November 29, 2023

About a week after the October 7 pogrom, I was in a bagel shop in New York City. One would think that’s a fairly safe space to be, but not this particular bagel shop. The former owner, an Israeli, sold the shop to two Arabs, and the Arabs who now work there are not particularly interested in making Jewish customers feel safe. While I was there, one millennial worker came up to each of the visibly Jewish customers and started singing a not particularly friendly song in Arabic in each of our faces.

I was somewhat in shock: The Israeli owner had often employed Arab workers, who had always been quite pleasant. Not this current group. When I respectfully asked the manager about the confrontations, he shouted back: “If you don’t like it, leave!”

Which of course I did, along with the other Jewish customers. On my way home, I tucked my great-grandmother’s Star of David behind my shirt, something I’ve never done my entire life. And I was shaking. Having lived the well-protected “good life” my parents created in the U.S. — meaning free from persecution — I had always marveled at the Israeli ability to deal with incessant terrorist attacks. I never thought I could handle it — and never thought I would have to.

Synagogues and Jewish community centers here began increasing security after 9/11; metal detectors and bag checks have been so thoroughly normalized it’s created a false sense of comfort.

As the days passed, my fear quickly turned to anger: How dare they try to scare us here. And then I began to see Generation Z high school students wearing their kippahs, mezuzahs, and Stars on the streets with prideful smiles. Millennials have taken to bashing Gen Z, and if you look only on campuses today you might be inclined to believe them. But Gen Zers in NYC, at least could not be more different from the mindless conformity we’re seeing on campus. Their deceit detectors have been on high alert for years, having been lied to (by their millennial teachers) about practically everything since kindergarten.

Indeed, Hamas was able to do something few Jewish leaders have accomplished: Begin to unite the Jewish people through pride.

I looked at them and thought: Yes, this needs to be the Jewish Diaspora’s response. Soon, I began to see memes on social media to this effect: “I’ve never been so proud to be Jewish.” Indeed, Hamas was able to do something few Jewish leaders have accomplished: begin to unite the Jewish people through pride.

The Jihadnacht ante was upped on Thanksgiving: smoke bombs outside the Los Angeles home of the president of AIPAC, and more than 30 Jihadi protestors taken into custody in NYC for disrupting the annual Thanksgiving Day Parade and painting genocidal slogans on the New York Public Library.

Since Jihadnacht shows no signs of abating, how should we respond? From a place of strength and pride. Some caveats: 

• Pride — true pride — is not in your face, literally or figuratively. It doesn’t have to be. True pride is confident, dignified, resilient. It’s not about lowering oneself to the antics of those who hate us;

• True pride is recognizing that though we’ve been victims of persecution for thousands of years, we’re not going to wallow in victimhood. We know what has been done to us, what continues to be done to us, but the true miracle is Judean resilience. We need to continue to call out and challenge every lie, but we’re not looking for pity; we’re looking for justice. 

• Understand that truth, justice, and reason are on our side: We have nothing to apologize for. We just need to state, and restate, the truth; no propaganda needed.

• Understand — and internalize — that Judaism is not just a religion. It’s an ethnicity, a people, a nation that is tied genetically and historically to the land of Israel. You can’t “colonize” your own land. 

• Learn Judean heritage. Fully understand that Jews are not white, privileged, or colonizers — today’s blood libel. Jews come in all hues — an exquisite mosaic — and most of our ancestors came here with nothing. My grandfather was overjoyed to get an apple for his bar mitzvah; he had never tasted one before.

What does true pride in one’s identity look like? — Rabbi Jonathan Sacks and Martin Luther King, Jr. With Sacks and King in mind, here’s an initial list for both parents and kids, a list that should have come from our synagogues and community leaders:

* Demand that the media, politicians, and teachers stick to the facts. Pull funding from any institution unwilling to do so.

* Wear something visibly Judean every day. Last summer I began to wear an IDF T-shirt quite a bit because of the blatant normalization of antisemitism at the City University of New York (CUNY).

