Category: Arabs

Jewish Marrakesh

Morocco is an enchanting, chaotic, and peaceful land all at the same time. Its Jewish community dates back over 2,000 years and is the largest in the Arab world. Over one million Jews of Moroccan descent live in Israel, France, Canada, the U.S., Spain, and Latin America.

My first exposure to Moroccan Jewish culture was by way of friends in an exchange program between Bet Shemesh, Israel and Washington, D.C. Before it became a predominantly Haredi (ultra-Orthodox) city, Bet Shemesh was heavily Moroccan. My friends there introduced me to the foods, traditions, and sounds of the community such as Lehakat Sfatayyim, a Moroccan-Israeli band.

Growing up in the U.S., I had limited exposure to Moroccan Jewry since the U.S. Jewish community is predominantly Ashkenazi. I attended various Mimouna celebrations in the U.S. and Israel, though, which has always been a load of fun. It’s a way of ending the bread-free week of Passover with loads of carbs and greetings from neighbors. In Morocco, this traditionally meant Jewish and Muslim neighbors celebrating together.

I love exploring diverse Jewish communities, so I was thrilled to arrive to Morocco to learn more and to use my Arabic and French. I’ll be totally honest – I was equally parts nervous and excited. On my recent travels, especially after October 7th, I had experienced a lot of antisemitism, especially on my fall trip to Italy. Morocco is 99% Muslim and let’s just be honest – the relations between Jews and Muslims hasn’t been great recently, or for that matter in the past 100 years or so.

I started in Marrakesh. It’s a fascinating and beautiful city and overwhelms the senses. I stayed in the Mellah, or Jewish Quarter. I started by visiting the absolutely massive Jewish cemetery, filled with 20,000 graves, almost all marked by long white stones. It looks completely different from an Ashkenazi cemetery that I’d be accustomed to. It is the largest Jewish cemetery in the country. I followed the Jewish tradition of putting small stones on some of the graves to honor the dead. Here are some photos from the stunning site:

From there, I practically ran to the Slat Al Azama synagogue, built by Jewish refugees from the Spanish Inquisition and expulsion in 1492. I was so excited to get in and so were some Jewish tourists from Brazil. I got a chance to use my Portuguese with them as we talked about how excited we were to visit the synagogue. Once we got in, the father asked me to explain to him and his son some of the prayers that dotted the synagogue walls. It was amazing to have an instant Jewish connection with someone from so far away in a foreign land.

The synagogue itself is absolutely stunning, filled with mosaics, including blue and white Jewish stars all over the courtyard. There is a small but meaningful museum next to the sanctuary as well that documents Moroccan Jewish history. The place is well guarded and I felt safer there than in many European or American synagogues these days.

Here are some photos of the synagogue:

The synagogue had signage in Modern Hebrew, clearly geared towards Israeli tourists (yes, they come to Morocco too and offered many helpful travel tips via several Israeli Facebook groups I’m in). In fact one of the signs said in Hebrew: “we are here to continue to tell the Jewish story”:

They even had Judeo-Arabic postcards, such as this one which says “I will go around you” (like a kaparot rooster):

What was absolutely stunning to me (in the best way possible) was this bilingual Hebrew-Arabic postcard the museum was selling that listed cities in Israel and Morocco one after the other:

It was a beautiful token of co-existence at a time of great hatred in the world. Keep in mind this museum is an official organization in Morocco. Everything in the country happens with the blessing of the King. It was designed to send a message of acceptance and welcoming Jews, not an accident.

After having visited the synagogue and the cemetery, I decided to go to Friday night Kabbalat Shabbat services. I met the most eclectic group of Jews possible. A Persian-Israeli who spoke fluent Moroccan Arabic. What I think was a gay French-Moroccan Jewish couple with a young child in the Orthodox synagogue. A couple of Moroccan-Israeli bakers from Ashdod. And a Spanish-speaking Sephardic man from Panama!

The synagogue was also beautiful:

The services were quite an experience. I have gone to a couple Sephardic synagogues before in Israel and each one is unique in its rituals as well as melodies. But of course, I’m much more accustomed to predominantly Ashkenazi rituals in the U.S. I was almost completely lost during the service, both because I didn’t know the melodies (except for one or two!) and because the Hebrew text is also slightly different. The North African melodies were enchanting and I also felt like a bit of a spectator more than an active participant because it was both familiar and new to me. Not a bad thing at all, it just was a unique experience for me, like having one foot in and one foot out. It felt Jewish and so different from what I knew.

What was also striking about the synagogue is that it is currently run by Chabad! Chabad was founded in Lithuania, where some of my ancestors are from. It is a Hasidic movement geared towards outreach to other Jews to perform traditional rituals and mitzvot. It is not remotely something I expected to experience in Morocco, especially on Moroccan terms. What I mean is that if I went to Chabad in most countries, I would be able to follow the service more easily because the rituals are Ashkenazi i.e. Eastern European. However, the Chabad in Morocco follows the local customs and has to be one of the few in the world that is deeply, deeply Sephardic and Mediterranean.

After a few days of exploring Jewish Marrakesh, I took a day trip out to the countryside to see Amazigh (i.e. “Berber” – the less-accepted term) life. The Amazigh are the natives of Morocco and what I didn’t realize is that they have a 2,000+ year history of welcoming and building relationships with Jews!

