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Letty Cottin Pogrebin wants Jews to own up to the corrosive power of shame
(JTA) — When a lawyer for Donald Trump asked E. Jean Carroll why she didn’t scream while allegedly being raped by Donald Trump, I thought of Letty Cottin Pogrebin. In her latest book, “Shanda: A Memoir of Shame and Secrecy,” she writes about being assaulted by a famous poet — and how the shadow of shame kept women like her silent about attacks on their own bodies.
That incident in 1962, she writes, was “fifty-eight years before the #MeToo movement provided the sisterhood and solidarity that made survivors of abuse and rape feel safe enough to tell their stories.”
Now 83, Pogrebin could have coasted with a memoir celebrating her six decades as a leading feminist: She co-founded Ms. magazine, its Foundation for Women and the National Women’s Political Caucus. She served as president of Americans for Peace Now and in 1982 blew the whistle on antisemitism in the feminist movement.
Instead, “Shanda” is about her immigrant Jewish family and the secrets they carried through their lives. First marriages that were kept hidden. An unacknowledged half-sister. Money problems and domestic abuse. An uncle banished for sharing family dirt in public.
“My mania around secrecy and shame was sparked in 1951 by the discovery that my parents had concealed from me the truth about their personal histories, and every member of my large extended family, on both sides, was in on it,” writes Pogrebin, now 83. “Their need to avoid scandal was so compelling that, once identified, it provided the lens through which I could see my family with fresh eyes, spotlight their fears, and, in so doing, illuminate my own.”
“Shanda” (the Yiddish word describes the kind of behavior that brings shame on an entire family or even a people) is also a portrait of immigrant New York Jews in the 20th century. As her father and mother father move up in the world and leave their Yiddish-speaking, Old World families behind for new lives in the Bronx and Queens, they stand in for a generation of Jews and new Americans “bent on saving face and determined to be, if not exemplary, at least impeccably respectable.”
Pogrebin and I spoke last week ahead of the Eight Over Eighty Gala on May 31, where she will be honored with a group that includes another Jewish feminist icon, the writer Erica Jong, and musician Eve Queler, who founded her own ensemble, the Opera Orchestra of New York, when she wasn’t being given chances to conduct in the male-dominated world of classical music. The gala is a fundraiser for the New Jewish Home, a healthcare nonprofit serving older New Yorkers.
Pogrebin and I spoke about shame and how it plays out in public and private, from rape accusations against a former president to her regrets over how she wrote about her own abortions to how the Bible justifies family trickery.
Our conversation was edited for length and clarity.
I found your book very moving because my parents’ generation, who like your family were middle-class Jews who grew up or lived in the New York metropolitan area, are also all gone now. Your book brought back to me that world of aunts and uncles and cousins, and kids like us who couldn’t imagine what kinds of secrets and traumas our parents and relatives were hiding. But you went back and asked all the questions that many of us are afraid to ask.
I can’t tell you how good writing it has been. I feel as though I have no weight on my back. And people who have read it gained such comfort from the normalization that happens when you read that others have been through what you’ve been through. And my family secrets are so varied — just one right after the other. The chameleon-like behavior of that generation — they became who they wanted to be through pretense or actual accomplishment.
In my mother’s case, pretense led the way. She went and got a studio photo that made it look like she graduated from high school when she didn’t. In the eighth grade, she went up to her uncle’s house in the north Bronx and had her dates pick her up there because of the shanda of where she lived on the Lower East Side with nine people in three rooms. She had to imagine herself the child of her uncle, who didn’t have an accent or had an accent but at least spoke English.
You describe yours as “an immigrant family torn between loyalty to their own kind and longing for American acceptance.”
There was the feeling that, “If only we could measure up, we would be real Americans.” My mother was a sewing machine operator who became a designer and figured out what American women wore when she came from rags and cardboard shoes, in steerage. So I admire them. As much as I was discomforted by the lies, I ended up having compassion for them.
