During his recent screed about the American Jewish community, Donald Trump got it half right.
He might have actually got it only one-third right, or probably a quarter or less. But there was a dollop of truth in the former president’s interview with Israeli journalist Barak Ravid when he questioned the level of Jewish support in this country for Israel.
True to form, Trump wildly and spitefully overstated his charge that American Jews “don’t like Israel or don’t care about Israel”. There is ample public opinion polling to the contrary, including a Pew Research survey conducted this past spring showing that 82 percent of Jewish Americans said caring about Israel is an essential or important part of what being Jewish means to them.
But what Trump really meant is that American Jews don’t like or care for him, more specifically that we failed to appreciate Trump’s support for Israel over the course of his presidency and failed to reward him with a sufficient portion of Jewish votes in his re-election campaign. Republicans have argued for years that Jewish Americans should be more appreciative of the GOP’s strong and consistent cooperation with Israel, and that their party’s ongoing assistance should yield a larger number of Jewish votes.
But that line of thinking relies on two flawed assumptions. The first is that Israel is the most important voting issue for most American Jews; but polling for the last two decades demonstrates that domestic policy issues – especially social and cultural matters – have long eclipsed Israel as the primary motivator for the majority of Jewish voters.
While most American Jews do care deeply about Israel, they have found ways of expressing those feelings other than voting for candidates with whom they disagree on many other matters.
The second is the presumption that all Jews – and all people, for that matter– define their support for Israel in precisely the same way. Younger Jews, in particular, have begun to more aggressively question the decisions of the Israeli government, and increasingly confrontational attitudes from many minority and progressive voters toward Israel have impacted the way many American Jews express their support for Israel.
There are serious questions for the Jewish community to confront about how this splintering of public opinion will impact the relationship between Israel and diaspora Jews in the years ahead. The emergence of J Street and other left-leaning Jewish advocacy organizations reflect the probability that a divisive internal debate lies ahead of us, with immense stakes for both the Jewish people in this country and the Jewish homeland. But for better or worse, the reflexive assumption that the characterization of a politician or voter as “pro-Israel” means the same thing in 2021 as it did in the late 20th century is simply no longer accurate.
The deepening divisions within the Democratic Party here, and among left-leaning activists elsewhere, have made it easier for conservatives to assume that Jewish voters will abandon longtime liberal political allies. But even while anti-Zionist voices grow louder in progressive Democratic circles, many American Jews differentiate between the anger against Israel within the party’s base and the more traditional support for the Jewish homeland among their establishment leadership, allowing them to maintain their ties based on domestic policy priorities.
Democrats also benefit from Republicans’ increased social and religious conservatism, which prevents large numbers of Jewish voters from seriously considering the GOP as a plausible alternative. If anything, Trump’s presidency has intensified those sentiments. Of much greater concern is the resurgence of the virulent anti-Semitism that has existed on the extreme right of the political spectrum, in the United States, Europe and elsewhere. Many American Jews see Trump as either a symptom or a cause of this intensified threat.
There are exceptions, of course. Majorities of Orthodox Jews and newer arrivals from Israel and Iran are much more supportive of Trump than the community as a whole. But while most American Jews do care deeply about Israel, they have found ways of expressing those feelings other than voting for candidates with whom they disagree on many other matters.
Dan Schnur is a Professor at the University of California – Berkeley, USC and Pepperdine. Join Dan for his weekly webinar “Politics in the Time of Coronavirus” (www/lawac.org) on Tuesdays at 5 PM.
It takes a certain kind of chutzpah to play basketball during class—even more so when the basketball court is within earshot of the classroom. And yet that’s how my two friends spent many of our grade 11 history classes. To my astonishment, our teacher never made a fuss; she must have resigned herself to the fact that those two boys just weren’t that into history.
Unsurprisingly, this prompted the occasional argument among my friends about the importance of such a subject. But while I always felt right in defending the need to understand our past, I’d never managed to put it as succinctly as Peter Beinart did at a 2019 debate with Daniel Gordis (this was, of course, before Beinart jumped down the anti-Zionist rabbit hole). Discussing the younger generation’s dwindling connection to Israel, Beinart suggested that American Jews, particularly younger generations, suffer from “radical ignorance” of their own history. He went even further, and, rather bluntly, described American Jewry as “the largest and … most ignorant world Jewish community … that’s ever existed.”
Ouch.
While the radical experiment of Jewish life in the United States has indeed borne unimaginable fruits, it’s also come at a great cost.
He’s not all that wrong. While the radical experiment of Jewish life in the United States has indeed borne unimaginable fruits, it’s also come at a great cost. And now we’re seeing the results, as the divide between mainstream American Jews, most of whom profess some kind of support for Israel, and Jews who are increasingly critical of, and at times outright hostile to, Israel ratchets up in intensity.
The recent survey of American Jewish voters, which found that 22 percent believe “Israel is committing genocide against the Palestinians,” should have come as little surprise. The key question, then, is why do so many American Jews believe Israel is guilty of committing the worst crime known to mankind? It has, in fact, very little to do with Israel’s treatment of Palestinians, which, at times, is most certainly deserving of criticism. After all, the idea that Israel is committing genocide is so absurd that one could question whether it even deserves a proper rebuke.
But if the issue at hand isn’t the conflict itself, then what is? None better encapsulate the issue than Rabbi Ammiel Hirsch, who lambasted such findings as signaling “a colossal, catastrophic failure of the American Jewish establishment: Rabbis, teachers, schools—all of us.”
Again, ouch.
And herein lies the problem. While the widening divide between Israel and American Jewry carries with it a long and complex history, fantastical accusations of genocide have far more to do with what Beinart and Hirsch identified: education, or the lack thereof. This is even more evident among younger American Jews. A survey by the Jewish Electorate Institute found that 9% of voters agreed with the statement, “Israel doesn’t have a right to exist.” But among voters under 40, it was 20%. Meanwhile, a third of younger voters agreed that Israel is committing genocide.
This lines up with a 2020 Pew survey of American Jewry, which reported that younger generations have both a weaker connection to Israel and their Jewish identity on a whole. So, too, did it find that Jews with little affiliation to the community were less likely to have visited Israel or care deeply for the Jewish state.
Clearly, education is a major determining factor, as was highlighted by Adina Bankier-Karp, a research fellow at the Orthodox Union’s Center for Communal Research. Comparing a 2017 survey of Australian Jewry with the Pew survey, Bankier-Karp noted stark differences regarding Jewish education and connection to Israel.
Evidently, higher levels of Jewish education manifest in stronger relationships with the Jewish state.
“Australian Jews,” she found, “are much more likely than Americans to report having received a Jewish day school education (51 per cent versus 24 per cent).” Astonishingly, secular Jewish Australians “were more than three times as likely as their US counterparts to have received a Jewish day school education.” Bankier-Karp elaborated further, noting that while 76 percent of Australian Jews have visited Israel more than once, only 26 percent of American Jews have done so. The findings were largely the same regarding emotional attachment to Israel and the extent to which each community follows Israeli affairs. Evidently, higher levels of Jewish education manifest in stronger relationships with the Jewish state.