I met multiple Amazigh people during my trip and got to see the remaining houses in a remote, formerly-Jewish village about an hour and a half outside Marrakesh. I even bought some pretty Judaica from an Amazigh man who told me the objects were from the neighboring village. He also said many Jewish tourists of Moroccan descent come to visit, including from Israel. Yes, he said “Israel”. It’s a word that’s so charged these days, but for many Moroccans I met, it was totally normal to say. To acknowledge. To allow to exist. May more people around the world follow their tolerant and open-minded example.

My Jewish experiences in Morocco were so rich and varied that I couldn’t possibly fit them into one blog post. That says something about the diversity and wonderful heritage of this beautiful country. Keep your eyes peeled for more stories from my adventure. It was a truly life-changing experience.

And next time you want a safe place to visit as a Jew, I can’t help but recommend Morocco over Florence. Travel is an incredible way to dispense with stereotypes and preconceptions.

Is Morocco an Arab country?

The answer for many Moroccans is “no”. How could that be? Arabic is an official language of the country. It is taught in schools, used by Muslims of all backgrounds in prayer, and is spoken on the streets. I used Modern Standard Arabic, Syrian Arabic, and French to get around the country even though I didn’t speak the local variety called Darija.

And yet, Morocco has another official language and no, it’s not French despite its widespread use. It’s Amazigh! Amazigh is the native language of Morocco and wide swaths of North Africa. In fact, it has many dialects within the country and across the region, some of which are not very mutually intelligible.

This is what the Amazigh script looks like (though some speakers in North Africa may use Latin-based or Arabic scripts):

It looks nothing like Arabic, sounds nothing like Arabic, and its vocabulary is unrelated to Arabic. In other words, it is the native language of Morocco because it existed there before the arrival of Arabs and Islam in the seventh century. And to this day, it is the mother tongue of 24.8% of Moroccans and is understood by many people as a second language. As far as ancestry, studies range wildly from 35% to 70% of Moroccans having some Amazigh roots.

When I visited Morocco recently, I met Amazigh people both in the major cities and in the countryside, where their numbers are even greater. My first interaction was at the riyadh (traditional bed and breakfast) I stayed at in Marrakesh. One of the staff members was named Muhammad and when I started to speak with him in Arabic, he told me: “I prefer to speak in English and not in Arabic because I am Amazigh.” It hadn’t even occurred to me that someone in Morocco would prefer English over Arabic for reasons of cultural identity, but from then on, I respected his wishes and he taught me a few Amazigh words each day.

The Marrakesh medina (or “old city”) is fun but deeply chaotic with donkeys and mopeds and people running all over the place. I decided to take a break and head to the countryside for a day trip. I visited Amazigh villages on the way to (and in) Imlil. The mountains are deep green and sometimes snowcapped. The streams are beautiful. And the people are incredibly hospitable.

Along the way to Imlil, in the middle of rural Morocco, I spotted a shop in Tanahout with a sign that said the houses on the other side of the hill were the remains of a Jewish village named Azro. My eyes nearly popped out of my head. These are the remains of the village:

While some Jews in Morocco escaped there following the Christian Reconquista of Spain (and the subsequent Inquisition), others had already been living in the country for 2,000+ years. According to the shop owner, this village and its Amazigh Muslim neighbors had very good relations for many, many generations. He even sold some Judaica supposedly from the village (I have no way to verify its origins but I did buy some).

I frankly didn’t know much about Amazigh-Jewish relations before visiting Morocco but apparently they are deep and continue to this day, with descendants of Amazigh Jews coming back to visit frequently from France, Israel, and around the world. I’ll have a lot more to say about Morocco’s Jewish community in an upcoming blog, but I loved getting to know its history on my trip. While I encountered perhaps two or three instances of antisemitism, for the most part I found people incredibly friendly and welcoming when I mentioned I was Jewish. I felt safer as a Jew in Morocco than I have in parts of Europe and even parts of the U.S.

If Amazigh people have been in Morocco for 10,000-12,000 years and Jews for 2500 years and Arabs for 1300 years, what does that make Morocco? I mean even Moroccan Arabic is an eclectic mix of standard Arabic vocabulary, French, Spanish, and yes – Amazigh words. It is deeply incomprehensible when spoken at a normal pace to Arabic-speakers from countries such as Syria, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia.

There is an important word in Arabic that explains what happened (and is happening) in Morocco: استعرب (ista3raba). This word means to “Arabize”. To become Arab by adopting the language and customs of the culture. In other words, while some Moroccans are descendants of Arab tribes that migrated to the country over the centuries, many are Amazigh people who became Arabs. Some perhaps by choice and others due to social pressure and stigma.

This phenomenon is not unique to Morocco and it partially explains part of the wild diversity of Arabic dialects (or perhaps better put, languages) of the Middle East and North Africa. In the Levant, for example, the Arabic is layered over Aramaic and Hebrew influences from the civilizations that existed in the region before the Arab conquest.

The King of Morocco has, in an important step, started to honor this complex cultural diversity rather than suppressing it in contrast with what some leaders in North Africa have done in the past. The 2011 Constitution states that Morocco is: “A sovereign Moslem State, committed to the ideals of openness, moderation, tolerance and dialogue to foster mutual understanding among all civilizations; A Nation whose unity is based on the fully endorsed diversity of its constituents: Arabic, Amazigh, Hassani, Sub-Saharan, African, Andalusian, Jewish and Mediterranean components.” The bold text is my addition to make this point: Morocco is now officially a multicultural country, with Amazigh as a co-official language with Arabic. And its Jewish community is recognized by the ruler of the land as essential to its history and essence.

