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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.
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From Selfie Boat to Sex Boat: Hours After New Gaza Flotilla Launch, Scandal Erupts Over Past Greta-era Voyage
People gather on the deck of a painted boat bearing artwork and flying multiple flags as it departs as part of a humanitarian flotilla for Gaza from Barcelona, Spain, April 12, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Nacho Doce
Just as a new flotilla purportedly carrying humanitarian aid to Gaza set sail Sunday from Barcelona, new allegations emerged that a senior figure on last year’s voyage — which included pro-Palestinian climate activist Greta Thunberg — was involved in a sex scandal with multiple activists aboard the ship, along with claims of financial misconduct tied to the same network.
According to a statement initially circulated internally and then republished on X, a senior organizer from the Global Sumud Flotilla’s steering committee, a member referred to only as “BL,” was involved in sexual misconduct with multiple fellow activists.
“Not one person. Not Two. Three different individuals,” the statement from the Heart of Falastin admin team said, adding that BL’s conduct was jeopardizing the flotilla’s “sacred” mission.
“Let’s be clear about something. We don’t care what anyone does in their private time,” the statement said, but added that such conduct on “a boat heading to Gaza, a space that should be sacred, focused, and disciplined … is a red line” and a “clear violation of ethics and power.”
Such behavior was “an abuse of power, creat[ing] a toxic environment [that] compromises the integrity of the entire mission,” the English and Arabic statement read.
GAZA FLOTILLA SEX SCANDAL EXPOSED
No, his is not the “Love Boat”, this is a “human Rights Flotilla” aimed at freeing the Gaza People.
But things got out of hand and the senior leader was forced to make a statement:
“We do not care what anyone does in their private time… But… pic.twitter.com/PvNPtFJoqO— Mossad Commentary (@MOSSADil) April 13, 2026
The Global Sumud Flotilla (GSF) leadership was informed more than six months ago, the statement said, but the individual remained on the steering committee, the movement’s highest governing body, with no investigation opened and no public statement acknowledging the alleged violation.
“We gave them time. We gave them every opportunity to do the right thing. They refused,” it said.
Last year’s voyage drew significant attention due to the participation of Thunberg, former Barcelona Mayor Ada Colau, and European Parliament member Rima Hassan, and ended with activists detained by Israeli authorities after attempting to breach the naval blockade of Gaza. Videos released by Thunberg and other activists in one of the earlier voyages over the summer described their detention as a “kidnapping,” while footage published by the Israel Defense Forces showed Thunberg eating sandwiches given to her by troops.
The flotilla also faced criticism over the small quantity of aid onboard. Both Israel and Italy offered to transfer the supplies into Gaza through existing channels to avoid confrontation, but the proposals were rejected by the GSF.
According to Israel’s Foreign Ministry, the 42 vessels in the September flotilla carried roughly two tons of aid, which it said at the time was “less than one-tenth of a single aid truck,” noting that about 300 trucks entered Gaza each day. The ministry also dubbed the convoy a “selfie yacht of celebrities.”
The New York Times and other news sites reported claims from GSF participants of explosions from Israeli attack drones. “We believe these drones are intended to intimidate, potentially gathering intelligence for Israel,” the Times cited the group as saying, adding that it “suggested ‘Israel and its allies’ were involved.”
But the drone attack allegations were later challenged by video footage that appeared to show an activist misfiring a flare.
The latest flotilla has been described as the largest to date, with 39 vessels departing from Barcelona and additional participants expected to join. Its launch coincides with a fragile two-week ceasefire with Iran.
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A chance for the descendants of Holocaust victims to reclaim a piece of the past
Levi Buxbaum boarded the S.S. St. Louis on May 13, 1939, both relieved and hopeful. Relieved to be leaving Nazi Germany behind, hopeful that he would soon reunite with his daughters. But 14 days later, when the ship arrived in Havana, most of its passengers were denied entry.
Refused safe harbor in Cuba, the United States and Canada, the refugees were forced to return to Europe. That June, Buxbaum and 222 other passengers disembarked in France. Discouraged but undeterred, he clung to the hope that he would eventually secure a visa to America.