In the 2019 debate with Daniel Gordis, Beinart succinctly captured the problem, explaining that the “American Jewish community has not really equipped … younger American Jews to even make an informed decision.” Ultimately, Beinart lamented, “they’ve not even been educated to understand what it is that they’re giving up.”
Fast forward two years, however, and instead of proposing education as a tool in bridging the divide between Zionist and anti-Zionist Jews, Beinart, in a September essay for Jewish Currents, suggests that “the first step” in mending the gap “is for the American Jewish establishment to reconsider its assumption that anti-Zionism is incompatible with a concern for Jewish safety.”
Ironically, he simultaneously admits that “most unaffiliated American Jews are disconnected from Zionism,” and even notes Pew’s discovery that “Jewish BDS [Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement] supporters were less than half as likely to say they feel a ‘great deal’ of belonging to the Jewish people,” or that “they feel a responsibility to help Jews in need around the world.”
In other words, Beinart identified a portion of American Jewry who are openly indifferent toward the Jewish people, and at times hostile toward the Jewish state. Yet rather than issuing a clarion call to revamp Jewish education across the U.S. in order to prevent the spread of such dangerous sentiments, Beinart wants to validate the beliefs of these admittedly disconnected and uninformed Jews by giving them a seat at the table with mainstream Jewish organizations.
The Jewish tent should be as big as possible. But in order for the conversation to be productive, those taking part must be educated on their people’s history.
The Jewish tent should be as big as possible. But in order for the conversation to be productive, those taking part must be educated on their people’s history. Beinart is right in identifying this dangerous chasm among American Jews, but in calling for mainstream Jewish organizations to elevate the voices of those most detached from the Jewish community, he is legitimating the idea that Jewish education is a negligible prerequisite for having a say in our people’s future.
Thankfully, those two friends of mine who skipped history class have turned out just fine. As for those young American Jews who Beinart identified as having never even been presented with such an opportunity? I think we know the answer.
Josh Feldman is an Australian writer who focuses primarily on Israeli and Jewish issues. Twitter: @joshrfeldman
Jewish society in Israel is not a society of “tribes.” Repeat: not a society of “tribes.” At least not the “tribes” that former President Reuven Rivlin described in a well-publicized speech. Rivlin stated that there are four main sectors in Israel: secular, ultra-Orthodox, religious and Arab—as if it were a geometry of squares, or triangles, with clear boundaries.
It is not. It’s true that distinguishing a tribe of the ultra-Orthodox from a tribe of the Arabs is easy. But the boundaries between religious and secular are much murkier. That is to say: Rivlin’s speech omitted a large group that is in between religiosity and secularism, which is everyone on the non-tribal Jewish continuum. And there are quite a few such Israelis. How many? We’ll talk about that in a bit. And in the end there will be no exact answer. Because there is no exact answer.
Before the explanation, some credits are warranted. What is written here is based on a survey of Israeli “traditionalists” commissioned by the “Be Free Israel” organization. This organization has a clear secular agenda with which some Israelis agree and many disagree. But the survey was conducted professionally and without an agenda. I know it, because I conducted it, and my agenda, when I have such a thing, is not a “Be Free Israel” agenda. Prof. Cami Fuchs analyzed the numbers.
So, who are the Israeli traditionalists? First, to begin to understand Israel it is essential to understand that traditionalists exist. Often, media stories or reports about Israel make its reality seem dichotomic, as if we have “secular” and “religious” Israelis, two tribes, and nothing in between. The truth is that more Israelis are in between. What distinguishes them? Many of them are Sephardic, many have religious backgrounds, many are center and center-right. But what really matters in many cases is the simple fact that they do not seek ideological wars on matters of religion and state. They are willing to allow everyone to live according to their beliefs.
Our survey shows that traditionalists vary in their lifestyles, but are much more similar in not wanting to have an ideological fight over things that can be resolved in compromise. In a world that isn’t one of binary tribes, not everything merits a fight.
In certain cases, it makes the traditionalists seem “liberal.” For example, most of them support civil marriages in Israel for those who want them (religious Israelis oppose an option of civil marriage to all Israelis). In other cases, it makes the traditionalists seem “conservative.” For example, most are willing to segregate by gender in certain events in public areas, so that religious Israelis can also participate in these events (secular Israelis always oppose gender segregation). And this tendency to look for practical solutions to problems rather than stick to principles extends to many other fields. Our survey shows that most Israeli traditionalists travel on Shabbat and are in favor of operating public transportation on Shabbat in neighborhoods where there are not many religious people.
How much is most of them? Not all traditionalists are made of the same skin, and not everyone has the same position. Among those who defined themselves as “traditionalist/not very religious,” 79% agree to public transportation on Saturday. Among those who defined themselves as “religious traditionalists,” 62% agree. There are starker differences between these two groups, which of course raises the question of what exactly we mean by “traditional.” Who are the “real traditional” Israelis?
Quite a few organizations, some older, have emerged recently and seek to make the traditional voice heard, represent it and promote it. There is even a new lobby in the Knesset speaking for them. When this lobby was established, MK Michael Biton of the Blue and White Party said that this was a “historic moment in Israeli society of establishing the traditional idea,” no less. He also said that “we give voice to millions.”
Are there millions of traditionalists in Israel? The short answer is yes.
Are there millions of traditionalists in Israel? The short answer is yes, but let’s crunch some numbers. In the range from “totally secular,” those who always choose the most secular category, to those who always choose “religious” and “ultra-Orthodox,” there is a large public whose self-definition depends on the options presented to them. When the Central Bureau of Statistics presented four options (ultra-Orthodox, religious, traditional, secular), about 25% of Jews defined themselves as traditional, but when it presented five options (secular, traditional not so religious, traditional religious, religious, ultra-Orthodox) the rate of traditionalists increased (now a combination of two groups) closer to forty percent. Among these, about two-thirds are traditionalists “not so religious” and a third are “religious traditionalists.”
That is to say: There is flexibility in self-definition, and this means that there are significant differences between the most broadest definitions of traditionalism. If you consider everyone who is traditional secularist to be traditional, you get to 45% of traditional Jewish Israelis. If you choose the most limited definition (only those who say strictly “traditional” on a seven-group scale), then the share of traditional Jewish Israelis is about 20%. In both cases, it is millions. Whoever speaks about Israeli society must take them and their views and habits into account.
Still, we remain without a clear definition of who they are. About half of them shop on Shabbat, while the other half doesn’t, so what distinguishes them as a group? Here’s a suggestion: Maybe when we say “traditionalists” we are not talking about lifestyle (what traditionalists do), but rather about attitude (what traditionalists support and oppose). Our survey shows that traditionalists vary in their lifestyles, but are much more similar in not wanting to have an ideological fight over things that can be resolved in compromise. In a world that isn’t one of binary tribes, not everything merits a fight.
Something I wrote in Hebrew
What do Israelis think about Joe Biden today, compared to half a year ago? We have the answer: There is a considerable difference in all groups as they rank Biden, and it’s always a difference in his favor. Left-wing voters (center-left and left) raised Biden’s score, but also right-wing voters, who did not have much confidence in him to begin with, raised his score. It is not that Biden is now considered worthy of trust by all Israelis. But he certainly looks less threatening, or less mysterious, than he did six months ago. We now better understand who he is. And maybe he is not always what we hoped for, but he is also not a dangerous opponent orparticularly hostile president. In other words: Biden’s score is still polarized by political position, but it is better than it was at the beginning of the year for the whole breadth of the Israeli population.
