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June 25, 2026

The Red Cow Promise – A poem for Parsha Chukat-Balak

Chukat-Balak — Statute-Empty (Numbers 19:1-25:9)

I’m a rule follower.
So when the Book says

find an unblemished red cow
that’s all I want to do.

I’d stop short of the statute
that says I have to slaughter it

so I guess my promises are
somewhat empty.

When Balak came to
try to curse us all, only blessings

fell from his mouth. And now
every morning I

sing Who is like You.
Actually, it’s usually only

on Sundays, so again I salute
the emptiness of my words.

Miriam, who was healed
just three portions ago, dies.

We remember, you can be healed
and die anyway.

I can’t imagine hitting a rock
in the age of running water.

My faucet is touchless so
I wave my hand over it like

Moses’ staff, never in anger,
and the river comes. I apply

ice and psyllium husk as is
the custom of my day.

I may have already reached
my promised land.


Rick Lupert, a poet, songleader and graphic designer, is the author of 29 books including “God Wrestler: A Poem for Every Torah Portion.” Visit him at www.JewishPoetry.net

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A Bisl Torah — Choose the Side Road

On a recent mini-vacation, Rabbi Sherman and I drove up the coast, eventually hitting the Carmel Valley. We purposely did not make major plans to stop along the way. Whatever pulled us, we decided in the moment if we should take a quick side road view or continue forward.

However, each time we asked ourselves if we should pull over, we wondered why we wouldn’t. When will we ever have these exact precious moments, to see the brilliant coastal scenery, aquamarine water, elephant seals, Big Sur? How could we possibly keep going without taking the time to appreciate God’s beauty?

The extra driving may have added an hour or two until we hit our destination. But now we have a journey of memories and reminders of the gloriousness that exists outside our small urban bubble.

Near the end of his life, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch went on a surprising trip to Switzerland. His students were shocked by his spontaneity. He responded, “One day when I stand before God, the Almighty One is sure to say, ‘But Shimshon, did you see my Alps?’”

We’re not in Switzerland. Maybe one day. But for now, any chance we get, we’ll take the side road. Choosing adventure and pausing to relish in God’s majestic world.

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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Spirituality, Religious Moral Precepts and Artificial Intelligence

Religious intelligence is based on two obscure
ingredients,
one of which is spirituality, a religious feeling that does not make
any sense,
contrasting with religious moral precepts that can be justified by their
expedience,
a far more rational rationale for them than fear of punishment for their
disobedience.
I hope that God does not object to this poem’s message, taking
offense
to my comparison of divinations He allegedly facilitates in humans via AI, the
artificial intelligence

which typical believers in a holy God apply with human divinations, while they’re waiting
for contact with His religious intelligence, a concept they are with AI
conflating.

This poem was inspired by “The Religious Humbling of America; Faith can bring us back together,” Sapir, 6/9/26, in which Rabbi David Wolpe writes:
The decline of religion in America is not a private matter of belief; it is a public crisis of character. In 2025, a study revealed that the percentage of Americans who consider religion personally important fell below 50 percent for the first time. Tocqueville saw religion as the secret of American democracy. Yet this secret is being dismantled and disregarded, and religion has acquired a bad name. Opponents often level accusations of hypocrisy against the religious: “You say you are religious, but you still do this?” But the accusation is itself an affirmation of religion’s values, even if religious people don’t always live up to them. The recognition of hypocrisy confirms the original principle. Religions, in general, have certain ideas about how to treat others and live a morally upstanding life. And these ideas are deep, complex, and interesting — not simply “be nice.”
It is tragic to see religion wane in America at a moment when we desperately need it. Even as Americans insist on meaning, they are steadily abandoning the institutions that it has long flowed through. Much of what ails us in this country is an impoverishment of the ideas that religion nourishes and promotes. Understanding and recovering those central values would help lead our society back from the ill feeling and ill will that have so powerfully gripped us.
The core religious ideas to which I refer — the dignity of every human being, gratitude, purpose as necessary to a well-lived life, humility, decency, the importance of community — have their source in belief in God. But we don’t need to enter a theological argument to identify such values. Most people remain, in some deep sense, religious beings: believing in something that is greater than ourselves, intuiting a world that has a mystery at its heart, yearning for a direction to our dreams. Even if we reject traditional religion, a large majority of us still affirm that decency, goodness, humility, and justice aren’t simple whims but essential for the stability of the social order, of our nation and our world. But along the path of progress — social, technological, financial — we have lost the art of practicing, or at times even recognizing, such values.


