Translation from Spanish by Jessica Ghitis in aishlatino.com 26/12/2023

For generations, my family lived in Cali, Colombia, until the President of Colombia verbally attacked my father for being Jewish.

I grew up listening to my family’s stories: how my great-grandfather Jaime crossed the Atlantic, mistakenly disembarked in the port of Barranquilla, and arrived in the Valle del Cauca in a small boat via the Magdalena River.

This is how my grandfather, Chicole Ghitis, was born in Cali, followed by my father David and then myself. I used to think about all that my ancestors did to escape the pogroms in Russia and the Nazis in Romania, so that I could sit peacefully, drinking coffee on my grandmother’s balcony, feeling the breeze that reaches Cali from the Pacific at five in the afternoon. I was certain that for me and my family, Cali was the Promised Land, even though life and my pursuit of a screenwriting career later took me to Los Angeles, California. I returned at least twice a year to be with my family and feel that Pacific breeze.

My great-grandfather on horseback in Colombia

The President of Colombia called my father a Nazi and an Israeli criminal, forcing him and my mother to flee Colombia.

But there are moments that connect you with history. Your name intertwines with dates and events, and you become another Jew in a long history of discrimination and displacement. In March 2022, the President of Colombia, Gustavo Petro, said my father was a Nazi and an Israeli criminal, then tweeted my father’s employment history with Israel. His comment ultimately forced my parents to flee Colombia.

My father is an activist who gained popularity on Twitter in 2012, when Gustavo Petro was just the mayor of Bogotá. My father fought to remove Petro from his mayoral position, which infuriated him. Previously, Petro had been part of a terrorist group known as M-19. Many thought that someone who had taken up arms against Colombia should not govern the capital, especially someone accused of killing those who disagreed with his views. My father also openly accused Petro of corruption in how he expedited city contracts.

At that time, I was 19 and felt horror coursing through my veins hearing how my surname, until then strange to non-Jews, was suddenly publicly pronounced in the media. Most people believed Petro’s disdain was personal, not antisemitic. At that time, I did not perceive it as antisemitic either.

In 2022, during a controversial presidential campaign, Gustavo Petro attacked and defamed my father because he published an opinion column criticizing Petro for wanting to use pension funds for government expenses. Petro had to say something significant to divert attention from himself, and the perfect trick was to divert attention to my father’s Judaism.

As Petro’s statements occurred a year after President Vladimir Putin said that Jewish President Volodymyr Zelensky was a Nazi, his justification for invading Ukraine, the media paid attention and my family’s name was once again in the news. Putin ignored thousands of years of history to attack Zelensky and justify his war, and Petro, who repeatedly refused to condemn Russia’s war in Ukraine, followed his lead in attacking someone from an ethnic minority. (The population of Colombia is around 51 million inhabitants. Jews in Colombia number less than 14,700).

The attack also reopened old wounds for Colombians. The Colombian people worked tirelessly to overcome their violent past, and this was a harsh reminder that we had not come very far. Stories abound of activists being kidnapped or killed, and as a nation, we feared once again approaching dark times.

My father began receiving kidnapping threats filled with antisemitism. From the unoriginal “damn Jew” to “Israeli criminal,” fueled by Petro’s rhetoric and the publication of my father’s employment history, showing he had worked almost exclusively with Israeli companies, making him seem less Colombian and more “foreign,” the threats poured in.

My father and mother had to flee with our four dogs before the threats turned into acts. Many other Jews have since followed them, fearing the poisonous seeds sown by Petro will continue to grow.

This is not the first time Colombia has witnessed a Jewish exodus. In the 1990s, my family and many others decided to leave Colombia due to fear of the FARC, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia. This group is responsible for bombings, murders, drug trafficking, and kidnappings, all to raise funds for what they call the “revolution.” When I was four years old, the FARC threatened our school. I remember being escorted by armed soldiers onto buses that took us back home. My parents said that was the last straw. I was five the first time we left Colombia and went to live in Israel. Ten years and two presidents later, my parents finally felt it was safe enough to return.

We don’t talk about Colombian antisemitism, but the history enthusiast in me rebels against this “mental masturbation,” a Colombian expression referring to the theoretical speculations with which we lie to ourselves.

As expected, many government officials were against the immigration of “the Hebrew race” to Colombia during World War II and asked the foreign ministry to prevent it. In the following years, they published anti-Jewish propaganda in the streets and in front of Jewish-owned shops, while right-wing leaders supported Hitler’s fascism. They saw it as a form of resistance. In 1944, after Alfonso Pardo Ruiz attacked Jacobo Fisboim, a 44-year-old Colombian Jew, businesses were vandalized, and Jews were beaten in the streets. My ancestors swept these incidents under the rug, perhaps to continue feeling that Colombia welcomed Jews with open arms.

When Gustavo Petro attacked my father, I thought of my ancestors. Those who brought the first Torah scroll to Colombia, who helped found my synagogue, declaring that it should be built of iron so it could never be demolished. The synagogue where my grandfather was the rabbi for many years. I thought of my grandparents and my great-aunts, mistreated by the nuns in Catholic schools until the Jewish community built its own school.

I also thought about my descendants, those who will never set foot in my synagogue or my school, those who will never feel the Cali breeze, and those who will be the first generation born in another country.

My father was not leading the accusations against Petro. He is not a politician. Many others believe and say the same as my father did, and they hold much more power and political significance than my father ever did.

My father was targeted for one reason: for being Jewish.

Jews are the “canary in the coal mine,” warning the world of what is to come. Since October 7, the President of Colombia has spewed even more antisemitism than any other world leader. He threatened to break diplomatic relations with Israel, remained silent when the Israeli embassy was threatened and vandalized, and compared Jews to Nazis.

These signals cannot be ignored, and this is not only happening in Colombia.

I am a strong liberal feminist. I have marched in the United States for black community rights, reproductive rights, and immigrant rights. My friends share my ideals, but when it comes to my Jewish identity and what happened to my family due to antisemitism, they don’t take it seriously. No one is going to march for the Jews, except the Jews.

Three generations of my family were born in Colombia. Three generations of my family loved Colombia, but history compels us to pay attention to the signs. The damage is irreparable. There is no Jewish future in Colombia. Jews have been dehumanized, and this paves the way for hatred and violence against them.

I refuse to sweep our pain under the rug. Violence starts with words, like those of President Gustavo Petro. And when we needed support, there was none; we were abandoned.

Today, Jews around the world need support, and every citizen of the world must ask themselves: Will I join the forces of darkness or the forces of light?