A week’s numbers
See the text above for some context:
A reader’s response:
Jon Silktree responded to my article on Tanach studies: “As a left-leaning atheist, I’d think that people like me would want their kids to study the Tanakh for historical and cultural reasons, and also to gain some insights on humanity. Any negative aspects can be criticized rather than justified. It’s all about the teaching.”
Shmuel Rosner is senior political editor. For more analysis of Israeli and international politics, visit Rosner’s Domain at jewishjournal.com/rosnersdomain.
I’ve grown increasingly cynical of the way the Jewish college experience is discussed in our community. Over the last decade, millions have been invested on initiatives, organizations and programs designed to equip our young people with the resources to defend themselves in “the war of words”: The increasing prevalence of anti-Israel activism on campus.
I myself have contributed to this effort. Since The New York Times published my 2019 opinion piece detailing the antisemitism I experienced at my own university, I’ve spoken to countless synagogues, schools, and community centers– trying to explain the problem and offer solutions. And yet the problem only seems to be getting worse. Torahs are vandalized in fraternity houses, Hillel buildings are graffitied, Jewish students are bullied, and resolutions are passed by student governments singling out Israel for boycotts—of course, all under the thin veil of “criticism of Israel.”
After spending more time than I’d like to admit thinking about this issue, I’ve come to appreciate two helpful concepts: the Eicha problem and the Rebbe’s Solution.
Several years ago, novelist Dara Horn spoke to an audience of Jews about a phenomenon she calls the “Eicha problem,” alluding to the book of Eicha, which documents the destruction of Jerusalem by Babylonian armies some 2,500 years ago. Curiously, Eicha portrays not Babylon but the exiled Jews as the villains of the story, and proceeds to blame the Jews and our sins against God for the malady.
Horn calls the Eicha problem “a profound Jewish historical illness,” a compulsion among our people to hold ourselves responsible for the aggression against us. Whether it be Jews in Europe chastising their own lackluster observance of Torah after a bloody pogrom or Israelis giving land back to Arab armies hoping for a ceasefire in the genocidal war against them, it’s hard to miss the historic popularity of Eicha as we have fought and bargained for survival.
It’s also hard to miss how the echoes of Eicha still resonate with our contemporary sensibilities, as we focus on our own real or imagined culpability when reckoning with the rising animosity we face in academic spaces and beyond. Many of us also want to avoid rocking the boat, causing too much trouble. We’d rather be seen as mediators and negotiators—even peacemakers—rather than the ones making a fuss. But this Eicha impulse, however well-intentioned, can often backfire and become even more dangerous to our community than the actions of antisemites.
Brown University. Photo by Blake Flayton
While touring Jewish life at Brown University last month, I was privy to a meeting of The Narrow Bridge Project, a “student cohort experience which meets to discuss the past, present and future of Jewish peoplehood, Zionism and antisemitism, our differing definitions of each of these, and how these differing understandings impact our Judaism, activism and life experiences as Jews today.” I couldn’t help but be amused by this elaborate description — reminded of how I do not miss college at all.
That night, the students involved in this work, seeking to “facilitate more productive discussions about antisemitism amongst all people, Zionists and anti-Zionists in particular,” were celebrating the release of their book, a years-in-the-making compilation of resources intended to educate college students on how to acknowledge and honor the Jewish experience while also seeking justice for Palestinians. Lining the main hallway of the venue were large placards, the first one reading “Love Thy Neighbor: A Guide for Tackling Antisemitism While Committing to Justice for All.” Another read “Zionism as both Jewish Liberation & And Settler Colonialism” and another read “How We Critique Zionism and Israel.”
Photo by Blake Flayton
The intentions of The Narrow Bridge Project were no doubt pure. Of course, in the face of multiple antisemitic incidents occurring on their campus over the last several years, Jewish students at Brown, like our wider Jewish community at large, were compelled to act. Students at this event spoke of how meaningful it was to hear other points of view on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and organizers cautioned with inspiring words against approaching tough issues with fear.
But it should go without saying that Palestinian and/or Muslim students were notably absent from this event, as The Narrow Bridge Project’s application was extended only to Jewish students. I have found that Jewish students who are not explicitly anti-Zionist activists love nothing more than to sit with one another to discuss and to argue, to heal the world, to hammer out solutions and “dialogue.” We aren’t afraid to have hard conversations, and we aren’t afraid to disagree with one another.
The problem is that others, those automatically against anything related to Israel, love nothing more than to paint such activities as evil for normalizing Zionism as they work instead toward banishing Israeli scholarship from the library.So, while well-meaning Jewish activists meditate on the best solutions to bridge divides, the other side does the very opposite. It doesn’t even bother to show up.
While well-meaning Jewish activists meditate on the best solutions to bridge divides, the other side does the very opposite. It doesn’t even bother to show up.
You can see this one-sided obsession especially with J-Street U, the collegiate branch of the larger organization J-Street. J-Street U likes to market itself as “pro-Israel” and “pro-peace,” yet each of their initiatives over the last several years have been working to combat Israeli wrongdoing, such as the settlement project or the absence of Palestinian educators on Birthright trips. J-Street U’s work always seemed like a march toward justice to me, until I arrived on campus, and realized that students involved rarely aligned themselves with the Jewish majority when Israel’s existence itself was attacked on campus.
J-Street U activists are notoriously against adopting the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) definition of antisemitism, are usually silent (or among the opposing team) during Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions (BDS) debacles, and are often quiet when blatant antisemitism, not criticism of Israel, balloons from organizations like Students from Justice in Palestine.
Regardless whether these left-leaning students still believe in a Jewish sovereign state with protected borders, they, in line with our forefathers, have placed themselves under higher standards than the Jewish world’s adversaries, who in this case seek quite openly to push Jewish life off campus and out of progressive spaces. In other words, J-Street U falls victim to the Eicha Problem. “If you want to believe in a just God,” says Horn, “you have to believe that your suffering is somehow deserved.”
“We have a Beit Midrash on Thursday nights and a Jewish Learning Fellowship, established by many students who came back from gap years hungry for Jewish higher learning. The energy has caught. People know about us.”
— Rabbi Joshua Bolton, Executive Director of Brown-RISD Hillel
Later in my visit to Brown, I was able to meet with some more assertive Zionist students who did not obsess over trying to engage the other side. These students were less interested in meeting with members of Jewish Voice for Peace and more interested in describing Jewish life at Brown. One of the key takeaways from our conversations was that there has been an uptick in observant Jewish students in the university’s classrooms, widely seen as a positive development.
Rabbi Joshua Bolton, the Executive Director of Brown-RISD Hillel, commented on the change: “We went from not having one Orthodox Shabbat minyan to now having it being the most stable minyan. We have a Beit Midrash on Thursday nights and a Jewish Learning Fellowship, established by many students who came back from gap years hungry for Jewish higher learning. The energy has caught. People know about us.”
Christina Paxson, the President of Brown, commented on this change. “As an example of our commitment to an expansive view of religious diversity,” she wrote to me, “in recent years we’ve taken deliberate steps to increase outreach to high school students who attend Jewish day schools, resulting in an increase in applicants, acceptances and matriculating students.”
