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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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This mixed Jewish-Arab school in Ramle seeks to model a blueprint for Israel’s future
RAMLE, Israel — In the heart of the central Israeli city of Ramle, where Jews and Arabs live side by side, the Yigal Alon Multidisciplinary High School is trying to spearhead a quiet revolution.
The student body reflects the full tapestry of Israeli society, with students who are Jewish, Muslim, and Christian, religious and secular, native-born and immigrant. The school has a particularly large Ethiopian-Israeli population, and students with special needs. In Israel, such diversity is often treated as a problem to be managed. At Yigal Alon, it is treated as an opportunity, one that was especially important during Israel’s two-year war.
When 32-year-old alumnus Moshael Shlomo, a commander in the IDF’s Yamam counterterrorism unit, was killed on October 7, 2023, his death reverberated through the school community. Shlomo, who grew up in a socioeconomically disadvantaged home in Ramle, attended Yigal Alon from 2006 to 2009, and was known for his charisma, athleticism and drive to help others. He served as a paratrooper, then rose to become an IDF team commander and demolitions expert in Yamam.
After Shlomo’s death in combat with Hamas attackers near Kibbutz Be’eri, Yigal Alon students worked with school staff and Shlomo’s family to begin transforming a neglected plot on the school campus into a lawn — the first stage of a memorial project that eventually will include a sports field, outdoor seating and garden of peace. The project seeks to honor Shlomo’s memory by creating a space that reflects his passion for athletics and community, and the area will serve as an after-school haven for teenagers who by and large can’t afford the kind of extra-curricular activities their peers do. Administrators hope teens using it will build stronger peer relationships and practice the values Shlomo embodied, including generosity and service to community and country.
“It isn’t just about Shlomo’s athleticism,” said sports teacher Dotan Rotshtein, who is spearheading the project. “It’s about his character of determination and kindness. This project will educate students in his spirit.”
The project at Yigal Alon is one example of the many ways Israelis are memorializing those killed during the war, trying to make something positive out of the pain, hardship and loss they endured during the longest conflict in Israel’s history. Rather than serving as a flashpoint, Shlomo’s death became a unifying experience for Yigal Alon, bringing Arab and Jewish students together in determination to build something positive.
The school, one of 50 in the Amal educational network, offers a rare and tangible model for how to bolster Arab-Jewish coexistence and build a society rooted in shared humanity, administrators said.
“This school is a home not just for students, but for families,” said principal Barak Friedman, himself a school alumnus and Ramle native. “Everyone belongs. Everyone matters.”
In Israel, only eight out of 250 municipalities are considered mixed Jewish-Arab. Almost all public schools are segregated along ethnic and religious lines. Yigal Alon is one of Israel’s very few mixed Arab-Jewish public schools.
“Once people saw this as a liability,” Friedman said. “I see it as a wonderful opportunity.”
“At a time of growing extremism in Israeli society, the connections between these youths is quite unique and inspiring,” said Barak Friedman, principal of the Yigal Alon school in Ramle, Israel. (Courtesy of Amal)
Staff at the school try to weave the values of shared humanity into academic life. During the war, students met weekly in conversation circles where Jewish and Arab classmates spoke openly about how the conflict was affecting their families. They worked together on projects like murals and performances to express their emotions.
Older students tutor younger ones, often across language and cultural lines, and 11th graders complete community service work in both Jewish and Arab institutions. The school also has a large group of Shinshinim — Israeli volunteers from pre-military academies who work alongside teachers to help give students one-on-one attention and assist those with learning disabilities.
Jewish and Arab students and teachers work side by side.
“Students aren’t interested in the ethnic background or origin stories of fellow students; what matters to them is their relationships with each other,” Friedman said. “At a time of growing extremism in Israeli society, the connections between these youths is quite unique and inspiring.”
These connections flourished even during the war.
Within the Amal network — whose diverse portfolio of schools ranges from vocational schools that serve traditionally marginalized Israeli populations including immigrants, Arabs, and haredim to science & technology schools in Israel’s biggest cities — 45 alumni were killed in the war, many of them siblings or cousins of current students. Schools were struck by missiles, relocated due to being in conflict zones or absorbed evacuees. Some students had relatives taken hostage to Gaza, and many had parents or siblings in combat. Everyone was affected.