Morocco is an Arab country. But as my travels there (and Muhammad at my hotel) taught me, it is not only an Arab country. Its layers of Amazigh and Jewish history run deep, and even its Jewish community has used many languages and embraced different identities throughout its history.

In an era where people are looking for black and white answers to complex problems, Morocco is a welcome bit of gray space. It is a place full of diverse and sometimes competing identities that still manage to co-exist better than in many countries around the world.

I’ll have a lot more to say about this fascinating country. Until next post, bslama, ar tufat, lehitra’ot – see you soon!

Making Peace With Arabic

My journey with Arabic started at the local Jewish Community Center, where I took a class in high school. I then studied the language for four years in college and with Syrian refugees on Skype. My studies were helped by my passion for languages and my love for Hebrew, its very similar sister language.

Why Arabic? It all started when I was sitting in my Lebanese friend Jad Zakhour’s (z”l) car hearing my first sounds of Arabic music. It was those tantalizing sounds, plus the delicious food and warm welcome I always received in his house, that caused me to become curious about this language. After all, Arabs and Jews are cousins. If we’re ever going to make peace with each other, we need to understand each other.

As with many other Jews and Israelis, I felt the pain of October 7th deeply and personally. In addition to the horrific results of the attack, the subsequent war has involved my friends risking their lives by serving in the military, going through countless rocket attacks, and a friend’s nephew being injured in the vile Hezbollah terrorist attack on Druze kids playing soccer in Majdal Shams.

I lost friends over the past couple years who showed their antisemitic (or at best, deeply ignorant) sides to me. I was discriminated against in the LGBTQ+ community, including being screamed at in public for being Israeli. I would walk by my local synagogue only to find antisemitic graffiti daily across the street.

All of this caused me to distance myself from Arabic. Anything that sounded like Hamas, like terrorism, like antisemitism, made me feel disgusted and frankly, scared. This was not an easy thing for me to reject. I had written an entire book about my relationship with Arabic as a gay Jew. Arabic is in my veins, it is part of what motivates me to make the world a better place for everyone. Yet the pain was so raw I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t even listen to Arabic music for over a year.

Something changed for me recently. Because of the Syrian government’s attacks on its Druze minority, Arabic’s spirit has reawakened in me. Why? I’m not entirely sure. But I think it’s because I remembered – Arabic is not just Hamas. Arabic is not just Hezbollah and the wretched Syrian government. It is also the language of the my friends. It is the language of 20% of Israelis. Yes, it is a language of many Muslims – and also Christians, Alawites, Druze, and Jews! It has been a Jewish language, with specific Jewish dialects, for many hundreds of years across the Middle East. Some of which were spoken by my Iraqi Jewish neighbors in Tel Aviv.

Terrorists don’t get to “own” a language. Neither do antisemites. Arabic can and should be for all, just like any other language. It is a way to communicate, it is a way to build bridges, it is a way to make peace. I don’t know how to make peace in the Middle East, but I do know I’m in the process of making peace with Arabic. And maybe, here as I sit writing and soaking in the sounds of the Arabic music that got me interested in the first place, making that peace internally is the first step to making a more peaceful world for everyone.

As my blog banner photo from Majdal Shams says in Hebrew and Arabic: “why not?” The time to heal, to build, and to grow is now. Make your internal peace and then maybe one day all sides can reach out their hands to create a safer, more peaceful world. Ken yehi ratzon, inshallah, may it be so.

Jewish, Christian, and Islamic Córdoba

Spain has an incredibly long history of co-existence (and discord) between Jews, Muslims, and Christians.  Few cities offer a more beautiful way of seeing this interaction than Córdoba.

I started my visit off in the Mosque-Cathedral.  Yes, it is a mosque and a cathedral, although actively only a cathedral these days.  Built originally as a basilica by the Visigoths in the 6th century, it was destroyed and then built as a mosque by Muslim conquerors in the 7th century and then dedicated as a cathedral in 1146.  You can see a timeline of the Mosque-Cathedral’s construction here.

The back-and-forth conquest of the area by Muslims and Christians left its mark on the Mosque-Cathedral.  There are clearly Islamic archways throughout the 23,400 square meter building (that’s about 250,000 square feet!).  There’s even a beautifully restored mihrab, which showed Muslim worshippers the direction of Mecca for prayer.

And then smack dab in the middle of the enormous mosque complex, there’s a cathedral!  And from the middle of the cathedral you can still see the Islamic archways that dot the entire campus.  It’s like one civilization couldn’t escape the other.

If you have the chance to go to Córdoba, this building is an absolute marvel and alongside the Alhambra, one of the most impressive pieces of architecture I’ve seen in Spain – indeed, perhaps all of Europe.

After my tour of the Mosque-Cathedral and eating some delicious gelato, I decided to explore the Judería, or Jewish quarter, of Córdoba.  Because Jews also called this place home for many centuries, including the famous Maimonides who was born in Córdoba in 1135.

In the Jewish quarter, there is one of three remaining well-preserved medieval synagogues in Spain.  It was built in 1314 and has beautiful Moorish-style architecture and you can still clearly see the Hebrew engraving on the walls.  You can learn more about its history here.