It’s also a story of thwarted women, and all that lost potential of a generation in which few could contemplate a college degree or a career outside the home. Your mother worked for a time as a junior designer for Hattie Carnegie, a sort of Donna Karan of her day, but abandoned that after she met your dad and became, as you write, “Mrs. Jack Cottin.”
The powerlessness of women was complicated in the 1950s by the demands of the masculine Jewish ideal. So having a wife who didn’t work was proof that you were a man who could provide. As a result women sacrificed their own aspirations and passions. She protected her husband’s image by not pursuing her life outside the home. In a way my feminism is a positive, like a photograph, to the negative of my mother’s 1950s womanhood.
“I’m not an optimist. I call myself a ‘cockeyed strategist,” said Pogrebin, who has a home on the Upper West Side. (Mike Lovett)
You write that you “think of shame and secrecy as quintessentially Jewish issues.” What were the Jewish pressures that inspired your parents to tell so many stories that weren’t true?
Think about what we did. We hid behind our names. We changed our names. We sloughed off our accents. My mother learned to make My*T*Fine pudding instead of gefilte fish. Shame and secrecy have always been intrinsically Jewish to me, because of the “sha!” factor: At every supper party, there would be the moment when somebody would say, “Sha! We don’t talk about that!” So even though we talked about what felt like everything, there were things that couldn’t be touched: illness, the C-word [cancer]. If you wanted to make a shidduch [wedding match] with another family in the insular communities in which Jews lived, you couldn’t let it be known that there was cancer in the family, or mental illness.
While I was writing this memoir, I realized that the [Torah portion] I’m listening to one Shabbat morning is all about hiding. It is Jacob finding out that he didn’t marry Rachel, after all, but married somebody he didn’t love. All of the hiding that I took for granted in the Bible stories and I was raised on like mother’s milk was formative. They justified pretense, and they justified trickery. Rebecca lied to her husband and presented her younger son Jacob for the blessing because God told her, because it was for the greater good of the future the Jewish people.
I think Jews felt that same sort of way when it came to surviving. So we can get rid of our names. We wouldn’t have survived, whether we were hiding in a forest or behind a cabinet, a name or a passport, or [pushed into hiding] with [forced] conversions. Hiding was survival.
I was reading your book just as the E. Jean Carroll verdict came down, holding Donald Trump liable for sexually assaulting her during an encounter in the mid-’90s. You write how in 1962, when you were working as a book publicist, the hard-drinking Irish poet Brendan Behan (who died in 1964) tried to rape you in a hotel room and you didn’t report it. Like Carroll, you didn’t think that it was something that could be reported because the cost was too high.
Certainly in that era powerful men could get away with horrible behavior because of shanda reasons.
Carroll said in her court testimony, “It was shameful to go to the police.”
You know that it happened to so many others and nobody paid the price. The man’s reputation was intact and we kept our jobs because we sacrificed our dignity and our truth. I was in a career, and I really was supporting myself. I couldn’t afford to lose my job. I would have been pilloried for having gone to his hotel room, and nobody was there when he picked up an ashtray and threatened to break the window of the Chelsea Hotel unless I went up there with him.The cards were stacked against me.
In “Shanda,” you write about another kind of shame: The shame you now feel decades later about how you described the incident in your first book. You regret “how blithely I transformed an aggravated assault by a powerful man into a ‘sticky sexual encounter.’”
I wrote about the incident in such offhand terms, and wonder why. I wrote, basically, “Okay, girls, you’re gonna have to put up with this, but you’re gonna have to find your own magical sentence like I had with Behan” to get him to stop.
You write that you said, “You can’t do this to me! I’m a nice Jewish girl!” And that got him to back off.
Really painful.
I think that’s a powerful aspect of your book — how you look back at the ways you let down the movement or your family or friends and now regret. In 1991 you wrote a New York Times essay about an illegal abortion you had as a college senior in 1958, but not the second one you had only a few months later. While you were urging women to tell their stories of abortion, you note how a different shame kept you from telling the whole truth.
