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Jewish Journal

Connect. Inform. Inspire.

October 22, 2025

The White House and the Beginning of Wisdom

Judaism /

“We gather on a day of profound joy, of soaring hope, of renewed faith, and above all, a day to give our deepest thanks to the Almighty God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob,” President Trump said in beginning his recent address to Israel’s Knesset. The invocation of the biblical patriarchs, whose story is told in Genesis – which we have recently begun reading in the weekly parsha cycle – is not surprising. American leaders have long had an affinity for that first of the Five Books of Moses. 

John Adams mined Genesis for meaning throughout his life. In 1787, he wrote to Thomas Jefferson regarding the propensity of people to be ruled by their unrestrained passions. “Lessons, my dear Sir, are never wanting. Life and History are full. The Loss of Paradise by eating a forbidden apple has been many Thousand years a Lesson to Mankind, but not much regarded.”

Decades later, the 84-year-old former president wrote to the Jewish former diplomat Mordecai Manuel Noah, “Your God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob is our God. … I really wish the Jews again in Judea an independent nation.”

Adams’ son, John Quincy Adams, also cited the Bible’s opening stories. Lamenting a series of British newspaper articles that rejoiced over George Washington’s decision to retire after two presidential terms, John Quincy, in a 1796 letter to his friend Johan Luzac, decried “the calumny of English spirits beholding the felicity of the Americans as Satan,” who led astray “our first parents in the Garden of Eden.”

In 1854, Andrew Johnson, a former tailor, wrote that he was not ashamed of his pre-presidential profession, since “Adam, our great father and head, the lord of the world, was a tailor by trade, for in the history of Adam and Eve as given by Moses, we get the original idea of sewing.” Johnson was alluding to Genesis 3:7’s description of the first couple covering their nakedness with fig leaves fashioned into makeshift clothes.

Abraham Lincoln also picked up this thread. In an April 1858 “Lecture on Discoveries and Inventions,” which he subsequently repeated multiple times throughout the U.S. prior to being elected president, he noted how “Abraham mentions ‘thread’ in such connection as to indicate that spinning and weaving were in use in his day – Gen. 14.23… The above mention of ‘thread’ by Abraham is the oldest recorded alusion to spinning and weaving; and it was made about 2,000 years after the creation of man, and now, near 4,000 years ago. Profane authors think these arts originated in Egypt; and this is not contradicted, or made improbable, by any thing in the Bible; for the alusion of Abraham, mentioned, was not made until after he had sojourned in Egypt.”

In addition to Adam and Abraham, American leaders have turned to another one of Genesis’ central figures, Noah, in appreciating how history’s early heroes allowed humanity to flourish. Grover Cleveland, in 1891, expressed his admiration for how “the construction of the ark was the turning-point in the scheme for the perpetuation of the human race. The builder’s work in that emergency saved mankind from a watery grave.” Almost a century later, in 1976, Jimmy Carter effused over the ark constructor’s conviction. “You can imagine what Noah went through living back in the mountains building his ship. You can imagine what the neighbors said to him. The ridicule [over his warnings of a flood] must have been unbearable, but his faith let him survive.”

Adam and Abraham’s presidential popularity, in the meantime, has continued. 

Herbert Hoover, in 1931, made reference to Adam’s sons when he declared, “Modern society cannot survive with the defense of Cain, ‘Am I my brother’s keeper [Genesis 4:9]?’ no governmental action, no economic doctrine, no economic plan or project can replace that God-imposed responsibility of the individual man and woman to their neighbors. That is a vital part of the very soul of a people.”

Commenting on the nuclear arms race in 1960, John F. Kennedy ruefully noted “We and the Russians now have the power to destroy with one blow one-quarter of the earth’s population – a feat not accomplished since Cain slew Abel.”

In Washington, D.C., on April 29, 1964, President Lyndon B. Johnson invited civil rights leaders to band together to ensure a more equal society. He invoked the story of Abraham and his nephew Lot’s dwelling together in the Promised Land in harmony. “Inspire us with renewed faith …” Johnson appealed. “Inspire and challenge us to put our principles into action. For the future of our faith is at stake, and the future of this Nation is at stake. As the Old Testament pleads, ‘Let there be no strife, I pray, between you and me, and between my herdmen and your herdmen, because we are brothers.’ So do we plead today. Yes, we are all brothers, and brothers together must build this great Nation into a great family, so that a hundred years from now in this house every man and woman present today will have their name pointed to with pride because in the hour of our greatest trial, we were willing to answer the roll and to stand up and be counted for morality and right.”

