Sheikh Abbas Zakhour cuts a striking pose in his sharp black suit and crisp white shirt as the sun sets over the old city of Akko. Abbas has Clooney-esque looks, making it easy to imagine him in whatever movie eventually gets made about his storied life. As we cross the city square hardly anyone passes without greeting him. Jews and Arabs alike talking like old friends.

As Ramadan fasting ends for the day, Sheikh Abbas takes us to the Akko Police Station where the chief of police hosts Muslim and Jewish officers for the breaking of the fast known as the Iftar meal. There we meet more religious leaders from non-Muslim communities as the fast is broken together.

In the winding streets of old Akko, Sheikh Abbas’ family await our arrival with an enormous Iftar spread. Around the table, sit two religious Zionist rabbis, which includes Director of Israeli mediation organization, Mosaica, Rabbi Daniel Roth. There are three sheikhs, several secular Zionist Jews, and four generations of a religious Muslim family. We indulge in homemade spiced lamb and stuffed grape leaves. Their warm welcome isn’t for show—it’s how this Israeli Arab family shares life with its Jewish neighbors.

Conversation turns to the evergreen topic of how Jews and Muslims can live in peaceful coexistence in Israel and around the world. A masterclass of difficult, but positive engagement unfolds as they meander deeper into the complexity of divided societies. The proof of coexistence is before my eyes—rabbis and sheikhs deliberating with trust and respect, in Hebrew, in an Arab home, in a mixed Israeli city.

Back in Tel Aviv, I wonder how Purim will be celebrated this year. Dancing clowns and human bananas don’t fit well with the pall of war. Yet the tradition of dressing up in costume honors Esther, the biblical Jewish Queen of Susa, Persia, who outwits her enemy Haman through her impeccable guise. Haman met his match some 2,500 years ago. It’s Hamas now.

I visit an exuberant family of early West Bank settlers who today have ten children and countless grandchildren. As kids run around with rabbit makeup and tutus, the adults sing loudly to a lone saxophone. The grandparents are pioneers, their children professionals with secular training; their grandchildren a diverse cross section of modern Israel, including an LGBTQ couple. Together they sing and dance to melodies, designed to drown out Haman’s memory.

That evening we made Kiddush at Shabbat with Pauker wine from Kibbutz Nir Oz. We do so in honor of vintner Gideon Pauker who was murdered on October 7th. We also celebrate the recent release of Gadi Mozes from Gaza. Mozes worked in the winery with Pauker. Three weeks ago, it was doubtful the 80-year-old would survive his harrowing experience. Today he is working to build the future of Nir Oz.

As the sun went down Saturday evening, I was at Hostage Square with the thousands of Israelis who turn out every week to call for the release of those still held in Gaza. There are no Purim costumes there, just a bright yellow sea of “Bring them Home.” A potent reminder that the ‘Haman’ of our time is not yet defeated.

That evening, I ended the day talking with a bat, a leopard, and Madonna. A group of young professional friends had gathered to celebrate Purim quietly together. There was friendship, food, and laughter. Conversations were also tinged with moments of sadness. They are a generation of Israelis that has to raise their kids with a loving smile, then put on their own masks everyday, and go to work, just to make our future possible.

In this time of heightened fear, we must recognize that maintaining our Jewish identity while building bridges with our neighbors creates a strong and necessary foundation for survival and hope. Esther’s commitment to her people, combined with the relationships she had beyond her faith, saved the Jews. I glimpsed this same alchemy today. The rabbis and sheikhs conversing, the settler family embracing diversity in their home, the freed hostages advocating and rebuilding, the young professionals pushing through—these aren’t contradictions, these are the glimmers of hope we cling to.

And thankfully, clowns and human bananas were still seen walking the streets of Tel Aviv.

Stephen D. Smith is CEO of Memory Workers and Executive Director Emeritus of USC Shoah Foundation. 

My first trip to Israel in 1977 was life-changing. I had come to learn in a yeshiva, but the experience ignited something much deeper. The land, the history, and the spiritual depth of Israel sparked a passion that I would carry with me for the rest of my life. Although I settled in Los Angeles the following year to work with Rabbi Shlomo (Schwartie) Schwartz on college campuses, that first trip to the Holy Land planted the seed for a future I never could have predicted—one that would eventually lead me to make Israel my home.

In 1984, I took a significant step in my personal and professional journey by founding Jews for Judaism. It was in response to a growing threat: the rise of cults and missionary groups, particularly “Jews for Jesus,” which were aggressively targeting Jews for conversion. These groups, by distorting the Bible and masquerading Christianity in the guise of Judaism, were convincing Jewish individuals to abandon their faith. I knew something had to be done to reconnect Jews with their heritage and their families. Through Jews for Judaism, I set out to counter these efforts by providing educational resources and counseling for those at risk of being led astray.