* Homes and businesses should consider having an Israeli flag outside. Those of us in apartment buildings, make sure an Israeli flag can be seen through your window.

* If confronted, don’t engage. Jihadis don’t excel at reason, and the entire point of this is to normalize Judean pride.

* Aggression — verbal, physical, or even menacing trucks — signifies weakness. Observe, take videos, report; let their aggression be matched by our dignity.

* In schools, no matter how small the incident, report it to the dean immediately. And publicly state that you will be pulling your student out unless jihad is addressed forcefully by the administration. 

* Campuses like Harvard, Columbia, and Penn, where it’s Jihadnacht on Steroids: Your initial instinct may be to keep your student home until the school finally addresses it. According to a new study from Hillel, one-third of Jewish students now feel a need to hide their identity. But either one would be teaching your kids the wrong message. They need to be able to stand with dignity and pride while the mini-jihadis continue to make fools of themselves.

* Learn conversational Hebrew. It’s our language; we should know how to speak it. 

* Teach your kids what the Judean people have been able to accomplish — the light we’ve created — while facing endless persecution. 

This is not to say that we shouldn’t take necessary precautions. Obviously, all synagogues and community centers now need the tightest security, as do all schools and many homes. Think of pride as emotional security — and hope.

Theodor Herzl succeeded in creating a country of Maccabees. But it’s now way past time for the Diaspora to follow. Ironically, we can borrow a term from the neo-Marxists on campus: Decolonization. Each of us needs to decolonize our minds and our souls: Remove all deeply embedded instincts to act like a “dhimmi,” second-class citizen, or to over-assimilate.

We’ve already seen the tremendous lift uniting with other Jews has given us. It’s now time to put all politics aside (unity does not mean conformity) and allow our unity as a people to help us not just get through this but also to make us stronger so that it truly will never happen again.

Or as only Rabbi Sacks could put it:

You are a member of an eternal people, a letter in their scroll.

Let their eternity live on in you.

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Karen Lehrman Bloch is editor in chief of White Rose Magazine.

As we learn the wrenching stories of the infants and toddlers, the mothers and grandmothers who have been released by Hamas in recent days, we are all on emotional overload. In the middle of this ongoing collective trauma, the legislative machinations of American politicians may seem fairly mundane by comparison. But even as we mourn those we have lost and pray for those who have not returned, the actions of our country’s political leaders are setting the stage for another round of difficult decisions we will face next November when we cast our ballots for the men and women who will represent us — and who will set our country’s Middle East policy — in Congress.

Last week, we discussed the inadequacies of both the Democratic and Republican responses to Black Shabbat. While both parties’ leaders loudly proclaimed their support for Israel, the war has given us an opportunity to see the cracks that have developed in their relationship with the Jewish state. Growing numbers of progressive Democrats have joined the call for a ceasefire agreement that would effectively serve as Israel’s suicide note. Meanwhile, the new Republican House Speaker has held up military aid for Israel for several weeks through his demands for unrelated domestic policy goals. Our friends are still stalwart: There just aren’t as many of them as there used to be.

The majority of American Jews are reliable Democratic voters, not because of Israel and the Middle East but because of the party’s more tolerant approach on issues like abortion, marriage equality and other social and cultural matters. But every day, Ilhan Omar (D-Minn.), Rashida Tlaib (D-Mich.) and a growing anti-Zionist and antisemitic presence on the Democratic far left will make that vote more difficult.

A strong and vocal minority of Jewish voters here consistently support Republican candidates for reasons primarily related to Middle East policy. But the marriage of convenience that has tied the GOP to Israel appears to be weakening, too. When the Republican-controlled House sabotaged critical legislation to support Israel’s war effort with a demand for reform of the Internal Revenue Service, it sent a bracing message to American Jews about the mismatch between their priorities and Israel’s needs.

Regardless of party registration or ideological preference, each of us has long resigned ourselves to the necessary compromise that accompanies our vote. 