Gershon Hepner is a poet who has written over 25,000 poems on subjects ranging from music to literature, politics to Torah. He grew up in England and moved to Los Angeles in 1976. Using his varied interests and experiences, he has authored dozens of papers in medical and academic journals, and authored “Legal Friction: Law, Narrative, and Identity Politics in Biblical Israel.” He can be reached at gershonhepner@gmail.com.

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A Moment in Time: Life’s A-MAZE-ing Journey

Dear all,

Our son Eli has been really into mazes lately —solving the ones I draw and creating his own for me.

One maze in particular seemed impossible. No exit, no solution.

But Eli reminded me: “there is always a way out.”

Life can feel the same. We hit dead ends, double back, circle in frustration. It’s easy to lose heart.

And yet, our story reminds us otherwise. After forty years of wandering, of wrong turns and uncertainty, the Israelites still found their way to the Promised Land.

(It would have been really nice had they used a good GPS. But I suppose the story wouldn’t be nearly as interesting).

There is always a path forward—though it may twist, and though it may challenge us.

And in that moment in time when we find it, we do so with sharper minds, deeper wisdom, and renewed courage.

With love and shalom,

 

Rabbi Zachary R. Shapiro

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New Film Captures Maj. Gen. Doron Almog’s Meaningful Life and Hope for the Jewish People

In 1973, during the Yom Kippur War, Eran Almog, a tank commander, was injured in the Golan Heights. Since forces were advancing, Eran was left behind on the battlefield, where he bled to death. His brother, Maj. Gen. Doron Almog, was fighting in the Sinai. When he discovered that Eran had been abandoned, he vowed never to leave a soldier behind.

Doron went on to serve 34 years in the IDF, including as commander of Israel’s Southern Command from 2000 to 2003. In his personal life, Doron’s wife gave birth to their son Eran. They named him after Doron’s late brother.

Eran was born with severe autism and developmental disabilities and could not talk or do anything on his own. Doron dedicated his life to helping Eran; he established Aleh Negev, a rehabilitation village in Israel that helps people with complex medical conditions and multiple disabilities. It encourages Israelis to visit and volunteer at the village and serves more than 300 residents as well as special education students. When Eran died in 2007 at the age of 23 from Castleman disease, Aleh Negev was renamed ADI Negev–Nahalat Eran in his memory.

Doron Almog at Kibbutz Kfar Aza, where Doron had two family members murdered and four taken hostage. Credit: Kastina Communications

Now, a new documentary called, “From October 6 to October 7,” which premiered in February at the 37th Israeli Film Festival in Los Angeles, is showing Doron’s life on the big screen.

“It’s about our tragedies and how we face them,” said Doron, who is now The Jewish Agency’s chairman of the executive. “It’s about being hopeful in life.”

“It’s about being hopeful in life.” – Doron Almog

Directed by Sarit Asnapi, the moving film had its east coast premiere on June 15 at the Israel Film Center Festival. It focuses not only on the trauma and pain Doron and Israel in general have suffered due to the Yom Kippur War, October 7th massacre, and other terror attacks, but also on resilience. The death of his brother ensured that he never left a soldier behind, and the death of his son led to him helping countless disabled people and advocating for them. Growing up, he learned this from his parents, who were born under the British mandate and dreamt of establishing the first Jewish state after 2000 years in exile.

“Their generation lost one percent of the population in 1948,” he said. “Despite the grief of my parents and their generation, I was raised in a very optimistic home. My story is relevant to every Jew in the world: How do we get up despite sometimes feeling like the burden is very heavy? How do we continue to live a meaningful life and do good things for the state of Israel—and the Jewish people?”

In his role at The Jewish Agency, Doron carries out his impactful work strengthening the Jewish people in Israel and the diaspora, promoting aliyah, and encouraging Jews to engage with Israel.

“In Israel, the main issue is establishing a resilient community,” he said. “We’re offering subsidized houses in the Gaza envelope. In 10 years, I would like to see the population in the north and south doubled. We will continue building the only Jewish state in the world.”

Even though his son is gone, Doron said that his influence lives on in his work.

“Eran is the greatest teacher in my life and prepared me, more than any other person, to be chairman of the Jewish Agency for Israel and continue my mission: to build a new Israel, and to strive for an exemplary society.”