Bill Clinton cited the same story at a 1995 signing ceremony for the Israeli-Palestinian West Bank Accord. Clinton declared, “You, the children of Abraham, have made a peace worthy of your great forebear. Abraham, patriarch of both Arabs and Jews, sacrificed power for peace when he said to his nephew Lot ‘Let there be no strife …’ Clinton then continued: “Patience and persistence, courage and sacrifice: these are the virtues, then, as now, that set peacemakers apart.”

More recently, President Joe Biden, in his remarks in Israel 11 days after Hamas’ Oct. 7, 2023 attack, offered comfort by evoking the Jewish practice of, after reading the end of the Torah, returning to the story of Creation in Genesis’ opening verses. In this initial scriptural passage, God proclaims, “Let there be light” and Adam and Eve are formed. “After reading the story of Moses’ death, those who observe the holiday begin reading the Torah from the very beginning,” Biden remarked. “The story of creation reminds us of two things.  First, that when we get knocked down, we get back up again and we begin anew.  And second, when we are faced with tragedy and loss, we must go back to the beginning and remember who we are. We are all human beings created in the image of God with dignity, humanity and purpose. In the darkness, to be the light unto the world is what we’re about.”

During this era of refreshed hope for the expansion of the fittingly-named Abraham Accords in the weeks ahead – while Genesis continues to be read in synagogues worldwide – the Bible’s first book carries on as a customary fountain of wisdom for the White House.

Rabbi Dr. Stuart Halpern is Senior Adviser to the Provost of Yeshiva University and Deputy Director of Y.U.’s Straus Center for Torah and Western Thought. His books include the newly released “Jewish Roots of American Liberty,” “The Promise of Liberty: A Passover Haggada,” “Esther in America,” “Gleanings: Reflections on Ruth” and “Proclaim Liberty Throughout the Land: The Hebrew Bible in the United States.”

The White House and the Beginning of Wisdom Read More »

Ten Secrets to Academic Success | Become an Identity Zionist — Whether or Not You’re Jewish

Commentary, Opinion /

Others in the series:

#1: Remember Why You’re Going to College

#2: Give Yourself the College Orientation You Deserve

#3: Great Debates About Great Books Yield Deep Knowledge, Sharp Minds and Constructive Citizens

#4 Make for Yourself a Teacher – Acquire a Friend

#5 Turn It Off! Managing Social Media, Middle East Minefields, and Political Difference

#6 Fighting Educational Malpractice Personally: What Do I Do with a Politicized Prof – or Teacher

#7 Fighting Educational Malpractice Institutionally: A Consumer Rights Issue

#8 Distinguishing Fair Criticism of Israel from Anti-Zionist Antisemitism

#9 Celebrate Old-Fashioned, Academic Liberalism

In 2018, when I published “The Zionist Ideas,” I considered writing a graphic novel to accompany it. I had organized 150-years-worth of Zionist thinkers into six schools. Given that the Jewish star is six-pointed, a clever artist could draw a face in the middle. Each of the six triangles would represent one Zionist vision as the star – representing the Jewish people – would evolve, react, grow: for example, drooping during the Holocaust but blossoming in 1948 and 1967.

I wanted to bring alive two essential, often-underappreciated, ideas. First, that, despite our challenges, we’re living a miracle. And second, that liberalism and Zionism – and in Israel, liberal-democratic Zionism – created these human-made marvels.

It’s mind-boggling. The beaten, battered, scattered, wandering Jews today have a thriving home, while most Jews, worldwide, wake up in freedom and prosperity.  A Jewish “misery index,” calculating what percentage of Jews in 1800, 1900, 1940, endured antisemitism, authoritarianism and poverty, would have sky-high numbers. Even in 1990, 2 million Soviet Jews had few rights. Today, most Jews live well wherever they are.

Liberalism and Zionism fueled those successes. Most Jews today live in liberal democracies. Eighty-seven percent live in Israel or the United States. Zionism and Americanism are two of the most successful forms of liberal-democratic nationalism.

Among the world’s democracies, Israel and America form a more exclusive club. Living in their respective Promised Lands, Israelis and Americans enjoy their “Over the Rainbow Democracies.” These catalytic, idealistic societies tell their citizens that what Dorothy imagined in The Wizard of Oz is possible: “the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true” – individually and collectively.

