I was out at recess, sitting on the swings with my best friend at the time, Aditi. We were talking about a book our class was reading, "Number the Stars" by Lois Lowry. It’s about a girl named Annemarie living in Denmark during the Nazi occupation in World War II. Annemarie’s family takes a tremendous risk when they decide to take in her Jewish friend Ellen and hide her from the Nazis until she can be smuggled into neutral Sweden.

I have since forgotten the entire conversation we had except for one moment. Aditi looked at me and said (paraphrased), “If the Nazis ever come back, you can hide in my house.” From what I recall, I felt gratitude upon hearing her statement, but didn’t think too much of it. I was eight years old. I knew that the Nazis were bad people who went after Jews (like my ancestors) during World War II, but that was about it. I was not yet aware of the atrocities committed behind the fences of the ghettos and concentration camps, of the climate of dehumanization and fear that gripped Europe during the war, of the fact that the Holocaust was really a genocide that killed six million Jews and a million other minorities.

Fast forward to November 8, 2016. I’m sitting on the couch in my floor lounge late at night, staring at the TV in shock as it becomes apparent that Donald Trump is going to be the next president of the United States — 13 words I never thought would show up in a sentence together. Welp, I think, there goes a whole bunch of marginalized people’s sense of hope and pride and security for the next four years. I shudder thinking about what the future holds for women, people of color, Muslims, Jews, LGBTQ+ people, immigrants (especially those who are undocumented), poor people, and people with chronic illnesses and disabilities.

There has been an enormous spike in incidents of overt racism, sexism, and anti-Semitism since Trump won the presidency last week. A Muslim teacher received an anonymous note telling her to go hang herself with her headscarf. A Latina student at Drake University in Iowa had her dorm room door defaced with signs saying things like “Make a Wall” and “# Repeal the 14th” A five-year-old black boy has asked his mother if Trump’s win meant they would have to leave and be slaves again. Latino students have come to class in tears over the realistic fear that they and/or their parents and family might be deported. Someone drew a swastika on the whiteboard of a classroom here at my school. There have been two more swastika sightings at public schools in Montgomery County, Maryland, where I’m from. White supremacists and neo-Nazis are coming out of the woodwork, emboldened by Trump’s victory to spread their messages of bigotry nationwide. They spray-paint public places with messages like “Heil Hitler” and “Black lives DON’T matter.” A girl in elementary school had to be picked up early after a male classmate grabbed her genitals using the “If the President can do it, so can I” rationale. If this doesn’t paint an accurate picture of America’s descent into a hellfire of hate, then I don’t know what will.

All of this got me thinking about that moment on the elementary school playground 10 years ago. Nobody knows how the next four years will actually play out, but during his campaign, Trump ran on a semi-fascist platform of racism and sexism, with his running mate Mike Pence adding a deluge of homophobia to the mix. While I don’t think neo-Nazis will be marching through the streets rounding up Jews, Trump’s most avid supporters have demonstrated to us that we’re not welcome here. The swastika graffiti is no joke; there is real bigotry and hate behind it. This is not to mention that other marginalized groups might be kicked out or rounded up if Trump keeps his word, namely Muslims, undocumented immigrants (most of whom are Latino), and LGBTQ+ people. I have gay friends who are legitimately scared of being sent to conversion “therapy” under the new administration. It’s like the slogan they used on the movie posters for "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1": “Nowhere is safe.” Many minorities probably think along the lines of these song lyrics from the musical “RENT”: “Will I lose my dignity, will someone care? Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?”

Aditi’s words are now more important than ever. While we can’t really do much about the outcome of the election, we can definitely do our part to help protect and uplift vulnerable communities. Seventy years ago, my people were depending on and hidden reserves of strength the kindness of non-Jewish friends and strangers to survive as the Nazis and their sympathizers sought to annihilate them. I know, though not directly, what it’s like to feel targeted. I, therefore, extend my hand and my home to anyone who might be feeling unsafe under the impending Trump regime. History may be repeating itself to a point, but if those who have seen this before rise up and do their part, we can get through this.