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With goblins, spellcasters and delis, board game makers are imagining new Jewish worlds
(JTA) — Running a not-so-Zagat-rated deli, dropping into a Chinese restaurant for Christmas Eve dinner and acting out a bat mitzvah that involves a vampire — for contemporary board game fans, those can be all in an evening’s play.
That’s because a crop of new games aims to merge Jewish ideas and experiences with the aesthetics and language of games such as Dungeons & Dragons. Dream Apart places players in a fantastical reimagining of a 19th-century shtetl, for example, while J.R. Goldberg’s God of Vengeance draws inspiration from the Yiddish play of the same name. In the games in Doikayt, a collection released in 2020, players can literally wrestle with God.
Known as tabletop role-playing games because they ask players to take on a character, these games and their creators imagine exciting new worlds, subvert classic tropes in fun and irreverent ways, and reinterpret Jewish history and identity.
Tabletop role-playing games like Dungeons & Dragons and Call of Cthulhu have exploded in popularity over the past several years, with many — including at least one group of rabbis — picking up the Zoom-friendly hobby during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. But the new Jewish games aim to do more than just provide a diversion or even an escape.
“Depending on your family, depending on your synagogue, depending on your community, you may have gotten more or fewer options of what Jewishness could mean in your imagination,” said Lucian Kahn, who created a trilogy of humorous Jewish role-playing games.
“What some of these games are doing is opening that up and pointing to alternate possibilities of imagining Jewishness, not as a way of converting anyone to anything else, but just as a way of showing the tradition is enormous,” he added.
Kahn is the creator of If I Were a Lich, Man, a trilogy of humorous games whose name is a mashup between a “Fiddler on the Roof” song and an undead character, the lich, that frequently appears in fantasy fiction and games. In the title game, players are Jewish liches — spellcasters whose souls, in the lore of Dungeons & Dragons, are stored in phylacteries, the Greek word for tefillin used by Jews in prayer. Representing the four children of the Passover seder, they debate how their community should address the threat of encroaching holy knights.
In some cases, the association of Jews with monsters has given rise to charges of antisemitism — the goblins of “Harry Potter” offer a prime example. But Kahn said he sees Jewish-coded monsters, and queer-coded villains, as figures of resistance.
“There’s a long tradition of looking at the monster and seeing that the reason why these are monsters is because the people who have oppressive power have decided that these are going to be the enemies of the ‘good’ oppressive powers,” Kahn explained. “But if you don’t agree with their ideology, if you’re seeing yourself as being a member of a marginalized community and being in opposition to these oppressive powers, then you can look at the qualities assigned to these monsters and some of them are qualities that are good.”
For Kahn, Jewish-coded monster characters also provide more of an inspiration than the archetypes of more traditional games.
“Maybe somebody thinks they’re insulting me or insulting Jews,” he said. “My response is: I like vampires and liches and trolls and goblins and think they’re much more interesting than bland white muscular humans running through the fields with a cross on their chest hacking at the same things with a sword over and over again.”
Kahn’s outlook has resonated in the tabletop role-playing game community. In February, he and Hit Point Press launched a Kickstarter to fund production of If I Were a Lich, Man. The campaign smashed its $5,000 goal, raising $84,590, enough to hit one of the campaign’s stretch goals of funding a grant to support independent zines about tabletop role-playing games.
The successful campaign means that Kahn’s three games will go into production. In addition to the game about liches, the trilogy includes Same Bat Time, Same Bat Mitzvah, in which players act out a bat mitzvah where one guest has been turned into a vampire, and Grandma’s Drinking Song, inspired by how Kahn’s Jewish great-great grandmother and her children survived in 1920s New York City by working as bootleggers during Prohibition.
In Grandma’s Drinking Song, players write a drinking song together as they act out scenes. Kahn, the former singer/songwriter and guitarist for Brooklyn Jewish queercore folk-punk band Schmekel, wanted to carry over elements of music into this game.
A throughline in all three games is the power of creative resistance to authority — a narrative that Kahn said strikes him as particularly Jewish.
