The emergence of the modern State of Israel is one of the wonders of world history. After nearly 2,000 years of dispersion, the Jewish people has reclaimed their historic homeland. We feel the power and joy of the Psalmist’s words: “When the Lord turned back the captivity of Zion we were as in a dream.”  We are experiencing the fulfillment of centuries of Jewish dreams.

Israel has created a vibrant democracy. With a tiny population of around 10 million people (20% of whom are not Jewish) it has become a world leader in science, technology, medicine, agriculture and more. It has developed a remarkable military to defend its citizens from intractable enemies. It is ranked among the happiest and most creative countries in the world.

Yet, amazingly, some Jews have not shared the profound gratitude for the Jewish return to Zion. Not only have they not embraced Zionism, but they have been vocal and active opponents of the State of Israel.

Some of the Jewish anti-Zionists are found among Haredi Jews. Others are found among far left-wing Jews who buy into the anti-Zionist preachments of the “radical left.” Yet others are highly idealistic Jews who focus on Israel’s real or imagined faults and don’t want themselves to be associated with those faults.

Although the Jewish critics of Israel are diverse, they seem to have one thing in common. They insist that the Jewish state be inhumanly perfect.

The Haredi opponents will only be content with a miraculous establishment of Jewish sovereignty in Messianic times. They see modern Israel as the creation of a secular movement led in large measure by nonreligious Jews. For such Haredim, a Jewish state will always be illegitimate until God sends us the Messiah and when all Jews become thoroughly observant of Torah to the satisfaction of Haredi rabbis.

To “left wing” and “idealistic” opponents, a Jewish state will never be satisfactory as long as Jews have to wage wars, kill enemies, rule over non-Jews, engage in political infighting, deal with social inequalities etc.  For them, these are unseemly things that must not exist among Jews. Yes, all other nations have these issues, often to a far greater degree than Israel; but all other nations are not expected to be perfect. Only Israel is supposed to be above all negative features of modern statehood.

Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook (1865-1935) noted that “the great idealists seek an order so noble, so firm and pure, beyond what may be found in the world of reality, and thus they destroy what has been fashioned in conformity to the norms of the world.”  Such people, through their unrealistic religiosity or idealism, in fact are part of what Rav Kook called “the world of chaos” rather than “the world of order.”  Misguided idealism is destructive. Insisting that Jews be “angels” rather than real human beings is also a form of antisemitism.

Already in the 19th century, Rabbi Yehuda Alkalai (1798-1878) lamented that rabbis of his time opposed resettlement of Jews in Israel until Messianic times. He rebuked those “who say with full mouth that Jerusalem was only created for the sake of Torah study. While their intention is acceptable, their deeds are unacceptable. It is impossible to conduct life in this world as though it were the world-to-come, where there is no need to eat or drink.”

The reality is that Israel is composed of actual human beings living under challenging conditions.  Israel has to deal with Iran, Hamas, Hezbollah, Houthis and others who seek its destruction. It has to deal with terrorism, anti-Israel attitudes in the Arab world and beyond, economic boycotts and sanctions. Israeli society is faced with rivalries between political left and right, religious and nonreligious, Sephardic and Ashkenazic, rich and poor … and more. Yes, Israel is a real country with real problems; Israelis are human beings who must make decisions that often involve unpleasantness. We are not living in Messianic times.  

The future of Israel and the Jewish People will be secured by those who share the dream of a Jewish homeland that strives to be a “light unto the nations.”  The goal is to make Israel as great as humanly possible.

For Jewish critics to demand the impossible is not only unrealistic: it is dangerous and self-destructive.

Rabbi Marc D. Angel is Director of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, jewishideas.org, and rabbi emeritus of the historic Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of New York City.

I recently called my best friend, crying about the Bibas family. 

“I know, it’s so hard,” she said. 

“It seems like the world hates us,” I responded. 

“I was born a Jew,” she told me. “I don’t understand why you would choose to be a Jew with everything that comes with it. It’s amazing, but it’s so hard.” 

I told her, “Yes, being Jewish has its tough moments, especially now. But when I wasn’t Jewish, the tough moment was all the time. I was spiritually empty. I didn’t have a happy life. I would much rather have a meaningful life with tough moments sometimes. I was so dehydrated, and I didn’t even know it. The Torah was my water.” 