Jewish girls could be, you know, plain or ordinary, but they had to be smart, and I had been stupid. I could out myself as one of the many millions of women who had an abortion but not as a Jewish girl who made the same mistake [of getting pregnant] twice.
The book was written before the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade. In the book you write powerfully about the shame, danger and loneliness among women when abortion was illegal, and now, after 50 years, it is happening again. Having been very much part of the generation of activists that saw Roe become the law of the land, how have you processed its demise?
Since the 1970s, we thought everything was happening in this proper linear way. We got legislation passed, we had litigation and we won, and we saw the percentage of women’s participation in the workplace all across professions and trades and everything else rise and rise. And then Ronald Reagan was elected and then there was the Moral Majority and then it was the Hyde Amendment [barring the use of federal funds to pay for abortion]. I was sideswiped because I think I was naive enough to imagine that once we articulated what feminism was driving at and why women’s rights were important, and how the economic reality of families and discrimination against women weren’t just women’s issues, people would internalize it and understand it and justice would be done.
In the case of Roe, we could not imagine that rights could ever be taken away. We didn’t do something that we should have done, which is to have outed ourselves in a big way. It’s not enough that abortion was legal. We allowed it to remain stigmatized. We allowed the right wing to create their own valence around it. That negated solidarity. If we had talked about abortion as healthcare, if we had had our stories published and created organizations around remembering what it was like and people telling their stories about when abortion was illegal and dangerous…. Instead we allowed the religious right to prioritize [fetal] cells over a woman’s life. We just were not truthful with each other, so we didn’t create solidarity.
Are you heartened by the backlash against restrictive new laws in red states or optimistic that the next wave of activism can reclaim the right to abortion?
I’m not an optimist. I call myself a “cockeyed strategist.” If you look at my long resume, it is all about organizing: Ms. magazine, feminist organizations, women’s foundations, Black-Jewish dialogues, Torah study groups and Palestinian-Jewish dialogues.
Number one, we have to own the data and reframe the narrative. We have to open channels for discussion for women who have either had one or know someone who has had one, even in religious Catholic families. The state-by-state strategy was really slow, but Ruth Bader Ginsburg wanted that. She almost didn’t get on the court because she didn’t like the nationwide, right-to-privacy strategy of Roe but instead wanted it won state by state, which would have required campaigns of acceptance and consciousness-raising.
So, the irony is she hasn’t lived to see that we’re going to have to do it her way.
You share a lot of family secrets in this book. Is this a book that you waited to write until, I’ll try to put this gently, most of the people had died?
I started this book when I was 78 years old, and there’s always a connection to my major birthdays. And turning 80 – you experience that number and it is so weird. It doesn’t describe me and it probably won’t describe you. I thought, this could well be my last book, so I needed to be completely transparent, put it all out there.
My mother and father and aunts and uncles were gone, but I have 24 cousins altogether. I went to my cousins, and told them I am going to write about the secret of your parents: It’s my uncle, but it’s your father. It’s your family story even though it’s my family, but it’s yours first. And every cousin, uniformly, said, “Are you kidding? You don’t even know the half of it,” and they’d tell me the whole story. I guess people want the truth out in the end.
Is that an aspect of getting older?
I think it’s a promise of liberation, which is what I have found. It’s this experience of being free from anything that I’ve hid. I don’t have to hide. Years ago, on our 35th wedding anniversary, we took our whole family to the Tenement Museum because we wanted them to see how far we’ve come in two generations.
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Jewish leaders escalate concerns about unclear political conditions on federal security grants
(JTA) — The federal government distributes hundreds of millions of dollars each year to houses of worship to protect them from violent attacks, such as the synagogue arson in Jackson, Mississippi, last month or the car ramming at the Chabad headquarters in Brooklyn last week.