The more “visible Jews” there are on campus, Brown students confided in me, the more confident other students felt in standing up for Israel.
The more “visible Jews” there are on campus, students confided in me, the more confident other students felt in standing up for Israel. A more pluralistic student experience and the chance to see Judaism in the lecture halls serve as a check on potentially venomous anti-Israel advocacy. An explanation for this? On college campuses, noticing that Jews don’t always blend into the majority because they are wearing kippot or tallit makes activism against them seem less progressive.
I thought of my own school, George Washington University. A few weeks ago, a fraternity home was broken into and a student’s Torah scroll was vandalized. In response, the Chabad chapter on campus rallied one of the largest gatherings of students, Jews and non-Jews, I have ever seen as a response to antisemitism.In what became a singular act of holy defiance, the Kippah-wearing boys led a Torah procession across campus and read Hebrew in the quad surrounded by an impressive crowd. I was nearly moved to tears while viewing the footage, and thought of what a waste of an opportunity it would have been to instead gather students for a conversation on intersectionality or on “diversity, equity, and inclusion.”
chameleonseye/Getty Images
At a Brown Chabad service later in my visit, I felt both out of place and right at home—uneasy that this was my first time being in a gender-separated religious space, but welcomed when familiar prayers began. Each of the students around me carried a passion one doesn’t always see in mainstream services, and I was grateful to be among those davening and listening to a Judaic studies major tell us her interpretation of that week’s Torah portion. These students were not at the presentation of how to manage antisemitism; they were too busy being Jews. And from what I kept hearing around campus, Jews of all observance levels felt safer and stronger because of them.
On the train home from Brown, I thought about the holiday of Hanukkah, and how it has changed in American culture since my family arrived in this country. Traditionally, and like many Jewish holidays, Hanukkah was kept mostly private. The argument was that if Jews began flaunting their religious pride in public spaces, Christians would feel entitled to do the same, and Jews have always favored secular American circles more than ones that enforce a majority’s presence. In the 1970s, however, the Lubavitcher Rebbe decided to campaign for public menorah lightings, a movement that ultimately triumphed, for Hanukkiahs can now be seen everywhere from college campuses to JP Morgan to the White House lawn.
The Rebbe argued:
“Why is it so important for Jews to have a Hanukkah Menorah displayed publicly? The answer is that experience has shown that the Hanukkah Menorah displayed publicly during the eight days of Hanukkah, has been an inspiration to many, many Jews and evoked in them a spirit of identity with their Jewish people and the Jewish way of life. To many others, it has brought a sense of pride in their Yiddishkeit and the realization that there is no reason really in this free country to hide one’s Jewishness, as if it were contrary or inimical to American life and culture. On the contrary, it is fully in keeping with the American national slogan “e pluribus unum” and the fact that American culture has been enriched by the thriving ethnic cultures which contributed very much, each in its own way, to American life both materially and spiritually.”
A print of Theodor Herzl reimagined as a Brooklyn hipster hanging in a Hillel building office (Photo by Blake Flayton)
If the Eicha problem compels Jews to constantly address our own shortcomings to fight antisemitism, the Rebbe’s solution says that only by being prouder, more visible Jews can we ultimately prevail over the evil of Jew hatred. When we strive to help heal the world, we must do so as proud Jews. When we spread the special Light of Hanukkah, we must do so as proud Jews. When we walk through the halls of schools or attend events or seminars, we must do so as proud Jews. When we engage with those who disagree with us, when we delve into complex issues, when we show compassion for the less fortunate, we must do so as proud Jews.
In essence, we must become Proud Jews Walking. Not angry Jews. Not fearful Jews. Not silent Jews. Not self-blaming Jews. But proud Jews.
The essence of a proud Jew is to not be afraid to express one’s Jewish identity, to connect to one’s Jewish heritage and proudly observe Jewish traditions. The freedom to express one’s identity is a deeply American idea that reinforces a great American ideal. Being a proud Jew, then, is not just good for the Jews, it’s also good for America.
When I am asked to describe “the problem” and the solution, my first answer will be to wear a kippah to class, or a Magen David to the party, or put Shabbat candles on the window sill, and walk through the campus and through life as a proud Jew.
The Rebbe was a champion of charity and of building relationships with the non-Jewish world, but this never impeded the most tangible expressions of Judaism. His commitment to all of humanity was through his dedication to Torah and mitzvot, not a substitute for it. Too often we have done the opposite—allowing our need to be embraced by society to swallow up a commitment to actually practicing Judaism.
Students at Brown told me that the presence of more observant and committed Jews enhances their own morale and forces activists to think twice before attacking what is now very clearly a particular minority community in the tapestry of college life. At a time when progressives today are so cognizant of group identity– ethnic, religious or otherwise– the Rebbe’s thinking about wearing our Jewish identities is undoubtedly proving useful.
We must of course continue to fight “the war of words”—the fight for Israel on campus against a slippery ideological foe that gaslights and torments us. But this war will stand no chance unless we liberate ourselves by unleashing our Jewish identities. I realize now more than ever the importance of those who fight by expressing their Jewish identity. They may not yell at demonstrations or use clever Twitter and Instagram messages to defend Israel, but what they do is present themselves every day to their classmates and the world as Jews.
When I am asked to describe “the problem” and the solution, my first answer will no longer be just to read up on our history and to sit and debate and argue and convince. It will instead be to wear a kippah to class, or a Magen David to the party, or put Shabbat candles on the window sill, and walk through the campus and through life as a proud Jew.
Blake Flayton is New Media Director and columnist at the Jewish Journal.
It is as close to the horror genre as we find in the Torah. Moses—with his wife Tziporah and their children—stop at an unassuming inn to rest on their way to Egypt.
Moses has just received his divine commission to lead the Israelites to freedom and here, at the inn along the way, God again confronts him. This time, however, God seeks “to kill him” (Exodus 4:24).
If you are confused, this is because it is confusing. The text offers no explanation, no apologetic or rationale. Tziporah, however, seems to know exactly what is happening here and why. She springs into action.
“Tziporah took a flint and cut off her son’s foreskin, and touched his legs with it, saying, ‘You are truly a bridegroom of blood to me!’” (4:25). Whatever she has done, it has worked. God relents and retreats.
The story is disturbing. Gone is the magisterial God of the universe who remembers His covenant with Israel. Here instead is a demonic God, a night-banshee ready to kill. How can our faith, and that of Moses, not be shaken?
Here instead is a demonic God, a night-banshee ready to kill. How can our faith, and that of Moses, not be shaken?
According to the 19th-century commentator Cassuto, however, this nighttime attack has just the opposite effect, bonding God and Moses more deeply. The attack, Cassuto writes, “was a kind of warning, coming to remind Moses that from now on, he needs to be dedicated completely to the fulfilment of his mission, with all of his soul and all of his powers,” even to death if need be.
And yet it is the blood of the son, not the blood of the father, that signifies this total commitment. Alas, in Torah, this is always the case. The commitment of parents, of Moses, of Abraham, of Hannah, is always measured by the extent that they are willing to return the gift of the son to its Source.
That said, we cannot solely understand this event as a commentary on the relationship of Jewish parents to their children. It is also a betrothal scene. The blood baptism is also a blood wedding.