It was not to be. Sometime between Nov. 6 and Nov. 8, 1942, Buxbaum died aboard a transport bound for Auschwitz-Birkenau. Until recently, that was all Bonnie Elkaim knew about her great-grandfather.
Now, thanks to the Center for Jewish History’s newly launched initiative, “Histories and Mysteries,” Elkaim knows what happened between Buxbaum’s arrival in France in 1939 and his death three years later. The project helps families investigate Holocaust-era cold cases through crowdsourced genealogy, expert archival research and community collaboration.
“I’m extremely grateful that I filled in some of the pieces. I didn’t want my great-grandfather to just be a statistic,” Elkaim, 58, told me in a Zoom interview.
The initiative was made possible by a nearly $300,000 grant from the Conference on Jewish Material Claims Against Germany, or the Claims Conference. Since the project was launched in January, genealogists at CJH have received nearly 50 inquiries from the United States, Germany, Austria, the United Kingdom, and Canada, and have begun work on 11 cases.
“This project brings together passed-down family stories and the irreplaceable truth found in the archive. By taking part in this work, each person helps restore histories stolen in the Holocaust and gives families a chance to reclaim pieces of their past,” said Jenny Rappaport, head genealogist at the Ackman & Ziff Family Genealogy Institute.
Elkaim’s story will be the first shared publicly, released in weekly social media posts through July 31.
Miriam Frankel, CJH’s director of social media, said she hopes the project’s collaborative nature will resonate with audiences.
“What I love about the project is the communal aspect and being able to steward these stories into the digital world and affirm that they matter,” Frankel said.
The idea for the project grew out of the family history of Ilana Rosenbluth, CJH’s communications director.
When Nazi Germany invaded Poland on Sept. 1, 1939, Rosenbluth’s father, then four years old, was living with his parents in eastern Poland. By month’s end, the country had been divided between Germany and the Soviet Union.
Rosenbluth’s family fled eastward, moving from Lvov to Siberia and eventually Uzbekistan, where food was scarce and disease rampant. During that time, her grandmother gave birth to a daughter, Lucia, known as Lucy, who later died of starvation.
In 1943, desperate to support his family, Rosenbluth’s grandfather boarded a train carrying bolts of fabric and disappeared.
“There are varying accounts of what happened to him, but the truth is my family has never had closure,” Rosenbluth said, adding that this initiative may be the last chance for us, and people like us to find answers.
As the number of living witnesses declines, preserving Holocaust history has taken on new urgency, said Gideon Taylor, president of the Claims Conference.
“We’re at a unique moment in time in terms of Holocaust memory and education. Fewer and fewer people have direct knowledge of it,” Taylor said.
A 2020 Claims Conference survey found that 63% of Americans do not know that six million Jews were murdered in the Holocaust, and nearly half cannot name a single one of the more than 400,000 camps and ghettos that existed across Europe.
Elkaim, a retired New York City teacher, says she first learned about the Holocaust when she was nine years old.
“I only knew a few limited facts. I knew my grandparents had survived and my great-grandfather hadn’t. My grandmother felt a lot of survivor guilt and didn’t talk about it, and people didn’t ask questions then,” she said.
Now an educator and guide at CJH’s Anne Frank exhibition, Elkaim spent years searching for fragments of information that might transform her great-grandfather from an abstraction into a living, breathing person.
“I wanted to feel a connection with him,” she said.
When Rappaport received Elkaim’s inquiry, she immediately began contacting archivists in Germany and France. She also worked with CJH partner organizations, including the Leo Baeck Institute and YIVO, which held a census record from the General Union of French Israelites. The document placed Buxbaum in Vienne, France, between 1941 and 1942 and showed that he was unemployed. Rappaport also combed databases such as Ancestry.com, which contains extensive German vital records.
“Sometimes a single clue can rewrite an entire family story,” Rappaport said.
In Elkaim’s case, it was three clues.
The first breakthrough was the death record of Elkaim’s great-grandmother, Pauline Rothschild Buxbaum, which confirmed that he was in Kassel, Germany, on March 24, 1939.