She said, “Wow, I never thought of it that way.”

Before I was Jewish, I was depressed and anxious most days. I thought, “What am I living for?” I was an atheist with no God to turn to. The weight of the world was on my shoulders, and mine alone. 

If I failed, it was my fault. When I achieved success – which I did! I had good grades! And amazing internships! And my whole life ahead of me! –  it still didn’t make me truly happy. I would go to concerts and parties and have fun with my friends, but once the moment was over, I’d feel empty inside once again. 

With Judaism, with God, my life is completely different now. I experience true joy and fulfillment. The world is no longer on my shoulders. I am able to see the bigger picture. Even if I don’t know what’s unfolding, I trust God has a plan. I’ll admit, it’s been a little bit harder to trust lately with everything that’s happening, but I still try. It’s much better than the alternative.

In my former life, when I was in darkness, I was all alone. Now, if I am feeling down, I have an entire Jewish community who are there for me. This was especially crucial these past few weeks, when the news coming out of Israel has been so bleak.  

In my former life, when I was in darkness, I was all alone. Now, if I am feeling down, I have an entire Jewish community who are there for me.

Comparing my life today, and my life before I converted, I follow a lot of “rules” as an observant Jew. I can’t eat at certain restaurants or use my phone on Shabbat. I have to give up seeing my favorite bands in concert if they’re playing on a Friday night or not go to family celebrations if they’re on a Jewish holiday. It’s not always easy. 

However, what I gained by converting to Judaism is a much more meaningful life. I can always make it work. If I believe in Hashem, if I step it up for Him, He steps it up for me. If I go beyond my comfort zone, I see Him more in my life.

If you are a Jew by birth and struggling, here’s the truth: Being Jewish is a gift. It’s an honor. You have a special mission to spread light and help people inside and outside of the Jewish community. You are here to spread the word of God and make people realize we are not alone; we always have Him to rely on. 

It’s time to fight the darkness. Go to a Chabad house for Friday night dinner. Volunteer at a soup kitchen. Walk a dog at a shelter. Give a friend in need a call. Visit a senior citizen in a nursing home. Stand up and declare yourself a proud Jew. 

We are in a difficult moment, but it will pass – sooner, if we step it up. 

With our actions, we can speed up our healing. With our actions, we can bring about peace and spread love. And with our actions, we can – truly – save the world.

What an honor. 

Kylie Ora Lobell is an award-winning writer and Community Editor of the Jewish Journal. You can find Kylie on X @KylieOraLobell or Instagram @KylieOraWriter.

My friend Laura invited me for a girls’ night out with our mutual friend Esther. When she told me the destination, I hesitated. It was a place of dark temptation for me, a place I hadn’t dared visit for years.  

“Come on,” Laura said, teasingly. “You know you want to.”

“I’ll drive,” I said, and picked up my girlfriends after dinner. Esther was practically bouncing on her seat. “I’m so excited!” she said.

I was too, though I feared falling off the wagon. After 20 minutes we had arrived and were standing outside the car, looking at the bright, beckoning entrance. Esther raised her arms and asked, “Do I hear a battle cry?” 

“Hoo-yah!” shouted Laura, who has a relative in the military and knows these things.

The three of us marched together for Girls Night Out into the surging crowds within Costco. My friends steered their oversized carts, hunting for bargains while I stood in line for my new membership card. I was minutes away from the privilege of buying shampoos, bottles of ibuprofen, and industrial-sized boxes of cereal, all in triplicate.  

As empty nesters, we needed very little in bulk, except for dark roast coffee pods and chocolate chips. Yet Costco was already selling shmura matzah and grape juice for Pesach at unbeatable prices. They’d sell out in a flash. The woman at the membership desk welcomed me back into the Costco family, and urged me to upgrade to the executive level, so I could also get discounts on travel, optical, pharmacy and even cars. “Do you need a new car?” she asked, pointing to a digital screen displaying handsome cars with burly tires.  

I declined the offer, took my card, and searched for my friends, but was waylaid by a display of cool-looking bread machines. As a salesman praised its features, I realized this bread machine lookalike was actually a countertop composting machine. It would take all my food scraps, coffee grounds, and eggshells and make them into … dirt! The fact that I continued to listen to anything he said after using the word “compost” proved that I had already fallen into that dangerous consumer trance that had resulted in my husband getting a restraining order against me from coming within 400 feet of any Costco. For years, I had only driven by the store, feeling wistful but chastened.  

