In an opinion piece for the Times of Israel, B’nai B’rith International CEO Daniel S. Mariaschin recalls how not long after the Hamas massacres on Oct. 7, 2023, a college classmate shared that his Catholic church in Virginia, which had been praying for Ukraine, would now pray for all Israeli victims, too. In the op-ed, Mariaschin expresses deep appreciation for the solidarity of our non-Jewish allies, demonstrating the meaning of friendship in uncertain times as we unite against surging anti-Semitism.

Read the full op-ed in the Times of Israel.

Not long after the Hamas massacres on Oct. 7, 2023, I heard from a college classmate expressing his concern about the brutal destruction of lives in Israeli communities on that day.

I thanked him and went on to tell him that my cousin Sagui Dekel-Chen had been taken hostage from Kibbutz Nir Oz (he remains a hostage to this day).

Within days, I heard back from my classmate. He told me that he attends a small Catholic church in Virginia which is run by an order of nuns who had been praying daily for Ukraine and Ukrainians, victims of the war with Russia. He told me that Sagui and all Israeli victims would now be added to their prayers.

I was overcome by the gesture, especially since it came about as the result of the conversation I had with my classmate.

I often say that as American Jews, our secret weapons in helping Israel are our non-Jewish friends and allies, be they former classmates or diplomats, journalists or public officials, or simply colleagues at work or our next door neighbors.

Jews around the world, and in Israel, are facing a torrent of mis- and dis- information, distortions and blood libels since the Hamas attacks and Israel’s seven-front defensive war against terrorists to its north, south and east. As discouraging as the past 12 months have been, as we watch much of the major media, the United Nations, bullying campus encampments and street demonstrations, it is reassuring to know that there are decent folks out there who have moral clarity when it comes to good and evil, and right and wrong.

Many of those decent folks are from my hometown years. In those early days after the Hamas attacks and the ensuing war in Gaza, I heard from many non-Jewish friends and acquaintances. Among the first were messages from a small group of classmates going back to first grade, some of whom went all the way through college together. Why they are important deserves a full explanation.

I was raised in a small town in New Hampshire which, in my early public school years, probably had 2,500 inhabitants. There were four Jewish families in town, part of a community of about 25 Jewish families in a 25-mile radius. We had a small synagogue in the closest city, and on occasion, had a full-time rabbi. There was a small Hebrew school, which over several years was led by my father, who, together with a few others, also led religious services in the absence of a rabbi.

Until third grade, I was the only Jewish student in school and I was intensely aware of that fact and wanted badly not to stick out. This was especially true when any prayer that might have been recited ended in, “our Lord, Jesus Christ.” During the singing of Christmas carols that were more Christological than holiday festive, I would lip sync the problematic verses. During Passover, when I brought my matzah and cream cheese sandwiches for lunch, I would often open my green metal lunch box and take bites from inside the box, lest I had to explain the story of the Exodus from Egypt to my hungry classmates.

In third grade, my teacher surprised me by knowing that our year-end holiday of Hanukkah was approaching and asked me to tell the class about it. I was terrified by the prospect not of standing before my classmates, but of explaining the fine points of Maccabean rebellion and the miracle of the oil. Reinforced by my mother’s encouragement, I managed to make the presentation without a hitch. I’ll always be grateful to that teacher, because she understood how diversity in the classroom could benefit a pretty homogenous group of students.

Over time, that aversion to being different changed. From the beginning, I had a group of great friends who were “colorblind” to my being a member of a tiny religious minority. In a time when anti-Semitic tropes were to be found everywhere, and stereotypes of Jews were seen in motion pictures and on TV, I never heard a wisecrack or offhanded comment about Jews from any of my friends.

I was on the receiving end of such comments from a few toughs, who would occasionally taunt me on the school bus or the playground (they would call me “nose” or would do the fake sneeze: “A-Jew,”) but never from those I considered my closest classmates.

One time—I think I was 12 years old—I was running for school office and was called something anti-Semitic on the playground and I saw red. Not known for my schoolyard fighting ability, I ran straight for the boy and knocked him over. Everyone was aghast, more by my audacity, I suppose, than anything else.

The next day, we had to make our campaign speeches. Being mindful that John F. Kennedy had been the subject of criticism for being a Roman Catholic, I referenced JFK in my speech and said I was experiencing the same issue. I’m not sure if that line connected, but I did win the race.

In our senior year, just before graduation, the Six Day War broke out. We knew something was coming, having watched United Nations debates and discussions on TV after Egypt closed the Straits of Tiran to Israeli shipping. Everyone in those days watched the Today Show, but somehow, I hadn’t the morning the war broke out.

When I arrived at school, as we waited for the 8 o’clock bell to ring, one of my closest friends—who had heard the news, told me: “You guys are really giving it to the Arabs!” With that, I raced to the school office to see if I could listen to the radio there for more information.

Over the years, my group of friends helped one another with our homework assignments. A few of my friends were among our outstanding athletes; I was certainly not one of these, by a long shot. So I became manager of the basketball and baseball teams to be in their company. We gathered in study hall to kibbitz and to trade jokes and gossip. It should not be an overstatement to say that the late 1950s and into the 1960s were simply a great time to be young and to think that our futures were so far ahead of us and that we never gave that prospect much thought.

I’ve always felt that band of friends owed their open mindedness to their parents. I knew them all, and they had always welcomed me into their homes. Apples do not fall far from the tree, and I am convinced that if there had been any murmurs about Jews, and me being one, it would have come out in some way. It never did.

Fast forward to the modern era. I have stayed in touch with these friends, now almost 70 years on from when we entered first grade. We’ve had high school reunions and even a first-grade reunion. I have followed their lives, and they have followed mine. The internet has helped us pick up the pace of our contact. My yearly or sometimes twice-yearly trips back to New Hampshire are built around the opportunity to meet them for lunch or dinner, and to catch up.

They all know that I’ve had a 50-year career in Jewish communal life. They know I travel to Israel on a regular basis. They all receive my op-eds advocating for a strong and secure Israel. I send photos back from Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. And they also know, as a backdrop, that some of the happiest days of my youth were spent in their company.

When I’ve traveled to Israel, I always get a “travel safe” note from these folks. On this current trip, in the midst of the war in Gaza and Lebanon, it’s been “stay safe” and “hope your family is OK.” The support from my friends during the past year has been tremendously gratifying.

At a time when using the term “existential threat” is not being theoretical, good friends “having your back” is something to be appreciated over and over, not to be taken for granted.

So (I will dispense with last names): Thank you to Alex, Bob, Don, Don, Greg, Kathi, Lee, and Doug for continuing to be there during intense times like this, and of course, during the good times, as well.

May I toss out an apt cliche to make the point? A friend in need is a friend indeed.