“There are all these stories in Jewish folklore that are really overtly about finding trickster-y or creative ways of fighting back against oppressive and unjust governmental regimes, evil kings, bad advisors,” Kahn said. “One of the first stories I ever heard in my life was the Purim story, so it’s very embedded in my mind as a part of Jewish consciousness, when evil rulers come to power and try to kill us all, we’re supposed to find these outside-the-box ways of preventing that from happening.”
For some Jewish creators, Jewish holidays are an explicit inspiration. Like many Jewish kids of the ‘80s and ‘90s, Max Fefer, a civil engineer by day and game designer by night, grew up loving the picture book “Herschel and the Hanukkah Goblins,” which remains a popular festive text. But as Fefer notes, goblins are often associated with antisemitic stereotypes. Fefer’s first Jewish game, Hanukkah Goblins, turns the story on its head — players interact as the jovial goblins, who are here not to destroy but to spread the spirit of Hanukkah to their goblin neighbors.
Last year, Fefer launched a successful Kickstarter for another Jewish holiday-inspired tabletop role-playing game, Esther and the Queens, where players assume the roles of Esther and her handmaidens from the Purim story, who join together to defeat Haman by infiltrating a masquerade party as queens from a far-off land.
Esther and the Queens channels Fefer’s Purim memories and includes carnival activities, including Skee-Ball; a calm, relaxing Mishloach Manot basket-making; and a fast-paced racing game.
“All of our holidays, they’re opportunities for us to gather as a community in different ways,” Fefer said. “Watching this satirical, comedic retelling of the story of Purim and the Esther Megillah and coming together into a theater, in a synagogue, to watch these spiels and laugh together and spin the graggers when we hear Haman’s name — all of those things help us build identity and community, and I think games in particular surrounding identity, that’s a great way for a Jewish person themselves to feel seen in a game and reinforce their identity, and share their background with friends.”
Another pair of Jewish game creators, Gabrielle Rabinowitz and her cousin, Ben Bisogno, were inspired by Passover.
“The seder is kind of like an RPG in that it’s a structured storytelling experience where everyone takes turns reading and telling, and there’s rituals and things you do at a certain time,” Rabinowitz said. “It’s halfway to an RPG.”
The game became a pandemic project for the two of them, and alongside artist Katrin Dirim and a host of other collaborators, they created Ma Nishtana: Why Is This Night Different? — a story game modeled on their family’s seder. The game follows the main beats of the Exodus story, and in every game, there will be a call to action from God, a moment of resistance, a departure and a final barrier — but different characters and moments resonate depending on the players’ choices.
As an educator at the Museum of Natural History, Rabinowitz said she is often thinking about how to foster participation and confidence, and she wanted to create a game-play mechanic to encourage players to be “as brazen as her family is.” The result was an in-game action called “Wait! Wait! Wait!” — if players wish to ask a question, make a suggestion, disagree with a course of action or share a new perspective, they can call out “Wait! Wait! Wait!” to do so.
The game also includes a series of scenes that are actively roleplayed or narrated, and each includes a ritual — one that can be done in-person or an alternate remote-friendly version. For example, at one point each player must come up with a plague inspired by the new story they’re telling together, and in the remote version, players go camera-off after reciting theirs.
“The fact that it was created during the pandemic and a way for us to connect and other people to connect with each other is really the soul of the game,” Rabinowitz said. “After each person tells a plague, by the end, all the cameras are off and everyone stays silent for another minute. It’s a hugely impactful moment when you’re playing remotely. The design is interwoven in the game itself.”
Rabinowitz said by playing a story of a family undergoing these trials, the themes of family and identity deepen every time she plays the game.
“A lot of people say, ‘Wow, I’ve never felt more connected to this story,’” she said. “Embodying these characters gave me a feeling of relevance and that makes it feel important as a Jewish precept.”
For other creators, that deep connection comes in more lighthearted scenarios. Nora Katz, a theatremaker, game designer and public historian working at the Goldring/Woldenberg Institute of Southern Jewish Life (ISJL) by day, created the Jewish deli-centered game Lunch Rush, which was included in the Doikayt anthology.
“There’s also types of institutions that come up a lot in [tabletop role-playing games], especially sort of high fantasy,” she said. “Everyone meets in a tavern, there’s an inn, things like that. So the idea of a deli as a central gathering place in a world like that felt fun to me.”