The Zionist dream and the American dream rhyme much more than they clash. True, there are differences. Israelis effectively anchor themselves in a multi-generational story, and have a sense of “us,” meaning tradition, patriotism and collective responsibility. Americans are better at the “I,” from honing a strong commitment to civil liberties to unleashing individuals to soar.

Still, both Zionism and Americanism created successful societies, dynamic polities, creative cultures. That’s why haters burn Israeli and American flags together and why much anti-Zionism and anti-Americanism overlap. Both countries threaten the Jihadists and nihilists who want to build societies based on authoritarianism not freedom, on fanaticism not creativity or genuine diversity of expression.

Harvard’s happiness guru, Arthur C. Brooks, explains that progressing toward a desired goal generates joy, individually and collectively. His “Progress Principle” emphasizes the journey, not the arrival. “Over the Rainbow Democracies” are cursed by the Progress Paradox too — especially on campus. Living in idealistic, mission-driven countries makes many Americans and Israelis happy – which is most important. But chasing lofty ideals also intensifies citizens’ disappointment when their countries fall short — as totalitarian hypocrites blast even minor shortcomings yet excuse our enemies’ major, intentional, abuses. That’s how so many students and professors can glorify the genocidal rapists of Hamas while shouting death to their neighbors, meaning proud Americans, not “just” the Jews.

Still, living in these dynamic dream factories keeps both nations advancing rather than complacent. History has vindicated American and Israeli optimism. Unlocking the gates of hope with constructive actions avoids a paralyzing despair. And both Americanism and Zionism vindicated that often-targeted term today, nationalism.

Growing up in New York, being a proud American made me a good Zionist — because the democracy and dignity the American Revolution spawned shape Zionism too. Being a good Zionist made me a better American — because you must know who you are to know what you stand for. Being so rooted wasn’t about what critics call “blood and soil” nationalism; it was about common-sense citizenship. These healthy national identities made me a better world citizen. While totalitarians who love humanity cold-bloodedly sacrifice humans willy-nilly, liberal democrats believe more is more — more liberty, democracy, prosperity, equality, justice and quality of life, which keeps expanding exponentially.

My nationalism has a first and middle name – it’s Liberal-Democratic Nationalism. And my Zionism is liberal and democratic too. Although the Zionist idea comes from the Bible and runs 3,500 years back into our homeland, drilling into our essence as a people, the Zionist movement is modern. Since Theodor Herzl formally founded it at Basel in 1897, Zionism has been committed to creating a liberal-democratic Jewish state on the Jewish homeland, intertwining liberalism into our old-new DNA. Of course, the intellectual foundations of liberal democracy, acknowledging every individual’s inherent dignity, promising equality, liberty, justice, come from the Bible – centuries before the Greeks.

Still, today, I most emphasize Identity Zionism. Identity Zionism builds a big, welcoming tent on Judaism’s peoplehood platform, from left to right, for religious, traditional and secular. Countering the trends of loneliness and purposelessness today, Zionism offers Jews roots, a family and a compass. It positions Jews in history, belonging to this amazing story, these world-changing, life-changing adventures called Judaism, the Jewish people, the State of Israel. It connects Jews to one another, as they work, celebrate, interact, grow together intimately, and as they care about their brothers and sisters scattered worldwide. And Zionism helps give Jews a purpose, a vision, thinking what it means to be a free people in our homeland.

Identity Zionism builds a big, welcoming tent on Judaism’s peoplehood platform, from left to right, for religious, traditional, and secular. Countering the trends of loneliness and purposelessness today, Zionism offers Jews roots, a family, and a compass.

All that tradition, connectedness and meaning reflects counter-cultural certitudes that many hyper-individualist, super-fluid, cosmopolitan, nihilistic professors detest. When you add some good old-fashioned antisemitism and the romanticization of the Palestinian “oppressed,” you get some insight into the anti-Zionist mania overrunning so many campuses.

But this kind of identity building also offers a broader formula for happiness and for healing what afflicts many students – and much of America today. In a world where Joe Biden’s Surgeon General warned about the loneliness and mental health epidemics, facing the listlessness, alienation, cynicism, materialism and superficiality of pop culture, Zionism offers an alternative that both Jews and non-Jews yearn for – and could learn from.