“The loss is not only in the fallen,” said Asher Ben Shoshan, Amal’s head of human resources. “Many of our students and staff were living with traumas.”
Amal’s schools responded by expanding trauma-related programming, offering counseling, and creating spaces for students to process emotions through dialogue and creativity.
“We’re not just teaching algebra or English,” Ben Shoshan said. “We’re helping young people hold their lives together. That is the mission now.”
Traditionally a network of vocational schools, Amal has focused in recent years on turning its schools into centers of science and technology while also trying to heal Israel’s societal rifts and strengthen democratic values among its more than 3,000 teachers and 26,000 students.
“We believe that education is not just about knowledge but about citizenship,” said Tamar Peled Amir, Amal’s deputy director general for education, technology and R&D. “Our classrooms are where the future of Israel is being written — not just with math equations or essays, but with empathy, resilience and an unwavering commitment to building a shared society.”
The killing of Yigal Alon alumnus Moshael Shlomo on Oct. 7, 2023, galvanized the school community to come together and build something to honor the memory of the slain IDF commander. (Courtesy of Amal)
Karen Tal, Amal’s director general, said focusing on Israeli society is part of the schools’ educational responsibility.
“We don’t have the luxury of detachment,” Tal said. “Our responsibility is not only academic. It is human. Shared society is not a slogan. It is the essence of democracy. When students learn to listen to one another, to respect differences and to see the humanity in the other, they are learning what it means to live in a democratic society. That is the Israel we are working to build, one classroom at a time.”
Arab students in Rotshtein’s after-school fitness club now wear team shirts bearing Shlomo’s name. “They want to feel part of this country, part of his legacy,” Rotshtein said.
“The space we decided to build in Moshael’s honor reflects who he was: generous, kind, committed to others,” Rotshtein said. “It is also a project that brings people together, Jews and Arabs, in a spirit of unity.”
Friedman, the principal, said, “Whether you are Jewish or Arab, religious or secular, we teach our students to take responsibility for themselves, for each other and for society. Because only that kind of responsibility will allow Israel to heal.”
It’s an ethos Friedman himself embodies: As part of his military reserve duty, he’s a “notifier” —part of the three-person crew that visits parents’ homes when a soldier is killed to inform them of the terrible news. The experience has shaped his worldview, and the school’s focus on service to community.
Much of the implementation for school-specific initiatives like the Shlomo memorial project relies on community partnerships and philanthropy.
“We are reaching out to the global Jewish community and to friends of Israeli democracy everywhere,” said Yael Nathanel, Amal’s resource development director. “Projects like this do not just build walls and gardens. They build empathy, resilience and vision. But we need help to ensure that this becomes a reality.”
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Conversion isn’t a solo act. So why is the rabbi in ‘Nobody Wants This’ acting alone?
Season 2 of Netflix’s “Nobody Wants This” has sparked plenty of debate — much of it centering on how the show depicts Jewish women. Critics have rightly called out the stereotypes: the no-nonsense, overbearing mother, the controlling wife, the self-absorbed sister-in-law. These portrayals can feel dated and, at times, unfair. When Jewish characters appear so rarely in mainstream pop culture, every depiction carries extra weight — and we should demand better.
But I also think the pile-on has missed something important. The best comedy often plays on stereotypes; not to validate them, but to expose them and exaggerate them in a way that subverts them. Humor and cultural caricature have always been intertwined. And in this case, I believe the show’s existence — with Jewish characters at its center, created by a Jewish convert (Erin Foster), and crafted in consultation with a rabbi (Sharon Brous) — is something worth celebrating, not condemning.
Let’s also acknowledge that “Nobody Wants This” gets several things right.
It is absolutely realistic for a rabbi to be single and dating. It is equally realistic that such a rabbi might meet and fall in love with someone who isn’t Jewish.
The show’s “meddling family” scenes may feel exaggerated, but anyone who has worked with interfaith couples — as I do, exclusively — will recognize the truth behind them. There are always family expectations, anxieties and loyalties at play. Jewish parents and siblings often struggle to reconcile pride in their traditions with concern about their loved one’s choices. Those tensions are real, and the show portrays them with a measure of honesty beneath the humor. I have seen much worse in reality.