Regardless of party registration or ideological preference, each of us has long resigned ourselves to the necessary compromise that accompanies our vote. Most Republicans do not support the antisemites who marched in Charlottesville, Va., but voting for a GOP candidate enlarges the platform on which alt-right haters stand. Most Democrats do not believe that Israel provoked war with Hamas, but electing a Democrat of any ideological stripe increases the influence of those who stand against the Jewish state and its children.

Such are the limitations of a two-party system that most of us scarcely consider the sacrifice such tradeoffs require. Vote for a pro-Israel politician in either party and we also empower the antisemitic fringe that shares that candidate’s registration. We’ve resigned ourselves to the fact that elevating those who hate us — from the far right or the far left — is a necessary evil to thwart the even more despicable haters among the opposition.

No more. During the Cold War, patriots of both parties stood up against extremists on the far right and the far left within their own parties to protect the world from Soviet aggression. The same type of bipartisan alliance will be necessary to save Israel from those who wish to destroy it. But this means being willing to hold politicians accountable, even if they’re a member of our own party and a reliable ally on other issues, and demanding that they hold their own colleagues to account.

Blind partisan loyalty – to Democrats or Republicans – is a luxury we can no longer afford. Rather than continuing to enable our enemies by voting indiscriminately for one party or the other, it’s time for us to start voting for women and men in both parties who stand with Israel. The two parties have taken us for granted for too long – let’s make them work for our votes. The future of the Jewish state depends on it.

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Dan Schnur is the U.S. Politics Editor for the Jewish Journal. He teaches courses in politics, communications, and leadership at UC Berkeley, USC and Pepperdine. He hosts the monthly webinar “The Dan Schnur Political Report” for the Los Angeles World Affairs Council & Town Hall. Follow Dan’s work at www.danschnurpolitics.com.

I know I’m running the risk of being accused of being an assimilationist, but I’m one of those Jews who loves this time of year, not only because Hanukkah is right around the corner, but because now, in the face of so much darkness, hatred and violence, I’ve never needed the sights and sounds of Christmas in America more. 

As a Jew, I’m grateful for Christmas celebrations in America, because they mean that many of the foundations of this country are still in place, particularly today, when we’re seeing full-blown calls for intifada in the West. At a time when hate-filled protestors are covering statues of American founding fathers in keffiyehs and tearing down American flags, can you blame me for being grateful that good, old-fashioned holiday traditions are still on display in this country? 

I’m never offended when someone wishes me a “Merry Christmas”; it’s still a sure-tell sign that I’m no longer in Iran. And this year, amidst the flood of anti-Western fanaticism we’ve seen on American streets and campuses, I will gratefully take “Merry Christmas” over “Globalize the intifada.” This kind of thinking may be binary, but there’s currently a war against Jews, and I feel the need to set some boundaries. 

On a superficial level, the lights, songs and whimsical decorations offer me a respite from the heartless darkness of Hamas-inflicted suffering upon my people. But on a deeper level, such things remind me that in terms of anti-Western practices, America has not turned into Europe or the Middle East. 

By writing about the whimsical escape offered by holiday sights and sounds, I don’t mean to trivialize the horrific pain of those who have suffered unspeakable loss in Israel. On the contrary, I’m turning to vapid holiday music because I’m in survival mode, and the music is innocuous. I will never put up a Christmas tree in my home, but a song that asks for more snow offers a welcome respite from the fact that each second, I’m aware of how much is currently on the line for Jews and Israel.

Ironically, listening to Jewish music, especially in Hebrew, doesn’t help me right now; it’s too meaningful, too connected with my brothers and sisters in Israel. I love this music, but today, it only leaves me in tears, and I sometimes need an alternative.

I read Tehillim, perform mitzvot and pray hard. But here’s the rub: Those endeavors can’t be mindless. Listening to a song about chestnuts is mindless. That’s why I seek a little holiday music, because it tempers the pain of reality with just enough mindlessness to get me through another day. 