Looking ahead, Doron is finding inspiration in the next generation.

“I believe in the young people,” he said. “I admire their energy and motivation and decision to make aliyah in a time of war.”

When Doron, who is now 75 years old, envisions what he wants the Jewish state to look like, he said, “We will have mutual responsibility and unconditional love. We are all for striving for excellence in every field and making Israel a much better place for everyone. Making Israel an inclusive and loving society should be the ultimate goal.”

Photo from the film’s screening in New York last week. (From left to right) Melanie Bronfman, Mark Wilf, Doron Almog, Matthew Bronfman. Photo credit: Ohad Kab

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Doubling Down on Who We Are

I knew Brad Lander when we were teenagers.

Not well. We weren’t close friends. But we moved in the same circles, NFTY conventions, the Reform Jewish youth movement that shaped so many of us who grew up in the Midwest. He was from St. Louis. I was from Omaha. Graduated our high schools the same year. We sang the same songs. Ani v’ata n’shaneh et ha-olam. “You and I will change the world!” We were pointed by the same tradition toward lives of meaning and repair.

This week, Brad Lander, a Jewish politician who served as New York City Comptroller and has long been a prominent figure in progressive Democratic politics, won the Democratic primary for New York’s 10th Congressional District, running on a platform of explicit opposition to Israel, endorsed by a movement whose relationship to Jewish life I can only describe as hostile.

Upon hearing the news, I found myself feeling something I didn’t expect. Not anger. Grief.

I don’t think I’m alone in that. Many of you have your own version of this person — a college friend, a cousin, someone from your own youth group — shaped by the same Jewish formation, ended up somewhere you don’t recognize.

And then there is Darializa Avila Chevalier, who also won a primary in New York this week. She is not someone I know. She is not someone wrestling with the tradition from a different angle. The day after Hamas massacred 1,200 people in Israel, she was in Times Square at a rally where participants chanted “Resistance is justified,” made throat-slitting gestures, and called out the number of Israelis confirmed dead. She has defended being there. In 2020 she reposted a tweet that said simply: “Israel doesn’t exist.” When asked at a debate whether she condemned the Hamas attack, she refused to answer.

I will not pretend that what swept New York this week is a policy disagreement about the Middle East. It is not.

For comfort, I turned to our Torah portion.

This Shabbat we read Chukat-Balak, a double parasha. Chukat is full of loss — Miriam dies, Aaron dies, Moses strikes a rock in grief and pays a steep price. A community in the wilderness, mourning, uncertain. We know something about that wilderness right now.

And then Balak.

Balak, king of Moab, watches the Israelites and grows afraid — not because they’ve threatened him, but because they are powerful and he doesn’t know what to do with that. So he hires the prophet Balaam to curse Israel, to make Jewish existence itself the problem.

Balaam opens his mouth. Blessings come out. He tries again, from a different hilltop. More blessings. A third time. He cannot utter a curse.

What comes out instead is a blessing:

Mah tovu ohalecha Ya’akov, mishkenotecha Yisrael.

How goodly are your tents, O Jacob — your dwelling places, O Israel! (Numbers 24:5)

An enemy hired to destroy us looks at the Israelite camp and sees homes. Community. People living with and for one another. Those words, first spoken by a man paid to erase us, to deny our identity, are the words tradition has us say every morning when we walk through the doors of our synagogues. The words meant to curse become our morning prayer.

The lesson of Balak is not that enemies can’t hurt us. The parasha ends with a plague. The danger is real.

What the story says is more precise: the attempt to define the Jewish people by our enemies’ worst fears about us is doomed to fail. Not because we are perfect but because there is something in this people, covenanted to justice, to memory, to one another, that is impossible to extinguish.

And while I have confidence that we will endure, not just survive but find the way to thrive, I am deeply troubled by the path my classmate Brad Lander took. The Judaism we learned in youth group and in our synagogues taught us two things simultaneously: that we should care deeply about the suffering of others, and that we have a particular responsibility to our own people. Those values are not in tension. They belong together.

I remember the banners outside our synagogues in those days, mine in Omaha, his in St. Louis: “Let My People Go. Free Soviet Jewry.” We were taught that concern for the legitimate national aspirations of the Palestinian people and unwavering commitment to Am Yisrael were not opposites.

But somewhere along the way, for too many who grew up proud and passionate Jews, Am Yisrael disappeared from the equation. That is the loss I’m grieving. Not a political disagreement but a severed inheritance.

