However, about two years ago things started to change for Tilchen.

“During the pandemic a lot of Jewish people started to feel a surge in antisemitism. It was a mix of things, partially because it felt like the world was crumbling and [partially because] people needed a scapegoat and Jews have historically been used as the world’s scapegoat,” she said.

Active on Instagram and Twitter it was a slow process realizing that there was, as she says, “a dire need for activism in these spaces.” While previously she had been focused on posting what she deems “normal, day to day content,” she pivoted her content to educate people about antisemitism where she has quickly become one of the new and emerging prominent voices in this space.

Her content took off quickly.

“I have a solid understanding antisemitism and how it functions. I felt a responsibility to use my voice to show that antisemitism exists everywhere,” she said.

A Long Island native, Tilchen has visited Israel, and although she doesn’t have immediate family there, she feels a strong connection to the country and has many friends living there.

 “I started to see how antisemitism exists across the political spectrum and how the libel claims against Israel have really affected Jews , not just in Israel but in the Diaspora,” she said.

The content on her feed is a particularly enticing mix, including regularly trolling antisemites with viral memes, poking fun at Israel’s ban on foreign tourists but also more serious content that calls out antisemitic behavior and providing education to people who may not know too much about Israel or Jewish people.

While Tilchen finds a lot of meaning in the work she is doing, being a public advocate against antisemitism can at times be a difficult gig.

“I get a ton of abuse in my DMs with conspiracy theories. You have to develop a thick skin. You have to be strong in your Jewish identity and know who you are,” she reflected.

Her social media presence has a track record of resonating with young people around the world, but despite her success, she is just one person. Tilchen thinks that larger better resourced Jewish organizations could do a better job at being active on social media platforms where young people are congregating.

“I’ve called out the legacy Jewish organizations on Twitter. I think they don’t properly understand how to reach young people. I think Jewish organizations should be doing everything they can to help young people understand their Jewish identities before the non-Jewish world tells them who they are,” she said.

“If you don’t have a basis of knowledge, it’s easy to absorb non-Jewish ideas of who Jews are. That’s dangerous. If you start believing the conspiracy theories, it gets messy. We are so outnumbered. You don’t want to be a Jewish person who has internalized non-Jewish identity.”

Tilchen is sometimes surprised at the level engagement that her account has with people who don’t know much about Jewish or have never met Jews. “When I started my advocacy work, it felt like I was trying to change the minds of antisemites, absolutely toxic antisemites, in the comments sections. It really burnt me out. I like talking to people who have nothing against Jewish people but are curious,” she said.

Echoing this thought is Rabbi Shlomo Litvin, the Chabad rabbi of Lexington Kentucky.

He was one of the first Jewish leaders to join the audio-only app Clubhouse in 2021. Like Tilchen, he fell into antisemitism activism accidentally.

“Immediately after I joined Clubhouse, students started pulling me into [private chat] rooms [on the app], asking for advice on how to respond to Clubhouse antisemitism,” he reflected.

“I am a Yad Vashem trained Holocaust educator and up until that point I had mainly used social media to just share positive events.”

However, seeing the need for advocacy in this space, Litvin stepped up to the challenge. His regular use on ClubHouse drew him to Twitter as well.

“There is something extraordinary about Twitter that allows people to have conversations,” he said, recalling an incident where he was able to deliver Hannukah candles to someone who he didn’t know personally, but had connected with him via Twitter.

“She was sick with COVID, located across the country. I got her address, and I contacted the Chabad Rabbi at UC Irvine who delivered her menorah and candles and sufganiyot,” he said.

However, with his new public role on social media fighting against antisemitism, Rabbi Litvin has experienced some scary incidents.

“I was listening to a conversation in the Israel-Palestine room on Clubhouse, and someone spoke up and said that no one knows how to respond to the points I was bringing up about Israel, and then another person piped up and read out my address and said that someone should do something about me,” he recalls. He has also received some nasty letters to his home.

Like Tilchen, Litvin thinks that legacy Jewish organizations could be doing more to use their resources to fight back against antisemitic hate on social media.

“If they haven’t woken up to Twitter yet, then they haven’t woken up to the internet,” he said. “The President of the US has a Twitter account. The excuse that it’s “new” has gotten “old.”

The beauty of the internet is that it requires no geographic boundaries for people to become connected.

In Melbourne, Australia, 22-year-old Josh Feldman is a new and emerging voice on social media that has written op-eds for major Australian and international newspapers about Israel. He is also active on Twitter where part of his bio describes himself as a “Falafel enthusiast.”

While he is still growing his following, he knows that doing so may come at a personal cost.

“I’m not yet a public figure. The Blake Flaytons and Eve Barlows, people know who they are, and they cop a lot more abuse. If I become a bigger figure, I am sure I will get more abuse, and then it becomes a question of how to manage it,” he said.

While he receives occasional insults for his work educating people about Israel (some nasty DMs and emails), overall, he believes in the pieces he is writing and enjoys the unexpected benefit of his advocacy on social media.

 “Occasionally you will write a piece, and someone will reach out to say something nice and that starts a relationship which is a cool part of it that I wasn’t expecting.”

When asked whether she will continue with her public advocacy, despite some of the hardships, Tilchen is steadfast in the belief of what she is doing.

“It’s kind of crazy to think that I have so many more friends now than before COVID. With the friends I have made [from Twitter and Instagram] we have lit Hannukah candles over zoom. We have gotten together over shabbat. I have friends across the world and in Israel,” she said.

Tilchen reflected on a particularly meaningful experience she had a few months ago when many of the advocates who like her, post content fighting back against antisemitism, decided to all go out for brunch in New York City.

“We posted the picture. There was horrible abuse for 2 or 3 days straight online. Abuse about what we looked like. Abuse about how much we tip. Abuse about our noses. However, despite all the abuse, no one could take away the joy that we had meeting each other, because we know who we are. That’s a beautiful thing. We are just people on Instagram and Twitter that use their voices for good” she said. 

The post Jewish Activists Can Take the Heat appeared first on Jewcy.

Israeli Prime Minister Naftali Bennett said that Ben & Jerry’s “has decided to brand itself as the anti-Israel ice cream,” and that the move would have “serious consequences, legal and otherwise.” 

As a part of the pressure campaign, Israel’s ambassador to the US urged states that have passed laws to combat the Boycott Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) movement to act on them in order to essentially sanction Ben & Jerry’s. Additionally, Texas threatened to use their anti-BDS law against Ben & Jerry’s — while Arizona and Florida actually did.