The Hebrew on the walls particularly caught my attention and spiritual energy.  The fact that I could read some of it really moved me.  Jewish history is so often erased.  Our connection to our ancestral homeland of Israel, where Hebrew comes from, is so often denied.  Yet here in Spain, many miles from our home, there stood a synagogue, over 700 years old, with engravings in the same language I pray in.  The same language I use to write to my Israeli friends on WhatsApp. Jewish history is real and the chain of our existence is unbroken by the conquerors of the day.  I’m grateful to Spanish activists like Red de Juderías de España who have preserved Jewish heritage for us to enjoy despite all the pain our people have endured in this country.

I also stopped by Casa de Sefarad, a Jewish history museum housed in a 14th century Jewish home with a lovely and friendly woman at the front desk who was very proud of the city’s connection to Maimonides.  It’s a beautiful museum and worth a visit.

From the Jewish quarter, I decided to go a little outside Córdoba to Islamic ruins known as Medina Azahara.  These ruins date from the mid-10th century and are absolutely stunning.  This former city is now an archeological park and is set in a gorgeous rural area just a 15-minute drive outside of Córdoba.  If you have the chance, you must go.  You can still see archways and columns and elaborate Islamic architecture.  And far fewer crowds than the center of Córdoba.

It’s a place where you can really meditate on the meaning of these three cultures – Jewish, Islamic, and Christian – which have been, and in some cases continue to be, living in contention with each other.  But also influencing each other and at times even co-existing.  Whether it’s the Islamic arches in a Catholic cathedral, the Moorish décor surrounding Hebrew in a synagogue, or the Jewish scholars like Maimonides who crafted wisdom while living amongst these civilizations- one thing is clear.  We are interdependent.  And nothing, perhaps nowhere, shows that better than Córdoba.  So grab a salmorejo (feel free to hold the pork!) and enjoy this marvelous city of three cultures.

The difference between Israelis and Palestinians

Israelis and Palestinians share a lot in common. As do most human beings. We want a good life for our families, we want to put food on the table, we want to find a sense of purpose. We often find ourselves perplexed by the lack of control we have over events in our lives. Nowhere is that more true than the Middle East.

But what most western liberals fail to understand, that I do understand having traveled extensively in Israel and Palestine and being a fluent Arabic speaker, is that there are fundamental cultural differences between these two societies. Differences that are leading to continued conflict and distress.

Let’s start with some basic premises before we dive into this difficult topic. First, innocent people are suffering in Israel and Palestine and that makes me very sad. Second, the way out of this conflict is unclear and anyone who pretends to have a “magic solution” like “from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” (i.e. genocide of Israelis) or “death to the Arabs” is full of shit. Erasing the “other” will only perpetuate conflict rather than resolve it. And third, some of the people I know with the strongest opinions about Israel and Palestine have never stepped foot there. And should be invited to listen and learn and, frankly, shut up if they have nothing constructive to say.

So what are some of the differences between Israelis and Palestinians? Israel is a much, much more diverse society than Palestinian society. Consisting of Jews from all over the world (including the dozen or so Muslim-majority countries that ethnically cleansed them in the 20th century), plus Druze, Arab Christians, Circassians, Arab Muslims, and non-Jewish refugees- it is a virtual melting pot of civilizations. Meanwhile, Palestinian society consists of an ever-increasing Muslim majority, with a dwindling Christian population consisting of 1 to 2.5% of the West Bank. Life is far from perfect for minorities in Israel, but it is a fundamentally more pluralistic and inclusive society, with non-Jews making up approximately 26.6% of the population, with full voting rights and citizenship.

Palestinians are also rabidly homophobic when compared to their Israeli neighbors. Only 5% of West Bank Palestinians support LGBTQ+ relationships according to a BBC poll. A year ago, a Palestinian gay man was beheaded in Hebron. Meanwhile, 61% of Israelis (and 68% of Israeli Jews) support equal rights for LGBTQ+ people. While right-wing politicians continue to attack the Israeli LGBTQ+ community, they represent a minority of the country and face intense pushback from Israeli civil society. There is next to no Palestinian civil society pushing for social acceptance for the queer community. Religious fundamentalism and a deep-seated conservatism define Palestinian society in a way that western liberals have trouble understanding – or at times even justify.

I could go on and on about the litany of differences, including the rights and roles of women, but I’d like to focus on the single most important difference between the two societies. Most Israeli Jews are prepared to accept a Palestinian state as part of a peace agreement. Only 24% of Palestinians accept the idea of an agreement with Israel, with even lower numbers in younger generations. The numbers vary according to how the question is phrased and no doubt the number of Israelis feeling in the mood to make a peace agreement after the horrific October 7th Hamas massacre is going to go down. But fundamentally, one society accepts the existence of the other, and the other doesn’t accept the existence of the former.

Most American liberals or progressives or whatever you’d like to call people on the left-end of the political spectrum that I’ve often called home- most of them have no clue how to process the idea of Palestinians’ cultural differences as an obstacle to peace and human rights. Not the only obstacle, but certainly a big one. When you see people waving pride flags at anti-Israel rallies in Europe and the U.S., you have to wonder how these people have deluded themselves. How, in a colonialist fashion, they have imposed an American understanding of race, sexuality, victimization, and oppression on two countries across the world with very complicated and significant cultural differences.