In Los Angeles, a local FM radio station, KOST 103.5., plays Christmas music during the entire month of December. In the last few years, the station’s non-stop holiday music has even begun in November. Angelenos are just starting to take down their Halloween lawn decorations when “Feliz Navidad” begins playing on KOST.

As a matter of principle (and because I’m slightly nervous over how many Orthodox rabbis I know personally will read this), I generally refuse to tune in to KOST 103.5 until mid-December each year. But this year, I began listening to KOST Christmas music in mid-November, because for every disturbing message of violent hate against Jews, Israel and America after October 7, I need at least one comforting holiday song to remind me that the world has not turned completely upside down.

I have only one rule about holiday music: If the song features any references to a shepherd, “holy night,” “Our Lord,” or to anyone being “adorned” or called a “king,” I respectfully switch the station. As a Jew, there are only two kings in my life: Hashem, and the dry cleaner who works magic by removing the yellow stains caused by my patented turmeric-infused, Persian Matzah Ball Soup.

Yes, it’s hard for me to listen to Christmas songs that contain direct religious references. But if the song involves Burt Ives, The Ronettes, sleigh bells, snow or Alvin, Simon and Theodore (The Chipmunks), I’m all in. And of course, if Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas” starts playing, I act like an excited 12-year-old girl, which is exactly how old I was when that song was released in the mid-1990s. 

I also love Christmas lights, which, in some parts of L.A., can be hard to find, given increases in secularism, decreases in the bandwidth needed to set up lights (especially since COVID) and the fact that there are many Jewish neighborhoods in this town. Ironically, some of the best Christmas lights may be found in Beverly Hills, home to a huge Jewish population and many Jewish elected officials.

I hope that cities all over this amazing country never stop putting up Christmas lights. I didn’t escape Iran to be deprived of the magic of string lights wrapped around local palm trees. 

While there are nods to Hanukkah throughout town, I love Beverly Hills not only because it was my city of refuge after I fled Iran, but also because its leaders, including the Jewish ones, wisely understand that the more secular aspects of Christmas — especially the magic of bright lights — evoke a near-universal sense of wonder that is part and parcel of America itself. I hope that cities all over this amazing country never stop putting up Christmas lights. I didn’t escape Iran to be deprived of the magic of string lights wrapped around local palm trees. 

Of course, Hanukkah is the Festival of Lights, and there’s nothing like the sight of a hannukiah by a window, emitting a glow that is more than cozy and elegant: It is eternal. 

Rabbinic laws require Jews to place their hanukkiot by street-facing windows in order to publicize the miracles surrounding Hanukkah. But this year, for possibly the first time ever, some American Jews may perceive lighting their hanukkiot by a window as more of a liability than a precious ritual (and for the record, a menorah represents Judaism, but it not actually used on Hanukkah; it doesn’t have enough branches or even a higher shamash, like a hanukkiah). 

If Jews have been contemplating removing their mezuzot as a result of terrifying increases in antisemitism in this country, would some of them feel comfortable lighting a hannukiah by a window that faces the street, showing every passerby that a Jewish person lives in that home?

In truth, I am especially grateful for the safe (and very public) displays of Christmas lights because currently, many Jews worldwide can’t enjoy the same privilege when it comes to Hanukkah. Ask any Jew in America if they would feel safe adorning their front lawn with giant inflatable dreidels, Stars of David and blue and white lights, and you may receive a common response: “Maybe next year.” And to those Jews who are not only keeping their massive Hanukkah symbols up this year, but adding even more, you’re amazing.

Perhaps today, we should be erecting more giant hanukkiahs outside synagogues, not fewer, and displaying them even more prominently in our homes. Next year, I pray we won’t be in survival mode. I recently heard Karen Carpenter’s haunting voice sing “Home for the Holidays” and broke down in tears thinking about Hamas’s hostages in Gaza. 

Today, all I want for Hanukkah is for every single one of those hostages to return home.

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Tabby Refael is an award-winning writer, speaker and weekly columnist for The Jewish Journal of Greater Los Angeles. Follow her on X/Twitter and Instagram @TabbyRefael