Where the series misses its deepest opportunity, however, is in its treatment of conversion. Nearly 70% of Jews outside the Orthodox community today marry non-Jews. That’s an extraordinary opportunity for growth. Interfaith relationships, approached thoughtfully, can be pathways into Judaism rather than exits from it.
And so I cannot understand, and found it hard to watch, how Noah, the rabbi, knows he wants to marry a Jew and wishes his girlfriend, Joanne, would convert. Yet, he doesn’t connect her to another rabbi or to a community that could guide her. Instead, he takes on the task of educating her himself — randomly and haphazardly (creating some seriously awkward scenes).
In real life, conversion is never a solo act. It unfolds within a community, guided by experienced mentors, study, and experiences. For Rabbi Noah, outsourcing that role to another colleague would not only have been more authentic — it would have modeled something beautiful: that Jewish learning and growth is relational, communal, and deeply supported.
Had they found our Center for Exploring Judaism, I would have taken Joanne under my wing. I would have invited her to community gatherings, and encouraged Noah and Joanne, as a couple, to join one of our classes — where she could see that she is not alone. I would cherish the chance to build a relationship with her grounded in honesty, warmth, and patience. I would remind her, as I do with all my students, that we have no agenda. We are here simply to walk this path of discovery alongside you. And we’re thrilled by your interest!
Conversion, I’d explain, is an organic process — of learning, practicing, and thoughtfully trying things on for size. Come in. Learn. Experience. See what feels right. There is no exam, no checklist, even for those who ultimately choose to convert to Judaism. The only true test is the one that unfolds throughout the rest of your life. Joanne, do you feel like an imposter? Or, well informed by what you’ve learned, are you living your truth?
All this said, I think the criticism that the show might be “bad for the Jews” is unwarranted. At a time when antisemitism is at a modern high, the very fact that Judaism, rabbis and Jewish families are the subjects of a major Netflix series is itself meaningful. “Nobody Wants This” is neither ignorant nor malicious; it’s messy, human, and, yes, a little cringey — much like Jewish life itself. And above all else, it’s a rom-com. Let’s all take a breath.
The irony of the title isn’t lost on me. Because in fact, Jews should want this. We should want Jewish stories on screen — even imperfect ones. We should want portrayals that spark discussion about how we love, live, and grow as Jews in the modern world. And we should want our communities to see interfaith love not as a threat, but as a chance to expand the circle.
The truth is, everybody should want this.
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They rallied rabbis against Mamdani’s anti-Zionism. What does The Jewish Majority do next?
Plenty of Jews were concerned about the specter of Zohran Mamdani becoming mayor of New York. But few did as much to mobilize other Jews around the issue as Jonathan Schulman.
Via his newly formed organization, The Jewish Majority, Schulman circulated a letter to rabbis and cantors around the country opposing “rising anti-Zionism and its political normalization throughout our nation.” The letter, which called out Mamdani by name, was signed by more than 1,100 Jewish congregational leaders — one of the most widely endorsed missives of its kind — and galvanized many clergy who had been reluctant to use their pulpits to wade into a political arena.
They didn’t get what they wanted. Yet the day after a decisive victory by Mamdani, Schulman wasn’t as despondent as one might imagine. Instead, he sees his group’s work as a success.
“This wasn’t about Mamdani,” he told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency on Wednesday, rejecting the suggestion that his campaign amounted to an effort to get Jews to vote against the mayor-elect.
Instead, Schulman said, The Jewish Majority proved that it could combat a “subversion of the accurate representation of the Jewish narrative.”
He sees his work as simple: providing an organized Jewish voice, on Israel and other issues, to counteract what he sees as the growing influence of left-wing Jewish groups like Jewish Voice for Peace and Jews for Racial and Economic Justice. As members of those groups have aligned closely with Mamdani and stand to grow their influence under his administration, the Jewish Majority aims to serve as a counter-narrative.