I’m not in any way suggesting that Palestinian human rights be disregarded because they are by-and-large ultraconservative, antisemitic, and homophobic. Two wrongs don’t make a right. The status quo cannot continue. All human beings deserve dignity and I’ve been incredibly outspoken (if you’ve followed this blog at all) in advocating for Palestinian and Arab-Israeli rights.

But the only way to make peace is to understand reality first. And until American and European liberals can wrap their heads around the cultural differences between Israeli and Palestinian societies, we will get nowhere. We will get more heated rhetoric and antisemitism. Out of both hatred and a lack of understanding of how this conflict continues to plague the region.

Jews and Israelis of all faiths have a right to protect themselves. Ourselves. If seeing Jews wield the power to protect themselves scares you or causes you concern, you are an antisemite. Until our neighbors, the Palestinians, are willing to accept the existence of Israel, this conflict will continue ad infinitum. And the day Palestinians come to the peace table in good faith, I’ll be the first in line to protest the Israeli government until it makes peace a reality. I eagerly await that day and hope one day, much like there is an Israeli peace movement, that there will be an equally large Palestinian one.

Until that day, we will protect ourselves. As my cover photo from a Druze village in the Galilee says in Arabic sarcastically: “it’s all my fault, I love my sect”. It’s all my fault. I love the Jewish and Israeli peoples and we will outlive all those near and far who wish us harm.

Feeling numb

When I was a kid, I was always the most talkative one in class. I had the best grades but the one thing my teachers would say to my mom at parent-teacher conferences was that I had to learn to raise my hand. Ever since, I’ve been speaking out – and writing – about what is important to me. And what was once a liability in the classroom has since become a skill and one that I’m proud to use to articulate my thoughts about life and the world around me.

Ever since the massive Hamas terrorist attack and pogrom on October 7, I’ve felt numb. And despite my usual verbosity, at times speechless. I’ve felt out of place and sad at friends’ parties, unable to find my inner joy. I’ve felt lonely as I watch acquaintances and friends – mostly not Jewish but occasionally Jewish – justify Hamas’s horrific attack. I feel as if I’m carrying a weight in my stomach as I watch a constant stream of victims’ faces scroll across my Facebook and Instagram. A very significant number of Israeli friends, although themselves “safe”, have lost loved ones to Hamas’s slaughter of innocent civilians.

First things first. I am incredibly sad and extend my deep condolences to my friends living in Israel who have lost loved ones and are coping with the most existential crisis in Israel’s history in the past fifty years. Who are stuck at home and bomb shelters as thousands of rockets whiz overhead. Who are scared and deserve better than to live in chaos and fear.

For me, while I am not in Israel, I feel this pain viscerally. I’ve spent time in many of the places attacked. I’ve met people there – some of whom may no longer be alive. My blog post cover photo is from Sderot, which has been battered to a pulp by Hamas attacks recently and has endured their terror tactics for over a decade. The reason I feel this attack so viscerally is not only because I’m a Jew, is not only because I’m Israeli, is not only because my friends are suffering. It’s also because I recognize that it could have been me kidnapped or killed. If the timing had been different, I could’ve been one of the civilians tortured or burnt alive. It could have been me.

When I visited Sderot a few years ago, I stopped by Kibbutz Nir Am across the street. At the time, Hamas was “only” sending over rockets and flaming kites to set fire to agricultural fields and parks. I encourage you to read the blog about my experience there and the kind people I met, including a father of a five-year-old. I hope they are ok. Nir Am is one of the kibbutzim that was attacked in the Hamas invasion.

One loss is a tragedy. Thousands is a statistic. But we must never lose sight of the 1,500+ Israeli lives lost in an utterly unnecessary and evil act by religious fanatics. Each and every innocent life lost is as if an entire world was lost. Friendships, partners, parents, children, community. Destroyed. Not to mention the hundreds of hostages kidnapped, raped, and abused by Hamas terrorists. It should go without saying, but I will say it anyways, that the Palestinians caught in the crossfire and oppressed by Hamas deserve safety too. And a government that represents their genuine interests for self-actualization and freedom, not murderous rampages against Israeli civilians. I mourn the losses of Palestinians as well and I hold Hamas accountable first and foremost for instigating this war resulting in these deaths.

Where to from here? I don’t know. Part of me wants vengeance. Part of me wants to crush Hamas (more justifiable than vengeance). Part of me wonders what the plan is for once Hamas is hopefully defeated. Part of me wonders if Hezbollah and Iran will strike at Israel from the north, my very favorite part of Israel. Part of me wonders if non-Jewish Israelis who’ve been killed and kidnapped are also getting their airtime they deserve. Clearly this was an attack on the Jewish people and Jews in and outside Israel are more vulnerable to antisemitism and violence than in a very long time. This was the single worst single-day attack on Jews since the Holocaust. And Hamas is also holding non-Jewish Thai people captive, for example. Hamas terrorists are simply fanatics who will stop at nothing to kill, kill, kill.

Part of me experiences this death and destruction as an Israeli. And part of me experiences it as an American Jew who lives next to a synagogue which now has multiple police cars outside for protection. Within whose doors my friend works at a preschool every day. As Hamas calls for global jihad. And progressive American voices who are usually our allies stay silent or, worse, allow their latent antisemitism to seep through. I get nervous every time I walk by the synagogue. What if the jihad comes here? Will that be enough for my fellow American progressives to speak out for our lives?