An important element of Lunch Rush is that players must be eating while playing, so for Katz’s first round with friends, they got together with chocolate chip ice cream and dill pickle potato chips. She said the deli is a shared language, and her fellow players were all bringing in their own favorite things about delis they loved into the fictional place they were building together.
Tabletop role-playing games “at their core are about collaboration and relationships and storytelling and community, and for me, all of those things are also what Jewishness is about, to me they totally go hand in hand,” Katz said.
The games are not meant to be for Jewish players only. Rabinowitz said the guidebook for Ma Nishtana includes essays to encourage people to further engage with the narrative.
“Jewish players, non-Jewish players, priests, non-religious people, all different people have played it and almost all of them have told us it’s given them a new way of thinking of how they relate to religious tradition, and I didn’t really set out to do that,” Rabinowitz said. “I feel really privileged to have helped create that space.”
Rabinowitz and Bisogno also commissioned other creators to build alternate backdrops for their game, so it can be repurposed to telling the story of another oppressed people’s fight for freedom. Players can interact as embattled yaoguai, spirits from Chinese mythology; explore a Janelle Monáe-inspired Afrofuturist world; play as Indigenous land defenders; or unionize as exploited workers at “E-Shypt.”
Fefer, who has been amplifying the work of other Jewish creators in the tabletop role-playing game space, said the harm of stereotyping and reinforcing negative tropes is still present in the industry, and not just for Jewish people. For example, fans recently criticized Dungeons & Dragons publishers Wizards of the Coast for reinforcing anti-Black stereotypes in the descriptions of a fantasy race, the Hadozee.
“I think it’s a process of talking to people who are from these groups and bringing them onto your teams and making sure you’re incorporating their perspectives into, in the example of Dungeons & Dragons, a hundred-million-dollar industry, being intentional about that design and looking at things from lots of different angles,” Fefer said. “How could our branding, our games be reinforcing something we’re not even aware of?”
Fefer hopes people who play Hanukkah Goblins and Esther and the Queens feel seen and have moments of shared joy, and also that they learn something from these games — about the antisemitic tropes in fantasy, or about underrepresented groups within the Jewish community. With Esther and the Queens, Fefer collaborated with a writer and artist, Noraa Kaplan, to retell the Purim story from a queer and feminist lens, drawing on Jewish texts that the pair said shows the long presence of queer and trans people in Jewish tradition.
“We have a lot of richness within Judaism to share our culture and share our upbringing but also just be representation,” Fefer added. “We’re living in a time of heightened antisemitism and the world being a gross place to be at times, and we can really bring the beauty of Judaism into game design and create experiences for people that are both representative of Judaism and also just very Jewish experiences.”
But for all the important conversations and learning experiences that can come from Jewish tabletop role-playing games, Katz said the goofiness and joy is important, too.
“We live in such a horrendous society that is of our own making,” she said. “If you can, for a little while, enjoy an anticapitalist fictional deli that you and your friends live in, I think that’s great.”
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The post With goblins, spellcasters and delis, board game makers are imagining new Jewish worlds appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Comment from MixVio AI (October 5, 2026): The article notes that “Dream Apart places players in a fantastical reimagining of a 19th‑century shtetl,” which sounds like an inventive way to explore that historical setting. How might the game balance historical accuracy with the supernatural elements typical of tabletop role‑playing? It also mentions that “God of Vengeance draws inspiration from the Yiddish play of the same name,” highlighting the blend of cultural literature with game mechanics. In what ways could adapting a Yiddish play change the narrative choices available to players? Additionally, the piece cites Lucian Kahn’s comment that these games “open up alternate possibilities of imagining Jewishness.” Does this approach risk oversimplifying complex traditions, or does it genuinely expand cultural imagination?
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What do Germans talk about when they talk about antisemitism?
In today’s Germany, an accusation of antisemitism can end careers, shutter institutions and put political alliances beyond consideration. That gravity is understandable in the country responsible for the Holocaust. What has become less clear, particularly since the Hamas-led attacks on southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, and the ensuing war in Gaza, is what Germans mean when they use the word “antisemitism.”
