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Why the Jews Survived When so Many Civilizations Collapsed
Pro-Israel demonstrators gathered at Bebelplatz in central Berlin on Nov. 30, 2025, before marching toward the Brandenburg Gate. Participants held Israeli flags and signs condemning rising antisemitism in Germany. Photo: Michael Kuenne/PRESSCOV/Sipa USA via Reuters Connect
Arnold Toynbee, the great 20th century historian, devoted his life to studying civilizations — how they rise, how they flourish, and then, inevitably, how they fall.
His conclusion was disarmingly simple: Civilizations rarely collapse because they are conquered from the outside. They collapse because they fail to adapt. They mistake their moment in the spotlight — even if it lasts for centuries — for permanence.
And almost always, that confidence attaches itself to a particular place — a city, a capital, a sacred center that seems to radiate eternity.
For the Aztecs, that center was Tenochtitlan — an island city rising out of Lake Texcoco. Majestic white temples gleamed in the sun, with the great central shrine, the Templo Mayor, dominating the skyline.
Priests in feathered headdresses moved through the sacred area with ritual precision. This was an empire utterly convinced that heaven and earth met right there — in the middle of its city.
Then, in 1519, a few hundred Spaniards appeared on the horizon. At their head was Hernán Cortés, a young, ambitious, calculating adventurer who had no interest in the Aztecs’ view of themselves as an eternal people. Within two years, Tenochtitlan was rubble. The sacred precinct was stripped — its stones repurposed to build churches.
Today, if you stand in Mexico City, you can see excavated fragments of the Templo Mayor beside traffic lights and fast-food stands. The empire that believed it stood at the center of the world survives only in stone, in memory, and in the scattered descendants of a civilization that long ago lost its sacred center.
It’s a similar story with the Incas — a civilization of perhaps 12 million people stretching down the western spine of South America. They, too, had their version of eternity. Their bustling center, brimming with wealth, was Cusco, in the Peruvian Andes. Their vast empire stretched across mountains, deserts, and jungles — all radiating outward from Cusco, which they called the “navel of the world.”
Then, in the 1530s, another small Spanish expedition arrived, this one led by Francisco Pizarro. The timing could not have been worse. A brutal civil war was already tearing the Inca empire apart. Smallpox — a disease carried unknowingly by Europeans — had spread ahead of them, weakening the Inca population and destabilizing their leadership.
But even that did not prepare the Incas for the ruthless rampage of the conquistadores. Pizarro seized the emperor, Atahualpa, holding him hostage until an enormous ransom room was filled with gold and silver. The ransom was delivered as promised, but Atahualpa was executed anyway, and by 1533, Cusco was in ruins.
As in Mexico, temples were stripped of their treasures, and the gold was melted down and dispatched to Spain. Churches rose where sun temples once stood. The imperial order that seemed as solid as Andean granite unraveled with astonishing speed.
And this is not just a story about the New World. It is the rhythm of history. Mesopotamia believed itself to be eternal. Assyria did. Egypt did. Greece did. Carthage did. Rome certainly did.
Each, in its moment, assumed it stood at the gravitational center of human civilization. And then it didn’t. Monuments rise. Architecture declares permanence. Believers insist: “We are not going anywhere.” And then the center of gravity moves. It always moves.
The Jewish story should have followed the same pattern. In fact, by any reasonable civilizational metric, we were the least likely people to survive.
We began in Egypt as slaves. We wandered through the desert. We settled in the Land of Israel. We split into two kingdoms. We were exiled by the Assyrians. Conquered by the Babylonians. Rebuilt. Destroyed again by the Romans. Scattered across continents. Ruled by ruthless powers we did not control, living under laws we did not write.
No nation in history has experienced so many shifts in its center of gravity. And yet — we are still here. The question is not only why – it is how. The answer, I think, begins in Parshat Terumah. Before there was even a single stone laid on the Temple Mount, we were given something else — a sacred center that was real, but not fixed.
At the beginning of Terumah, God commands the construction of a sanctuary — not a monumental edifice carved into mountains or anchored to bedrock, but something built of curtains and poles, rings and sockets, designed to be dismantled and rebuilt wherever the people found themselves.
You might imagine the Mishkan as a temporary solution — a stopgap until the “real” thing in Jerusalem could be constructed. But that is to misunderstand it entirely. The Mishkan was not a placeholder. It was a principle. Long before we had a permanent Temple, we were taught something far more revolutionary: Wherever you are, build Me a center there — and I will be among you. As the Torah puts it (Ex. 25:8): “Let them make Me a sanctuary, and I will dwell among them.” Not in it — but among them.