Why is it so hard for people to realize that it is possible to be pro-Palestinian and not justify Hamas’s actions? One friend (now former friend) claimed that what Hamas did wasn’t terrorism, it was an an act of anti-colonial resistance. Putting aside the fact that Jews are not colonizers in their own historic homeland and that they don’t control the Gaza Strip, when did Mahatma Gandhi ever sanction raping and burning British women alive? How sick some people are. It makes me feel unsafe and angry.

As I write this blog, I am giving myself permission to feel. To let the numbness fade and to find my words. Much as I did as a little kid. Yet I don’t particularly care to wait politely and raise my hand this time. Sorry Mrs. Kyle.

I live now as a bold, liberated Jew and a compassionate human being. Hamas is trash. They are the ISIS of Palestinian politics and do not represent all Palestinians. I continue to believe in freedom for Palestinians and I wish for the destruction and eradication of the Hamas movement which terrorizes their lives as well.

To my fellow Jews heaping criticism on Israelis right now, take a step back and recognize your privilege. We are lucky to live in the United States where we haven’t known war on our shores of this kind for a very, very long time. The closest thing was 9/11 and that was 30 times smaller in proportion compared to what Israel is experiencing right now in terms of casualties. We have a right to speak out and even to disagree among ourselves, but show some sensitivity to people whose lives are marked by traumas we couldn’t even imagine.

It is 12:19am and I needed to write this blog because I’ve been holding these thoughts inside me and haven’t been able to sleep well in a week and a half. Here’s to hoping this helps.

To my friends across the ocean, Israeli and Palestinian, who are struggling – I love you. All I can offer are my words but I mean each and every one. May we find a route to peace, to justice, to safety. And soon. Inshallah. God willing.

A Haggadah of Hope

It’s not hard to be disenchanted with Israeli politics these days. While most of the world has been focused on Benjamin Netanyahu’s anti-democratic “judicial reform”, his same government has also been engaging in racist incitement and encouraging violence against Palestinians. The pogrom in Huwara is only possible because of a government that cares nothing for the lives of its Palestinian neighbors and who views its own Arab citizens as a threat. With a new militia promised to radical racist cabinet member Itamar Ben-Gvir, we may only be steps away from even more confrontation and death.

In such dark moments, we must not find the light – we must be it. For me, that means digging through my books. It means finding some knowledge, some history, some inspiration for how we can overcome such horrible things.

I found just the book!

Digging through my bookshelves, I found a 1935 Haggadah, or Passover prayer book, from Jerusalem. But it was not any old Haggadah, it was a bilingual Hebrew-Arabic book – with the Arabic written in Hebrew characters.

It remains a mystery to me as to why this Haggadah was published in both languages! Not because there is no reason for it to be – but rather many! First things first – this was published by an Ashkenazi printer – Mendl Friedman. So the printer was unlikely to be a native Arabic speaker, like some of the Jews who had been living in Jerusalem for centuries before the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948. Also, the Arabic inside the the Haggadah seems to be Levantine, though it’s a bit unclear at times and there seem to be a few inconsistencies. For example, in the Four Questions, the writer may have made a grammatical error (or I’m a bit rusty!), by first translating the Hebrew “leylot” (nights) as “leyli” (night as an adjective) instead of “liyali” (nights) before later switching back to “liyali”:

These inconsistencies make me think it was probably not a native speaker doing the translation, although I can’t be sure. In any case, we may never know whether this was an attempt to write in Judeo-Arabic, an attempt by Ashkenazi Jews to fit in their local environment, or the off chance that a Zionist organization wanted to promote integration into the local Palestinian culture (as some of them initially supported). Although the latter seems unlikely since the most pro-Arab Zionist movements tended to be extremely secular and were not likely to be publishing a religious text. If anyone reading this blog has insight into the who, what, when, where, why of this book, please share it with me.

So what does this have to do with today? In short, I am inspired by the publisher’s attempt to integrate Jewish and Arab cultures by way of language. Without knowing the intended audience, I can still say that publishing a sacred Jewish text in Arabic is a statement – especially in the conflict-ridden years leading up to Israel’s founding. I am moved by it and hope we will find many more ways to connect across cultures using language and our sacred texts as a point of commonality rather than conflict.

This Passover, Benjamin Netanyahu will probably be spouting off racist bullshit with his equally crazy family in a comfortable home rather than a jail cell where he belongs. However, we can be comforted by the past and inspired to act in the future. Jews and Arabs have not always been at each other’s throats. In 1935 an Ashkenazi Jew published a Passover Haggadah in Hebrew and Arabic. He probably couldn’t have imagined it would end up in a gay American-Israeli Jew’s hands, but that is the magic of history in action.

May this holiday bring more joy to the world. May it bring freedom. May it give us the courage to confront our modern-day autocratic Pharoahs in America, Israel, Russia, Turkey, Hungary, China, and more. For these Pharoahs sit in temporary comfort – justice will come. Avadim hayyinu – we were once slaves, and we will not stop fighting until we are all free. Chag pesach sameach, Happy Passover, and Ramadan Karim.