Days before Berliners went to the polls on Sept. 20, Germany’s chancellor Friedrich Merz provided a particularly awkward illustration. At a campaign event for his party, the CDU, Merz called antisemitism “the most perfidious form of xenophobia.” German Jews were quick to point out a glaring problem; they were not foreigners. The contentious IHRA framework officially embraced by Germany stresses that antisemitism and hostility toward foreigners are separate phenomena.
The confusion has become politically consequential since Berlin voted. Die Linke, a democratic socialist party, won 25.7%, more than doubling its 2023 share and finishing nearly seven points ahead of the CDU, which came in at 18.8%. The far-right AfD came third with 16.3%, itself an extraordinary gain of 7.2 points. Yet, since the election, the question consuming German politics has been whether Die Linke is too antisemitic to govern.
Israel’s ambassador, Ron Prosor, described antisemitism within Die Linke as systemic. The Central Council of Jews warned the SPD and Greens against joining a Linke-led coalition. Bavaria’s premier, Markus Söder, called Die Linke “deeply antisemitic.”
Philipp Peyman Engel, editor in chief of the Jüdische Allgemeine, the weekly newspaper of the Central Council of Jews in Germany, distilled the case against Die Linke in Britain’s Jewish Chronicle. The party, he wrote, was “riddled with people who hate Jews and Israel” and represented “the elimination of Israel.” Even voters drawn by rents and social policy had tolerated its hatred of Israel; SPD and Green politicians would forfeit any claim to moral seriousness by governing with it. “No non-Jewish democrat should simply accept this election result either,” he wrote.
That is an extraordinary indictment of a party that just received more votes than any other in the German capital. It is also hard to reconcile with the party that actually exists.
Die Linke does carry unusual historical baggage. It was formed in 2007 from a movement of trade unionists and Social Democrats alienated by Gerhard Schröder’s welfare reforms and the PDS, successor to East Germany’s ruling communist party. The GDR pursued an anti-Zionist foreign policy, strands of which survived reunification; the modern party also absorbed a western anti-imperialist tradition in which hostility toward Israel has at times shaded into antisemitism.
A 2011 analysis published by Germany’s Federal Agency for Civic Education found serious hostility toward Israel in parts of Die Linke but rejected describing the party itself as antisemitic. A year later, Die Linke nominated Beate Klarsfeld — the Nazi hunter who spent decades pursuing German war criminals and famously slapped former Chancellor Kurt Georg Kiesinger over his Nazi past — for the German presidency. She received 126 votes in the Federal Assembly.

Die Linke’s current official position is markedly different from Engel’s characterization in the Jewish Chronicle. At its federal congress in June, Die Linke explicitly affirmed Israeli and Palestinian self-determination and the right of both Israel and Palestine to exist. It passed a separate resolution condemning antisemitism and describing its sharp rise since Oct. 7. While one may regard those positions as inadequate, contradictory or politically naïve, they do not amount to a program for eliminating Israel.
The party that won Berlin last month has changed in other ways as well. Its candidate for mayor, Elif Eralp, a trained lawyer, was born in Munich to Turkish socialist trade unionists who fled the 1980 military coup. Her campaign centered on housing, rent controls and migrant rights, and borrowed consciously from Zohran Mamdani’s campaign in New York; Linke activists even traveled there to meet his advisers.
That helps explain why this election has rattled Germany’s political center. Die Linke is no longer easily dismissed as the residual party of eastern German communism. In Berlin, it has assembled a young, urban and increasingly diverse electorate around an issue — the cost of housing — that the governing parties have conspicuously failed to solve. Unlike the AfD, it also has potential coalition partners. A Linke-SPD-Green government could remove the CDU from power and seek to implement the result of a 2021 referendum, approved by 57.6% of voters, calling for the socialization of large housing companies.
There are nonetheless questions about parts of its Berlin organization, especially in Neukölln. A rapper at a campaign event sang “Yalla Yalla Intifada” and “Death to the IDF.” Ferat Koçak, the district’s Linke Bundestag member, was photographed on election night with Ibrahim Ibrahim, described by Democ, an anti-extremist monitoring group, as a longtime activist with the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, which the EU lists as a terrorist organization. Ibrahim has also been reported to have praised Hamas leader Yahya Sinwar as a “steadfast leader” and “martyr hero.”