Jewish communities across this country exist because Jews decided, generation after generation, to build something together. Tents, in the language of our Torah. Homes. Houses of worship. Schools for our children and for grown-ups as well. Places to bring our grief and our questions and our children and find that we are not alone.

That project is not contingent on who wins a primary in New York. It is not contingent on whether those who once sang with us still do. It has outlasted empires, inquisitions, and movements far more powerful than this one.

The work, the ancient, urgent, irreplaceable work of Jewish community, is the answer. Not as retreat. Not as consolation. But as the most powerful response available to us.

So walk through the doors of a synagogue this Shabbat. Go with a friend or bring someone who hasn’t been in a while. Say the words of blessing with pride, with commitment, with conviction:

Mah tovu ohalecha Ya’akov.

How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel!


Rabbi Yoshi Zweiback is the Senior Rabbi of Stephen Wise Temple in Los Angeles.

 

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We Are Upset Because We Can Read

Since its signing at the G7 Summit, President Trump and Vice President Vance have spent significant time expressing confusion about the reaction to the memorandum of understanding (MOU) with Iran – even as their own public statements in the days since have sharpened that response and, at times, raised new questions about how much leverage the United States believes it actually has.

But there is nothing confusing about the response.

Americans – and Israelis in particular – are not reacting to spin, or to partisan framing, or to media distortions.

They are reacting to the text of the agreement itself, and to what has followed it.

The administration’s defenders have suggested that critics are overreacting, misunderstanding, or selectively interpreting what is presented as a pragmatic diplomatic effort. But this argument collapses under even minimal scrutiny. The concerns being raised are not based on speculation. They are based on the clear terms of the deal – and increasingly, on how those terms are being publicly contextualized by the administration itself.

At its core, the MOU offers Iran substantial relief – economic, political, and strategic – in exchange for commitments that remain, at best, vaguely defined and conditionally enforced. This is not a matter of ideological interpretation. It is a matter of sequencing.

Concessions are immediate. Compliance is deferred. Enforcement is uncertain.

And subsequent public remarks have only deepened that concern, with administration officials emphasizing the risks of not reaching a deal – signaling urgency on Washington’s side that Iran appears to have little incentive to reciprocate.

Negotiations are about leverage – and about not signaling, before an agreement is reached, which side believes it needs the deal more.

Which brings us to Vice President Vance.

In recent days, Vance has taken a more visible role in defending the agreement – not only against domestic critics, but against Israel as well. In one particularly striking statement, he suggested that Israel should refrain from publicly criticizing the deal, framing such criticism as unhelpful to the broader diplomatic effort.

That message has since been reinforced with unusually blunt public remarks warning Israel against “attacking the only powerful ally” it has – a framing that subtly but unmistakably shifts the alliance from one rooted in shared strategic interests to one conditioned on political compliance.

This is not a trivial rhetorical shift.

It suggests that disagreement – even from a sovereign ally directly exposed to the consequences of the deal – is being recast as disloyalty.

For Israelis, this is not an abstract concern. It is existential.

The MOU includes provisions addressing Iran’s regional activities, including its support for proxy groups such as Hezbollah. On paper, this appears to acknowledge one of the central security threats facing Israel. In practice, however, the language is sufficiently ambiguous that enforcement becomes a matter of interpretation rather than obligation.

Israelis therefore read these provisions differently.

They are not looking at theoretical compliance mechanisms; they are looking at lived experience. They have spent decades dealing with Iranian-backed forces on their borders, navigating cycles of escalation that have cost thousands of lives.

From that perspective, assurances that Iran will “reduce” or “moderate” its regional behavior – without clearly defined benchmarks or enforcement triggers – do not inspire confidence.

That perception has been reinforced by public comments by Vance suggesting Israel cannot “kill its way out” of its security challenges – language that, intentionally or not, reframes deterrence and self-defense as obstacles to diplomacy rather than conditions for it.

This is the disconnect.

The administration appears to now be operating from a more conciliatory framework in which diplomacy is treated as inherently stabilizing, and therefore preferable – even when the underlying terms introduce new uncertainties.

Israel, by contrast, operates from a framework shaped by repeated exposure to agreements that failed to constrain adversaries while limiting its own range of action.

These are not theoretical disagreements. They are rooted in fundamentally different risk assessments.

And those differences matter because they affect how each side interprets the same document.

Consider the issue of ballistic missiles.