New York City mayoral candidate Zohran K. Mamdani and NYC comptroller Brad Lander speak during the Jews For Racial And Economic Justice’s Mazals Gala on Sept. 10, 2025 in New York City. (John Lamparski/Getty Images)
“They exist to present fringe views to the public as normative,” he said. “If we decide to let them be the only ones to hold the microphone, that would be a mistake we can’t afford to make.” That includes on the issue of “political anti-Zionism,” which Schulman insists was the goal of the rabbinic letter — rather than an explicit anti-endorsement of Mamdani as a candidate.
There are an estimated 3,000 to 4,000 rabbis in the United States, meaning that potentially a third of them signed on to a single statement. Others indicated that they agreed with the sentiments but chose not to sign for other reasons.
“We’ve seen countless examples over the past couple of years of Jews coming out in support of anti-Zionist candidates,” Schulman said. “And now that narrative has shifted. Now you look at that narrative and it’s hard to say, ‘Well, look, these rabbis are supporting this candidate.’ Well, in fact, what you’re seeing is overwhelmingly one of the largest displays of rabbinic unity that we’ve seen in our country, saying we don’t accept the normalization of political anti-Zionism.”
He is skeptical of early exit polling purporting to show as many as one-third of Jewish voters in New York breaking for Mamdani, and suspects the actual number is closer to the “80-20” split that research suggests also reflects the Jewish consensus around Zionism.
Promoting an institutional Jewish consensus will continue post-Mamdani. Schulman insisted The Jewish Majority would not be making policy, only amplifying the views of major Jewish groups such as the Anti-Defamation League, the American Jewish Congress, Jewish federations and the New York Board of Rabbis. He also said he would not seek to join the Conference of Presidents of Major Jewish Groups or other coalitions.
“We’re here to reflect,” he said. “It’s not my job to weigh in.” One item on his agenda, he said, is instituting “training programs” to teach Jewish leaders how to “present normative communal perspectives.”
Schulman has felt his own priorities within the Jewish community shift. Before striking off on his own, he spent 18 years at the pro-Israel lobbying giant AIPAC. One of his duties was to “work with congregations throughout the United States to increase the level of pro-Israel political activism in American synagogues.”
He left AIPAC in August 2024, as the group’s brand was becoming increasingly toxic amid the war in Gaza. Today even some moderate Democrats, like Massachusetts Senate candidate Seth Moulton, have sworn off accepting AIPAC donations. When radio host Charlamagne tha God wanted to insult Democratic Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries as someone with no real principles, he called the Brooklyn congressman “AIPAC Shakur.”
Schulman declined to comment on whether he had split from AIPAC ideologically. “I have a lot of respect for my former colleagues, and it’s a great organization,” he said. Nor does he see his work with The Jewish Majority as a throughline from his work there. Despite the overlapping focus on Jewish clergy, he insisted, this is “not ‘AIPAC by a different name.’”
Instead, he said, he left AIPAC because he had identified this new problem — the growing influence of left-wing Jewish groups after Oct. 7 — and wanted to counteract it, in a way he deemed non-political in nature. Even with all the Jewish organizations that were opposing anti-Zionism on the national stage, he said, “there is nobody whose job is to make sure that the Jewish community is accurately represented, that Jewish communal values are accurately represented.”
Those same Jewish groups, whose priorities he hopes to give a megaphone to, are scrambling in the wake of Mamdani’s big win. The ADL has launched a “Mamdani monitor” to keep tabs on the new mayor’s administration. JFREJ, meanwhile, sees no reason to come to the Jewish center: A victory Zoom call scheduled for Thursday to “celebrate our massive win” is set to feature pro-Palestinian activist Linda Sarsour and Jamaal Bowman, the former “Squad” congressman who is rumored to be on Mamdani’s schools chancellor shortlist.
Schulman is optimistic about building an organized Jewish counter-narrative to that perspective — so long as the ceasefire in Gaza holds.
“The American Jewish community has been undergoing a profound change, and because we’ve been in the middle of this war, which has been a propaganda war here in America that we’ve seen proliferating, we haven’t had the capacity to really think about, ‘What is the future going to look like?’” he said.
“People are starting to finally say, OK, the fighting has stopped, and we need to think about how the Jewish community is going to be able to represent itself for the long haul.”
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