להציל את היהדות

מזמן לא כתבתי בעברית. כנראה שאכתוב עם מלא טעויות. אבל אני מרגיש שכדאי לכתוב. כדאי לפרש את הרגשות שלי ברגע כל כך רגיש בהיסטוריה של עם ישראל ומדינת ישראל. הרבה אנשים שקוראים את הבלוג שלי יודעים שאחרי כמה שנים בארץ, אני חזרתי לארצות הברית, איפה שגדלתי. התכוונתי לחזור לארץ ללימודים בבית המדרש של הרבנות הרפורמית. אבל לא מעט זמן אחרי שחזרתי לארה”ב, אמא שלי חלתה בסרטן. אז הייתה מגפת הקוביד. אז נפטר אבא החורג שלי. ותוך קצת זמן, אמא שלי גם תלך לועלמה. בקיצור, הרבה דברים קשוחים התרחשו בחיי ופתאום לחזור לארץ לא הייתה בחירה הגיונית. לפחות כרגע.

אבל למרות שאני נמצא רחוק מהארץ פיזית, אני חושב עליה כל יום. אני מתגעגע לחברים שלי שם ואני מודאג מאוד לגבי המצב הפוליטי. לצערי, כאמריקאי, אני מכיר את הפאשיזם באופן מאוד אישי. אני גר בוושינגטון די סי. הייתי פה כאשר דונלד טראמפ השתדל לגנוב את הבחירות וכאשר הוא הסית נגד אזרחיו ב6 לינואר. הייתה תקופה מאוד מפחידה.

עד ה6 לינואר, הרבה חברים שלי בארץ או התלהבו מטראמפ או לא הבינו למה אמריקאים מבחינות פוליטיות שונות לא היו יכולים “להסתדר”. כלומר, אנחנו פשוט לא ידענו איך לדבר אחר עם השני. אבל אחרי ה6 לינואר, הרבה חברים שלי סוף-סוך הבינו שזה לא היה עניין פשוט ובעצם זה היה משבר פוליטי שחווינו בקפיטול.

לצערי הרב, כל ישראלי שפוי עכשיו מבין מה שקרה בארה”ב לאחרונה. שיש בשתי המדינות תנועות פוליטיות שרוצות להרוס. שרוצות לדכא מיעוטים, למחוק את “האחר”. זאת תנועה פוליטית בינלאומית- מרוסיה להונגריה, מארה”ב לאיראן, וכן לישראל.

מהנסיון שלי בארה”ב, אני רק יכול להדגיש כמה זה חשוב להמשיך להפגין ולתמוך בתנועות פולטיות שהן בעד הדמוקרטיה לכולםן. גם כן לפלסטינאים.

אין עתיד למדינת ישראל בלי דמוקרטיה. ואין דמוקרטיה בלי חרות לכל תושבי ישראל ופלסטין.

בסוף, כמו כל דבר במדינה היהודית, זה עניין של איזה סוג של יהדות תהיה חזקה יותר בישראל. ברור שצריך להיות מקום לגיוון- גם ליהדות השמרנית שאני לא מאמנין בה. אבל- בואו נגיד את זה בצורה ברורה- אנחנו רוצים עתיד של איסור חמץ בבתי חולים או אנחנו רוצים עתיד של יהדות שוויונית?

ליבי במזרח. לכל המפגינות והמפגינית האמיצים- תודה. אני איתכם בלב ואני אמשיך לדבר עם הממשלה שלי בארה”ב כדי לשכנע אותה להשתמש בכח שלה לשמור על הזכויות שלכם. כי בעצם, למרות שאנחנו רחוקים פיזית, האינטרסים שלנו דומים מאוד. אנחנו חייבים לתמוך אחד בשני בשוויון.

אני הפכתי אולי פחות דתי אחרי כל המוות והטרגדיות במשפחה שלי ובחברה שלי בשנים האחרונות. אבל אני כן מאמין שהגורל שלנו הוא משותף. ואף פעם לא אוותר על הקשר בינינו והחלום של שלום, של דמוקרטיה, ושל יהדיות שמייצגת את הערכים שלנו. מתגעגע המון- שנתראה בקרוב בע”ה עם חיוכים של הצלחה של המאבק.

Democracy Now

Israeli democracy has never been perfect. No democracy is perfect. Embroiled in over 70 years of conflict with its neighbors, the State of Israel has often taken antidemocratic steps. Occupying the West Bank and its over three million Palestinian residents is certainly antidemocratic. And fortunately, there are many Israelis who agree with me that that must ultimately change. As of now, Israelis advocating for peace and for an end to the Occupation have democratic protections. Protections Palestinians only wish they had – be they from Israel or their own Palestinian Authority.

A while ago, I read a quote from a Palestinian who said that the thing he admired most about Israel was that, at least for its own citizens, there was democracy. Acknowledging that he couldn’t benefit from it didn’t stop him from gazing towards Tel Aviv and the beaches and the freedom and the dozen plus political parties (including Arab ones) and saying “wow, I wish I had this too.”

That fragile democracy that is granted to Israel’s citizens, first and foremost to its Jewish citizens but also to a degree its Palestinian-Israeli citizens, was once something to admire. In a region of the world plagued by religious extremism, Israel stood out as a mostly secular and reasonably liberal place depending on where in the country you lived. Much like how things can really vary by place politically in the U.S., but you are guaranteed certain fundamental rights that other countries in the world sometimes lack.