Over the next forty years, I traveled extensively, speaking to communities around the world, offering spiritual guidance, and helping individuals regain their connection to Judaism. This was a profound source of fulfillment. However, the work I had undertaken was not without its challenges. While successful in many cases, assimilation, intermarriage, and the allure of “Messianic Judaism” made me feel as if I were David fighting Goliath. But we pressed on.

Then, as the internet and social media revolutionized communication, a new wave of challenges emerged. Missionaries, who had operated on street corners and college campuses, quickly adapted to the digital age. They were no longer speaking with one hundred people a day; now, they could reach thousands every hour, infiltrating Jewish homes and dormitory rooms with their persuasive messages. This era of digital outreach required a new approach.

I worked tirelessly to ensure that Jews for Judaism had an internet presence. We launched a highly acclaimed website, created hundreds of YouTube videos, and produced downloadable materials in multiple languages to spread our message worldwide. Nevertheless, well-funded missionaries inundated social media with their deceptive propaganda.

Most disturbing was the explosion of missionary activities targeting Israeli Jews. The tip of the iceberg was the Hebrew ads on Egged buses and preaching on the streets of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. Now, according to a Jerusalem Post article, “Jews for Jesus” has sixty staff members operating in Israel. Along with numerous other missionary Christian groups, they flood the internet with testimonials of Israelis who have accepted Jesus. 

Shockingly, Israeli Channel 2 News claims that more than 20,000 Israelis identify themselves as “messianic Jews” who accept Christian theology in the guise of Judaism. How is this possible?

The missionary challenge in Israel is particularly subtle and it takes advantage of an Israeli society that is highly segmented: one extremely religious and the other secular, sometimes even anti-religious. Additionally, many Israelis have little exposure to Christian theology and see Evangelical Christians as friends who support Israel politically and financially. 

The missionaries’ success made it clear: Jews for Judaism needed to expand its activities in Israel. I therefore decided to move to Israel—not just as a personal choice, but as a commitment to the mission that had shaped my life for over four decades.

Moving to Israel is a natural next step in this journey. It’s not just about the land; it’s about being at the forefront of the ongoing battle to preserve Jewish identity. I am here to continue the work that began in 1984. I am providing counseling and education, and I am using social media to spread a positive, spiritual, and uplifting message about Judaism and its timeless values that have sustained our people for millennia. 

Israel, for me, is not just a place to live—it’s a place to inspire and to ensure that the future of Judaism is as vibrant as the past that has shaped it.

Rabbi Bentzion Kravitz can be reached at info@jewsforjudaism.org

We’ve all watched the videos and have been deeply moved by the sight of newly released Israeli hostages rushing into the arms of their mothers, fathers, wives, siblings. Our hearts and tears overflow seeing these reunions. We are profoundly grateful they are finally safe, prisoners no more. We pray they will heal physically and psychologically from their captivity in hell. 

On Jan. 19 of this year, Romi Gonen, Emily Damari and Doron Steinbrecher were reunited with their mothers before meeting up with the rest of their families. Crying so hard she could barely get the words out, a severely injured Romi spoke to her father via FaceTime, saying, “Abba, I returned alive!” 

On one hand, these incredibly emotional reunions are intimate private moments, yet they have been shared with the entire world. I can’t be the only one who is simultaneously moved by them while also feeling a bit like a voyeur. Shouldn’t these men and women have the right to a little privacy during these life-changing moments? When they hug and kiss their closest loved ones for the first time in months, or well over a year? These are nothing less than scenes of rebirth, a fervently prayed-for second chance at life.  

Judaism puts a premium on privacy, of keeping a separation between public and private spheres. When we uncover what is meant to be private, we dilute its power. This is one reason for the laws of tzniut, awkwardly translated as modesty but more accurately meaning discretion. It’s connected most often with women’s clothing, but tzniut applies to men and women, not only regarding how we dress, but how we speak and behave.  

While our ancestors traveled in the desert after leaving Egypt, their tents were organized to ensure a maximum of family privacy: no one’s tent entrance directly faced another person’s tent entrance. In today’s video-centric, oversharing society, it’s easy to lose sight of the value in keeping private moments private. That’s why I felt conflicted about watching these hostage reunion videos. These moments don’t belong to me. 

Or do they? For a year and a half, we have felt anguish for our brothers and sisters killed or taken hostage by terrorists. We have experienced déjà vu that we were again victims of Holocaust-era atrocities, including seeing gaunt and half-starved survivors rising from their shackles in dark tunnels. Never again was happening again. Can any of us ever forget the look of shock and horror on the face of Shiri Bibas, holding onto her two babies, Ariel and Kfir, as they were dragged away by murderous thugs? We will carry these images forever. 

