As a Mexican and Jewish American woman from West Rogers Park, I am deeply connected to and proud of my roots. My story is rich with tradition, struggle and resilience on both sides. Growing up, I admittedly kept quiet about my heritage in crowds where I feared being picked on for who I was. But as I got older and found my voice, I began to dig into my family history. The stories I uncovered moved and inspired me. My grandma Bess, who grew up in North Lawndale, had to change her name to Betty in the 1940s and ’50s just to get a job as a Jewish woman in Chicago. My grandpa Sol from the Austin neighborhood was a U.S. Postal Service worker who was sent off to World War II and landed on Utah Beach on D-Day — a Jewish man who served to liberate all of us. His legacy was admired by many.  On my Mexican side, which includes Spanish and Mayan heritage, my grandpa Victoriano wove ponchos and sold them in our town. He also came to the U.S. briefly in the 1950s as part of the Bracero Program. Along with my grandma Bartola, the “boss” of the family, he raised six children in rural Michoacan, Mexico. My father was the only child in his family to come to the U.S.; he arrived in Chicago in 1975, became a citizen in 1985 and recently retired as a union cement finisher.  There are countless Chicagoans with similar stories, and that’s what makes this city so special. It’s a place where diverse cultures, traditions, cuisines, music and more come together to create something truly world-class. While Chicago certainly faces its share of challenges, we’re not making meaningful progress or finding lasting solutions because we’re missing the most important element: seeing each other as humans. Unfortunately, current leadership isn’t fostering a new narrative or encouraging positive change. Instead, there is evidence it’s driving us further apart. What happened to the “City of the Big Shoulders,” the one that prided itself on its roots in hardworking immigrant communities and on building alliances through our differences? I remember the days of people such as Studs Terkel, who celebrated the beauty, grit and tenacity of Chicago’s immigrant and Depression-era citizens. People admired these stories. I know this because Terkel wrote about my grandparents Bess and Sol in a section of his book “Hard Times.” After witnessing the adversity my Jewish grandparents endured and what they fought for, I never imagined I’d see such struggles again in 2024, let alone feel forced to accept them. It’s incredibly disheartening to see the antisemitism and hate spreading through Chicago’s institutions. From City Hall to teachers at Chicago Public Schools, we have seen blatant antisemitism that has gone unchecked. The Rev. Mitchell Johnson, recently president of the mayor-appointed Board of Education, was forced to resign after just a week when antisemitic social media posts surfaced. The mayor’s high-ranking communications director was recently terminated for harassment and discrimination complaints, including antisemitism, but it took more than a year for Mayor Brandon Johnson’s administration to take action, and during that time, communications chief Ronnie Reese was even promoted. When I recently expressed concern on X for Jewish children in CPS, I received a disturbing response from a CPS teacher and Chicago Teachers Union delegate. These are the very people with whom we are supposed to trust our children. What message are we sending our young students? We’re making our most precious treasures feel unsafe. Additionally, multiple Chicago aldermen have been outspoken in their anti-Zionism since Oct. 7, 2023. While it’s one thing to voice concerns about a foreign conflict, it’s entirely unacceptable to be openly antisemitic and make the Jewish residents of Chicago feel unwelcome. The silence from much of the City Council when a Jewish man was shot dead on his way to synagogue, just two blocks from where I grew up in West Rogers Park, was deafening. When Ald. Debra Silverstein, 50th, requested that a special and decisive Board of Education meeting in December, scheduled for a Friday evening, be rescheduled for a time that wasn’t Shabbat so Jewish parents and students could participate, her request was ignored. I often say that teams reflect the character of their leaders. This raises serious questions about why such behavior continues to be tolerated, time and again. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when Chicago began to fracture, but I will make an educated guess. If we are going to solve anything in this city, we must look beyond labels and politics and return to our sense of shared humanity. I implore our city’s leaders to set a better example for how we should behave. Let us lead with love, not animosity. We can be inclusive without being exclusive. We can disagree without being disagreeable. We owe it to those who came before us — and to those who will come after. Jennifer Guzman, a former human resources executive and consultant, is executive director at Rise Chicago, a coalition of community leaders. She also is a proud native of Chicago and board president of PODER and the Chicago Community Loan Fund.  Submit a letter, of no more than 400 words, to the editor here or email [email protected].