This fragile democracy, which allowed me to participate in countless demonstrations for LGBTQ+ rights, for Palestinian rights, for Druze and other minorities – that democracy is failing right now. It is under threat from within. And that threat is named Benjamin Netanyahu, flanked by homophobic and racist politicians such as Itamar Ben-Gvir and Bezalel Smotrich. Much like American democracy was (is?) under threat from right-wing extremists such as Donald Trump, Israel is facing a similar January 6th-type moment.

What is this threat? It has several faces. First off, there is Benjamin Netanyahu’s “judicial overhaul” which seeks to neuter the Supreme Court and save his own ass from his ongoing bribery investigation. Secondly, there are rabidly anti-Palestinian policies bubbling beneath the surface, as Itamar Ben-Gvir seeks ever greater control over the security apparatus in the West Bank. Thirdly, there is the issue of religious coercion. This coercion ranges from anti-LGBTQ+ policies to shutting down construction work on Shabbat, the Jewish Sabbath. It even includes a bill that would criminalize the entry of leavened products into hospitals during Passover, when such food is not traditionally eaten by Jews. It is a slap in the face of non-Jewish patients and families and Jews who may not be Orthodox in their observance.

How does one confront such authoritarian impulses? Israel is not unique in facing this challenge. I live in Washington, D.C. and was here for January 6th when right-wing terrorists attacked our own Capitol with the blessing of our former President. Countries like Poland, Hungary, India, Turkey, and others have seen a surge in authoritarian policies over the past few years.

In the U.S., the (lower-case d) democratic forces managed to unite moderates and progressives and even the occasional conservative to fight back on the streets and at the ballot box. It is thanks to the efforts of this coalition, particularly minority voters, that the Democratic Party had its best midterm elections in decades.

In Israel, this same demographic is fighting back- and hard. And I’m proud of my friends who’ve been demonstrating across the ocean. Hundreds of thousands of Israelis have taken to the streets to make their voices heard- for democracy, for change, for rule of law, for minority communities.

Well, not so much for minority communities. Palestinians and Palestinian citizens of Israel are under threat like never before. Israeli moderates and progressives are taking to the streets to protect their democracy. But rarely if ever have we heard from their most prominent leaders, Yair Lapid and Benny Gantz, about the racist threat to Israeli democracy. Of course the judiciary is important – and it can be a bulwark for non-Jewish communities as well. But the protest leaders have yet to address the intersection of their cause with that of the millions of Palestinians facing the prospect of ever-greater discrimination and violence from this government.

While some on the Israeli left have continually advocated for an inclusive vision of Israeli democracy that includes the rights of Palestinians, the center of the political map has yet to address this “Black Lives Matter”-esque issue. And by that I mean the crucial understanding of how minority rights intersect with the fight for democracy- for all.

In other words, because minorities don’t have a seat at the table in this protest for democracy, it will likely fail. I hate to write that – especially about a country I so love and want to see succeed. But until Palestinians- both citizens of Israel and those living across the Green Line– have a voice in this movement, it will be incomplete and not strong enough to take on the ferocious right-wing government threatening us all.

The photo I used for this blog is of me and two Druze friends of mine protesting for minority rights in Tel Aviv in August of 2018. It was a time when we fought for a shared future together. It was a time when Jews and non-Jews came together for democracy. It is possible. It is doable. It has been done before. It must be done now.

Im tirtzu eyn zo agadah. If you will it, it is not a dream. In the holiest of lands, hope must rise.

When the sh*t hits the fan

This past week has been one of those crazy weeks you never forget. My step-dad has spent the week in the ICU due to two blood clots and after going into cardiac arrest. My mom, who is on her newest round of chemotherapy, is taking care of him. I’m just trying to keep my head above water. Trying to enjoy life’s little moments and joys to distract me. With some degree of success. Thank you to all my friends who’ve been there for me this week and are helping me get through this.

This week, the insanity of my life seemed to parallel that of Israel’s.

Just as my world seemed to be spinning, Israel voted in one of the most right-wing, ultra-religious governments in its history. As an Israeli citizen, I’m embarrassed to see the rise of fundamentalism in my other homeland. It just goes to show that what we’re seeing in the U.S. and Europe is spreading to other countries as well. We must rise or fall together. This is the moment for people who care about the future of Israel – and its Palestinian neighbors – to speak out for democracy.

Faced with adversity in Israel and my own home front, I’m faced with a choice. I could pray, I could sway, I could wait for others to act in my place.

I will do no such thing. First of all, I will be there for my immediate family. Secondly, I will be there for myself – allowing for moments of relief and even joy as I step away from the trauma I’m dealing with. I want to live my life, which is what my step-dad would want even as he struggles for his own.

And when it comes to my brethren across the ocean – Arab citizens of Israel, Palestinians, and Israeli Jews and Druze – I will step it up for you. As LGBTQ+ and Reform rights are also under attack, I will not sit by silently. The Israel and Palestine we want to build is possible. And we will not give up. Please consider a donation to Standing Together, my favorite Jewish-Arab activist organization, to promote solidarity and peace.

One of the things I learned while living in Israel was the power of embracing life and its fulfillment even in the darkest of moments. That’s why you’ll find Israelis partying on the beach as rockets fall down. It’s an extreme example, but a real one.

So as the rockets metaphorically fall on my own family and on Israel’s democracy, I will fight, but I will also dance. I will push when needed, rest my body to rejuvenate for the long haul, and I will enjoy the people and love that I get to experience each day.

Because as my cover photo from Majdal Shams says in Hebrew and Arabic: “Why not?” Hope lives, always.