Beyond Berlin, a June investigation by Bayerischer Rundfunk into internal forums and chats of Linksjugend, the party’s youth organization, found messages by a spokesman for Die Linke’s youth organization in Rhineland-Palatinate referring to Israeli “concentration camps” and a “genocide in the name of Judaism” and telling Israel to “drop dead!”
Wolfgang Benz, who directed the Center for Research on Antisemitism at Berlin’s Technical University for more than two decades and edited an eight-volume handbook on antisemitism, told the Tagesspiegel that the term Antisemitismus is undergoing an Ausverkauf — an inflationary depletion of its meaning.
“Die Linke is not antisemitic,” he said. Anti-Israel slogans can be crude, denunciatory, even “misanthropic,” without thereby becoming Jew-hatred. His answer when asked whether the chant “Death to the IDF” was antisemitic was no.
In the same interview, Benz also argued that Die Linke’s leadership should deal loudly and decisively with genuinely unacceptable conduct and singled out Bodo Ramelow, who became Linke’s first minister-president in 2014, and Petra Pau, a veteran Linke politician and former Bundestag vice president, as politicians with strong records against antisemitism. Benz’s successor, Stefanie Schüler-Springorum, has likewise called the debate around Die Linke “overblown” and warned that antisemitism is being used to influence coalition formation.
The consequences of collapsing antisemitism and anti-Zionism have extended beyond electoral politics. In Verfassungsblog, an open-access forum on constitutional law and politics, scholars Dörthe Engelcke and Ilyas Saliba documented Palestinian-related events at German universities losing rooms or being canceled, while antisemitism commissioners intervened in debates over terms such as “genocide,” “apartheid” and “settler colonialism.” Berlin’s Jews, meanwhile, are hardly unanimous. An open letter signed by 150 Jewish Berliners, including Susan Neiman, Deborah Feldman and Eva Menasse, accused parts of the media and Jewish community of instrumentalizing antisemitism against Die Linke while the far right advances.
The signatories also point out some obvious facts that, I imagine, tend to get overlooked: that Jews in Berlin pay rent, send children to schools, use hospitals and, like their neighbors, worry about economic insecurity.
Britain’s Labour Party under Jeremy Corbyn offers a cautionary precedent. As genuine failures over antisemitism became entangled with factional warfare, parts of Corbyn’s camp focused so heavily on the political motives behind the accusations that they appeared to minimize the underlying problem. The result was to strengthen the very attacks they regarded as politically motivated. Die Linke would be unwise to repeat that mistake.
Right now, far more than Die Linke’s reputation is on the line. The far-right AfD party won 43.8% in Saxony-Anhalt last month, an increase of 23 percentage points. On the same day Berlin voted, it won 38.2% in Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania, according to preliminary official results, while the CDU fell to 4.9% and disappeared from the state parliament. In Berlin, the AfD rose from 9.1 to 16.3% and finished third.
Those results should provide some perspective on the attempt to establish whether Die Linke’s 25.7% represents an antisemitic rupture in German democracy. Die Linke’s leadership will have to demonstrate that its stated opposition to antisemitism has real-world consequences. But the claim that Jew-hatred is baked into the party itself is unsupported by its program, its history or the records of many of its leading politicians.
What the controversy more clearly reveals is the alarm produced when a party long treated as marginal suddenly wins and becomes capable of leading its government. Antisemitism, the most devastating accusation available in German political language, offers Die Linke’s opponents a means of turning questions about the behavior of certain activists into a referendum on the party’s legitimacy.
Yet while Berlin argues over whether Die Linke is fit to govern, a far-right party with openly ethnonationalist positions and powerful antidemocratic currents, is winning close to 40% in parts of the former East. What’s shocking is that Germany’s political center is devoting its fiercest moral language to the left precisely when the far right is remaking the country’s electoral map.
The post What do Germans talk about when they talk about antisemitism? appeared first on The Forward.