Anti-BDS laws have been hotly debated ever since they began to gain traction in state legislatures across the country starting in 2015. And in the aftermath of the Ben & Jerry’s fiasco, they have taken on new importance (despite the fact it is disputable whether or not their actions actually constituted a boycott of Israel).

Anti-BDS laws have been passed in 35 states, meaning the campaign to implement them across the country has been largely successful. On its face, this sounds like an affirmative good for the pro-Israel movement. But, even if you are stridently opposed to BDS as a movement — as I am — there are still significant questions about the prudence of anti-BDS laws. In order to understand why, we first need to understand what they are.

What Are Anti-BDS Laws?

The basic goal of anti-BDS laws is simple: to discourage boycotts of the state of Israel.

In order to effectuate this goal, state governments have passed various laws which preclude certain parties from contracting with the state if they engage in such boycotts. However, not all of the laws are the same. There are two main types.

The first type of anti-BDS law mandates that the government does not contract with — or have investments in — any business that is engaged in a boycott of Israel. As a part of most of these types of laws, the state creates a list of companies that boycott Israel and prohibits the state from contracting with those on the list.

The second type of anti-BDS law requires any person or business signing a governmental contract to certify, in writing, that they do not currently, and will not, boycott Israel for the duration of the contract. For states that pass such a law, it means that a lot of people will have to sign that pledge. Just think of how many public employees there are that sign contracts with the state: school teachers, police officers, firefighters, DMV workers, etc. Under this type of anti-BDS law, each and every one of them is required to affirm in writing that they will not engage in a boycott of Israel.

The Costs

In order to assess whether a law is worthwhile, considering its benefits and drawbacks — and then comparing them — is a helpful place to start. The issue with anti-BDS laws is that while their costs are immense, their benefits are marginal — and possibly even non-existent.

First and foremost, anti-BDS laws draw a great deal of negative attention. While looking into the subject, it is impossible not to notice the vast imbalance in the coverage of them. Articles from non-profits like the ACLU, or Palestine Legal, or news organizations like Middle East Monitor or Al Jazeera often dominated the search results. Even mainstream outlets usually frame anti-BDS laws in a negative light.

This is doubly true when we realize that much of the coverage associated with these laws come from the lawsuits filed by organizations, such as the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR) and the ACLU, in an effort to strike them down. To date, there have been six lawsuits filed in states ranging from Arkansas, to Texas, to Arizona, to Georgia. They have mostly been filed because a public employee — whether it be a school teacher or speech pathologist — did not wish to make a pledge to the state that they would not engage in a personal boycott of Israel. These lawsuits have had varying degrees of success. 

But, whether or not any individual lawsuit is successful is irrelevant to the fact that it generates news coverage centered around the narrative that these laws are a threat to the American peoples’ First Amendment rights. With that narrative comes the covert message that the pro-Israel movement has values antithetical to those of the U.S. Constitution.

The pro-Israel movement should be fighting for the liberal democratic values that both the US and Israel hold dearly — not against them.

It is also important to note that all of this is only taking perceptions of the pro-Israel movement into account — meaning it is a somewhat limited analysis. There are also significant questions about what implications these laws have for principles of freedom of association and speech. Seriously grappling with those questions would make the case for anti-BDS laws even weaker.

The Benefits

On the other hand, if anti-BDS laws were serving a truly important purpose — and doing it effectively — then a certain amount of negative press would be a relatively small price to pay. The issue is that for all of those costs, the benefits are largely non-existent. 

First, in states where the law holds that companies that boycott Israel should be divested from and not have the ability to contract with the state, this has been applied to very few firms. Among the states with publicly available lists of companies that boycott Israel, three-quarters of them list less than 10 companies. Moreover, only one lists more than 20 companies, and zero list more than 40 companies. 

It is important to point out that the number of companies that have actually been divested from is certainly smaller than the number of companies on the list. The reason is simple: the list does not only consist of companies that the state previously had investments in. 

Next, there is no evidence to suggest that these laws have actually discouraged people from either boycotting Israel or holding anti-Israel attitudes more generally. During the most recent flare-up between Israel and Hamas, large anti-Israel protests were held across the country. Polls also show that young people (age 18-34) are dramatically less likely to support Israel than those who are 35+ and that over half of Democrats now want the U.S. to put increased pressure on Israel.

Lastly — and this may be the most important point — BDS poses no actual threat to the Israeli economy. Studies from the Brookings Institute, and even the Israeli Knesset itself, confirm this. 

So, on one hand, anti-BDS laws don’t really do much in terms of positive impact. They are not being used by states very often; they are not leading to less anti-Israel sentiment; they are not protecting the Israeli economy from actual harm. On the other hand, they are attracting a lot of negative attention to the pro-Israel movement while also creating negative perceptions of it.

The conclusion I draw from this is simple: as the Brookings Institute wrote, those who advocate for these laws are “providing more fuel to a fire that is small to begin with.”

Alternative Paths Forward

The real way to discourage boycotts of Israel is not to coerce our opponents but to make a persuasive argument against them. 

Point out that the BDS movement has strong links to terrorists. Point out that the founder of BDS, Omar Barghouti, is not interested in a peace deal where both sides concede some things; rather, he has said that he does “not buy into the two-state solution” and would like to “end Israel’s existence as a Jewish state.” Lastly, simply point out the willingness of Israel to make peace — two states for two peoples — for as long as it has been a country, even while they have had no partner to make it happen.

Additionally, getting involved with various organizations is now easier than ever. Whether it be through established groups such as AJC or AIPAC, or new groups for young Jews such as New Zionist Congress, the opportunities to promote Zionism and fight against BDS are innumerable.

We should continue the good fight against BDS. But we should not get distracted by counterproductive laws.

The post The Zionist Case Against Anti-BDS Laws appeared first on Jewcy.

And yet, despite the numerous attempts to navigate this widening divide, there’s one simple, yet crucial ingredient that’s missing from the dialogue: empathy.

As an Australian Jew who indulges in far too many conversations on this issue — both with Israelis and Americans — their defining feature, time and again, is how little either side understands about the other. Indeed, both Israelis and American Jews are correct in lamenting how rarely their brethren appreciate the anxieties they suffer as a result of their communities’ unique challenges.

So let’s chart a new path for this conversation. Let’s begin at a simple, human level. “We need to appreciate the fact that each major center of Jewish life is responding in a way that is appropriate to its circumstances,” bestselling author Yossi Klein Halevi recently told me. Instead of reprimanding one another for how wrong they are, both communities would do well to ask why. Why are so many Israelis infuriated by calls to “end the occupation”? Why are so many American Jews abhorred by Israel’s lack of religious pluralism?