But would a synagogue that declares itself a sanctuary for refugees — and refuses to cooperate with Immigration and Customs Enforcement — be eligible for that funding under the Trump administration? What about a congregation that runs afoul of the administration’s anti-DEI push by offering programs aimed at making Jews of color, Jews with disabilities or LGBTQ Jews feel more welcome?
After more than six months of inquiries by Jewish organizations and members of Congress, the answer remains unclear: The federal government has not provided a definitive explanation of what conditions will apply to the funding. With the application deadline now passed, congregations that applied despite the uncertainty are waiting to find out whether they will receive an award.
“We are facing real threats against our communities,” Amy Spitalnick, the CEO, Jewish Council for Public Affairs, said in a statement. “Yet — as we’ve been warning for months — we’re now seeing this vital program thrown into chaos and politicized in dangerous ways — from the delayed rollout, to confusing and contradictory guidance, to new conditions that force communities to choose between their values and their security.”
The latest effort to keep the security funding untethered from ideological or political conditions came Thursday in a letter signed by a bipartisan group of members of Congress set to be sent to Kristi Noem, the U.S. secretary of homeland security, who oversees the program.
The letter was organized by Jewish Federations of North America, which for the first time is publicly calling to remove the conditions.
In the letter, lawmakers urge DHS to keep the Nonprofit Security Grant Program focused on its core purpose and free of unrelated policy requirements.
“In this time of rising antisemitic terror attacks and violence against diverse faith-based institutions, we believe it is crucial that NSGP remains a critical resource for all who seek to worship in safety and free from partisan politicization,” the letter says.
According to Eric Fingerhut, JFNA’s president and CEO, some Jewish institutions decided not to apply for the funding this year, though there is no estimate of how many.
“We continue to encourage every Jewish institution with heightened security needs to apply for these funds,” said in a statement. “We have also heard from our community that the current terms and conditions have had the unintended effect of deterring some organizations from applying, which is why we believe they should be updated appropriately.”
The letter follows a more forceful appeal sent last month by members of the Congressional Jewish Caucus — which is composed entirely of Democrats — organized by the Jewish Council for Public Affairs. That letter raised similar concerns about political and ideological conditions being attached to the grants.
The Department of Homeland Security has not responded to the Congressional Jewish Caucus letter has not answered requests for comment from the Jewish Telegraphic Agency since August.
Created more than 20 years ago, the program provides grants to nonprofits deemed at high risk of terrorism or extremist violence, helping them pay for “target hardening” and other physical security upgrades. Eligible expenses typically include cameras, access controls, alarms, locks and protective barriers. Congress allocated $274.5 million in each of the last two years and raised funding to $300 million for 2026. In 2024, lawmakers also approved a one-time $400 million infusion to address a surge in threats against houses of worship and nonprofit organizations following Hamas’ Oct. 7, 2023, attack on Israel.
Demand has far outpaced available funding. In 2024, roughly 7,600 applicants sought nearly $1 billion in grants, and only 43% were approved. Jewish institutions have historically comprised a significant share of the recipients.
When the federal nonprofit security grants were first proposed in 2004, they triggered a sharp debate inside the Jewish community: the Union for Reform Judaism, the Anti-Defamation League and the American Jewish Committee opposed the idea on church-state grounds, warning that direct federal support for houses of worship risked crossing a constitutional line.
That argument was echoed by prominent Jewish lawmakers during Senate consideration of the “High-Risk Non-Profit Security Enhancement Act.” Sen. Carl Levin backed an amendment to bar aid for security improvements to houses of worship, and Sen. Frank Lautenberg argued that even with safeguards, federal funding for religious sites “crossed a line,” citing a letter from Reform and Reconstructionist leaders that said such aid “seriously weakens the wall separating church and state.”
Over time, however, particularly as threats against Jewish institutions intensified, opposition within the Jewish community largely subsided. For many, the urgent need to protect lives outweighed earlier worries. The program was increasingly described by Jewish leaders and lawmakers as a rare bipartisan success: a lifesaving initiative that strengthened security at synagogues and other institutions without leading to government interference in religious affairs.
