What the arson attack on Governor Josh Shapiro’s home reveals about our broken country.
Fear and division are being profited on while our democracy pays the price
Perhaps the most dangerous thing about political violence today isn’t the violence itself. It’s how quickly we scroll past it.
That’s what happened this past weekend in Pennsylvania.
Like millions of Jewish families around the world, Governor Josh Shapiro and his loved ones gathered to retell an ancient story—the Exodus. A people once enslaved, finding freedom through faith, community, and ritual.
Hours later, someone tried to kill them.
At 2 a.m. on Sunday morning, a man broke into the Pennsylvania governor’s residence. He smashed two windows with a hammer and threw in Molotov cocktails made from lawnmower gasoline and beer bottles. The Shapiros, including their four children, two dogs, and overnight guests, were all asleep inside.
The arsonist didn’t just break windows. He shattered something much harder to replace: the illusion that public servants, or people who live visibly Jewish lives in America in 2025, are somehow safe from extreme acts of violence.
By the time state troopers banged on the door, flames had already engulfed the rooms the Shapiros and their guests had eaten in hours earlier. The images have a striking resemblance to the Israeli homes torched by Hamas on October 7th.
This was not a random act. This was a planned assassination attempt on a sitting governor.
Not just any governor. A Jewish governor. During Passover. In a house full of children.
Authorities are still investigating the motive. Mental illness may be a factor. The arsonist’s mother told the Associated Press her son has bipolar disorder and schizophrenia and hasn’t been taking his medication.
But whatever the final report concludes, it will never fully explain the image of a Jewish family, asleep after a sacred ritual, being burned out of their home in the dead of night.
It is the kind of story that, not long ago, would’ve frozen the entire country. Instead, for most, it feels like background noise.
That’s what’s most alarming. Not just the violence, but how ordinary it now feels. We’ve been trained to accept political violence as if it’s just another day.
A generation ago, a firebombing of a governor’s home—especially during a religious holiday—would’ve shaken the nation.
Instead, it was barely a blip. A passing headline in the endless scroll.
That numbness should terrify us.
But even more terrifying is what this attack reveals: there is an entire ecosystem—political, digital, and psychological—profiting off of making us hate each other.
I call it the Hysteria Industrial Complex.
This is what happens when fear becomes a commodity.
This isn’t an isolated incident, either. It’s part of a troubling trend:
In 2024 there were two assassination attempts on Donald Trump.
In 2022 a man with a hammer nearly killed Nancy Pelosi’s husband.
In 2020, extremists plotted to kidnap Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer.
Oh—and in 2021 we had an insurrection at the Capitol, remember that one?
And now, this.
Notably, President Trump has not commented on the incident. Governor Shapiro is considered a strong potential 2028 Presidential candidate and campaigned hard against Trump in Pennsylvania—one of the states Trump won.
Make of that what you will.
Political violence isn’t “on the rise.”
It’s already here. It’s been here. I know firsthand.
When I served in Congress, I received death threats in 2010 during the debate over the Affordable Care Act. I was in my early thirties, fresh back from combat in Iraq. But the truth is, I was scared. Not just for myself—but for my family back home in Bucks County, Pennsylvania.
That fear was very real.
In 2011, my colleague Gabby Giffords was shot in the head at a community event in Arizona and miraculously survived. Daniel Hernandez, the young intern who rushed to her side and helped save her life, is now running for Congress himself.
Surge in Antisemitism
According to the FBI, reported anti-Jewish hate crimes rose 63% in 2023—the highest number ever recorded since they began tracking in 1991.
Jews make up only about 2% of the U.S. population, yet they were the target of 68% of all religion-based hate crimes.
The Anti-Defamation League logged 8,873 antisemitic incidents in 2023 alone—a 140% increase from the year before. Physical assaults on Jews rose 45%.
That’s not a trend. That’s an alarm bell.
In Pennsylvania, we still live in the shadow of the Tree of Life massacre, which was the deadliest massacre of Jews in American history, killing 11 people inside a Pittsburgh synagogue. That wound isn’t fully healed. And this week, it was reopened.
I have long admired Josh Shapiro—not just for his public service, but for the way he shares his faith: openly, proudly, and humbly. The kind of pride that anchors a person. He doesn’t hide who he is. He doesn’t flaunt it either. It’s grounded and dignified. This kind of religious conviction was once honored in public life. Think of George Washington, who prayed with his troops at Valley Forge, and later visited the congregants of Touro Synagogue in Rhode Island—the oldest standing synagogue in the United States. After his visit, he penned a letter reaffirming this new nation’s commitment to religious liberty. Washington promised the Jewish community they would live “under their own vine and fig tree,” with “none to make them afraid.”
That’s the exact kind of moral leadership and pluralism we need today.
Whether or not this arson was explicitly antisemitic, the image remains: a Jewish governor’s home, firebombed during Passover, with his family asleep inside.
That should be enough to make every American pause.
Because when public servants become targets in their own homes, we are no longer arguing about policy. We are watching the fabric of civil society unravel.
This week isn’t just Passover. It’s also Easter. In different ways, these holidays ask us to reckon with the past, to reflect on sacrifice, and to remember who we are.
What happened in Harrisburg should snap us back into attention.
This is not just about one man, or one family, or one faith. This is about the kind of country we still claim to be.
Josh Shapiro didn’t run. He stood tall. He celebrated a second Seder the next night, just as proudly. And that is what courage looks like in 2025.
The governor said it best at his press conference:
“If this individual was trying to deter me from doing my job as your governor, rest assured, I will find a way to work even harder than I was.”
He’s not just talking about his job. He’s talking about all of us.
Because if we let this hysteria define us, we risk letting the angriest, most hateful voices win. We cannot allow domestic terrorists to win. We must stand strong.
We get to decide what kind of country we live in. And what kind of people we want to be.
Let’s choose better.
Before it burns down, too.
-Patrick
The Honorable Patrick J. Murphy is a Wharton lecturer, Vetrepreneur, and the 32nd Army Under Secretary after earning the Bronze Star for service in Baghdad, Iraq as an All-American with the 82nd Airborne Division—@PatrickMurphyPA on Instagram and Twitter.
Thank you for understanding the times that we live in, and for standing up for Josh Shapiro and his family and the Jewish people. Pennsylvania is proud of Josh Shapiro and his achievements. We as Jews are never the ones to instigate violence in America, and are only a small percentage of people in the USA. I will admit that the dear leader of this country scares me and other Jews. I can only hope and pray that the majority of people in this country keep protesting against the cancer that pretends to be a leader. S.K.
Thank you for speaking truth to power !!!