These two issues — the occupation and religious pluralism — among many others, are part of a long list of grievances between Israelis and American Jews; all of which have boiled over in recent years, culminating in today’s crisis. The key cause of these quarrels, however, is that rarely do Israelis and American Jews actually understand one another. To be sure, they hear the other’s argument, but seldom do they truly understand how such a conclusion was reached.

As Gordis explains, Israel and the United States are fundamentally different societies, created for radically different purposes. While “it was American universalism” that defined the United States, argues Gordis, in Israel, “it was particularism that gave the country its purpose: to save and protect Jewish lives.” The worldviews of Israelis and American Jews are, therefore, entirely different. It’s time for both communities to accept that, due to their vastly disparate histories, they naturally arrive at different conclusions for a variety of issues. And that’s okay. The problem is that they are yet to accept this reality.

If Israelis and American Jews can’t find a genuine desire to understand each other’s hopes and fears, then to hell with any hopes for healing this fissure.

And should the deteriorating relationship continue down this path, disaster is sure to follow. Be it the financial and political support that American Jewry has long provided Israel, or the way in which, for decades, the Jewish state has animated American Jewish life, it would be foolish to assume that either community would continue to thrive post-divorce. And as concerns grow around the future of Israel’s relationship with the Democratic Party — which receives the majority of the Jewish vote — American Jewish support for Israel is more important now than ever.

History has a cruel tendency to remind Jews to not get too cozy in whichever society we may be. Today, that lesson manifests itself in a warning to not assume that any one Jewish community can survive by itself.

It’s not just American Jews and Israelis who will suffer, should there be no rapprochement. The current divide is nothing less than an existential threat to the Jewish world, with Yossi Klein Halevi describing it as “one of the seminal questions for this generation.” With around 85 percent of world Jewry residing in either Israel or the United States, a permanent break in the relationship would spell an unspeakable tragedy — not just for American Jewry and Israelis, but for Jews worldwide.

This year bore witness to a global explosion of Jew-hatred like no other in recent memory. If anything, it served to remind us of the fragility of Jewish life and the consequent centrality of Jewish unity. In such times, no Jewish community can afford for our two largest and most important hubs to continue down their path toward divorce.

While having empathy for one another won’t mend divides overnight, a sincere appreciation among American Jews and Israelis for the challenges they face would help facilitate the conversations that will hopefully lay the groundwork for reconciliation. And if this relationship is to be saved, those conversations are the only hope we have left.

The post What’s Missing in the Conversation Between Israelis and American Jews appeared first on Jewcy.

David Bezmozgis’ new novel, The Betrayers, follows the late-life travails of Baruch Kotler, a celebrated Soviet-Jewish-dissident-turned-Israeli-politician, who bears some resemblance to the real-life refusenik Natan Sharanksy. Like Sharansky, the fictional Kotler spent many years in jail before emigrating to Israel—where he was received as a hero—but unlike Sharansky, he finds himself embroiled in scandal when his extra-marital affair with a much younger woman is revealed.

Kotler flees the furore in the Holy Land for Crimea (because irony), where he encounters Vladimir Tankilevich, the man who once betrayed him. What follows is a delicious, compelling, literary psychodrama—and a fascinating exploration of Zionism, the right-wing trajectory of Israeli politics, and the legacy of Soviet Jewry. Writing in The New York Times, Boris Fishman (also interviewed by Jewcy) raved thusly about The Betrayers: “A novel of ideas and an engrossing story? It’s the umami experience: salty and sweet, yin and yang, the rocket scientist who is also a looker.” Tablet’s Adam Kirsch described it as “the rare book that makes being Jewish feel not just like a fate or a burden, but a great opportunity.” Michael Orbach talked with Bezmozgis about these big ideas—and more—earlier this month.

What was the genesis of the book?

I’d written an obituary in 2004 for The New York Times Magazine about a Jewish dissident in Moscow, Alexander Lerner. In researching it, I came across this detail that Lerner stood accused, along with Natan Sharansky, by a fellow Jew, a guy named Sanya Lipavsky, which I’d never heard before. I became fascinated by this idea that this one Jew had denounced his ostensibly Zionist brothers for a regime that then ceased to exist. I wondered what happened to this man when the Soviet Union fell apart; what his life would have been like. That was the beginning of it, but it led to a larger question that fascinated me about morality: why are some people—like Sharansky—incredibly principled and willing to sacrifice anything for their principles and what is it that separates them from most other people? The moral question is the heart of the book. I wondered what would happen if these two men ever encountered each other and if they did so in the present day, with the background of what was happening to the former Soviet Union and the background of what Israel had become and was changing into. That was what inspired the book.

It is a rather lovely book and it does ask that question. Do you think that question has a sort of predestinated answer?

This is part of the project of the book: one is to ask the question and then to dramatize it and the other is to pose an answer, which the book does. I don’t think we should reveal the answer during an interview; I feel it takes some of the excitement out of the reading away. But it does pose the question of what separates the highly virtuous people and most other people and how would we ever know? That was what was interesting about these two characters, Kotler and Tankilevich, because of the Soviet system a lot of the people were actually forced to declare and expose themselves morally and constitutionally: what kind of person are you and will you denounce your brother? Will you resist and, of course, what price would you pay for your resistance?

Was there a good deal of research involved in writing this book?

Yes. The Betrayers derived almost nothing from my own experience so there was a research on a number of levels. First of all, to understand people like Kotler, the refuseniks and Zionist dissidents. I read memoirs they published; I visited Israel, in part, to meet some of these people, see what their lives were like in Israel and how they felt all these years later about the country. This was in 2012, before the Gaza War that proceeded this most recent war. In 2011, I was in Crimea and traveled around to find where to set the story. I hadn’t thought it would be Yalta, but Yalta was the only place I could do it.

Why?

For the very simple reason that I needed large, fancy hotels and outside of Yalta, no place on the Crimean coast had these things.

What was the difference in your writing process between writing something loosely based around your own life (like Natasha) and something like this?

I think by the time I start writing it doesn’t make much of a difference. By the time you start writing it’s just the complication, the challenge, of writing good sentences. Whether I’m writing about myself or I’m writing about someone like Kotler, it really didn’t make much of a difference. It was leading up to the process of starting—trying to understand the subject—that was the big change.