On Oct. 7, 2023, we became one people as never before. At unimaginable cost, we became one family, political and religious divisions cast aside. With our hearts broken yet determined to continue to choose life, every family of every hostage became our family. Every family of a fallen or injured IDF soldier became our family. We cried for them, prayed for them, campaigned for them, posted their photos on our social media feeds, reminded the world about them, wore their names on our necklaces, named children after the fallen. Personally, I wrote articles about inspiring people such as war widow Hadas Lowenstern, organizations offering social, logistical, financial and emotional support to displaced Israelis and others in need, about learning to tie tzitzit (very inexpertly) for the IDF, and more. Nothing felt like enough, but each action made me feel like I was taking some responsibility, as family members need to do.

Seeing these precious, and yes, intimate moments is a balm to our bruised souls. It is a way for us to share in these agonizingly long overdue moments of victory while giving us more strength for the fight still ahead. 

I still like I’m a bit of a snoop while I watch these reunion videos, but I decided it’s okay to watch them, because I’m part of the family, too. Seeing these precious, and yes, intimate moments is a balm to our bruised souls. It is a way for us to share in these agonizingly long overdue moments of victory while giving us more strength for the fight still ahead. 

May all remaining hostages be released immediately and may God protect our people and our land.

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.  

Over the four years of Joe Biden’s presidency, we devoted a significant amount of time and attention to the growing animosity toward Israel on the political left. The challenges became even more apparent after Oct. 7, as increasing numbers of Democratic politicians and progressive activists aggressively spoke out against the Jewish state and its people. Biden himself was the target of angry criticism from those in his own party for his continued allegiance to Israel, and Kamala Harris struggled throughout her abbreviated campaign to address the issue in a way that reassured her party’s base. 

Weeks after Donald Trump’s return to the Oval Office, we are now receiving frequent and unsettling reminders that neither of our major political parties has a monopoly on anti-Zionism or antisemitism. But just as the anti-Israel voices in the Democratic Party were especially relevant during Biden’s time in the White House, the return of a Republican president means that those same repulsive sentiments will have increased influence in his administration. In both cases, we see a president exerting minimal effort to push back against these forces from within their own party. It does not appear that Trump will be any more successful than his predecessor in neutralizing them.

Case in point: Michael DiMino IV was recently confirmed as Trump’s deputy assistant secretary of state for the Middle East, an odd position for someone who has been quoted saying that the U.S. does not have any critical interests in the Middle East. DiMino has also stated that “vital or existential threats” in the region are “best characterized as minimal to nonexistent,” and that the U.S. role in the region has not provided any benefits. He is on record describing Iran’s missile attack on Israel last year as “fairly moderate” and suggesting that it was not designed to cause real damage.

New Pentagon spokesperson Kingsley Wilson has compared the murders of Israeli infants on October 7 to abortion and repeatedly opposed sending U.S. military aid to Israel during the Gaza war. She argues against American involvement in the Middle East by saying this country should not get involved in “foreign ethnic conflicts” and has posted that “Israel can fight its own wars.” Wilson has a history of antisemitic comments as well, including supportive references to the far-right “great replacement theory” and fierce attacks against lynching victim Leo Frank, a Jewish man wrongly convicted of raping and murdering a child in the early 20th century.

But even Trump’s administration appeared to have hit a breaking point this month when they rescinded a job offer to anti-Israel commentator Daniel Davis, who had been offered the position of deputy director of national intelligence before it was discovered that Davis had suggested that Israel was partially responsible for the Oct. 7 Hamas murders and kidnappings. Davis had described the terrorists’ assault as a “convenient” excuse to justify Israel’s “wanton destruction” in Gaza and criticized U.S. support for Israel’s response to the attacks as a “strategic and moral mistake” and as a “stain on our character as a nation.” 

Fierce bipartisan opposition on Capitol Hill killed Davis’ nomination, but Trump’s allies have been much more circumspect when asked about Elon Musk’s and Steve Bannon’s flirtations with Nazi-related imagery and statements in their public appearances and social media postings. Trump has not bothered to criticize either of his confidantes for their occasional use of pro-Nazi symbolism. 

Biden and Trump have both been stalwart supporters of Israel. But both have been unable and too often unwilling to combat the unavoidable anti-Zionist and antisemitic tendencies in their own parties. It’s disappointing when a president of either party can’t — or won’t — stand up to ethnic hatred and bigotry among his own supporters.  

It’s even more unfortunate when far too many American Jews turn a blind eye to such ugly zealotry when it’s voiced by members of their own party. 

But they’re not the only ones who are willing to engage in such situational outrage: it’s even more unfortunate when far too many American Jews turn a blind eye to such ugly zealotry when it’s voiced by members of their own party. Biden and Trump are merely politicians, for whom the next election is the only thing that matters. The rest of us should know better.

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.