Powerful Lessons From the Beth Israel Synagogue Fire on Hate, Freedom, Justice, Solidarity, and History

Beth Israel fire exposes hate, history, and unity

By Felicia Brookins
Award Winning Author and Screenwriter
Op Ed for Urban City Podcast

“We who believe in freedom cannot rest.”

Those words are not just lyrics from a civil rights anthem. Right now, they are a warning. A reminder. A call to conscience echoing across Jackson, Mississippi.

Shortly after 3 a.m. last Saturday, flames tore through Beth Israel Synagogue, the largest and only synagogue in Jackson, and a sacred institution that has served Jewish families in Mississippi for more than 160 years. Fire surged through its library and offices, reducing historic spaces to ash. Sacred Torah scrolls were destroyed or damaged, with only one surviving, a scroll that had already endured the horrors of the Holocaust.

No one was physically injured, but the spiritual, emotional, and cultural wounds inflicted on the community are profound. This was not simply an act of vandalism. It was an assault on history, faith, and the moral fabric of our city.

Within days, federal authorities arrested a 19 year old Madison, Mississippi resident, Stephen Spencer Pittman, a college student who reportedly admitted to intentionally setting the fire. According to investigators, he cited the synagogue’s Jewish ties and described it in extremist terms, framing it as a target rather than a sacred space.

His father, recognizing both the seriousness of the situation and visible burn injuries on his son, contacted the FBI, a decision that must have been heartbreaking, but one that likely prevented additional harm.

Court filings paint a chilling picture of the events leading up to the arson. Mr. Pittman allegedly sent messages and photographs to his father while committing the crime. The messages reportedly read like a real time log of the attack:
“There’s a furnace in the back.”
“My plate is off.”
“Hoodie is on.”
“They have the best cameras.”
“I did my research.”

To me, this reflects an intentional emotional collapse, a young man consumed with planning, secrecy, and execution, but disconnected from the moral weight of his actions. He focused on logistics instead of consequences. Strategy instead of humanity. Evading detection instead of understanding the pain he was inflicting on an entire community.

This was not impulsive behavior. It was calculated. And calculation fueled by hate is among the most dangerous forces in society.

Beth Israel Synagogue is not merely a building. It is a spiritual anchor for generations of Jewish families across Mississippi. It also carries a legacy of courage and moral leadership that extends far beyond religion.

In 1967, the Ku Klux Klan bombed the synagogue, and later the home of Rabbi Perry Nussbaum, in retaliation for his support of racial integration. At a time when much of Mississippi resisted progress, Beth Israel chose conscience over comfort, justice over silence, and faith over fear.

This congregation stood on the right side of history when doing so came with real danger.

That this same institution has been targeted again nearly sixty years later is deeply disturbing. It reminds us that hatred does not disappear simply because decades pass. Bigotry evolves. It waits. It resurfaces during moments of political division, cultural anxiety, and social unrest.

And in my opinion, we are living in one of those moments now.

The current national climate, shaped in part by the rhetoric and posture of the Trump Vance administration, has widened the boundaries of what people feel empowered to say and do. Repeated attacks on the press, the courts, civil rights institutions, immigrants, protesters, and political opponents have normalized language that dehumanizes rather than unites.

When leaders use rhetoric that frames certain groups as threats, enemies, or less than fully American, it sends a message. And some individuals interpret that message not as political theater, but as moral permission.

Extremism does not grow in isolation. It is shaped by culture. It is fueled by rhetoric. It is reinforced by silence.

The experiences of Jewish Americans and African Americans in this country share striking parallels, histories marked by resilience in the face of trauma, survival in the face of violence, and determination in the face of exclusion.

Both communities have endured centuries of discrimination, hatred, and systemic injustice. Both have fought for dignity, safety, and equal treatment under the law. And both understand what it means to resist being erased, marginalized, or dehumanized.

During the Civil Rights Movement, Jewish and Black leaders forged powerful alliances that helped dismantle segregation and expand civil liberties. That shared history is not a footnote. It is a blueprint.

It reminds us that progress has always required coalition. That justice has always required unity. And that hatred thrives when communities are isolated instead of connected.

In this current climate, one marked by polarization, rising extremism, and growing distrust, that legacy of solidarity matters more than ever. We must remember that our struggles are not separate. Our safety is not separate. Our futures are not separate.

An attack on one community’s sacred space is not just their problem. It is a warning to all of us.

As the Beth Israel community begins the long and painful process of rebuilding, we must do more than offer sympathy. We must offer clarity. Accountability. And collective resolve.

We must recognize that moral courage often carries risk, but silence carries greater danger.

We must acknowledge that hate is shaped by society, and that the messages our leaders send, the language we tolerate, and the divisions we allow all contribute to the world we create.

And we must remember that history matters, that the shared struggles of Jewish and Black communities offer lessons in resilience, resistance, and responsibility.

From this tragedy, three essential truths rise to the surface:

Moral courage carries risk. Standing up for justice and inclusion can invite backlash, but it remains essential for protecting democracy, equality, and human dignity.

Hate is shaped by culture and leadership. Extremism does not exist in a vacuum. Political rhetoric, media narratives, and social polarization influence behavior, reminding us of our collective responsibility to reject bigotry.

History and solidarity are powerful shields. Remembering the shared struggles of Jewish and Black communities strengthens our ability to resist hatred and build a more tolerant, just, and unified society.

We who believe in freedom truly cannot rest. Not when sacred spaces burn. Not when history repeats itself. Not when hatred finds new fuel.

Because the work of justice has never been finished, and moments like this remind us why it must continue.