The Temple in Jerusalem would later become the focal point of Jewish life. It was magnificent. It was the beating heart of the nation. Pilgrims streamed toward it three times a year. The Divine Presence rested there in revealed intensity.
And yet here is the astonishing fact: When the First Temple was destroyed, and the nation was exiled across the Persian Empire, we survived. When the Second Temple was destroyed by Titus in 70 CE, and the nation was scattered across the Roman world, we survived again.
Civilizations do not usually survive the destruction of their sacred center. The Aztec temples fell — and their world collapsed. Cusco fell — and the Inca nation unraveled. When Jerusalem fell, the Jewish people did not disappear. We regrouped. In Yavneh. In Sura. In Pumbedita. In Toledo. In Aleppo. In Frankfurt. In Warsaw. In Vilna. In New York. Even in Los Angeles!
The Temple may have been our center of gravity, but it was never the source of our gravity. That source had been implanted much earlier — in the wilderness — in the Mishkan.
The Mishkan precedes permanence. Long before we possessed a fixed center, we were taught how to create one that moves with us. Portable holiness was written into Jewish DNA. While other civilizations anchored holiness to geography, Judaism anchored holiness to covenant.
This does not diminish our longing for the Temple in Jerusalem. We pray daily for its rebuilding, and we turn toward Jerusalem in every Amidah. The Temple matters profoundly. But our survival without it proves something radical: God’s presence — and our identity as God’s people — was never confined to masonry.
The prophet Ezekiel, speaking in exile, refers to the synagogue as a מִקְדָּשׁ מְעַט — a miniature sanctuary (Ez. 11:16). In other words, a Mishkan. Wherever Jews gathered — in Babylon or Spain, in Poland or America — the portable sanctuary reappeared. In a synagogue. In a study hall. Around a Shabbat table. And God dwelt in our midst.
Which is why it is no accident that our first national sanctuary was made of curtains and poles, dismantled and reconstructed again and again over 40 years of wandering. Exile was written into the Jewish story from the beginning — but so was the architecture of survival.
And so today, as the global center of gravity threatens to shift yet again, the Jewish people remain what we have always been: a nation capable of carrying its center with it.
Wherever Jews gather — in Los Angeles, New York, London, Sydney, in a grand synagogue or a makeshift minyan in a dorm room, a hospital ward, or even a military base — if there is prayer, if there is Torah, if there is yearning for God — then God dwells among us.
The author is a rabbi in Beverly Hills, California.
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U2’s New EP References Holocaust, Hitler, Women’s Rights Protests in Iran, Deceased Palestinian Activist
The Irish rock band U2. Photo: BANG Showbiz
The Irish rock band U2 released an EP on Wednesday titled “Days of Ash” that addresses a wide range of topics, including the “Women, Life, Freedom” uprising in Iran, the Holocaust, the killing of a Palestinian activist, ICE raids in the United States, and the Russia-Ukraine war.
“Days of Ash,” which was released on Ash Wednesday and is now available on all streaming platforms, is the first time U2 is releasing a collection of new music since 2017. The EP features five new tracks – “American Obituary,” “The Tears Of Things,” “Song Of The Future,” “One Life At A Time,” and “Yours Eternally” (ft. Ed Sheeran & Taras Topolia) – and the recitation of the poem “Wildpeace,” written by Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai. The poem is read on the EP by Nigerian artist Adeola Fayehun. It begins with the following lines: “Not the peace of a ceasefire / not even the vision of the wolf and the lamb / but rather as in the heart when the excitement is over / and you can talk only about a great weariness.”
In a new interview with the U2 fanzine “Propaganda,” which is being relaunched as a one-off digital zine to accompany the new EP, lead singer Bono talked about the music referencing Nazi leader Adolf Hitler, concerns about antisemitism, his condemnation of the Hamas-led terrorist attack in southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, and his criticism of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu for how he is managing the Israel-Hamas war.
The title for “The Tears of Things” is a reference to the 2025 book by Richard Rohr titled The Tears of Things: Prophetic Wisdom for an Age of Outrage. The book is about the Jewish prophets and imagines a conversation between Italian sculptor and artist Michelangelo and his marble statue of the Bible’s King David.
“If you put a man into a cage and rattle it long enough/A man becomes the kind of rage that cannot be locked up … The tears of things/Let the desert be unfrozen,” Bono sings in the track. He also sings about “six million voices silenced in just four years,” which is a reference to the six million people killed in the Holocaust. Bono told “Propaganda” the same song includes a reference to a true story about Mussolini and Hitler meeting. Hitler’s name in the song is replaced by the word “shadow,” Bono explained.