The MOU plainly does not prohibit Iran from continuing to develop missile capabilities. Instead, it gestures toward future discussions – language that, in diplomatic terms, often signals deferral rather than resolution.

Yet within days of signing the MOU, the administration appeared to argue both that Iran has legitimate claims to ballistic missile capabilities it was previously told it could not retain – and that failure to reach a deal could carry significant economic and geopolitical consequences for the United States.

That mixed signaling has been echoed at the highest levels: while the president has alternated between warnings of renewed military action and caution about the costs of escalation, the vice president has simultaneously emphasized progress and the importance of turning a “new leaf” with Tehran – contradictions that risk weakening the credibility of both positions in the eyes of negotiators.

Iran, like any strategic actor, will respond to incentives far more than rhetoric.

And the incentives embedded in this agreement are clear: front-loaded relief in exchange for back-loaded, ambiguously enforceable commitments.

This is not a new dynamic. It is a familiar one – one that has played out repeatedly in past negotiations with Iran, with lamentable results.

Which raises a broader question:

If the administration understands this history – and there is no reason to believe it does not, given its past sharp criticism of prior Iran deals – why structure a deal in a way that appears to replicate its most criticized elements?

One possible answer is that the goal is not to eliminate risk, but to manage it.

Another is that the administration believes the alternatives to diplomacy are sufficiently undesirable to justify significant concessions.

But if that is the case, it must be acknowledged openly.

Because the current approach attempts to present a high-risk agreement as a low-risk one.

And that is where the credibility gap emerges.

The issue is not that critics of the MOU are opposed to diplomacy.

It is that they recognize the difference between diplomacy that constrains adversaries and diplomacy that empowers them.

They understand that agreements are not judged by their intentions, but by their structure.

They can read the language. They can assess the sequencing. They can identify the gaps between commitments and enforcement.

And increasingly, they can observe how subsequent statements by senior officials reinforce those gaps rather than address them.

The result is a growing perception – shared by critics across the political spectrum – that pressure is being relaxed before it has achieved its stated objectives.

This is why the backlash has been so immediate and so intense.

It is not driven by misunderstanding. It is driven by comprehension.

When officials express surprise at that reaction, they are not revealing a failure of public communication. They are revealing a mismatch between how the agreement is being presented and how it is being received.

Because the public is not reacting to narratives, but to substance.

And the substance raises legitimate questions – about leverage, about enforcement, and about whether the agreement, as structured, advances or undermines the strategic objectives it claims to serve.

And that is why, despite the confusion expressed by its architects, the reaction to this agreement has been neither irrational nor driven by “fake news.”

We have read the MOU.
We are upset because we can read.


Micha Danzig served in the Israeli Army and is a former police officer with the NYPD. He is currently an attorney and is very active with numerous Jewish and pro-Israel organizations, including Stand With Us and the FIDF, and is a national board member of Herut North America.

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Bye-Bye Bluebird: A Greek Summer with an Israeli Twist

On my summer trip to Israel, I decided to take the opportunity to visit Greece — a short 90-minute flight away. My sister booked us a packaged vacation with a local travel company, which included a week at Abaton Island Resort & Spa in Crete, along with a direct return flight on Bluebird Airways.

Abaton itself was exactly what it was designed to be — an escape built for doing very little. A resort overlooking the Aegean Sea, where days blur into poolside sunbathing and what Israelis casually call “beten-gav” — lying on your stomach, then your back and repeating the cycle of tanning without interruption. Not exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to visit Greece, but I let it go.

This was my first time in Greece, a destination known as a favorite among Israelis thanks to its proximity to Israel. Once we arrived at the resort — a five-star hotel with a stunning beach — it felt like we hadn’t really left Israel at all. Roughly 85% of the guests were Israeli; we heard Hebrew at breakfast, by the pool and on the beach.

In fact, across much of Crete, and especially in towns like Hersonissos and Chania, Israeli tourism has become one of the most visible and important parts of the local economy.

Life moves at an unhurried pace in the village of Plaka, Crete.

Despite what I had read in the news about Greece and occasional protests related to Israel, the Greeks I met in Crete – especially business owners – spoke warmly about Israeli visitors. “Bruch Haba, Ma Nishma?” (“Welcome, how are you?”) one souvenir shop owner said.

He also spoke about challenges local businesses face with what he described as increased illegal immigration, saying that break-ins had affected nearby shops and local homes. “They broke into my friend’s store three times,” he said. “If they try to break into mine, I’ll be ready with a gun. I don’t care if I get in trouble – if we don’t protect ourselves, nobody else will.”

