fbpx

Why Hasbara Failed: We Fought the PR War, Not the Real One

It treated antisemitism like a branding issue. It treated Zionism like a marketing campaign. And it treated Jewish identity like an afterthought.
[additional-authors]
April 30, 2025
Barks_japan/Getty Images; SEAN GLADWELL/Getty Images

“If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”

—Sun Tzu, “The Art of War”

That’s the quote. The one we should’ve etched into the walls of every Federation office, every campus Israel group, every well-funded “Hasbara” initiative. Instead, we plastered graphics, hashtags, and slogans onto social media like band-aids over an open wound, not realizing we never addressed the infection. The Hasbara movement — modern Israel advocacy as it’s been constructed in the West — has failed. It wasn’t loud enough, not because it lacked money, but because it fought the wrong war. It treated antisemitism like a branding issue. It treated Zionism like a marketing campaign. And it treated Jewish identity like an afterthought.

Worse still, it ignored the central battlefield altogether: context.

We trained students to recite talking points without ever giving them the historical, spiritual, or even geopolitical foundations to understand the story they were trying to tell. We taught them to defend a country they could barely locate on an emotional map — and worse, we taught them to ignore the Palestinian narrative entirely, as if ignoring someone else’s story makes yours stronger. The Hasbara class doesn’t know the Jewish people. And it certainly doesn’t see the enemy. Nor, to its peril, does it understand the weight and power of the Palestinian story — not in truth or falsehood, but in resonance. While our enemies teach history — distorted, yes, but deep, emotional, generational history — our advocates memorize tweets. While the world radicalizes against the Jewish State with ideological fervor, we teach 19-year-olds to repeat, “Israel has a right to exist.” How revolutionary. How original. How utterly meaningless in the face of those who believe your very existence is a colonial crime.

This is the tragedy: we trained kids to explain checkpoints without explaining Herzl. We taught them to debate apartheid without introducing them to Ahad Ha’am, Rabbi Kook, or the Book of Joshua. We armed them with casualty charts, not courage. With U.N. resolutions, not roots. With talking points, not Torah. Hasbara failed because it tried to outsource pride. Because it assumed the average young Jew could fight for Israel while remaining estranged from Hebrew, from Zion, from the soul of their people. Because it traded the moral complexity of the conflict for the false clarity of press releases.

We never taught them to understand the Palestinian grievance — not to justify it, but to comprehend its potency. And by doing so, we robbed them of the ability to explain why our return is not a negation of another people’s story, but the reclamation of our own.

Identity is not built in PR firms. It’s built in language, in memory, in rootedness. And so, this moment demands something entirely different: a revolution of Jewish education. A renaissance of context. A return to knowing who we are, not just what we’re defending. We don’t need more content creators to explain why Israel is right. We need Jewish children who know why they are Jewish. We don’t need another “crisis comms” playbook. We need people who speak Hebrew, dream in Zion, and learn how to walk into a room not begging for understanding but embodying truth.

We don’t need another “crisis comms” playbook. We need people who speak Hebrew, dream in Zion, and learn how to walk into a room not begging for understanding but embodying truth.

Hasbara is dead. Let it be. Now, let us rise, arm in arm with our prophets, warriors, poets, and ancestors who dreamed of home. Let us teach our children to fight not with slogans but with their souls. Let us build Jews who know themselves so deeply, so intimately, that no enemy’s propaganda can pierce the armor of their inheritance. Because only when we know ourselves—and yes, when we understand the story of the other — will we finally begin to win.


Adam Scott Bellos is CEO of the Israel Innovation Fund and author of “Never Again Is Not Enough: Why Hebraization Is the Only Way to Save the Diaspora.”

Did you enjoy this article?
You'll love our roundtable.

Editor's Picks

Latest Articles

A Ka’ak By Any Other Name

A symbol of hospitality, families bake batches for holidays, family celebrations and visits with friends and relatives.

The Story That Never Goes Away

Rachel Goldberg-Polin, mother of slain hostage Hersh Goldberg-Polin, can’t stop speaking about her pain and the public love her body cannot always receive. She talks to the Journal about her son’s legacy and her new book.

Rosner’s Domain | A Dime-Store Abe: The Karhi Crisis

This week’s “Constitutional Crisis” is typical of the way the government operates. It issues a statement, or a tweet and then walks it back. Oops, we did not mean it. Or rather, we did, but we also meant to deny that we did.

Why Can’t We Be Friends?

If we want to see a less polarized society, both internally and beyond, we must emphatically reject the idea that political alignment is the predominant commonality for friendship.

Ruth-less, the Enigma of a Name

Jews spoke in two voices about Ruth, a kind of national schizophrenia, one with joyous chanting on Shavuos as the Book of Ruth was read; the other, removing her name from the chain-link of repeated names throughout the generations.

Honoring My Father: Saying Kaddish with Men

Saying kaddish every day tested my faith and commitment. It made me realize that there is no room for excuses. It taught me how to show up. It taught me that my voice can be heard, even when not expected.

More news and opinions than at a Shabbat dinner, right in your inbox.