The obvious parallel to Kotler is Natan Sharansky, but I noticed there’s a section where Kotler reminisces about being put on trial in Israel by another refusenik. For some reason, this reminded me a bit of Rudolph Kastner and his experiences post-WW2. Was this based on him?

No, in fact it was this other little detail that I discovered when I was in Israel talking to refuseniks. There was an actual trial against Sharansky that I was fascinated by and it finds its way into the book. In Israel Sharansky stood accused of being a fraud, the opposite of what everyone believed him to be, not a victim but one of the villains. That was a fascinating detail. Not much directly from Sharansky’s life enters into the novel. It is significantly fictionalized, but that detail was striking.

What was it like meeting the refuseniks in Israel? I remember speaking to Gal Beckerman, the author of When They Come For Us We’ll Be Gone, and he made this joke in passing that a lot of refusniks complain jokingly, but also not, that Israel is just like the Soviet Union.

That wasn’t my experience at all. In fact, that was one of the things I was curious about: how did these people, who sacrificed so much to come to Israel, feel about Israel? When they came to Israel a lot of them struggled. The people I spoke to, across the board, remained very committed Zionists and loved Israel. They were on the political right and not on the political left which is true of most former Soviet Jews.

Sharansky is on the right of the Israel political spectrum and that comes across in Kotler’s character as well.

There are people far more on the right. There are moments when [Sharansky] articulates democratic positions that other people don’t. At the time of the Arab Spring he was one of the few Israeli officials that believed this sort of thing should be supported and not immediately suspected. As the case turned out we now know what happened to the Arab Spring. But he wasn’t one of the cynics.

Tangential question: Is there a more right-wing trajectory in all Israeli politics right now?

I think Israeli politics have swung to the right. The Likud has been in power for a decade or some version of the Likud, that’s a fact. Part of what prompted me to include Israel as a part of the book has to do with how that country has changed. How it’s changed has been a function of absorbing more than a million Soviet Jews. I’ve written these three books and this last one was intended to be completely contemporary and to ask the question: what is going to be the legacy of the Soviet Jews? Their real legacy isn’t in North America; their real legacy is in Israel. They’ve changed that country. And if people are interested in why that country has swung to the right, part of the answer has to do with these Russian Jews. You have to understand the mentality and the context of what formed them politically and ideologically: what the Soviet Union was like and what it did to Jews and what it means to all these Jews, speaking broadly, to no longer be the oppressed, but to actually wield power.

They’ve also contributed a lot to the culture and economy in Israel in the best possible way, but politically they’re part of the reason why that country swung to the right. The book continues on with Kotler’s son and the difference between Kotler—who most people on the left would consider a politically conservative guy—and his son. That’s the other part of the family story, which is the rise of the Zionist Orthodox and how that has changed the country.

I’ve noticed that in your story collection Natasha and this book, bad people seem to go to minyan [services]. I think any fictional character who attends minyan in your book is bound to be unpleasant or bound to meet someone quite unpleasant.

Go to any minyan in your own world and I’m sure that one of those people aren’t as pure as driven snow either. That uncle who has some real estate holdings and maybe a scrapyard. He’s the one who sponsored the Kiddush, standing there by the herring.

You’ve spoken many times about the great Jewish writer Leonard Michaels. How were you influenced by him?

Part of the experience in encountering a writer you connect with is also recognizing something of yourself, that feeling of identification: this person has written the book that you were meant to write. There was an instant of admiration and envy when I encountered Lenny’s stories. His approach to his childhood and upbringing seemed in line with mine. The way he looked at urban Jewish life wasn’t purely intellectual, he had these athletes and hustlers. It wasn’t bookish nebbish-ey representation of Jews, and growing up in a community surrounded by Soviet Jews. All the men of my grandfather’s generation served at the front; my father was in sports and many of his friends were athletes. That was the world that made sense to me: where Jews could be both physical and cerebral.

And the beauty of his prose: how economical it was and yet not at the expense of just being evocative and poetic. I still haven’t encountered very many writers that move me the way that Leonard Michaels moved me. I go back and re-read him all the time.

I don’t think anything can match his story ‘Murderers’. That’s a perfect story.

It’s a perfect story. And you can read it, and re-read it and find something new. There’s not a wasted image and everything comes together. There’s humor in it; there’s a real understanding of the darkness that attends being mortal and there’s just great artistic beauty. “We sat on the roof like angels, shot through with light, derealized in brilliance.” My God, somebody else write a better line than that.

Read also: Anya Ulinich on Autobiography in Fiction, Drawing, and the Perverse Pleasures of OkCupid
Gary Shteyngart On Surviving Solomon Schechter, Soviet Pain, And Botched Circumcisions

(Image: author’s website)

The post David Bezmozgis on Zionism, Betrayal, and the Legacy of Soviet Jewry appeared first on Jewcy.

Sitting opposite my Jewish Agency shaliach—my personal aliyah liaison—in his cramped but cozy New York City office last spring, I seemed to be doing pretty well. Sure, I was missing a couple of documents, and I had no employment plan for when my yearlong internship at a Middle East think-tank in Tel Aviv was set to end (“probably grad school, I guess”), but I already spoke pretty good Hebrew, which is a start.

Finding a place to live would be easy, he assured me, and I had friends and family there for support along the way. He went puppy-eyed when I mentioned that my boyfriend already lives in Israel (“Now I get it!  You’re moving for love!”), and smiled sympathetically while I tried to explain that I’m an independent woman and I’m moving for me. The documents I had carefully tucked into a manila envelope the night before were now spread haphazard over his desk, their margins filled with tiny Hebrew scribbles. He dislodged one loose piece of paper and carefully examined both sides, eyebrows raised.

My heart sank. It was my financial affidavit. If you want to apply for financial aid for aliyah, you need to present the Jewish Agency with a picture of what you’re working with—or without. I was in the final throes of my senior year, weighed down by student debt, I had no assets, and I’d just burned through half my checking account on a semester abroad and unpaid internships. My financial situation was less than robust. “You need money,” he said, looking me in the eyes. “There are people who can help you with that. They’ve been known to give big grants. Up to $1000. It looks like you’d qualify.” He began furiously typing on his computer, turned towards me again, and without even a dramatic pause, dropped the bomb: “They’re an Evangelical group.”

