If you grew up like I did — a Jewish kid in 1990s American suburbia — chances are you didn’t think much about antisemitism. We all knew about Jew hate, of course. But it was part of history, something that happened in the past tense. It was something that happened to them, to those older Jews, not to us. As Jewish millennials, we enjoyed the luxury of historical and geographical distance from the realities of hate. We went to the Holocaust museum; we weren’t in the museum. We watched “Schindler’s List”; we weren’t in “Schindler’s List.” We expected full access to jobs, to property ownership and to professional schools. We thought of ourselves as equals. My generation may have even happily believed that antisemitism was over. Yes, we knew not to sing a Hebrew song in public and never to mention we were Jewish in front of a stranger.