Cassuto further explicates Tziporah’s words. “Behold, you (Moses) are—through this—like a groom to me for the second time, and this time a groom of blood, a groom acquired in blood.”
According to the Mishna, a man acquires a wife with money, which in our days has been formalized as a wedding ring, accompanied by a verbal declaration: “Behold you are consecrated to me, behold you are betrothed to me, behold you are mine as a wife.” The marriage is made official through these twin acts of giving and saying, and the Talmud stresses that it is the man who must be the one to both give and say.
Here, however, at the inn, it is the woman, Tziporah, who both gives and says. She gives renewed life to her husband through the circumcision of their son and declares Moses betrothed to her in blood.
Later, the rabbis of the Talmud will insist that she did none of this. The story troubled them because it contradicted their own religious convictions, namely that a woman could not perform the mitzvah of circumcision.
Too often, this is what the mouthpieces of religion do, dragging the night-encounter into the light of day and forcing it to comply with their preconceived notions, prejudices and wishful visions of how things should be.
Despite those efforts, however, the original story retains its primal nocturnal force. It shakes us from theological complacency. It reminds us that God is indeed, as Isaiah said, creator of all, creator of light, creator of evil.
There are those who don’t like this story and never will. We live in a society that barely believes in God, but to the extent that it does, believes that God ought to be nice.
Perhaps this is because we are too sheltered, spending too much time indoors. The jagged and gargantuan architecture of mountains implies nothing particularly gentle about their architect. The vast and terrifying expanse of the night sky does not make one feel overly precious about the God whose presence fills that infinite space.
Tucked indoors, we are protected from such realizations. With white noise coming at us from our screens, we don’t hear God’s still, small voice, let alone His booming call. We are not addressed, and so we are not consumed.
We are protected from the dark night of the soul, yes, and we may find that comforting. But it comes at the expense of revelation—at the expense of the chance to give ourselves fully and be taken.
Matthew Schultz is the author of the essay collection “What Came Before” (2020). He is a rabbinical student at Hebrew College in Newton, Massachusetts.
This Shabbat we begin our reading of the Book of Exodus. We move from the family sagas of Genesis to a story of a people. Rather strangely and significantly, the first time we are called an am, a people, in the Torah is when the Pharaoh says:
“Behold, the Israelite people are much too numerous for us. Let us deal shrewdly with them, so that they may not increase; otherwise in the event of war they may join our enemies in fighting against us” (Exodus 1:9-10).
This text suggests that part of what transforms us into a people is the mistrust, hatred, and oppression we face at the hands of our enemy. This Pharaoh, the one who “knew not Joseph,” the one who willfully forgot how very much his own well-being and that of his nation were due to the efforts and wisdom of a Jew, sets out to turn his people against ours.
Pharaoh’s chilling words initiate the first—but tragically not the last—attempted genocide of Am Yisrael. Just a few verses later, Pharaoh instructs the midwives: “When you deliver the Hebrew women, look at the birthstool: if it is a boy, kill him; if it is a girl, let her live.” When this effort fails, because of the brave resistance of the midwives, the call to destroy our people is made more generally: “Then Pharaoh charged all his people, saying, ‘Every boy that is born you shall throw into the Nile, but let every girl live.’”
Throughout our history, antisemitism and our sense of otherness have played outsized roles in our collective and individual identities. Sometimes, as historian and scholar Michael Meyer argues, these forces have led to self-loathing as we have wondered if perhaps our rejection was due somehow to our own inadequacy or deficiency. As Meyer’s explains: “Anti-Semitism draws scrutiny also to the self. The Jew who feels rebuffed by Gentiles inevitably asks himself: ‘Was it I who erred by some inappropriate word or act, or was it my Jewishness that gave offense irrespective of what I said or did?’” At other times, he argues, these forces have “had entirely the opposite effect, creating a renewed affirmation of Jewishness.”
On this Shabbat, the convergence of those verses from Exodus with Christmas is especially suggestive. This time of the year was often a frightening one for our ancestors, especially in Europe. On Christmas, ever fearful of the false allegations of deicide and the violent response this calumny would inspire, Jews would typically stay home to avoid any trouble.
On this Shabbat, the convergence of those verses from Exodus with Christmas is especially suggestive.
Thankfully, while the Christmas season for Jews in America is often a time where we feel our otherness most acutely, it is no longer a time of persecution or fear. Instead of anxiously sheltering in place in our homes, many of us (in pre-pandemic times at least) would go out for Chinese food and a movie. We are blessed to live in a moment—despite the very real and concerning uptick in antisemitism that we are witnessing—when the Christmas season no longer requires us to take safety precautions.
My hope is that rather than responding fearfully, rather than hiding or denying our identity in the face of the otherness we might feel at this season, we will instead actively embrace the practices, teachings and values that make us who we are. On this Shabbat that happens to fall on Christmas, we should celebrate with pride all that make us worthy of being the descendants of Sarah and Abraham; Rebekah and Isaac; Rachel, Leah and Jacob. We should embrace our identity through joyful action.
We should embrace our identity through joyful action.
Deborah Lipstadt, the recently nominated Special Envoy to Monitor and Combat Antisemitism, shares the story of how the Jewish community of Halle, Germany, responded when it was attacked by a far-right gunman in October of 2019. “In Halle, after the attack, when police would not let those inside leave because the situation was not yet secure, the congregants continued praying, studying and singing. Subsequently when they were evacuated to a local hospital, they gathered in the cafeteria, completed their prayers with song and with dance … It was an affirmation of Jewish life in the face of potential death. These Jews offer us an important lesson. Even as others rise up to us, we affirm our Jewish identity. While we stand guard—we would be crazy not to—we do so in order to be free to celebrate Jewish life in all its manifestations.”
May our identity as Jews be connected to the sense of profound gratitude we feel for being part of a People that strives to be God’s partner in bringing hope, goodness, and shalom, wholeness, to our world. May we celebrate and embrace the stories we tell, the values we carry, and the acts of tikkun, repair, in which we engage that make us—more than anything else—Am Yisrael, the People Israel.
The hit series “Cobra Kai” returns to Netflix on December 31 for its fourth season, and the soundtrack’s composers, Leo Birenberg and Zach Robinson, are excited to share what they have been working on.
“Cobra Kai” is a continuation of the “Karate Kid” film franchise, set in the present day, some three decades after the original movie. It follows the lives of the two archrivals from the 1984 film, Johnny Lawrence (William Zabka) and Daniel LaRusso (Ralph Macchio).
Shortly after Birenberg and Robinson submitted their demo reels to the showrunners to audition for the scoring job, they got the gig. During an early post-production meeting with showrunners Josh Heald, Jon Hurwitz and Hayden Schlossberg, the composers learned how pivotal of a role the music would play in the series.
“Jon’s sitting across the table and he was like, ‘You guys need to understand, this is my ‘Star Wars,’” Birenberg said, laughing as he recalled Hurwitz’s edict.
At the time, Birenberg and Robinson thought the statement was the craziest thing they’d ever heard in a film or TV score production meeting. But as they started composing and submitting music, it became clear to them what Hurwitz meant. The showrunners were the biggest “Karate Kid” fans in town and had earned a Super Bowl of an opportunity to lead a continuation of the film franchise they loved so much as kids of the 1980s.