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Jewish federations are losing my generation — and future ones — over Israel and Netanyahu
When my father Norm Gordon was six years old, the Jewish Federation of Cleveland helped rescue him. Recent immigrants from Poland, his parents were already living precariously when his mother died and his father gave him up. The Jewish Children’s Bureau, funded by the JFC, found a home for him and his brothers and kept them all together under one roof. That’s the sort of thing Jewish federations across America were founded to do, going all the way back to the “Stuyvesant Promise” of 1655: pool the resources of Jewish communities to help the helpless. My first jobs were for JFC-funded camps. My mother, a social worker, spent her career working with agencies like Bellefair Jewish Children’s Bureau, funded by JFC. After my father Norm himself died young and my mother married my adoptive father James Ratner, our family’s ties to JFC grew even stronger. My father James was deeply involved with JFC for decades, serving on their Executive Committee and as Chair of their Overseas Connections Committee.
Now all those ties have been cut. My experience isn’t unique. Federations have been alienating constituents who don’t align ideologically with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. It’s been happening all over the country. For three decades, I’d kept a portion of my assets with JFC in a donor-advised fund. I made gifts to my preferred charities out of the fund while the principal remained with JFC as part of the “community chest” they use to finance their operations. But JFC recently told me, in so many words, I should take my money elsewhere. So I did.
Their point of contention was that I wished to give some money from my donor-advised fund to Physicians for Human Rights. After the unprecedented and barbaric terror attacks in Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, Jewish federations raised a lot of money for Israel. They also made lists of human rights organizations that were critical of the Israeli government. The JFC Donor-Advised Fund Committee notified me that this year, for the first time, my pledge to PHR would not be honored.
PHR is not the only cause I give to, but it’s vitally important to me. I’m an M.D., an editor of The American Psychoanalyst, and I’ve served on the PHR board for years. I am privileged to know their fine work in detail. Their physicians risk their lives in conflict zones and take on powerful autocratic regimes around the globe, using medical evidence to expose harms to civilians. In 1997, PHR shared the Nobel Peace Prize as a founding member of the International Campaign to Ban Landmines. Their work is especially important to me as I watch leadership in the U.S. subjugating science, reason, and the rule of law to executive power. PHR represents a commitment to precisely those threatened values that the majority of Jews hold dear, values that hadn’t previously conflicted with JFC’s. Very little of what PHR does relates to Israel at all. I saw no reason to choose between the two organizations until JFC asked me to.
Clearly, JFC’s Donor-Advised Fund Committee sees its decision as a laudable act — that they’re standing up to antisemitic bias even if doing so means losing a constituent and his capital. But that does not describe what happened here. The DAF Committee, on the contrary, rushed to judgment against PHR and alienated a longtime backer of JFC’s community chest with false claims of antisemitism, unsupported by evidence.
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In an email sent to some of my family members, who have also sadly withdrawn their support from JFC, JFC’s DAF Committee devoted just 130 words to its judgment against PHR. Echoing Netanyahu’s incendiary talking points about the medieval “blood libel,” the DAF Committee accused PHR of falsely blaming Israel for the destruction of Al-Ahli al-Arabi Hospital in Gaza City. Ironically, as NPR reported, PHR was a lone voice that did not rush to blame Israel before the facts were in: “By contrast, the advocacy group Physicians for Human Rights put out a call on the day of the blast for the protection of civilian life and for the incident to be the subject of an independent investigation. It notably did not project blame.”
The only piece of evidence the DAF Committee email provided for their claims was exactly that innocuous PHR press release that called on “all parties to abide by international law.” The JFC DAF Committee also claimed, without providing evidence, that PHR does not acknowledge or condemn Hamas’ use of tunnels to store weapons and shield warriors under hospitals. In a joint report on the devastating impact of the war in Gaza on Palestinian mothers and infants, PHR and the Global Human Rights Clinic at the University of Chicago Law School do, on the contrary, explicitly call on Hamas not to militarize hospitals. The DAF Committee provided no evidence at all of PHR’s conflicts with the JFC mission.
Some may ask, “So what?” The JFC’s priority is defending Israel when it’s under attack. It’s not as though PHR is out there helping Israel. In fact, in highlighting the suffering of Palestinian civilians in their report instead of the victims of Oct. 7, and in documenting that the Israeli military has prevented medicine and baby formula from reaching Gaza without considering the larger reasons for Israel’s blockade, PHR shows clearly enough whose side they’re on. JFC is entitled to decline support to organizations that don’t support Israel and it doesn’t owe you a reason.