Next came his 1876 German birth record, which verified his identity across multiple French documents.
Finally, a typed marriage record for Levi Buxbaum and Pauline Rothschild further confirmed the timeline, placing him definitively in Germany shortly before his flight from Nazi persecution.
Piece by piece, Rappaport reconstructed what followed.
In September 1939, Buxbaum was interned as an “enemy alien” at Camp du Ruchard, a former convalescence hospital for Belgian soldiers after World War I. He lived as a refugee for four years before being arrested and transferred to the Drancy internment camp. All the while he never stopped trying to get to America.
The last document bearing his name appears on Transport 42 from Drancy to Auschwitz-Birkenau.
“He either died on the transport or immediately after arriving. There’s no way to know exactly. But I admire him so much and how hard he fought to survive,” Elkaim said.
The post A chance for the descendants of Holocaust victims to reclaim a piece of the past appeared first on The Forward.
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Jews and other minorities face similar levels of campus hostility, Brandeis survey finds
The first academic study comparing the experience of Jewish students on college campuses to that of other minority groups found that Jews and other marginalized populations, including Black and Muslim students, face comparable levels of discrimination.
The findings were part of a national survey involving thousands of respondents focused on antisemitism that also polled student attitudes toward other identity groups.
Nearly half of Jewish students said they had experienced at least one antisemitic incident during the current academic year — mostly seeing offensive graffiti or posters — but when it came to the overall campus climate Jews were slightly less likely than Muslims, and slightly more likely than Black students, to say that their campus was a hostile environment.
“Everybody is walking around with a chip on their shoulder,” said Leonard Saxe, director of the Cohen Center of Modern Jewish Studies at Brandeis University, which produced the study released Tuesday. “Addressing prejudice toward protected groups is perhaps seen as a zero- sum game: ‘If we pay attention to Black students that’s taking away from what we can do for Jewish students, but paying attention to Jewish students means not paying attention to Muslim students.’”
While a flurry of research about campus antisemitism followed the Oct. 7 Hamas terrorist attacks in Israel and the college protests of the Gaza war that followed, few have sought to determine whether Jews are facing more or less discrimination than other students.
But the Brandeis study tracks with a less scientific study commissioned by the antisemitism task force at Columbia University in which high levels of both Jewish and Muslim students said they had felt endangered on campus amid protests related to the Gaza war.
In the Brandeis report, Jewish students were most likely to express concern related to traditional antisemitic stereotypes (62%) and antisemitism from the political right (60%) while fewer said they were worried about antisemitism related to Israel (45%) or coming from the left (also 45%).
When it came to college students overall, 9% showed a pattern of hostility toward Jews, meaning they were likely to agree with a series of antisemitic statements, compared to 17% who exhibited what researchers called “anti-Black resentment.”
Muslim, Black and Hispanic students, and those who identified as liberal or moderate, were the most likely to agree with negative statements about Jews, while white, Muslim and conservative students were most likely to agree with anti-Black views.
“It means that we need to target some of our interventions — educational interventions — to these groups if we want to have effects,” Saxe said. “If you only engage the Caucasian students, you’re not going to be addressing the problem.”
Jewish students expressed some of the lowest levels of prejudice toward other groups, according to the study, but 18% expressed “anti-Black resentment” while 3% were categorized as expressing hostility toward Jews.
The report also found that strident hostility toward Israel — opposing Israel’s “right to exist” and avoiding peers who support a Jewish state in Israel — did not neatly correlate to holding antisemitic views.
Half of “extremely liberal” students agreed with those statements about Israel but overall the very liberal population was least likely to express a pattern of hostility toward Jewish students. Very few moderate or conservative students expressed those negative views about Israel, but both groups were more likely to agree with anti-Jewish statements.
The 14% of Jewish students who agreed with the anti-Israel statements was similar to the number of students from other backgrounds who did.
The study was conducted during the fall semester last year. Researchers polled 3,989 undergraduate students at four-year colleges and universities in the U.S. through an online survey fielded by Generation Lab that included an oversample of 743 Jewish students.
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