The original score throughout “Cobra Kai” is meant to emulate the soundtrack playing in the characters’ minds. The composers said it’s the best way to approach a lot of the characters, especially Johnny.
“It’s evident in our first episode where [Johnny] is beating the [expletive] out of all the teenagers in the parking lot,” Robinson said. “What is the musical score that he’s hearing in his head from his favorite martial arts movie from the late 1980s while he’s [fighting]?”
The answer is a lot of 1980s rock and montage music from macho films of that era like “Rocky IV” and “Top Gun.”
While there are plenty of popular 1980s rock and synth hits, the original score Birenberg and Robinson created enhances the “Cobra Kai” story and spans several genres and decades.
“They trusted us with their giant baby and we were just so on board with everything they were doing on a spiritual level that it just made sense for us to all work together.”
The composers use the word “badass” to describe a sizable part of the soundtrack they created. But the music in “Cobra Kai” is not limited to machismo instrumentals. There are beautifully composed tearjerkers and even a few silly songs.
Also peppered throughout “Cobra Kai” are well-timed remnants of Bill Conti’s original score from the 1984 film. That too was filled with classic synthesizers over training montages, glam rock and traditional Japanese music—especially in scenes featuring the late Pat Morita as Mr. Miyagi.
The vast majority of the music in “Cobra Kai” are original compositions by Birenberg and Robinson that bridge 1980s rock music with Japanese-influenced instruments mixed in with electronic dance music.
Scenes such as Daniel bowing at Mr. Miyagi’s grave feature a subtle gong, koto and a Japanese pan flute called a shakuhachi. Many training montages feature modern electronic dance music to cater to the younger generations of fans. One of the montage songs, “Slither,” includes rock keyboards that sound like a modern derivative of Van Halen’s song “Right Now.”
When Johnny retells his side of his high school vendetta to one of his students, the music features upbeat yet heartbroken guitar riffs and solos, reminiscent of Don Henley’s “Boys of Summer” and Bryan Adams’ “Summer of ‘69.”
“It hit home a little bit because Johnny was stunted and just kind of didn’t grow out of that [1980s] world, Robinson said. “So it felt very sincere to Johnny’s story. We’re hearing for the first time Johnny’s side of the ‘Karate Kid.’ We didn’t play it funny. We just kind of played it straight to how Johnny was feeling. That was something that the creators wanted.”
Creatively, Birenberg and Robinson are a great match for each other. Their voices sound identical, they finish each other’s sentences and laugh at each other’s quips. Birenberg specializes in wind instruments, having begun playing saxophone in fifth grade. Robinson is a left-handed guitarist who is a graduate of Wildwood School in West L.A. Long before that, he went to day school at Stephen Wise Temple. The two met after college while working for composer Christophe Beck on the soundtrack for “Frozen.”
Birenberg, Robinson and their musical team did a live sold-out performance of their original score for fans at the Whisky a Go Go in 2019 after season two was released. Both composers hope they get to do another live performance at an even bigger venue after season four’s release.
Unlike the showrunners, Birenberg and Robinson are 1990s kids. They’re both in their early 30s and said that their earliest recollection of the original “Karate Kid” was seeing it in pieces when it was often replayed on cable TV.
“It’s one of those movies that I’ve seen a hundred times but always starting in a different place, which I actually think is in a weird way really helpful for it to be in the fabric of cultural existence when you know every scene out of context,” said Birenberg.
In great films and TV shows, on-screen chemistry between characters is a crucial virtue. The cast of “Cobra Kai” have it. Behind the scenes, there’s also major chemistry between the showrunners and musical composition duo.
“Before we write anything for any episode, we have a meeting with John, Josh and Hayden, which we call the spot session,” Birenberg said. “We go through the entire episode and we discuss every scene and the music and which emotions they want to hit.”
Longtime “Karate Kid” fans will notice throughout the series just how particular the showrunners are when it comes to using even the most miniscule of Conti’s 1984 score in “Cobra Kai.” It’s always done in a tasteful deliberate homage to a specific moment or feeling from the original film—never as arbitrary filler music. They are no different when it comes to giving nuanced direction to Birenberg and Robinson’s original scoring of the “Cobra Kai” soundtrack.
“It’s really just a totally perfect match,” Robinson said of their working relationship with Heald, Schlossberg and Hurwitz. “We’re very grateful for them to give us a shot too, because we didn’t have a ton of credits back then either. They trusted us with their giant baby and we were just so on board with everything they were doing on a spiritual level that it just made sense for us to all work together.”
On September 21, 2021 the Israeli Government was stunned by the removal of $1 billion for Israel’s Iron Dome missile defense system from a bill—a move that was led by progressive legislators from the Democratic Party in Congress. Although the House of Representatives approved the funding with a huge majority two days later, this unprecedented event is the result of a fundamental change that Washington is undergoing and of the growing influence of ideological currents on American foreign policy in the Middle East and toward Israel.
To a great extent, this fundamental change is the result of a social phenomenon that migrated from Europe to the U.S. and is known as the red-green alliance—namely the increasing collaboration between radical progressive groups (the reds) and Islamists (the greens), in particular American organizations that identify with the Muslim Brotherhood ideology.
This collaboration is the result of two distinct developments that have a significant impact on the status of Jewish communities and the State of Israel in the U.S.: The Israel and Jewish erasure in the current progressive discourse, and the strengthening of organizations who are ideologically affiliated with the Muslim Brotherhood movement.
The Israel and Jewish Erasure in the Progressive Discourse
The first development is the strengthening of identity politics in the U.S., and the influence of the progressive movement on mainstream discourse. Political and social polarization has caused the current progressive discourse to become dichotomous; groups are categorized as privileged or, alternatively, as oppressed, usually on the basis of social status and skin color.
Likewise, as the State of Israel is catalogued as a white European colonial enterprise, many progressives fail to capture the unique circumstances and challenges around the establishment and existence of the Jewish state.
While many of the social goals of the progressive movement are laudable, the binary structure of the discourse results in what I call the “Jewish-Israeli erasure.” In other words, because the prototype of discrimination in the U.S. is based on the history of the Black community, Jews are often catalogued in the progressive discourse as white and privileged.As a result, the progressive discourse fails to capture many aspects of the Jewish identity and communal life that are the result of a much more complex history and nuanced reality. This often results in downplaying the severity of the threat of antisemitism. Likewise, as the State of Israel is catalogued as a white European colonial enterprise, many progressives fail to capture the unique circumstances and challenges around the establishment and existence of the Jewish state.
The Rise of American Organizations Affiliated with the Muslim Brotherhood
Since its establishment in Egypt in 1928, the Muslim Brotherhood movement has become one of the most important Islamist movements in the world, though organizations identified with it outside the Middle East have no official affiliation with it.
The Muslim Brotherhood has a conservative and fundamentalist agenda and is driven by a vision of establishing a Caliphate. The movement is considered part of the political Islam (or ‘Islamism”), a paradigm that believes that Islam should guide social and political life, and characterizes organizations that strive to become legitimate political players, and do not undermine the legitimacy of state institutions (as do Salafi Al-Qaeda and ISIS). As such, despite its radical vision, the movement displays considerable tactical pragmatism.
