, and the rebbetzin was dishing it out as fast as they were coming in.

I am a Chabad rabbi and it is the only life I have ever known. So when our Chabad House security team told me gently but firmly that in public gatherings I am the target, I recognized that that’s simply the reality of dressing the part.

And I was “trained”—in yeshivah, in Morocco, 40 years ago, when a classmate was hit in the eye with a rock. An American Jew on a fact-finding mission gently suggested we walk around the streets of Casablanca somewhat less conspicuously. We politely didn’t answer him.

But here’s the answer: You can run, but you can’t hide. If you choose to run, you can’t run just a mile, you have to run a hundred miles. And if you hide your kippah, then you end up changing your name, and before you know it, you have forgotten who you are and your children will never know who you are, who they are, or where you all come from.

The frontline is no longer limited to the border between Israel and a less-than-friendly neighbor. The frontline is the Jew who walks down the street without masquerade. Is it safe? We hope so. Is it freedom? Absolutely. And if you choose to be safe over being free, you will lose your liberty—as October 7 has proven—you will not be safe either.

This be my wish to the Jewish people: Stand strong with courage and have your neighbor join you. It is your gift from Abraham and it is your birthright. Your heritage is worth more than anything, and the more you know of it, the more you stand with it.

A dear friend was thinking of taking down her mezuzah from the front door. I am grateful that the mezuzah is still up and that her husband is putting on tefillin. I am grateful that young men are wearing tzizit both at home and at work. And they are bringing their children to shul on Shabbat.

May G‑d have mercy on His long-suffering people. May every Jewish woman experience the comfort and joy of covering her eyes as she lights Shabbat candles, and may every Jewish man feel the bond of a hundred generations as he puts on tefillin.