I bought a hat, a few keychains, soap and magnets. “Toda raba,” he said. “Shalom.”

I quickly learned that most business owners, and certainly the staff at my resort, know basic words in Hebrew. “Most of our guests are from Israel,” Antonia, our waitress at the hotel, told us. “So I learned to speak a little Hebrew thanks to them.”

Basically, everyone we met along the way, from our taxi driver to the worker at the grocery shop and the owner of the car rental, proclaimed their support of Israel. No wonder why. Without Israeli tourists, Crete, which relies heavily on tourism, would suffer economically.

During our stay, headlines also reported that Trump had announced a proposed U.S.-Iran framework involving sanctions relief and a broader economic package, which did not sit well in Israel amid concerns over Iran’s growing influence. Still, among the Israelis we met on the trip, it barely came up — they seemed more focused on being away from home, leaving behind politics, war and the constant cycle of news and simply taking a break abroad.

Compared to Israel, Greece — especially Crete — felt noticeably more affordable, a difference that is not lost on many Israelis who return year after year. In recent years, there has also been a small but visible trend of Israelis purchasing homes, spending extended periods in Greece and, in some cases, even splitting their lives between the two countries. Take for example Yamanis, an Israeli-owned kosher restaurant in Hersonissos, which served as a kind of informal hub for Israeli visitors. The owners themselves spend the summer months in Crete before returning to Israel for the winter. We also met a Pilates instructor and a few retired couples who described a similar rhythm – long seasonal stays, with children and grandchildren joining them for holidays and summer vacations, turning Greece into something of a second home rather than just a travel destination.

A quiet street at Agios Nikolaos

After a couple of days by the pool, we rented a car and visited beautiful small towns such as Agios Nikolaos, Elounda and Plaka, each with its own slow rhythm and postcard-like charm. Wandering through narrow streets filled with cafés, restaurants and small boutique shops, it was easy to understand why so many Israeli visitors fall in love with Greece and keep coming back or simply stay permanently. Everything seemed to move at a different pace, more relaxed and unhurried. We found ourselves buying things we probably didn’t need and would likely never use, but that felt impossible to resist in the moment – just part of the pleasure of being there.

On our return to Israel, we arrived at Heraklion Airport three hours before our flight, thinking it would be more than enough.

We were wrong.

A long line of travelers – all Israelis or so it seemed – stretched in front of the Bluebird check-in desk. At first, it was hard to even see where the queue began; more than 200 passengers were already packed into it.

“Is this normal?” I asked the young woman in front of me. “Oh yeah,” she replied. “Wait till you see the security line.”

It did not take long to find out what she meant.

After check-in, which took about an hour, came security – an experience not for the faint of heart. Hundreds of people stood in line, sweaty, tired and collectively trying to calculate whether they would actually make it to the flight. The flight, scheduled for 6:30 p.m., was postponed to 11:25 p.m., apparently a familiar pattern with Bluebird, according to the passengers around us.

“They kept changing the departure time three times,” said Neta, who was traveling with a group of friends. “Is it your first time in Greece?” I asked her. “Not exactly,” she said. “Last time I flew to Prague, but they decided to make a stop in Athens on the way, so technically it’s my second time.”

Bluebird Airways was founded in Heraklion in 2008 and has been owned over the past decade by Israeli tourism investors. Despite the less-than-enthusiastic reviews from passengers, the endless lines and the final bus ride to the aircraft after hours of waiting, Israelis still seemed to accept it as part of the deal – an exhausting, no-frills ordeal that doesn’t include snacks, water or, apparently, the concept of leaving on time.

By the time we finally took off, we were already eager to leave, and the idea of saying goodbye to this beautiful paradise felt a lot easier – since we had spent half the day doing it at the airport.

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MMA Fighter Goes Viral for Response to Anti-Israel Jeers After Fight

Shimon Smotritsky was already wearing the Israeli flag when the decision was read after three rounds at “Tuff-N-Uff 154” in Las Vegas.  The 25-year-old MMA fighter out of Holon, Israel   defeated American fighter Perry Stargel by unanimous decision.

Smotritsky expected to hear some jeers from the crowd during the fight, but it was during the post-fight decision that the volume grew.