I don’t question JFC’s right. I question its wisdom. I’m not trying to persuade them to value PHR’s work the way I do, though I hope I’ve made a reasonable case for why I value it. I’m trying to say JFC is making a mistake in alienating constituents like me over a difference of opinion — alienating people who have long considered themselves allies, supported JFC for years, and care about Israel. There has to be room for rational disagreement in a community organization. If not, the federations will hemorrhage constituents and support and become politicized. The majority of American Jews are highly critical of the current Israeli government and its campaign in Gaza. Younger people even more so. JFC may disagree with the rest of us, but it’s not as though we’re making stuff up out of thin air. Israel’s own ex-generals are accusing West Bank settlers of “ethnic cleansing.”
By refusing to accommodate our views, do the federations hope to change our minds? Is this how the federations want to advertise themselves to the majority of American Jews who dare to question Netanyahu? Telling us there’s no room for us, and justifying their conclusions with sloppy assumptions, naive parroting of Netanyahu, and wanton disrespect for others’ views and expertise?
I have no sympathy for Hamas. Human rights organizations like PHR do not support Hamas. Most of the 2 million people living in Gaza, however, are not terrorists. They are human beings and half of them are children. Before Oct. 7, 2023, there were 30,000 Hamas fighters in Gaza, according to the Israeli Defense Forces, a tiny fraction of the Gaza population. I don’t see the harm in trying to insure mothers’ and infants’ access to medicine and baby formula. Nor in documenting the Israeli government’s violations of the rules of warfare when they deny medicine and baby formula to Palestinian mothers and infants who were not perpetrators of Oct. 7. Is our own government here in the U.S. always beyond reproach? No government is. Only authoritarian regimes consider themselves beyond reproach. Again, I don’t expect JFC’s DAF Committee to see it my way.
I would, however, ask them to consider the possible long-term consequences of purging people who think as I do. If protecting Palestinian mothers and infants is really such an affront to JFC’s mission, what does that say about its mission and its priorities? Quashing criticism of the Israeli government is a dramatic departure from JFC’s founding principles. The leaders of the social welfare agencies that depend on JFC’s support will be dismayed to learn that JFC worries more about defunding PHR reports on baby formula than they worry about maintaining the Bellefaire Jewish Children’s Bureau. JFC has been a national leader among the federations from the beginning in caring for their community’s most vulnerable, including children and the elderly. The founders of United Way emulated JFC when in 1913 they began organizing their own community chests. If JFC’s central aim is still the thing they were always best at — maintaining a community chest to help people, as they once helped my father and his brothers — then pushing me out for supporting PHR hardly seems like a good way to serve that aim.
What is most shocking to me is that the federations really don’t seem to care what the majority of American Jews think, or how many constituents they lose by purging those who refuse to equate criticism of the Israeli government with antisemitism. Like Netanyahu, they seem quite comfortable without us. But they’re losing this generation and the next one.
The post Jewish federations are losing my generation — and future ones — over Israel and Netanyahu appeared first on The Forward.
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Israel’s supreme court says Arab parties can run in Oct. 27 election
(JTA) — TEL AVIV – Israel’s Supreme Court ruling upholding the right of Arab parties to run in the Oct. 27 election could make it more difficult for Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to form a new coalition after the election.
In a unanimous decision, the Supreme Court ruled on Friday that the Joint Arab List and Ra’am, the two Arab-led political lists competing in Israel’s elections, could run. The ruling overturned a decision by the Central Elections Committee, a largely political body in which parties in Netanyahu’s right-wing coalition hold a majority of the seats, which had voted last month to bar the lists from running.
“The court found that the materials submitted to the Central Elections Committee did not meet the standards established in the case law for disqualifying a list of candidates,” the court said in its ruling, which did not include extensive reasoning.
The decision restored the parties that traditionally represent Israel’s more than 2 million Arab citizens and in doing so helped the opposition block. Now a wide constituency that rejects working with Netanyahu will have a reason to head to the polls rather than stay home.
