One Year After the Boulder Tragedy

(SeaPRwire) –   A year ago, on June 1, 2025, a man approached a group of Jewish community members at Boulder’s Pearl Street Mall and firebombed them. 

They weren’t soldiers or politicians. They were friends and neighbors strolling peacefully through their community, drawing attention to hostages taken from Israel by Hamas on October 7. 

They were doing what free individuals do in a free society: exercising their right to freedom of speech.

Karen Sorin Diamond, an 82-year-old mother and grandmother, did not survive. Over the past year, I’ve carried this weight and thought about it often—and I believe many others have too.

People frequently ask me what it’s like to belong to a community targeted by hate. I tell them I often reflect on the Boulder firebombing survivors and the losses they’ve described.

It’s not just their physical injuries—though those are terrible enough. They’ve also lost the ability to walk freely without fearing for their safety, to gather openly without being targeted for their faith or opinions, or to be publicly and unapologetically Jewish without anxiety or fear. At the sentencing hearing this past May, one survivor shared that they still can’t pass a crowd without planning an escape route. Another said they haven’t returned to Pearl Street since the attack.

I understand that feeling in my own way, and hearing it voiced in front of a judge made it impossible to ignore or forget.

We’re currently experiencing one of the most violent waves of antisemitism in modern history. The ADL’s 2025 Audit of Antisemitic Incidents revealed that last year was among the most violent and deadly for Jews in the U.S. In Colorado alone, the ADL documented 167 antisemitic incidents in 2025—and those are only the ones we know about; many more may go unreported.

This violence isn’t limited to Colorado. When two Jewish men were stabbed on the streets of Golders Green in London last month, the fear rippled globally. When a man drove a truck into Temple Israel in West Bloomfield, Michigan, in a Hezbollah-inspired attack in March, the fear spread worldwide. When a 19-year-old poured gasoline on the floor of Beth Israel Congregation in Jackson, Mississippi—the state’s oldest synagogue—in January, the fear was felt everywhere. This is what it means to be part of a targeted community.

We know trauma doesn’t stay at the site of an attack. When someone is targeted in a violent hate crime, it changes them. They feel unsafe in places that look like where they were attacked; they scan crowds; they think twice before going somewhere they once visited without hesitation.

Now imagine carrying that trauma not just as an individual, but as an entire community—across generations and continents. For many in the Jewish community, this fear is deeply ingrained in our memories; it’s part of who we are.

On May 7, almost a year after the attack, I was in the courtroom when the perpetrator was sentenced to life in prison. Survivors stood before the judge and shared what had been stolen from them.

After the defendant spoke, Judge Nancy Salomone addressed him directly:

“You decided to harm people who were gathering peacefully,” she stated. “You targeted these individuals because they are part of the Jewish community. You chose to victimize the elderly, children, and people who had come together in peace to grieve, heal, and support one another.”

In that moment, the Jewish community was recognized—and being seen matters.

But being recognized isn’t the same as being safe.

So let me be clear: the Jewish community needs everyone right now—not just your sympathy, but collective action against hate. What does that action entail?

It means speaking out when you hear antisemitism brushed off as harmless, whether in person or online. It means standing up when hatred is masked as political discussion. It means advocating for the Nonprofit Security Grant Program to help houses of worship and other nonprofits secure themselves. It means pressing Congress to pass the SACRED Act, which would shield worshippers from intimidation outside their places of worship.

Hatred seldom remains contained. History has repeatedly shown that when one community is targeted and the world turns a blind eye, the harm doesn’t stop there.

The Jewish community isn’t asking to be exempt from criticism or debate. We’re asking to be safe—to walk our streets, attend our synagogues, and gather in our communities without fear. We’re asking the world to look at what’s happening and find the courage to say: this won’t happen on my watch.

It requires resolve, courage, and all of us working together.