Laura pulled me away. “We’re here for Pesach bargains, remember?” I nodded slowly, pushing my cart in an aisle as wide as an airline runway. We found Esther examining a display of organic cotton sheets, but then she had to talk me away from a $400 inflatable family lounge pool. If only so many retail stores didn’t keep closing, I wouldn’t be so captivated by seeing real stuff in real life. I also like seeing the real people who shop for real things, except for the ones who shop in their pajamas and the ones who’ve pierced their nostrils with big honking rings, like bulls. What were they thinking? I’m always tempted to ask.

It was too cold to stay in the produce department for very long, and anyway, what would I do with a four-pound bag of peeled garlic? I quickly tossed a box of cremini mushrooms, a jumbo bag of broccoli (visualizing many quiches in my future), cocktail cucumbers, mini peppers, and strawberries in my vast cart 

As kosher consumers, we searched for kosher symbols throughout the bakery section, and Laura was determined to find hamantaschen rumored to be there. She triumphantly found them, and I was relieved that most everything else wasn’t kosher. Those beautiful croissants were the size of my hubcaps. Must have been at least 450 calories each.  

We scored with the matzah and the grape juice. Those bottles are so huge that from now till Pesach I’ll use them as free weights. 

We scored with the matzah and the grape juice. Those bottles are so huge that from now till Pesach I’ll use them as free weights. On the way toward the check out, I resisted Ghirardelli cake mixes, an aquarium-sized bucket of pretzels, and a three-pack moisturizer with collagen. 

Our Girls Night Out was a success, and I’m planning to go back soon. In barely one circuit of the store I tallied more than 3,000 steps, and still arrived home without a composting machine or an inflatable pool.

Judy Gruen is the author of “Bylines and Blessings,” “The Skeptic and the Rabbi,” and other books. She is also a book editor and writing coach.  

In anticipation of writing this year’s Purim column, I realized that I am hopelessly ambivalent about Purim 5785. Last year was difficult enough. But considering the unimaginable pain that collective Jewry, and especially Israelis, have faced in the past few weeks in particular, we can hardly be blamed for wanting to sit this Purim out. 

But stepping back would entirely miss the point of this special holiday. After all, Purim is a ritualized observance of a time when vicious antisemites were annihilated, and Jews were saved and redeemed through a hidden miracle. Between pager mishaps in Lebanon that destroyed Jew-haters, and miraculously empty buses filled with explosives in Israel, that sounds like the essence of Purim to me. 

Each year, I ask myself what I could write about Purim that I have not written before. That includes many past lamentations over the fact that hamantaschen does not have to be the de facto Purim treat, because, until the mid-20th century, half of world Jewry had never even heard of it. And that includes Iranian Jews, who live in the same land as the Purim story took place!

Recently, I began paying closer attention to the multitude of Jews that exist in the world (me included). So many types of Jews: the Trump lovers, and the ones who wouldn’t hesitate to run over Trump in a semi-lit alley. The observant Jews, and the ones who still don’t believe that oatmeal constitutes chametz during Passover. The Oct. 8 Jews, and the ones who would be more interested in touring a Libyan prison than setting foot in Israel.

Twenty-five hundred years ago, when G-d saved the Jewish people from genocide in the ancient Persian provinces, He must have done so because He saw something in us that was worth saving. Also, He had promised us that we would one day become a great nation (and that there would be no more Noah-style floods). For over 3,000 years, we’ve gently reminded G-d of the age-old kindergartener proverb: No takesies backsies.

Twenty-five hundred years ago, when G-d saved the Jewish people from genocide in the ancient Persian provinces, He must have done so because He saw something in us that was worth saving.

When Mordechai famously informed Esther that if she did not save her people, salvation would arrive nevertheless, and that perhaps she had been born to lead at such a moment, he must have seen something worthy in his fellow Jews. It made me wonder whether Jews in 2025/5785 could look our ancient Mordechai and Queen Esther in the eyes and truthfully answer a few questions. 

This is not to say that Jews today (or ever) need to prove they are worthy — worthy of life, safety, freedom and basic human dignity. We are worthy because we are here; we are not here because we are worthy. A Jew’s basic worth requires no justification. It does not have to be earned.