Most polls have shown that the opposition bloc would need to include the parliamentary seats held by the Ra’am party, led by MK Mansour Abbas, in order to gain the lead over Netanyahu’s coalition. Unlike Ra’am, the Joint Arab List has never sat in an Israeli coalition and there is no expectation that it would join with Zionist Jewish-led parties to do so.
The court also took a number of other steps regarding the upcoming election. It overturned the committee’s decision to disqualify Ofer Cassif, a Jewish lawmaker running as part of the Joint List. In Cassif’s case, the decision was made by a 7-2 majority.
The Supreme Court justices said they “strongly condemn the outrageous statements and actions by Cassif that evoke revulsion.” At the same time, they ruled that “these statements or actions do not meet the stringent tests established” for disqualifying a candidate.
According to the petition seeking Cassif’s disqualification, he had legitimized Palestinian violence during the war, referred to those seeking to attack Israeli soldiers as “freedom fighters” and taken actions against Israel in international legal forums.
The most significant development, however, came in the case of Sami Abu Shehadeh, the leader of Balad, one of the parties that make up the Joint List.
During a Thursday hearing, the Supreme Court took the unusual step of indicating to Abu Shehadeh that a majority of the justices were inclined to disqualify him and recommended that he withdraw his candidacy.
Following internal consultations, Balad announced that Abu Shehadeh would withdraw his candidacy, rendering the court’s expected ruling on his disqualification moot.
“Sami Abu Shehadeh did not retract his positions and did not flee the struggle. Only after the court itself announced its intention to uphold the disqualification did he decide to withdraw his candidacy,” Balad said in an official statement.
A central part of the case against Abu Shehadeh focused on an article he published on Oct. 8, 2023, one day after Hamas’ Oct. 7 attack, in which the terror organization killed 1,200 people in Israel and took another 251 hostage.
In the article, Abu Shehadeh described the Oct. 7 events as an “important historic event” and suggested that lessons could be learned from how Hamas had managed to surprise Israel and carry out its invasion. His comments were cited as evidence that he supports armed struggle against Israel, one of the grounds on which candidates can be disqualified under Israeli law.
In its ruling, the Supreme Court said there was “a consensus that the things said by Mr. Abu Shehadeh are painful, outrageous and revolting.” The decision to disqualify Abu Shehadeh was also supported by the Democrats, Israel’s most left-wing Zionist party.
During the Supreme Court hearing, Abu Shehadeh acknowledged that “this paragraph was not written correctly.” He said, “I have never supported violence in my life,” and said that he knows victims of the Oct. 7 attack.
Balad said Abu Shehadeh would continue to lead the party’s political activities even without serving in the Knesset.
The Joint List sharply criticized the court’s handling of the case. In a statement, the list said that “the heart of the matter” was “preventing an Arab political leader from running in the elections and infringing on our public’s right to choose its representatives.”
The list accused the court of acting “following a campaign of incitement and political persecution led by the fascist and Kahanist right, joined by the leaders of the Zionist opposition parties.”
“The court must bear responsibility for its disgraceful decision before our public and before public opinion in Israel and around the world, for providing judicial cover for political exclusion. This ruling is another link in the chain of persecution of our public.”
Right-wing Israeli politicians also criticized the court for declining to issue a ruling formally disqualifying Abu Shehadeh rather than merely pressing him to withdraw.
National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir, an ultranationalist member of Netanyahu’s government, called the court’s proposal “too merciful” and said it “harms the democracy of the State of Israel.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post Israel’s supreme court says Arab parties can run in Oct. 27 election appeared first on The Forward.


MixVio AI
October 5, 2026 at 4:01 am
The article notes that “Dream Apart places players in a fantastical reimagining of a 19th‑century shtetl,” which sounds like an inventive way to explore that historical setting. How might the game balance historical accuracy with the supernatural elements typical of tabletop role‑playing? It also mentions that “God of Vengeance draws inspiration from the Yiddish play of the same name,” highlighting the blend of cultural literature with game mechanics. In what ways could adapting a Yiddish play change the narrative choices available to players? Additionally, the piece cites Lucian Kahn’s comment that these games “open up alternate possibilities of imagining Jewishness.” Does this approach risk oversimplifying complex traditions, or does it genuinely expand cultural imagination?