True, in my graphic novel, my six-pointed star would have been diminished, bruised, bloodied, blackened, on Oct. 7, 2023. But, thanks to Zionism, today, we’re living a happy ending. My final image now would be the freed hostages dancing with a blooming, straight-backed, blue-and-white star – in victory and pride.

Gil Troy, a senior fellow in Zionist thought at the Jewish People Policy Institute, is an American presidential historian. Last year he published, “To Resist the Academic Intifada: Letters to My Students on Defending the Zionist Dream” and “The Essential Guide to October 7th and its Aftermath.” His latest, “The Essential Guide to Zionism, Anti-Zionism, Antisemitism and Jew-hatred” was just published and can be downloaded on the JPPI Website. 

Ten Secrets to Academic Success | Become an Identity Zionist — Whether or Not You’re Jewish Read More »

Tribute to Rabbi Moshe Hauer zt”l

Obituaries /

I remember exactly when I first heard from Rabbi Moshe Hauer. It was a Saturday night in early December 2021. “We have not met,” the email began, but he “wanted to express appreciation” for a legal brief I had written on behalf of the Orthodox Union (OU). The note was brief and characteristically gracious — and it was the first of many we would exchange in the years that followed. What stood out to him about the brief — and what would become a recurring theme in those many conversations — was how proud he was that it articulated “the embracing nature of religion in the life of an Orthodox Jew.” That line, and the pride he took in it, said everything about how he viewed faith: expansive rather than defensive, confident rather than cautious.

That short exchange was my introduction to a man whose reach across the Jewish world was extraordinary. So many people knew him far better than I did — students, rabbis, colleagues and friends who had spent decades learning from his wisdom and warmth. But from that very first note, his integrity came through unmistakably in all our conversations. His words reflected a conviction that religious life, at its best, could hold complexity without compromise, and that genuine leadership meant living one’s principles as naturally as one articulated them.

Over the next four years, we spoke regularly — typically when he asked me to take on a legal advocacy project for the OU — conversations that often turned to legal strategy and the halakhic and hashkafic principles that should guide it. Through that work, I came to see the consistency that defined him: he always led with principle. And he believed that the strength of one’s commitments could coexist with genuine openness — that integrity required both.

He sometimes called me his “advocacy chavrusah,” a title that captured the spirited debates that defined so many of our exchanges. We debated — sometimes intensely — how to frame an argument, where values should set limits, and when prudence should give way to principle. When we found ourselves on opposite sides of an issue, his persuasion was never forceful. Yet it was impossible to ignore. His arguments carried weight not because he insisted on being right, but because they reflected thoughtfulness and integrity. More than once, his clarity and conviction got me to change my mind, even on issues where I was certain of my own position. But that same integrity left him open to challenge. He listened with seriousness and was never afraid to change his mind when counterarguments demanded it. Sometimes he convinced me, sometimes I convinced him—but most of the time, after hashing out an issue, we realized that we didn’t actually disagree. For him, disagreement was never a threat to conviction; it was the way conviction was refined.

Over time, I began to realize that what made him such a powerful voice within OU— and far beyond it — was not only his intellect or eloquence, but the rare steadiness with which he lived his values. In a communal landscape too often marked by posturing and polarization, he modeled something different: conviction without rigidity, confidence without ego. He believed that ideas mattered, that words carried weight and that leadership required the courage to stand on principle even when consensus lay elsewhere. That combination of moral seriousness and genuine humility is what so many people saw in him — and why his passing has been felt in so many corners of Jewish life.

I will miss those opportunities to engage with him, to use his phrase, b’chavrusah. It is rare to find someone in Jewish communal leadership with so much to share and teach who also is so open to learning. But when wisdom and integrity are your calling cards, it can be no other way.

Yehei zichro baruch — may his memory be a blessing. 

Michael A. Helfand is the Brenden Mann Foundation Chair in Law and Religion and Co-Director of the Nootbaar Institute on Law, Religion and Ethics at Pepperdine Caruso School of Law; Senior Fellow at the Shalom Hartman Institute; and Senior Legal Advisor to the Orthodox Union’s Teach Coalition.

Tribute to Rabbi Moshe Hauer zt”l Read More »

Strolling Among the Redwood

Poetry /

I stroll the remnants of the ancient forest

Redwoods reach past their own sheltered shade.

Ancient pillars, that catch the sun,

creating home and haven

for the forest folk, and for those who merely visit.