Still, I often wonder if we have squandered what Esther and Mordechai begged and fought for, and Jews around the world died to preserve. If the heroes of our sacred Purim Megillah could visit us today, here is what they might ask:

Question #1: Do you stop to recognize the ongoing miracles that G-d has provided for the Jewish people?

On Thursday, February 20, three public buses exploded in Bat Yam and Holon, in central Israel. Bomb disposal units found at least two other devices, still unexploded, as well as other suspicious objects. The bombs were set to rip through the public transport vehicles at 9 a.m. Friday morning, just in time for rush hour. Instead, a vigilant young woman reported one of the devices to a bus driver, the vehicles were emptied, and they mistakenly exploded at 9 p.m. Hamas was believed to bear responsibility.

This was one of the greatest miracles in the last several decades of Israeli history. On the same dark day that we learned that Hamas had murdered Shiri, Ariel and Kfir Bibas, and 84-year-old Oded Lifshitz, scores of Israelis could have been mass-murdered on or near many buses. 

Did most Jews worldwide even know about this unbelievable miracle? Did most of the ones who knew even bat an eye? And did those who immediately recognized the miracle and thanked G-d return to their normal, hectic lives a few minutes after, including many Israelis themselves?

Miracles are like good weather; when they occur, we seldom notice. It is only in their absence that we finally realize their precious impact on our lives. The Jews who were saved in the Persian provinces during the time of Esther and Mordechai consecrated their miracle by proclaiming fast days and Purim observance each year. Over two millennia later, we still consecrate this miracle.  

Miracles are like good weather; when they occur, we seldom notice. 

Question #2: Did you distance yourself from your people and your eternal homeland, but to no avail?

Want to grasp the imminent fate that has befallen nearly all Jews who, throughout history, have walked away from their own and tried to win the hearts of their enemies, from ancient Egypt to today’s Israel-loathing Jews? Perhaps this fatalistic pattern can be encapsulated in a recent Facebook post in which someone wrote the words of a famous Jewish actor who declared that he had been told what he claimed were lies about the Jewish state. The post features his photo and his words: “As a Jewish person, I was fed a huge amount of lies about Israel my whole life.”

One would think that such an admission would satiate our enemies, that it would placate those who have long thought that millions of Jewish children were brainwashed about their own history and connection to the land of Israel. Now this was their preferred Jew. They could have adorned his head with a crown of shrapnel from Hezbollah. 

Not exactly. 

The top comment in response to that post came from someone named Mohamed, who wrote to the Jewish actor, “OK man. Now go to Poland please.”

And there you have it. 

On February 21, the day we learned that Hamas choked Ariel Bibas — four years old when he was kidnapped — and his baby brother, Kfir, who was only 10 months old — to death,  there were still Jews around the world, especially in America, who did not know, or who knew, but went about their lives because their Jewish identity probably ranked eleventh on their Top Ten List of Self-Identification, most likely falling somewhere after their preference for tacos over pizza. 

That night, they joined co-workers and friends at happy hour, dinner, movies and other activities. No one demanded that they remain home and mourn. But it would have been nice if they had acted remotely stoic while at work (or at the bar or the restaurant). Perhaps someone would have asked them if something was wrong. Perhaps they would have said that because they are Jewish, even in name, on that day, they were not okay. 

Question #3: Do you carve out time to discover what it really means to be a Jew?

If only I had experienced even one day of formal Jewish education as a child, I wouldn’t have been left with the Jewish knowledge of a second grader in my early 20s. I did not know who I was. Worse, I could hardly explain myself to others. 

One of the reasons I am often in awe of converts to Judaism is that unlike those who were born Jewish, converts took the time and effort to learn what it means to be a Jew. Sometimes it seems that we spend more time settling on what we are going to watch on streaming services than learning anything related to Judaism. In fact, a 2024 survey of 2,000 Americans who subscribe to streaming services found that, on average, we spend 110 hours per year scrolling and searching for something to watch.  

If I had invested 110 hours in learning Hebrew, I could have yelled back at every Israeli cab driver, motorist, pedestrian, shawarma stall line cook, waiter, busboy, and government coalition member by now. Instead, I spent that time deciding whether to watch “Twins” or “Sixteen Candles” on Netflix. I don’t know how I will ever explain that one to Esther or Mordechai.

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