That consensus began to fray last year under the Trump administration, which introduced new grant terms that Jewish groups say extend beyond security into matters of values and policy.
The revised rules require grant recipients to make broad certifications related to immigration enforcement and diversity practices, prompting concerns that synagogues could risk losing funding for declaring themselves sanctuaries, declining to cooperate with immigration authorities, or offering inclusion-focused programming.
In August, an open letter signed by faith-based groups criticized the revised grant conditions and urged organizations to reconsider participation in the program as long as the conditions are in place.
“We are unified in refusing to capitulate to conditions that would require us to sacrifice the safety and dignity of our community members, neighbors, and partners in order to receive funding,” the letter said.
Signatories included progressive Jewish advocacy groups such as Bend the Arc: Jewish Action, Jews for Racial & Economic Justice and, Jewish Voice for Peace, as well as congregations such as Kolot Chayeinu in Brooklyn, Kehilla Community Synagogue in Oakland, and Temple Beth El in Stamford, Connecticut.
Groups like JFNA and JCPA that have long championed the program took a different tack. They advised Jewish institutions and congregations to apply for funding while they worked behind the scenes to push for changes, noting that if the conditions were still in place when grants were offered, applicants could then decline the money.
In November, DHS told JCPA that the immigration cooperation requirements do not apply to nonprofit security grants, though the official funding notice has not been revised to reflect the change and the applications nevertheless required applicants to disclose whether their work or mission involves supporting immigrants. Language barring what the administration defines as “illegal DEIA” activities remains in effect.
The uncertainty is underscored by a government FAQ that asks whether accepting nonprofit security grant funding could allow the federal government to impose restrictions “in any other area of policy that may contradict the religious and/or other beliefs” of a recipient. Rather than offering a clear answer, the guidance advises applicants to consult legal counsel — a response advocates have flagged as concerning.
A related dispute is also unfolding in federal court. In October, a judge in Rhode Island ruled in Illinois et al. v. FEMA that the Trump administration could not require states to cooperate with federal immigration enforcement as a condition of receiving certain homeland security grants, ordering those requirements stripped from grant agreements.
But a subsequent DHS memo notes that the ruling applies only to the 21 states and jurisdictions that sued, and that the administration will reinstate the conditions if it prevails on appeal.
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Jews who support Israel often do not identify as ‘Zionists,’ new JFNA survey finds
(JTA) — Only one-third of American Jews say they identify as Zionist, even as nearly nine in 10 say they support Israel’s right to exist as a Jewish and Democratic state, according to a new survey conducted by Jewish Federations of North America.
The findings of the survey reveal that American Jews do not have a mutually agreed-upon definition of Zionism — with those identifying as anti-Zionist and those identifying as Zionist ascribing sharply different meanings to the term.
For example, about 80% of anti-Zionist Jews say “supporting whatever actions Israel takes” is a tenet of Zionism, while only about 15% of self-identified Zionists share the belief, according to the survey.
The survey marks the most detailed assessment of the sentiments of American Jews about Zionism by a major Jewish organization in the United States, finding that 14% of Jews ages 18 to 34 identify as anti-Zionist and that the only demographic with a majority of self-identified Zionists was Millennials between 35 and 44.
The survey comes as tensions following the Oct. 7 attack, Israel’s war in Gaza and the election of New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani have put a sustained spotlight on the tenor of American Jewish support for Israel — and divided Jewish communities.
The divisions, JFNA is concluding based on the data, are real but often overstated — a matter of concern as Jewish communities and institutions decide whether and how to engage with Jewish critics of Israel.
“If we misread the trend about ‘Zionism’ to mean that large numbers of Jews, especially young Jews, are turning against the existence of Israel itself, we will draw the wrong conclusions and take the wrong actions,” Mimi Kravetz, JFNA’s chief impact officer, wrote in an essay about the survey’s findings. “We risk responding with anger when the moment calls for steady leadership, pulling away when the moment calls for connection, and defensiveness when the moment calls for listening and understanding.”