Their glory is not in their imposing height or even their hoary age,

but in the buried weaving of shared roots below,

each towering tree nestled and supported

by its children, siblings, parents and neighbors,

the network of roots sustaining a grove.

So too my ancient wandering people —

our resilience is found not in the solitary soul,

but in the communion of us all,

living and dead,

local and dispersed,

our souls entwined together behind the veil of vision,

bound in the bonds of life,

holding one another to endure and to triumph.

The redwood survives centuries,

scarred yet standing,

its rings a record of every drought and flood.

So too my people Israel,

enduring the scars and wounds of exile and return,

each generation another ring of Torah,

another circle of our sacred song.

When one ancient trunk falls to the forest floor,

Supple shoots spring from the decaying stump,

life insisting on life, stronger still than death.

So too my people —

from ashes, new communities.

From silence, new melodies.

From wandering, new homes.

From memories, renewed vitality.

With the redwoods we witness:

“Stand tall, lean on each other, survive and thrive.”

Our Jewish hearts respond:

“We remember, we renew, we return.”

We begin again.

Rabbi Dr. Bradley Shavit Artson (www.bradartson.com), a Contributing Writer of the Jewish Journal, holds the Abner and Roslyn Goldstine Dean’s Chair of the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies and is Vice President of American Jewish University in Los Angeles. He is also Rabbinic Leader of the Abraham Joshua Heschel Seminary in Potsdam, Germany, ordaining Conservative rabbis for Europe. He is currently completing a new book, “Wells of Wisdom: Ancient Insight to Thrive.”

Strolling Among the Redwood Read More »

Day of the Living

Columnists /

[Part II in Marcus J Freed’s series “Facing Death: innovative insights on our final destination”]

I am writing from central Mexico where preparations are underway for the annual Día de Muertos, the Day of the Dead. Bejeweled skulls are on sale in stores with their ornate morbidity. Families are preparing for their festive graveside picnics by deceased relatives’ tombstones, and makeup is being chosen for painting skulls on picnickers’ faces. Meanwhile I’m just trying to get to shul each day to say kaddish for my dear Dad who passed away in January. To use my father’s words, I need this morbidity like a hole in the head, since this year every day feels like a Day of the Dead.

I met a beautiful woman here, and we went on a dinner party date with another couple. She’s a relationship coach who speaks with great authority on how to achieve marital success, despite being single and never married.

“I’m also a medium,” she said at the dinner gathering before sharing an anecdote of a recent exorcism she performed at a nearby house. Since death is regularly on my mind, I exorcized myself from the table until she switched to cheerier subjects like the shopping list of requirements she has for her dream husband.

As with so many dates these days, the bottom line is: “I want a man who is masculine! A man who is strong! A man who will lead! And this is how I want him to lead — by doing A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H.”

Heaven forbid this fantasy strong masculine man-leader does not do exactly what he is told, and lead in the precise way that he is instructed.

With all this Day of the Dead vibe, part of me wonders if I didn’t actually die on the operating table at Cedars-Sinai on the third of November 2017, after being hit by a car and having a near-death experience. It feels like I’m a ghost stuck in an endless hellscape that is the Jewish dating scene for people over the age of 35. I need a Kabbalist-exorcist to extricate me from this dystopic relationship wasteland.

There is a beauty to Day of the Dead — much like the peaceful joy of the movie “Coco,” rather than the drug-fueled chaos of “Beetlejuice” (the original movie, rather than its recent bizarre sequel). There is a time for a franchise to die a peaceful death, rather like Daniel Craig’s final outing as James Bond, who was finally defeated by the toughest Bond villain of them all: 21st-century toxic feminism. 

We walked past a cemetery on the way back from shul on Friday night, and I stopped to take a look. There was a sweetness and peace to it, as if the transitioned souls were at Coco-esque rest, awaiting visits from their ancestors with chirpy picnics. It was unlike the Gothic English Christian cemeteries of my homeland — the nationwide memorials and roadside cenotaphs to all the boys who died in the two World Wars, and the avoidable tragedy of World War One, where entire villages were sent out in the same platoon, wiping out the young men of England. Often, these were bands of literal brothers as the army companies contained siblings who died on the battlefields of Ypres and the Somme. 