Moreover, the global Muslim Brotherhood movement is more decentralized than ever, in a way that challenges the cohesiveness of the movement. Hamas, for example, which was founded as the Muslim Brotherhood in Gaza, considers the Israeli Ra’am Party, which has roots in the Muslim Brotherhood and is currently part of the Israeli government coalition, as its ideological enemy. Another example is the clear generation gap in regard to LGBTQ between young Muslims who were born in America and the immigrant generation of their parents. Despite these substantial changes, these organizations still share a common vision, agenda and ideological ties.
The September 11 attacks had serious consequences for Muslims in America who experienced a wave of anti-Muslim acts and strict domestic policy. Many of them consider the term of President Trump to be a low point, while election of a Democratic administration is seen as a historic opportunity.
The strategy and level of organization of Islamists make them increasingly influential. They often benefit from the use of diplomatic platforms and public affairs operations of Qatar and Turkey, as well as from media platforms such as Qatar’s Al Jazeera and social media channel AJ+. Several members of the progressive wing of the Democratic Party participate frequently in anti-Israel events organized by these organizations.
Most Muslims in America probably do not identify with the Muslim Brotherhood. However, the level of organizations and the use of the abovementioned platforms have gained Islamists the informal status as the representative of the Muslim community in the eyes of law enforcement authorities.
The Red-Green Alliance and U.S. Policy in the Middle East
As a social phenomenon, the red-green alliance emerged in Europe, with an agenda that includes clear anti-Western, anti-American, and anti-Zionist elements. Despite the differences and even the opposite views between the radical left and political Islam, their cooperation is deep and anchored in an intellectual and philosophical effort to legitimize it.
In the U.S., this cooperation is accelerated by a process of “progressivization” of Muslim Brotherhood organizations, who are gradually adopting the rhetoric and certain parts of the progressive movement’s agenda. Organizations such as the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR), which ten years ago was accused in federal court of being part of a network that supported the financing of terrorism, is at the forefront of the struggle for social justice as part of the Black Lives Matter campaign, and is also promoting prison reform and advocates for a higher minimum wage.
Beside their domestic agenda, the red-green alliance is beginning to coalesce into a coherent perception of an ideal American foreign policy. This approach seemingly rests on an American tradition of commitment to promote liberal democratic values and human rights in the world and the coalescing consensus in the U.S. on restraining American military involvement in the world. However, this perception of ideal foreign policy derives heavily from an interpretation of the Middle East through the framework of identity politics, and from the Muslim Brotherhood agenda in the Middle East. For example, while international human rights organizations sharply criticize most countries in the Middle East, due to their tendency to suppress protest through surveillance and force, the red-green alliance in the U.S. focuses its criticism almost exclusively on the pro-Western axis of countries, which are the ideological enemies of the Muslim Brotherhood axis led by Qatar and Turkey.
Even though the red-green foreign policy approach is not the dominant approach of the current administration, its influence in Washington is growing in a way that creates new challenges to Israel in four different ways. First, while the red-green alliance is unable at this time to seriously challenge the special relationship between the U.S. and Israel, it does change the discourse on Israel. Second, it seems that the red-green alliance has impacted the change in policy of the U.S. administration toward America’s traditional pro-Western allies. Curbing the normalization momentum of the Abraham Accords is a side effect of this trend. Third, the red-green alliance shows no great enthusiasm toward Iran, but its agenda strengthens Iran, as it weakens the axis of Arab states that stands against it. This result is accepted with indifference among red-green alliance organizations, as in the eyes of many progressives Iran does not pose a threat to the U.S., and in the eyes of Muslim Brotherhood organizations, the struggle against pro-Western Sunni Muslim states is more important. Fourth, whereas progressive streams are silent about Iran, they are actively vocal in their support for Hamas. This support of Hamas and not of more secular-liberal Palestinian groups ostensibly identified with the political process may be surprising. But this support is the direct result of the progressive alliance with Muslim Brotherhood organizations, who sympathize with Hamas, which was established as a branch of the Muslim Brotherhood in Gaza.
A Conundrum of Inaction
Embarrassingly, today there is no broad systematic Jewish attempt to challenge the Jewish-Israeli erasure in the progressive discourse.
Embarrassingly, today there is no broad systematic Jewish attempt to challenge the Jewish-Israeli erasure in the progressive discourse. The reason is that the contemporary Jewish community is politically, socially, and organizationally polarized, and there is no shared understanding in regard to the challenge.
Moreover, the Israel-Jewish erasure framework is being internalized by a disturbingly growing number of Jews who consider themselves to be white and privileged, and as a result, exacerbate the Jewish identity challenge in the U.S., as well as undermine community cohesion. It is no wonder that the Jewish community is struggling to create a cohesive and united front against the challenge with only limited results, and that the gap between Israel and many American Jews is growing.
Moreover, lamentably progressive leaders and groups only seldom condemn blunt antisemitism on the part of leaders of organizations identified with Islamists. While the Israel-Jewish erasure in the progressive discourse is often based not on hate but on the binary structure of the discourse, the “Islamophobia card” and perhaps a “racism of low expectations” enable the existence of crude antisemitism in the red-green alliance.
What Can Be Done?
The Jewish community is too polarized to expect a “total” mobilization, or a replication of the mobilization that characterized the Jewish community in the past. However, it is likely to be possible to mobilize several dozen organizations, even without a wall-to-wall consensus, to achieve the threshold needed to change the momentum in the current discourse. This critical mass should comprise a mix that includes the Jewish establishment, community-relations organizations, philanthropists, non-establishment center and left organizations, and “communities in the making,” such as the Israeli ex-pat community and Russian speaking Jews.
The key for such mobilization is anchored in the ability of Jewish leadership to create a shared comprehension of the challenge and generate a galvanizing vision. It is recommended that attempts to instill a shared understanding in regard to the challenge will focus on the threat emanating from the Jewish-Israeli erasure, and on the entire woke culture. Targeted activity against the Jewish-Israeli erasure “speaks” the language of identity politics, and may be a good basis to establish broad coalitions that will include both liberal non-establishment organizations and the Jewish establishment.
The Jewish community can exploit the unique opportunity to provide a galvanizing vision for the community that focuses on “rebuilding the Jewish center,” and strengthening internal community cohesion on the basis of a vision of peoplehood. Such an agenda has a real potential to effectively strengthen Jewish identity and position the Jewish community at the forefront of rehabilitating the mainstream political discourse. It may also resonate with the Jewish silent majority and with emerging communities, such as that of Russian-speaking Jews. In this community there is the rise of a new class of young philanthropists, activists, and intellectuals who typically have a strong pro-Israel agenda. At least in part, this emergence is a reaction to the Jewish-Israeli erasure, which in their eyes parallels the attempts to erase Jewish identity in the Soviet Union.
The Israel-Jewish erasure framework is being internalized by a disturbingly growing number of Jews who consider themselves to be white and privileged, and as a result, exacerbate the Jewish identity challenge in the U.S.
Finally, there may also be an opportunity to work to leverage the Abraham Accords paradigm and neutralize the Muslim Brotherhood doctrine. Such an effort could be pursued by cooperating with local Muslim organizations, as well as cooperating with the existing lobbying activity of the Abraham Accords countries in order to remotivate the normalization drive in the Middle East. It is also possible to charge the Israeli-Jewish “legitimacy battery” through joint tikkun olam projects with Abraham Accords nations.