I have always looked at Evangelical Christian Zionists the way I hope pro-Palestinian activists look at the Neturei Karta; I appreciate that they’re there for us, but their ulterior motive is just too distasteful to overlook. Sure, they’re very enthusiastic about Israel’s right to self-defense and her frequent games of foreign policy hardball, certainly more than I am. But the fact that they’re only really into it because they believe that Jews need to return to Israel in order to bring about the End Times, in which all Jews will either be killed or converted, leaves me a little hesitant. I remembered a scene from a few months earlier, sitting in my kitchen chair as my mom told our very opinionated Italian hairdresser that I was moving to the Holy Land. Brandishing a steaming flatiron, she declaimed that the Jews were the true chosen people, and that they would always be defended by God Himself, and they shall not be harmed as they battle the nonbelievers, so says the prophecy. My mother, hair half-straightened, could only tersely nod.

The website of Operation Exodus makes no pretenses. It clearly states that the group was founded after God Himself spoke to its founder, Gustav Scheller, urging him to return the Jews to the land of Israel.  This is good for the church, too, it argues, because it fulfills the prophecy of the New Testament. I was glad to see that they don’t downplay the Christian connection–this is no Jews for Jesus “synagogue” front. The message is couched in Christian language; part tract, part time-share brochure. And for the supporters themselves, it offers myriad ways to get involved. There are opportunities for volunteer work, monetary donations (naturally), education, and the chance to join the most important force of all: the prayer network.

From my time browsing the site, I learned two things. The first is that this group is not kidding around. They are 100 percent dedicated to the cause of plucking me from my house in suburban New Jersey and bringing me “home” (or to “the Land,” as Israel is continuously referred to, a Hebrewism I found at once unsettling and endearing).  The second is that this group has no intention to convert or secretly baptize me, at least until I touch ground at Ben Gurion airport. They need me, and they need me Jewish.

“Don’t do it,” my mother said. “Who knows what you’re going to do in the future?  You might work for the State Department”–a fantasy of hers, where I work in Washington instead of Tel Aviv–“or as an international journalist. They’re going to dig up all the dirt they can find on you, especially who you took money from.”

But I have no plans to work in Washington, no aspirations to be a solemn journalist, and no funds with which to pay back my student loans. I started the application process. “I’m working a system that was built to exploit me,” I told her. “They’re paying me because they want me to die so that Jesus can come back. But he won’t. I’m going to get an apartment with my boyfriend instead. And if Jesus does come back, well, I think it’ll take a lot more than that to bring down Tel Aviv rent.” She wasn’t convinced. I retroactively justified my application with a caveat: if I take the money, I need to write about it, to publish the fact that I did it, with my name on it.  I need it to be out in the open.

I put my heart and soul into that application.  I cited my hopes and fears, my reasons and rationales, and my glaring need.  The woman I was working with asked me to call her when I received my flight confirmation, and when I did, I nervously dialed the number. I expected a Stepford wife, an uptight Church Lady, a Jesus Camp mom who kept invoking “the Land,” but she wasn’t. She was sincere and sweet and bright, reminiscent of my Minnesotan freshman roommate. She read in my file that my family was from Syria, and asked with panic if they were safe. (I assured her that, mercifully, we had all emigrated.) She told me that my money was on its way, and that my first name had been given to a number of people who devoted their time to prayer. “Especially in the absorption period, those first six to twelve months, it’s so hard for olim, new immigrants. So just know that you’re in people’s thoughts, people who want you to succeed.”

I couldn’t thank her enough. I even got choked up. In the year since I’d started my immigration process until that day, I had only told the people I was close to—or religious Jews—exactly where I was going after graduation, and that it was going to be a permanent move. In the past, stories beginning with “when I was in Israel,” were met at my small liberal arts college with the sorts of glares you’d shoot at someone who casually mentioned brunching with Bin Laden. And yet, there are people hundreds of miles away who are thinking positively of me in Israel when they pray.

My check came with a logo-ed tote bag and a letter of support from the representative I had been emailing with, including a quote from Jeremiah and addresses and phone numbers of offices in Israel if I needed further support. “All the best, Linda!” read a handwritten note scrawled in the margin. Also included was a small postcard, part of their “words of encouragement” campaign. A woman named Wendy affixed two stickers in opposite corners; one of cherry blossoms, another of the American and Israeli flags blurring together, an image that usually makes my inner leftist cringe. Wendy thanked me for giving her the opportunity to help “one of G-d’s chosen to return home,” the Jewish strikeout of the “o” all her own, a sentiment that would have made me wince were it not for the earnestness in each looping, handwritten letter. She also included a blessing, and a reminder that I’m in her prayers. I found it charming. She put her time and energy into this note, and to be honest, in a time of war and uncertainty, in a time when support for my move was scarce, her words were needed.

There has been a perceptible shift in the way I say “the Evangelicals” now.  I’m not quite prepared to embrace the movement as a whole—I’m still not cool with the fact that they’re limiting my rights as a woman in America, for instance—but my political disapproval has been tempered by the generosity of this particular group. Sure, they might only want to help me because they foresee a future where I’m a casualty in a prophetic war, but they also sincerely want me to thrive here and now. If they can help me make ends meet as a broke 21-year-old starting a new life in a foreign country, I can forgive their apocalyptic visions. They’re doing their Christian duty facilitating my return to “the Land,” I’m allowing them fulfill it by accepting their help: it’s a mutually beneficial gesture, in its own way. An interfaith mitzvah.

Linda Dayan is a writer and Middle East researcher living in Tel Aviv, Israel. You can follow her on Twitter at @tiredestmeerkat.

(Image: Peter Gudella / Shutterstock.com)

The post Making Aliyah—With a Little Help From Some Evangelical Christians appeared first on Jewcy.

I made aliyah just in time for a war. I left my home in Australia full of excitement, determination, and a belief in the wonderful future that was waiting for me in Israel. I had every hope that I would live a fulfilling and happy life in the land that I love. On June 12, as I left my family, friends, and boyfriend behind, everything felt possible.

On June 12, three Israeli teenagers went missing.

As I sit here at my favorite cafe in Kerem Hateimanim, the little Yemenite neighborhood of Tel Aviv I have fallen in love with, I think about the sheer magnitude of the escalation of violence. I think about how my own personal beginning is unfolding against a backdrop of suffering in a beautiful country that for so long I have been wanting to call home.

The news of the murder of the Israeli teens, followed all too swiftly by the revenge killing of a Palestinian teen, was met with a collective gasp from a horrified nation. We were using each other’s children as weapons. In those early days, I walked the streets watching the people around me, their heads bowed low with regret, fear, and the knowledge of what was to come. Those long summer days have somehow trickled into weeks, and each week brings with it a deeper descent into a grave reality.