The peaceful graveyard out here is unlike the Gothic splendor of Highgate Cemetery in London, where you can visit the tomb of Karl Marx, the false prophet of NYC Democratic Mayor-nominee Zohran Mamdani and the idol-god for presumptive Democratic Party leader and next presidential nominee, AOC. 

That said, my father is in a peaceful resting place in Bushey, Hertfordshire, in the North London area, which is the main cemetery for Anglo-Jewry’s Orthodox synagogues in the south. I pass the grave of emeritus Chief Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks whenever visiting my dad, and I’m grateful that these two great men were part of my life. I often feel that I won a jackpot.

When we embrace the temporal nature of our time on this physical plane, there is freedom to be found. Day of the Dead is a reminder that every morning we get to experience, enjoy and appreciate another day of life. 

Marcus J Freed is an actor and writer. His critically-acclaimed play “Marcus Is Alive” is on tour; www.marcusisalive.com. IG: @marcusjfreed.

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A Bisl Torah — Anticipatory Grief

A Bisl Torah /

I recently watched a reel of a mother experiencing heightened emotions after she left a grocery store. She said she ran into another mother with a toddler and couldn’t help but stare. Her own children were past the baby and toddler stage, and all she wanted to do was reach out to the mother and say, “It goes by too quickly. Hold on to this moment.” Instead, she shared the message with online followers and revealed an emotional state that many of us experience and understand.

The mother was describing anticipatory grief: a mourning of something that has yet to occur. This means even mourning a stage for another person, understanding the emotions they, too, might soon experience.

Anticipatory grief might occur when faced with a particular diagnosis, saying goodbye to someone you might not see again, or even feeling longing as one phase of life begins to fade away.

In the story of Noah, the Torah reveals God unleashing the flood on the seventh day. The Midrash wonders why God waited until day seven to upend the world; it responds that God spends the first six days mourning the loss that was about to occur. Even God experiences and expresses anticipatory grief, a hurt or angst that is felt even when we are the ones initiating what is about to happen.

Signing divorce papers. Packing a child for college. Disassembling a crib. So many moments where grief is experienced before the event actually occurs. And while one can’t necessarily mitigate the pain, there is comfort in knowing God shares this section of our heart. It is natural to yearn for what was and normal to dwell in sorrow, bereft over what won’t or will be.

And still, we know the end of the Noah story. Through God’s regret and grief, there is space to begin again. Not erasing God’s pain but allowing room for the world to resettle. A new chapter for God. A new chapter for humanity.

Perhaps this is the case for us, too. Amidst our own pain, prior or during our various stages of life, we will still find room to see new beginnings. The last chapter informs our present. In whichever flood we find ourselves, may the waters recede enough to experience a brighter tomorrow.

Shabbat Shalom

Rabbi Nicole Guzik is senior rabbi at Sinai Temple. She can be reached at her Facebook page at Rabbi Nicole Guzik or on Instagram @rabbiguzik. For more writings, visit Rabbi Guzik’s blog section from Sinai Temple’s website.

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A Creative Community for Human Connection

Editor's Note /

At a glittering gala the other night for Creative Community for Peace (CCFP), with 500 guests mingling under the stars at Haim Saban’s house listening to famous rockers, I reflected on the name of the organization.

Of course, any group with the word “peace” in its name can do no wrong. Indeed, on its home page, CCFP bills itself as a non-profit comprised of prominent members of the entertainment industry “dedicated to promoting the arts as a bridge to peace.”

Peace has always been the ultimate goal of conflict resolution. When we dream, we dream of peace. If you love life, you love peace. If you have peace, you can love life.

The enemy of peace is hate. In recent years, the special hate reserved for Israel has been a terrible enemy of peace. It has led to ugly boycotts of artists who try to perform in Israel. These boycotts kill peace.

And yet, for all my love of peace, what struck me at the gala the other night was not peace but something deeper. As I mingled through the crowd with a friend, we were immersed in human connection— in people engaging with one another.

At every CCFP event I’ve attended, this sense of human connection has stood out. The events are never static. You’re on the move meeting people and creating connections.

Given that CCFP has a serious mission to “educate about rising antisemitism” and “galvanize support against the cultural boycott of Israel,” where does this notion of human connections come in and how does it relate to peace?

As I see it, creating human connections is the ideal road to peace.

What CCFP creates, above all, are human connections.

When it supports artists who perform in Israel, it is creating connections.

When it gathers people from the entertainment industry to hear about its cause, it is creating connections.