Kravetz’s comments add JFNA, the umbrella organization of hundreds of local Jewish federations in the United States and Canada, to an emerging group of Jewish leaders calling to open dialogue with Jews who have recently taken stands against Israel or in support of its opponents. JFNA would continue to define itself as Zionist, Kravetz noted, “in large part because we adhere to the historic definition,” but she conceded that the term had undergone “definition creep.”
Conducted in March 2025 by the research firm Burson, the survey posed a variety of questions to more than 1,800 Jewish and more than 4,100 total respondents about their relationship to Israel and Zionism, as well as about their beliefs about the definition of Zionism.
It was new territory for studies of American Jews. While a major 2021 survey of American Jews by the Pew Research Center had polled Jews on their relationship to Israel, that survey had avoided the use of the word “Zionism.” Other major Jewish groups that conduct population surveys have in the past typically avoided closely interrogating Jewish opinions about Zionism. JFNA’s venture into this territory came as part of the umbrella group’s series of post-Oct. 7 Jewish trend studies, which have also revealed what the group has termed a “surge” of Jewish engagement.
Overall, more than 70% of Jewish adults who responded to JFNA’s survey agreed that “I feel emotionally attached to Israel,” and 60% said Israel made them proud to be Jewish. At the same time, nearly 70% also agreed that “I sometimes find it hard to support actions taken by Israel or its government.”
One of the survey’s big sticking points emerged around self-identified Zionists. Only 37% of Jews surveyed said they identified as Zionist, while 7% labeled themselves anti-Zionist and another 8% said they were non-Zionist. Another 18% said they weren’t sure, while 30% said none of the labels described them.
At the same time, 88% of surveyed Jews believed that “Israel has the right to exist as a Jewish, Democratic state” — traditionally one of the most historically accepted definitions of Zionism. Seven percent of Jews disagreed with that sentiment, equal to the number who consider themselves anti-Zionist.
Respondents were also quizzed on what views they believed constituted “a part of Zionist beliefs.” Among Jews, 36% said Zionism only meant “the right of the Jewish people to have a Jewish state.” More than one in four Jewish respondents said they thought Zionists were expected to be “supporting whatever action Israel takes,” and 35% said Zionism meant “believing Israel has a right to the West Bank and Gaza Strip.”
Smaller numbers of Jews indicated that they thought “believing Palestinians are a made-up population” and “believing Jews are superior to Palestinians” were also core Zionist tenets.
To Kravetz, these results indicate that some Jews “are not rejecting Israel’s existence or the idea of a Jewish state. They are reacting to an understanding of Zionism that includes policies, ideologies, and actions that they oppose, and do not want to be associated with.”
That is especially true for younger Jews, according to the survey, which shows stark differences along age lines. Less than half of Jews under 44 agreed that “in general, Israel makes me feel proud to be Jewish.” The lowest share of Jews who agreed that Israel has a right to exist as a Jewish and Democratic state came from the same age group — though even then about three in four, a sizable majority, agreed with the statement.
Uneasiness in describing oneself as Zionist held true across nearly every age range, with only around 35% of Jews in most demographics using the term to describe themselves.
Of the Jewish respondents, 37% were Reform, 17% were Conservative, 9% were Orthodox and 30% identified as other or as no particular denomination. Survey results shared with JTA broke down respondents by age range, but not by other factors such as denomination; individuals were randomly assigned to receive certain questions.
The debate over Zionism remains fraught. The last few years have seen increased demonization of “Zionists,” alongside shifting definitions of the term, among progressives and far-right figures on social media and college campuses. At the same time, new advocacy groups like The Jewish Majority and the Movement Against Antizionism have called for shunning those expressing anti-Zionist or anti-Israel sentiment from Judaism’s big tent.