It has been difficult to set up a life in these unsettling times. I am still looking for a home, a job, a way to set in motion the life I have always dreamed of. But I am preoccupied, as is everyone in this country. Beyond our own immediate worries are greater, more pressing fears. Barely a day has gone by without hearing the sound of sirens bellowing throughout the city. Everywhere I go I am within earshot of the resounding ‘booms’ of war. Each day we wake up with a sense of dread about what might have happened while we were sleeping—or not sleeping—the night before. How many more innocent lives have been lost? How many more children have been taken from their mothers? How much more of this can we stand?

Amid the plethora of posts about the of Israeli-Palestinian conflict you will read or have already read today, you have found your way to me—or I have found my way to you. You have come across the words of an Australian girl feeling her way through a war zone, trying to make a life in conditions most other nations would consider unlivable. I take my seat at the table of an overwrought conversation, but I hope to make a contribution by describing to you the Israel I have chosen.

On my first day as an Israeli, I was greeted warmly by a group of friends, many of whom had made their aliyah journeys before me. I saw that they had morphed into new, Israeli version of themselves. Some were soldiers; others had spent time in Yeshiva. Some had worked the land; others had walked the land. They were living lives vastly different to those of our peers in our home countries. I am inspired by the realization that in this place, there is no telling where I could go, what I could do, or who I could one day become.

As for the Israelis—this huge, dysfunctional family continues to move me. Since my arrival I have heard of countless rallies organized in the name of solidarity, I have sat in a circle of bereaved Israeli parents (who unfortunately could not meet with their Arab counterparts) who gather nightly to tell their stories together in the name of peace, I have seen a memorial built on the Tel Aviv promenade for a 21-year-old soldier killed in Gaza only a week ago. I have traveled the country and seen that some of the most beautiful lookouts, springs, and forests are dedicated in the names of those who have died fighting for our freedom to enjoy them. I have been to a gig in the city where candles were passed out to the audience, the lead singer reminding us all to keep hope in our hearts for a bright tomorrow. It feels impossible, but we do.

This is Israel. These are Israelis. In this place the call of war is answered not only by soldiers, but by an entire country asking “What can I do?” Volunteers work tirelessly looking after other people’s children in bomb shelters as parents go out to work; supplies are collected all over the country and driven to hospitals, bases, and cities in need. Struggling businesses in the south are assisted by special markets set up for people in the north and center of Israel to purchase their goods. The whole country mobilizes into action, and everyone becomes everyone’s responsibility.

The other day I traveled with a dear friend, Rotem, to visit wounded soldiers at Soroka Medical Center in Beersheva. As we made our way through the ward, the news of my recent aliyah was met by the soldiers and their families with wide smiles and a series of congratulations. These incredible young men had been on the front in Gaza only days before, and here they were telling me what a great job I had done in coming to Israel. Later, after Rotem and I left the ward to sit outside and gather our thoughts, we watched two small Arab children approach an Israeli child with balloons. Within minutes, all three kids were frolicking and laughing on the grass. The grandmother of the Israeli child turned to us and said, “This is what it could be like.” Despite the chaos of the crumbling world around us, I know that this was true.

I made aliyah from Australia just in time for a war. But my new beginning in Israel is in good company; I draw strength from the people around me. I think of friends who were married to the soundtrack of sirens; I think of my newly pregnant friend, who despite her husband being called to reserve duty three weeks ago, maintains strength, calm and hope for the new beginning growing inside her. My Israeli friends are people who don’t believe in talk, just action. A dear friend tells me, “Tachlis, get on with it, start doing!” and that’s the way they live. I take my lead from them.

I think often about the choice I made to come to Israel, the implications that it has had on my life, and the reverberations my choice will have one day on my children. Yet, every day I feel affirmed in the life that I have chosen for myself, and I feel strengthened by the support of my extraordinary Israeli family around me.

Everything still feels possible.

Melanie Koss is a lawyer and writer from Melbourne, Australia currently living in Tel Aviv. Follow her on Twitter at @mellehkoss.

(Image: Benjamin / Flickr)

The post Reflections on Wartime Aliyah: Despite Fear and Loss, Hope Prevails appeared first on Jewcy.

Like most other young academics, I’m always agonizing about tenure and job security. “Peace? Who wants peace?” I often jokingly respond when people ask me for my opinion about the Arab-Israeli conflict. “As a professor of Israel Studies, instability is good for my career!” Unfortunately, thanks to recent weeks of war and crisis, it seems like my employment prospects are bright. The line between the personal and professional is liminal in this so-called Holy Land.

I’m writing from Jerusalem, where I’ve left the library for the classroom of lived experience this summer. I arrived for a few months of research on my book only days into the national drama of the kidnapping of three teenagers in the West Bank (at a hitchhiking post I myself have stood at, no less), later found murdered by rogue terrorists from Hebron. Later that week, while running errands in the center of town, I was quite shaken when I unintentionally found myself in the midst of a mob protest by radical right-wing Israelis screaming “Kahane was right,” and “Arabs are sons of bitches,” as they ran past me toward a fast-food restaurant looking for a Palestinian employee to lynch.

A few days later, a splinter group seemingly inspired by these riots brutally tortured and immolated Muhammed al-Kheidr, an innocent teenager from East Jerusalem. As Israelis and Palestinians began to reckon with these dual tragedies, the Hamas rocket campaign and corresponding Israeli retaliatory bombings of Gaza started in earnest, with the conversation soon shifting from searching our souls to searching for the nearest bomb shelter. There has been no refuge for the tumult in our collective consciousness over the past month. (On the bright side, I did get to meet all my new neighbors without proper underwear, as the first rocket siren caught me in the shower with less than a minute to throw on a sundress and seek shelter.)

Last week, Israel initiated a ground invasion to uncertain ends. So much for that relaxing summer sabbatical on the beach and sipping cappuccinos in the Old City, I thought to myself. Here we go again.

Every day I turn on my laptop to more bad news. How have we not hit bottom, I wonder, how can it possibly be getting worse? I’ve probably read every major book written on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict in the past few decades—I skimmed them all for my doctoral exams so you don’t have to!—and feel that scholarship has failed us completely. How can I feel so ill-equipped respond to the current crisis, when understanding the Israel-Palestinian conflict is my day job?