An old joke tells the story of an old Jewish man who prays day after day for his Lord, begging the Lord to allow him to win the lottery, until even God pities him and asks him to meet him halfway and buy a lottery ticket. Likewise, we should not expect the Israel-Jewish erasure and expressions of antisemitism from the red-green alliance to simply go away, without a serious attempt to challenge them.
Rabbi Ed Feinstein, spiritual leader ofValley Beth Shalom, the San Fernando Valley’s largest synagogue, sought to be concise and clear about his immediate future.
“I want to step back, not step aside,” he told the Journal. “I would like to remain as a rabbi of the community. I really enjoy this work, and I have a place here. But I want to give up the administrative and the leadership responsibilities of the first chair. I want to take a second chair position.”
Feinstein joined VBS in 1993, and then became senior rabbi in 2005 when the late and legendary Rabbi Harold M. Schulweis, then 80 years old, similarly stepped back. Now, Feinstein plans to keep up with some rabbinic duties while finding someone else to take care of the others.
“The rabbinate in a congregation like this one is very complicated and multifaceted,” he said. “There are certainly parts of which I resonate to so deeply. I love teaching, I love taking care of people [and] I love spending time with kids.”
He continued, “There are administrative matters and leadership responsibilities I think someone else could take over. Everything has become more complicated than it used to be.”
Ordained 40 years ago, Feinstein’s first job was founding director of the Solomon Schechter Academy in Dallas. He also served at Dallas’ Congregation Shearith Israel and spent three years as executive director of Camp Ramah before Schulweis invited him to join VBS in 1993.
This past summer, the board of The Jewish Federation of Greater Los Angeles voted for Rabbi Noah Farkas, 41, who was seen as a potential successor to Feinstein, to succeed retiring Jay Sanderson as president and CEO.
The synagogue now has a search committee looking for a successor. “Next year will be a year of transition,” Feinstein said. “I will be here and the new person the committee engages will be here. The following year I will step into a new position as the second rabbi of the synagogue.”
As for what Feinstein plans to do in the future, he is going to work on writing projects — he’s already the author of five books — and enjoying some extra time with his family.
“I feel like our congregation and the Jewish community in general have gone through a generational shift,” he said. “The same thing happened when I began this job. We went through a generational shift, and my teacher, Rabbi Schulweis, said ‘You need to lead now because you can speak to this generation in a way that I can’t.’ I have the exact same feeling now 16 years later. I would love someone who can speak to this generation, in its idiom, in its language, to take over the principal leadership of the community. I would like to still be involved, but I think in order to reach that generation, we need someone at the helm who speaks that language.”
No single factor sparked his life-changing decision. However, his daughter is pregnant with his and his wife Nina’s first grandchild, and he hopes to travel more.
“I look forward to being a zayde, and having someone in the world who I can share my life with in that way,” he said. “I am old enough now to appreciate where I really am in the world, but young enough to enjoy some travel and projects we would like to take on. We would like to spend time in Israel, spend some time on the East Coast with friends who are there – just to enjoy life.”
As to whether or not this was a difficult decision, Feinstein said, “You don’t give up something this valuable without some qualms and second thoughts and wrestling with it. But it’s clear this is what has to happen now.”
No matter what life has in store for him, Feinstein has a positive outlook and is looking forward to his next chapter.
No matter what life has in store for him, Feinstein has a positive outlook and is looking forward to his next chapter.
“I am married 42 years to the girl I love,” he said. “We’re still best friends. We have been privileged to raise three beautiful kids who are now married and employed. My dad, thank God, is still alive. He is 94. My mother is a little bit [younger]. They are healthy and have been with us. I have survived cancer twice. That was an experience. We have been blessed.”
Despite mankind’s sophistication, the Omicron COVID-19 variant just surprised us once again with the lesson that we remain an earthly species, decidedly non-exempt from nature’s whims.
Given the pace of Omicron developments, you will probably know much more about the virus when you read this than I do as I write. All we now understand for sure is that the new variant has an unusually large number of mutations and appears to be spreading rapidly. More mutations mean major divergence from the parent strain, making it less predictable.
Variants produced by viral mutations may affect us adversely in three possible ways: they can make the virus more contagious; they can increase the severity of the disease; and they can reduce the protection afforded by the vaccines that targeted the parent strain. Although it would be unlikely, a variant producing adverse changes in all three areas could set us back to the beginning of the pandemic: A highly contagious and lethal virus spreading among a population without protective immunity.
The most contagious strains “win.” But increased contagiousness also has the potential to make the disease milder.
Fortunately, the direction of the pandemic, as determined by these mutations, is likely to be much more benign than that frightful scenario. The driving force producing the variants is their ability to compete with other strains in spreading. The most contagious strains “win.” But increased contagiousness also has the potential to make the disease milder. The most important reason is that a virus spreads more effectively if it allows those infected to remain healthy enough to continue spreading it. So, milder strains should have a competitive advantage.
Mutations that enhance the ability of a virus to spread have random effects on the severity of the resulting disease. But for a virus as lethal as COVID, random change is likelier to reduce severity.
The fact that random mutations during viral evolution can produce milder disease provided the basis for the development of the Sabin Polio vaccine. Scientists passed the virus through a series of cultures allowing it to replicate. As the virus developed mutations, it became progressively attenuated until it could no longer produce significant neurologic disease. However, it retained enough similarity to the parent virus that when ingested (often on a sugar cube, as you may remember) it could still produce immunity to the more dangerous parent virus strain. Similarly, COVID-19’s passage through successive human populations may select out contagiousness while reducing severity.
There may be evidence for the emergence of milder yet more contagious variants in the spread of the new variant AY.4.2 in England. Within weeks of the first reports, it accounted for about 10% of new infections in England and seems to produce milder illness. Whether the Omicron strain proves similar to AY.4.2 in this respect remains uncertain. The large number of mutations make it more of a wild card.
Unfortunately, the mutations that might make new variants milder are less likely to leave vaccine protection unaffected. Mutations increasing contagiousness are largely those affecting the “spike protein,” the part that attaches to human cells. These same proteins also provide the immune target for the vaccines. The more the spike protein changes the less it resembles the original spike and the less likely that vaccine-related antibodies against it can be relied upon to be protective. If the protection fades significantly, a new vaccine against the variant may be needed.
If milder variants do gain predominance, the pandemic may be gradually heading toward new status as an endemic illness resembling a mild flu or cold. It already plays out that way in most vaccinated individuals. This viral paradigm may represent business-as-usual for human-viral relations over the eons. The cold and flu viruses that circulate among us every winter may be the burned-out remnants of the lethal pandemics of our past.
In a past column, I outlined how my wife’s cousin dismissed last year’s super-spreader Thanksgiving, commenting that “it’s just a cold.”Ironically, only a capricious virus like COVID-19 could turn such stark ignorance into possible prescience.
Daniel Stone is Regional Medical Director of Cedars-Sinai Valley Network and a practicing internist and geriatrician with Cedars Sinai MedicalGroup. The views expressed in this column do not necessarily reflect those of Cedars-Sinai.