Still, more Jewish researchers are looking to better understand the intra-Jewish divide over Zionism and the various ways Jews understand the term.
For The Sake of Argument, an organization that promotes “healthy arguments” and works with several mainstream Jewish groups including JFNA, recently undertook its own interview series with Jewish anti-Zionists. Co-directors Robbie Gringas and Abi Dauber Sterne plan to soon publish findings from their conversations with about 30 participants.
“It’s great that people are starting to talk about the elephant in the room,” Gringas told JTA from Israel. “We, the Jewish world, don’t yet know what to do with this. And in the meantime, we have to find a way to not break each other’s hearts as much as we have been.”
The pair’s main takeaway from their interviews, Gringas said, was that Jewish anti-Zionists were “sad, if not brokenhearted, about the ways in which they not only find no expression for their Judaism, but also find the Judaism that they’re meeting very challenging.” He added, “The people we met were very knowledgeable about Israel and about Judaism. They were rich human beings.”
The fact that more institutional Jewish groups are interested in learning about what motivates Jewish anti-Zionism is a positive step, Gringas said, adding that it fits the current challenges of the Jewish moment.
“We need to recognize that the world’s changed. We’re in a different time,” he said. “We’re not in a transition. We’re in a rupture. And we need to confront it and think about it carefully.”
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Palestine Action activists acquitted in Israeli defense firm break-in, drawing criticism from British Jewish leaders
(JTA) — A British jury has acquitted six activists from the British group Palestine Action who were charged with breaking into the U.K. site of an Israeli defense company, eliciting criticism from British Jewish groups and leaders.
The defendants — Charlotte Head, 29, Samuel Corner, 23, Leona Kamio, 30, Fatema Rajwani, 21, Zoe Rogers, 22, and Jordan Devlin, 31 — were accused of driving a prison van into Elbit Systems’ factory, an Israeli-based military technology company, on Aug. 6, 2024, and causing damage to the building’s property and using sledgehammers as weapons.
After deliberating for 36 hours and 34 minutes, the jury said on Wednesday that it was unable to reach verdicts for criminal damage charges against all six defendants.
The jury was also unable to reach a verdict for charges faced by Corner, who was accused of causing grievous bodily harm with intent for hitting a police sergeant with a sledgehammer.
The incident took place nearly a year before the defendants’ organization, Palestine Action, was banned under the Terrorism Act in July after its activists broke into a Royal Air Force base and spray-painted two planes to protest Britain’s support for Israel. Now, people expressing support for Palestine Action or participating in its activism can be charged with terrorism.
The ruling drew praise from some British lawmakers and the Irish rap group Kneecap, whose member was charged under the Terrorism Act in May for displaying a Hezbollah flag at a concert in London last year.
But Jewish groups and figures in the United Kingdom lamented the acquittal.
The Board of Deputies of British Jews, the largest Jewish organization in the United Kingdom, said in a statement that it was “concerned by the troubling verdicts acquitting members of Palestine Action.” Alleging that the group had targeted “businesses linked to the Jewish community in London and Manchester,” the group called for a retrial on the charges in which the jury did not reach a verdict.
“While it is important to respect the integrity of the judicial process, there is a serious danger of perverse justifications being used as a shield for criminality,” the statement continued. “It cannot be the case that those who commit serious criminal acts, including violent assaults, are able to evade the consequences of their actions.”
In an op-ed published in The Telegraph titled “The Palestine Action acquittals are telling British Jews they have no future here,” former Jewish Chronicle editor Stephen Pollard argued that “the message of the case is this: you can smash the spine of a police officer and so long as you are doing it because of ‘Palestine’, you can walk home free.”
“That decision, I believe, may come to be seen as the single most significant case in the history of Anglo-Jewry since 1945,” continued Pollard. “It shows that the game is up. We can no longer rely on the criminal justice system. And when the law is no longer there to protect us, who or what will?”
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