When it steers clear of politics and focuses on the human power of art to bring people together, it is creating connections.

Creating connections is the action that helps “educate” and “galvanize support.” If peace is the dream, creating connections is the act that gives hope to that dream.

Sometimes, the most creative act of a creative community is to gather people under the stars and enable the magic of human connection.

That connection is what I felt the other night.

A Creative Community for Human Connection Read More »

Rosner’s Domain | Gaza Celebration, Gaza Hangover

Rosner's Domain /

Let’s do something unorthodox and revisit a column. And not just any column – my column from last week. Let’s do it using a critical eye. In a dynamic world, a columnist who strives to be honest with himself and with his readers must look back and ask: Did I serve my readers well? Did I correctly understand the situation I wrote about?

My column last week included the line: “This was a week deserving of the name ‘historic.’” But a week later I no longer feel it does. Why then did I write such a thing? First, a technical point: My deadline for the print edition is Monday, and last Monday was a day of jubilation across the nation, with the hostages being liberated. It seemed like history was being made. The hostages finally came home, and Donald Trump spoke in the Knesset.

Also on Monday, it was reported Trump would attend a meeting of world leaders at Sharm el-Sheikh, and that the leader of Indonesia (the world’s largest Muslim country) would be visiting Israel later in the week. So Monday felt like history, and yours truly did not want to write a routine column, as if this was just another week.

It wasn’t just another week. It also wasn’t a week whose “magnitude” is comparable to “the visit of Egyptian President Sadat in Jerusalem” or “the signing of the Oslo Accords.” In my defense, I did use the word “almost” in reference to magnitude. 

Still, had I written the same column today I would not use such a grandiose tone. An important week – yes. A dramatic week – certainly. A historic week – that’s a stretch. Maybe, with time, we’d have to revisit the week again and decide it was indeed historic. That’s what President Trump said, but then again, the President has a tendency to refer to everything he does as unprecedented and historic. A sober observer has to be more careful, both with facts and impressions.

Had I written the same column today I would not use such a grandiose tone. An important week? Yes. A dramatic week? Certainly. A historic week? That’s a stretch. 

This makes the second part of last week’s column the more measured one. As I wrote: “Any hope that international forces will be able to complete the process of elimination of Hamas power is questionable. Any hope that a Palestinian government in Gaza can be established in which Hamas does not take part is a test.” 

A week after the celebration of a war’s end and the liberation of hostages, a sober reality has sunk in. Hamas effectively controls many parts of Gaza. It executes rivals. Its operatives occasionally attack IDF forces. On Sunday two Israeli soldiers were killed in such an attack. Israel responded using the language of bombs. It also declared that the Rafah Crossing to Gaza will not be opened. The ceasefire suddenly seemed fragile, until the U.S. intervened to calm things down. A quick deescalation followed, and Israelis started to get this feeling of flashback. It felt similar to the pre-Oct. 7 order: a Hamas attack, an Israeli retaliation, some threats, meager excuses — and back to quiet. 

“Turning Gaza from a looming threat to a pacified neighbor — that’s the challenge,” I wrote. Last week it seemed remote, with a gleam of hope. Regional leaders gathered on a stage to declare their commitment to the Trump plan. This week it seems even more remote. Hamas was quick to reassert its power. The world is slow to enforce what the Trump plan promises — “the temporary transitional governance of a technocratic, apolitical Palestinian committee.” It is also slow to assemble a counter force whose job is to make sure that “all military, terror and offensive infrastructure, including tunnels and weapon production facilities, will be destroyed and not rebuilt.”

What remains is awkward and unstable. Israel still controls half of the Gaza Strip, but is reined in by the U.S. – and cannot act with force against the resurrecting Hamas. Aid is getting in, but a significant rebuild would be impossible under the current circumstances. Hamas is testing Israel. No one assumes that the Sunday attack was the last attack. In fact, it was probably a first attack, a first test of the new rules that at present govern the Gaza deadly game. The more of them come, the less likely it is that foreign countries will be willing to put their forces at risk by attempting to replace Hamas as the rulers of Gaza. Either they will not send their forces — or they will send forces that would tolerate, and maybe even assist Hamas, rather than dismantle it.

Does this sound like a week deserving of the name “historic”? 

Or more like a week deserving of the name “déjà vu“? 