Perhaps because years of reading, researching, writing, and thinking about the conflict have deprived me of simple, easy dichotomies: good vs. evil, Israel vs. Palestine, winners vs. losers, peace vs. war, past vs. future. How I long to luxuriate in the realm of intellectual, emotional, and moral certitude! I sometimes wish for a world of black and white, when all I see is complexity in shades of grey.

Despite this—or perhaps because of it—I feel an obligation to explain, to dialogue, to argue, to share my expertise, for whatever it’s worth. With campuses empty on summer vacation, I’ve traded lecture halls for social media, which has become my classroom, my battlefield (since I am privileged not to have to experience the real one), and even my (Jewish) cross to bear. Whether it’s fighting open-heartedly with a Gazan friend on Facebook, trading quips on Twitter, or writing blog posts, I feel compelled to contribute my knowledge and continue the conversation.  I sometimes feel like I should receive danger pay in this business: moderating between right-wingers and left-wingers, challenging conventional dogma, trying (sometimes unsuccessfully) to bring new voices and keep old faces involved in a discussion can be emotionally taxing and ego-bruising. But I see my job as much as a calling as a career, so tuning out isn’t really a choice.

Engaging in a “war” online, however,  prompts big questions. How can academics best contribute to public debate in times of crisis?  Switching my scholar’s tweed cap for my pundit hat blurs the boundary between the personal and the professional, the private and the political. Online discourse is a challenge to “that noble dream” of academic objectivity, but it’s also some of the most important work a historian can do these days. I do not hide my proud affiliation as a liberal Zionist, but my primary agenda is to bring my knowledge and historical perspective to contemporary issues, helping to put them in context.  Mostly, I try to mediate between multiple narratives. I doubt I’ll be winning a Nobel Peace Prize anytime soon. Truth be told, it can sometimes feel futile—when earnest efforts at engagement, analysis, and dialogue devolve into name-calling and uncritical ranting; when you just can’t get people to see eye-to-eye late at night on Facebook. It’s intellectually and emotionally exhausting work — I don’t blame many of my colleagues for giving up, taking a break, or avoiding this work entirely, since not every academic feels it is part of their job description.  Sometimes, I feel like tuning out and going back to writing that obscure book or journal article that only four people in the universe will read, including my Mom.

But in those few moments when people—especially those who are perhaps not involved or ideologically committed—plead with you to proceed, to continue the authentic multi-dimensional discussion, or even to begin to redefine what Israel and Zionism mean to our generation, how can I give up? Online engagement is one important component of that precious opportunity to be a Jewish and Zionist leader—it’s a mission I won’t pass up.

Mostly, being a historian in a time of crisis is a heart-breaking business, especially when one becomes a historical witness to the profound lack of empathy on both sides of the conflict. Dehumanization is our worst enemy. How we can ever have peace without acknowledging the “other” as a person; without acknowledging the basic truth that they are human beings with human rights? How can we co-exist without compassion in the present? Perhaps it would be useful to reinvent the role of historian as a kind of ‘empatharian,’ one who teaches others how to empathize with the lived past, so that we can be encouraged to contemplate our future together.

Unfortunately, professors don’t have all the answers about how to solve the Arab-Israeli conflict. But the most important thing is to ask the right questions. Since I began teaching in England, I am often reminded of Shylock’s speech in The Merchant of Venice: “If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.”

If we can continue to remind ourselves that both Israelis and Palestinians are people deserving of human rights—and also capable of acts of vengeance—historical empathy may lead us one step closer to an enduring peace.

Dr. Sara Yael Hirschhorn is the University Research Lecturer/Sidney Brichto fellow in Israel Studies at the University of Oxford (UK), where she’s working on a forthcoming book (from Harvard University Press) entitled “City on a Hilltop: American Jews and the Israeli Settler Movement Since 1967.” Her twitter handle is @SaraHirschhorn1. 

Image: Sukharevskyy Dmytro (nevodka) / Shutterstock.com

The post Debating the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict Demands Empathy, Not Just History appeared first on Jewcy.

The Jewish Federations of North America (JFNA) represents 157 Jewish Federations, which collectively raise and distribute more than $3 billion annually for social welfare, social services and educational needs. That’s the official line.  However, the philanthropy – collectively of the 10 largest in North America, also supports communal institutions such as JCCs and arts & culture organizations including the Foundation for Jewish Culture.  Individual Federations also support the Six Points Fellowship for Emerging Jewish Artists and JDub, the parent organization of this site.  All that said, according to their own research, fewer than 30% of Jews under 40 are even aware they exist.   So JFNA set out to change that with a series of contests and awards, culminating this weekend with Tribefest, a gathering of 1,200 Jews under 45 on the sunset strip in Las Vegas.  Amongst the presenters are the founder of Idealist, the owner of the Patriots, Mayim Bialik, and JDub’s own Soulico.

Jewcy will be on the ground, documenting participant experiences and behind the scenes footage and live blogging from select sessions.  You can also follow our exploits on Twitter @Jewcymag, @JDubdeb, @bizmonides, @Professor_Cod

Sunday, March 6th
2:48PM US Representative Debbie Wasserman-Schultz feels compelled to clarify a misleading statement that could be misconstrued as an announcement of her intention to run for President.

2:00PM Jewlicious tells us we took all the good seats in the press row.  We wonder what’s good about a press row with no table, no power, almost no internet connection, and no private audience with Mayim Bialik.

3:0oPM “I’m supposed to get you excited to be here and motivated to give something to your jewish community.” – Mayim Bialik before she goes on to profess her totally sincere and heartfelt love for the Jewish Federation of Los Angeles and to share that “my Jewish identity exists alongside my religious observance, and not in place of it.”  One of the best – and most nuanced – speeches we’ve heard at a Jewish pep rally.

3:15PM No better way to wrap up an opening session than with a “security expert” who tells the crowd, “Pessimism is a luxury a Jew can never allow himself.”

4:00PM Soulico sound checks while we help award a $5,000 grant to the Institute for Southern Jewish Life through workshop run by The Slingshot Fund crew.

7:30PM Soulico takes the stage, followed by Miri Ben Ari.  We contemplate why all 3 acts tonight are hip hop and wonder if it has anything to do with the limited number of plane tickets required to get an MC or DJ (or violinist) onstage.  (No one seems to mind.)

8:30PM JFNA, host of #Tribefest, asks us to “take the night off.”  In other words, they say, “please don’t blog about the gambling, drinking, and canoodling we’re pretty sure participants came for.”

8:31PM JFNA suspicions are confirmed and justified.

Monday, March 7th
9:40AM bizmonides‘ voice is borrowed to make an announcement as the voice of Tribefest.  This will be all anyone here’s from him at the conference.

