The Jewish Lawyer in All of Us
'The courtroom we now face isn’t bound by rules of evidence or reason — it’s the court of public opinion, and increasingly, we’re seeing it waver'
There’s a well-worn joke in many Jewish homes — one with more than a grain of truth: a Jewish mother dreams of raising a doctor. Failing that, a lawyer, an engineer – and if academic brilliance wasn’t quite on the cards, perhaps an architect. These weren’t just careers; they were passports to security, credibility, stability, status, acceptance… and a certain maternal pride.
I didn’t become a lawyer — some of my brothers did — but it turns out I may have become one of sorts anyway.
Because these days, like so many in our community, I find myself defending a client — not in a courtroom, but in classrooms, workplaces, living rooms, newsrooms, and online. Not wearing a robe but wrapped in a sense of duty. Not defending an individual but defending Israel. Defending the Jewish people. Defending our basic right to safety, dignity, and truth.
Whether we like it or not, many of us have been drafted into this role. Since October 7 — and truthfully, long before — we’ve had to become advocates, prosecutors, and educators all at once. We’re cross-examining slogans. Debunking falsehoods. Laying out the moral clarity that should never have been up for debate in the first place: that Jews have a right to live in peace. That Israel has a right to exist. That terror is not resistance. And that silence in the face of antisemitism is not neutrality — it is complicity.
The courtroom we now face isn’t bound by rules of evidence or reason — it’s the court of public opinion, and increasingly, we’re seeing it waver. Truth has become negotiable. Facts are drowned out by noise. Morality is up for auction. The brief we carry — once simple in its clarity — keeps shifting. Once, it was about confronting antisemitism. Then, it was about correcting misinformation about Israel. Now, it also involves challenging something far more dangerous: the mainstreaming of support for regimes that openly champion violence and extremism.
Just look at our own streets. In Australia — a democracy built on freedom and fairness — we are now seeing visible, organised expressions of support for the Iranian regime. A regime that jails women for removing headscarves, funds terrorist proxies across the region, and chants openly for the destruction of Israel and the West. That this finds an audience here is not only alarming — it is a warning. The brief has changed. The stakes have grown.
And yet, the scrutiny remains fixed on Israel. While Israel confronts this threat — a genocidal, terror-sponsoring regime — it is Israel that’s dragged into the dock. A pre-emptive strike in defence of its citizens is condemned. The only liberal democracy in the Middle East is demonised. The world turns its eyes away from real crimes and instead scolds the state standing between chaos and civilisation.
And so once again, the burden falls to us — in Australia, in diaspora communities across the world — to explain the obvious. To make the case. To confront the double standards, the lies, and the historical amnesia.
We do it not because we seek conflict, but because we know what’s at stake if we don’t. And whether it’s on campus, in schools, in the workplace or at a Shabbat dinner, the frontlines are everywhere now. Education has become defence. Truth-telling has become advocacy. Mere presence — as a Jew — has become political.
But here’s the thing: we were built for this. Our tradition prizes questioning, debating, learning. Ours is a people that studies deeply and argues passionately — not to divide, but to refine. That trait — once just a cultural stereotype — has become our lifeline. We are the lawyers we never trained to be. And we are making the case of our lives.
So we prepare like professionals. We study the facts. We dissect the rhetoric. We challenge falsehoods. We raise our voices not out of anger, but from deep conviction. We do it not just to defend ourselves today — but to ensure that the next generation doesn’t have to make the same case, under the same hostile glare, in the same global courtroom.
Maybe one day we’ll get back to “normal” life. But for now, we are the lawyers our people need — whether or not we hold the degree. We’re advocates for justice when justice falters. We’re defenders of truth when truth is under siege. We are, each in our own way, fighting for the soul of our people and the future of our children.
And I like to think — lawyer or not — our mothers would be proud of that too.
Michael Gencher is the executive director of StandWithUs Australia.
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