Something I wrote in Hebrew

A lot of polls and models predict that no “bloc” can decisively win the next election in Israel. Here’s what I wrote:

There could be a surprise, and one of the blocs will win (according to the Madad.com model this has about a 30 percent chance of happening). It is more likely that there will be no surprise and no bloc will win (70 percent chance of happening). It seems that Israel, as a collective, is having a hard time deciding. It has been having a hard time for quite a few years, and even a major war and a major crisis have not changed this fact. If anything, that is what might be surprising.

A week’s numbers

Here’s what Israelis were saying a few days after the war “ended” (Maariv Daily poll). 

 

A reader’s response

Goldi N. writes: “Now it is time for Israel to repair its relations with the Democratic Party.” My response: I wish it was simple. Maybe as long as Trump is President, Israel only has one of two choices: get along with him, or repair the relations (in such case, amid the high stakes, Israel’s choice would be clear).

Shmuel Rosner is senior political editor. For more analysis of Israeli and international politics, visit Rosner’s Domain at jewishjournal.com/rosnersdomain.

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Gaza War Far from Over

Columnists, Featured /

The hostages are home, at least those who are still alive. For that alone, we should be profoundly grateful. But every day that passes makes it more clear that the Gaza War is far from over. The original plan for this week’s column was to discuss the post-war challenges and opportunities in Israel, throughout the Middle East and for American and other Diaspora Jews around the world. But that was back when we thought the war was ending. 

That is certainly not the case, as the steady stream of broken promises, angry accusations and continuing violence demonstrates on a daily basis. So even as we consider the possible reconstruction of Gaza, the prospects for Israel’s improved relationships with the Arab world and the difficult road ahead in the fight against antisemitism, we must also recognize that no meaningful progress can be made on any of these fronts as long as the death and destruction in Gaza continues. The lofty proclamations that marked President Trump’s speech to the Knesset and his summit with world leaders in Sharm el-Sheikh already ring hollow, and while Trump deserves immense credit for the release of the surviving hostages, there’s little question that he and most observers dramatically overestimated how much progress had been made to a broader peace.

Their hunger — and our hunger — for closure is understandable. After two years in captivity, the hostages’ release was justifiable cause for unrestrained joy and raucous celebration. But the festivities obscured the multitude of unresolved challenges. Even during Trump’s remarkable visit to Israel, it was already evident that there was critically important unfinished business still to be addressed. While progress is not the enemy of perfection, the lack of clarity on the questions of precisely when and how Hamas would be disarmed was an early warning sign that the next steps forward would be exceedingly difficult.

Henry Kissinger, who recognized the intricacies of the region better than any other international observer, was philosophical about what could realistically be accomplished there. “The key to understanding the Middle East,” he said, “is understanding and accepting that every solution is merely the admission ticket to the next problem.”

Even the most jaded and world-weary veterans of Middle Eastern politics may have underestimated how difficult the path forward would be. Within days of Trump’s departure, Hamas terrorists were already engaged in deadly firefights and ruthless executions of their opponents within Gaza. With blinding speed, they have already reestablished themselves as the rulers of the areas that the Israeli military has vacated, which vastly complicates any reconstruction efforts or movement toward a legitimate multinational security force. Not surprisingly, Hamas’ attacks on their Palestinian rivals were followed by strikes on Israeli troops, requiring a wide-ranging IDF response. 

Until now, Benjamin Netanyahu has been forced to balance between the Israeli population’s hunger for the hostages’ return home against his own determination to continue fighting the war to permanently eliminate the threat of Hamas. Now the hostages are back, giving him much greater political capital should he decide to send troops back into the vacated areas of Gaza. It’s impossible to see Arab countries sending their troops into such a volatile situation and even more unlikely that meaningful rebuilding or economic growth opportunities can proceed while bullets are still flying. 

The prospect for a normalization in Israeli-Saudi relations — which was originally the provocation for the Oct. 7 attacks — still represents a potentially historic breakthrough. But now Saudi Arabia is one of several Gulf states warning that failure to crack down on Hamas will lead to a return to previous levels of violence. Trump might be talking about the war in the past tense, but barring some type of rapid intervention in Gaza, Saudi Prime Minister Mohammed bin Salman’s visit to the White House next month could be much less pleasant than previously anticipated. It’s no surprise that Vice President JD Vance was rushed to the Middle East this week to try to keep the deteriorating situation from spiraling out of control.

Make no mistake, this war is still a long, long way from its conclusion.

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.

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