10:27AM “As the representative from Las Vegas, I represent gambling, drinking, and loose women.” – Congresswoman Shelley Berkley, just after asking all the single ladies in the room to check out her single son, who stood up and waved.

11:15AM Session on “Reconnecting Jewish Americans to Israel.”   Entire room has been to Israel, seems like they’ll be preaching to the choir

11:30AM Maybe young Jewish entrepreneurs and leaders are under represented on #Tribefest panels because Tribfest didn’t trust them.  Some invited speakers aren’t helping the case, making “you and “they” statements when this is a room of “us.”

11:35AM Acknowledging reality of young Jews’ relationship with Israel.  Panelist anecdote: 3 out of 100 Birthright Israel participants identified as Zionists.  (Shocking.)

11:40AM Yoav Schreiber tells his audience that Zionism is a nationalist movement.  “We have a state of Israel.  Why do we still need nationalism?  We need to reinvent it.”

We wonder why we’re trying to save terms.  Not convinced the Jewish people live and die on the words “Zionism” and “pro-Israel” themselves.

11:45AM Panelist and Jewlicious founder David Abitbol explains that “fundamentals don’t change.  Jewish community is about physical community.”  May be true but it’s an interesting statement from a blogger.  He also (fairly) calls out the movement of independent prayer communities proliferating in America today as meeting the needs of 1,000 Jews and not necessarily the savior of Jewish life in America.

11:55AM We head to another session and miss the lively (and at least to mobius1ski, depressing) Q & A which includes lovely sentiments that are captured in mobius1ski’s twitterfeed.

12:00PM In “Work the system” panel on leveraging institutional dollars for new Jewish ideas, Ariel Beery discusses Presentense Investments, a new program he’s rolling out to match potential volunteers (who will give time and money, but mostly time) with new entrepreneurial ventures.

12:10PM Q&A “Why isn’t there a Jewish facebook?”  Groan.

1:30PM On the hunt for our next tuna sandwich.

2:21PM Waiting for “Obama & the Jewish Vote: a Look towards 2012” session to start. Most age-diversity we’ve seen in any one break out session.  Curious to see if there’s similar political diversity here.

2:41PM “Obama is the most supportive President of State of Israel.  This is based ‘demonstrable facts’ most notably financial support of Israel and sanctions levied against Iran.” – David Harris from National Jewish Democratic Committee. No perceivable boos in the crowd.  Sign of Democratic audience or simply respect for moderator William Daroff‘s request for civility?

2:55PM David’s picture of Obama’s relationship with Israel doesn’t match reality. Tremendous strain in Israel/American relationships. – Matthew Brooks from Republican Jewish Coalition.  Goes on to say American Jews and Israel need not be self-reflective about commitment to peace, whereas “Palestinians and extremist Islamists clearly do.” Such a request by Obama Administration illustrative of disconnect with American Jews.

3:00PM “Jstreet is one of most dangerous and offensive organizations in the Jewish community.”  HUGE applause.  “Nothing more than radicalized… (he stops and restarts) they wrap themselves in veneer of being ‘pro-israel.’” – Matthew

“I don’t talk about other organizations unless they attack me. That said, the width and breadth of our community is vast.  If people want to gather under that rubric and believe in it, ‘go and be happy.’  I doubt we would cohost an event with Jstreet in the future.” – David

3:25PM Y- love steps to the mic to ask how the Tea Party will effect Jewish connections/affinity to the Republican party?

“We condemned Rand Paul and Ron Paul – two nut jobs….As in any movement, there are people on the fringe.  We need to make sure they are adequately called out when so needed.  A lot of the Tea Party are sympathetic to Israel.” – Matthew, skirting the actual question posed

“Matt is delusional if he thinks there will not be political ramifications for this group of loopy people.  There is a mainstreaming of their ideas.” – David

3:30PM We take a break from sessions to upload some of the 100+ interviews and testimonials we’ve recorded.  A few highlights:

Tuesday, March 8th.  The Final Stretch

10:00AM  Any better way to start off the last day than listening to a “radical” rabbi explain who Hunter S. Thompson was to a group of Jews sitting in a Las Vegas convention center? And shouldn’t a guy named Niles have a British accent?

10:10AM He gets serious, and we like what we hear. “Don’t incite our people through fear.  Show them what a treasure Judaism is.” – Rabbi Niles Goldstein on the failure of Jewish organizations to connect to young Jews through Jewish values.

10:20AM In “Why Israeli Arabs are a Jewish Issue and What the Next Generation Can do to Ensure a Secure, Jewish, and Democratic State of Israel,” Anat Saragusti contrasts the treatment of Israeli Arabs in Israeli media to that of African Americans in American media.  “Arabs are presented as a threat at least half of the time.”  Goes on to share examples of “breakthroughs” – shows which portray Israeli Arabs not solely as stereotypes – including the Israeli edition of “Big Brother.”

10:35AM in “Combating the Assault on Israel’s Legitimacy,” Aryeh Green from Media Center is not particularly persuasive with the sweeping statement that Israel’s poor standing in the world’s view is all “the media’s” fault.  More interesting is a specific example of news he believes the international media choose to ignore: the Palestinian Authority has just named a soccer tournament after Wafa Idris, the first Palestinian suicide bomber. This is confirmed by our limited Google searches which fail to turn up any international coverage.  Guess this makes Jewcy the first? [Update: 14 hours later, The Jerusalem Post has this story up.]

10:50AM Q&A.  An elderly rabbi who’s been seen around Tribefest passing out pamphlets supporting the use of the Mikveh (a Jewish ritual bath), steps to the podium.  “I am a survivor of the 1929 Hevron massacre.  What are we doing wrong that we still don’t have peace?”

10:52AM Other questions. “Is Jstreet part of the the campaign to delegitimize Israel?” “How do we better use Evangelicals to fight delegitimization?”

10:55AM Someone next to us recognizes the host of the panel, as the guy at JFNA’s General Assembly in New Orleans who put a protester in a chokehold.  Suprising that he’s been given responsibilities here.  Not at all surprising that the panel he’s hosting is this one.

11:45AM Its hard not to feel that the closing session of Tribefest is a bit anticlimactic.  After such an intense 48 hours, what we expect to be the final rallying cry is more of a hoarse whisper, however this doesn’t seem to diminish participants’ overall excitement.  When the lights come on, huge groups swarm the stage area to take pictures underneath the giant Tribefest signs.

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