Why I'm Not Happy Benny Blanco Married Selena Gomez

In a world where celebrity engagements often spark joy and trending hashtags, the recent announcement of Selena Gomez and Benny Blanco's wedding yesterday elicited a more somber reflection within Jewish communities.

Blanco, born Benjamin Levin to a family of Eastern European Jewish descent, is stepping into a high-profile union with Gomez, whose Mexican-Italian heritage and Catholic upbringing represent a classic case of interfaith romance. While the couple's whirlwind relationship, from collaborators on hits like "I Can't Get Enough" to Gomez's Instagram reveal of her diamond ring, may read like a fairy tale to fans, for many Jews, it's a devastating symbol of assimilation's relentless erosion of our people's future.

Assimilation has long been dubbed the "silent Holocaust" in Jewish discourse. Rabbi Ephraim Buchwald, founder of the National Jewish Outreach Program, has warned that intermarriage is "finishing the job that Hitler started," a sentiment echoing the fears of survival post-genocide. With Pew Research Center's survey revealing that 58% of American Jews marry non-Jews , a rate climbing to 72% among non-Orthodox, the statistics paint a grim picture. Each interfaith marriage, while a personal choice, contributes to a generational drift: Children raised in such households are far less likely to identify as Jewish, perpetuating a demographic decline that no pogrom or extermination camp could fully achieve.

Blanco, a Grammy-nominated producer whose Jewish roots are evident in his bar mitzvah memories and family anecdotes shared in interviews, embodies this tension. His ascent in Hollywood, collaborating with stars like Justin Bieber and Katy Perry, mirrors the success many Jews have found in America, yet his engagement to Gomez underscores the pull of mainstream culture. Gomez, a beloved icon with her own battles against lupus and mental health stigma, brings no ill intent; her warmth and vulnerability have endeared her to millions.

But in the context of Jewish continuity, this union highlights a broader crisis: The allure of assimilation tempts even those with strong ethnic ties, diluting traditions that have endured millennia of persecution.

Critics may dismiss these concerns as outdated or exclusionary, pointing to progressive Jewish voices advocating for inclusive identities. Yet, the data is unforgiving. The Holocaust claimed six million lives in a blaze of horror, but assimilation quietly siphons millions more through apathy and intermingling.

As Orthodox leader Rabbi Yitzchok Adlerstein noted, "Assimilation has claimed more Jewish lives than all our enemies combined." In an era where antisemitism surges, from campus protests to online vitriol, preserving Jewish identity isn't bigotry; it's survival.

For Jews, Gomez and Blanco's love story, captured in cozy TikToks and public outings is a call to introspection: How do we combat the "silent killer" without alienating our own?