“I started to hear a lot of boos getting louder and louder when I started to talk about Israel and about how I represent my people and the boos got extremely loud when I said that I want to dedicate this win to the IDF soldiers,” Smotritsky said.

“I want to dedicate this victory to the, to my heroes, the IDF soldiers,” Smotritsky told the crowd before taking a pause as the booing intensified. “They’re protecting my country. My people are tough. But thanks to the IDF soldiers, they’re protecting me, my family and the whole Israeli people. I can achieve my dream. I can go and train. Everybody lives their life because of those who sacrifice their own. So thank you.”

The booing continued. With his arms raised, he heard jeers and profanities about Israel and Palestine.  So he adlibbed a final message:

“And to all the ‘Free Palis,’ f–k you!”

Clips of Smotritsky’s response quickly went viral, racking up millions of views across many pro-Israel social media accounts.

“And I’m happy that a lot of people saw it,” Smotritsky said. “A lot of people got mad about this, but they got mad about this because they hate us. So it makes me even happier.” For Smotritsky, the reaction that hit him hardest wasn’t so much the number of views as it was DMs from IDF soldiers.

“The amount of love I got from the Israeli fans and from the Jewish community is outstanding,” Smotritsky said. “It’s an insane amount of love and support and messages. I got so many messages from guys that are right now in Lebanon, in Gaza, in the West Bank and they say, ‘Yo, Shimon, we watched your fight live. We were cheering on you and your post-fight interview touched us so much.’ They’re my heroes because they’re protecting me. So if I can do something that will make these guys happier and give them moral support and lift their spirits, it means the world to me.”

The pro MMA catchweight bout was contested at 175 pounds at The Pearl Theater inside the Palms Casino Resort.

Following the unanimous decision, Smotritsky’s opponent Stargel walked away without offering a handshake, which often happens even after the most brutal of fights.

“I don’t care about this guy, we probably grew up with different values because the values that I grew up with in this sport is always respect your opponent, respect your opposition. You are both athletes, you are both fighters, you work hard for this fight. You fight each other. The fight is over. Come shake and show appreciation. And I was a bit disappointed that he didn’t want to show me the same appreciation, but that’s okay. I got the job done. I got the victory, represented myself, my people proudly.”

Even as the online praise mounted, Smotritsky celebrated the victory modestly with a take-out order of a double-double and fries at In-N-Out. He live-streamed the first few bites. The day after the fight, Smotritsky had a small cut on his forehead and a nose gash that looked like it was healing.

“I feel good, it’s just a couple scratches, this is not bothering me,” Smotritsky said. “What bothers me, it’s my foot because I kicked [Stargel] a lot. Sometimes I hit his elbows or his knee — sharp bones — and now my foot is pretty swollen badly. So it hurts me to walk on it, but this is nothing. They put glue on my nose and a staple on my head here. And in two weeks they’re going to take it out. I’ll be fresh and new.”

It’s all too common that Israeli athletes such as Smotritsky compete in front of crowds that they expect will be disrespectful. Smotritsky talked about how important it is for fellow Jews to show up and keep the focus. The walkout song he has used for years, “Hine Ani Ba” (“Here I Come”) by Israeli hip-hop funk band Hadag Nahash, has become his anthem.

“It’s my favorite, it drives me in,” Smotritsky said. “Here I come — to Smash.”

Following the walkout, Smotritsky gave his Magen David necklace to fellow Israeli MMA fighter Natan Levy to wear during the bout. Smotritsky told The Journal in 2022 that he sees 34-year-old Levy as his big brother in the fight world. The two trained together in Las Vegas, and Smotritsky said Levy helped him when Smotritsky first came to train in the United States. A similar scene would unfold before Levy’s post-Oct. 7 UFC fights, where Levy would remove his “Bring Them Home” dog tags and place them on Smotritsky during the fight.

“I don’t have to be a fighter to be a proud Jew, proud of whoever you are. Doesn’t matter. Even if people don’t like it, be a proud Israeli, proud Jew and don’t be scared. Keep going and try to achieve your dreams because the best answer to the people who hate us is to be proud and strong.

Smotritsky ended the interview saying that he wanted to make sure that The Jewish Journal would publish a quick message to Jews in the Diaspora.

“A bit of encouragement to our people — especially in the Diaspora — that sometimes they’re afraid or shy, but f— it,” Smotritsky said. “Those people, they’re going to hate us anyway. So at least let’s do something meaningful. Let’s succeed in life and let’s be proud of who we are.”

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