“Mussolini came to see me/A shadow by his side,” Bono sings. “Church bells ring, a vanishing/Then the vanishing denied/Six million voices silenced in just four years/The silent song of Christendom/So loud everybody hears.”
The track concludes with the lyrics: “River, sea and mountain/Desert, dust and snow/Everybody is my people/Let my people go.”
Bono told “Propaganda” it is “the moral force of Judaism that helped shape Western civilization.”
“Some of my favorite bits … some of the greatest hits of Western civilization … were gifted to us by brilliant Jewish minds … mathematicians, scientists … writers … not to mention singwriters,” added the singer-songwriter, who said he comes from a “Judeo-Christian tradition.”
“There has never been a moment when we have needed the moral force of Judaism more than right now,” he explained. “And yet, it has rarely in modern times been under such a siege. From where I stand, as a person with a limited view, Judaism, one of the great and noble religions, is being slandered by far-right fundamentalists from within its own community … I could argue the same about Christianity or Islam.”
Antisemitism “has been a scourge for millennia,” and “was rising long before Oct. 7 and the resulting war in Gaza,” Bono said. “As with Islamophobia, antisemitism must be countered every time we witness it. The rape, murder, and abduction of Israelis on Oct. 7 was evil, but self-defense is no defense for the sweeping brutality of Netanyahu’s response,” he continued.
The musician also talked about how the Israel-Hamas war has resulted in “deep knock-on effects for the Jewish diaspora and their safety … As if all Jews are to blame for the actions of Netanyahu, Smotrich, and Ben Gvir.” He was referring to Israel’s Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich and National Security Minister Itamar Ben Gvir.
When asked later on in the interview about criticism he has faced, especially in Ireland, for not speaking out enough against the conflict in Gaza, Bono said, “I’ve written on Israel and Gaza, but in terms of actions I’ve been focused on the things I know more about.”
Bono also told “Propaganda” that the song “One Life at a Time” on the new EP is inspired by Palestinian activist and filmmaker Awdah Hathaleen, whose was killed last year by an extremist Israeli settler in the West Bank. Hathaleen was featured in the Oscar-winning documentary “No Other Land,” which focuses on Israel’s demolition of Palestinian homes in the West Bank village of Masafer Yatta and criticizes Israel’s military actions. The lyrics of “One Life at a Time” do not reference Hathaleen by name, but the band’s lyric video for the track features a picture of Hathaleen’s face, as well as image of Israel’s West Bank security barrier and the Dome of the Rock.
“Song of the Future” honors the 2022 Women, Life, Freedom movement and uprising in Iran as well as the protesters killed, including 16-year-old Iranian Sarina Esmailzadeh, who was beaten to death by Iranian security forces. Esmailzadeh is the “star of our song,” Bono told “Propaganda.”
“This new EP is a response to current events, inspired by the many extraordinary and courageous people fighting on the frontlines of freedom,” U2 said. “Four of the five tracks are about individuals – a mother, a father, a teenage girl whose lives were brutally cut short – and a soldier who’d rather be singing but is ready to die for the freedom of his country.”
The first track of the EP, “American Obituary,” is dedicated to Renee Good, a mother of three and protester who was fatally shot on Jan. 7 in Minneapolis, Minnesota, by a US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agent during a protest.
The track “Yours Eternally” is about the war in Ukraine.
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Jewish Peoplehood Shouldn’t Be Up for Debate
Thousands of participants and spectators are gathering along Fifth Avenue to express support for Israel during the 59th Annual Israel Day Parade in NYC, on June 2, 2024. Photo: Melissa Bender via Reuters Connect
The world’s largest association of psychologists is currently debating whether Jews are allowed to describe themselves as a people.
As crazy as that sounds, this is not a joke. It is a controversy unfolding right now among members of the American Psychological Association (APA), as a group of Jewish psychologists has sought recognition similar to that enjoyed by other ethnic minority groups within the association. The APA’s governing council is set to vote on this question imminently. What should have been an uncontroversial measure has instead become an argument over identity itself — one that reveals a deeper problem in how discrimination is understood today.
We are two Jewish women who have direct, personal experiences with antisemitism, and whose families historically have been discriminated against simply because they were Jewish. Our families’ and our own experiences, as Jews who faced persecution and as advocates for other vulnerable communities, make it especially painful to see our Jewish identities and need for representation and protection questioned in this way.
The opponents from ethnic caucuses within the APA that already have formal representation argued that Jews are a “majority white” population and therefore do not need such recognition. They asserted that Jewish identity is only religious, not ethnic; that antisemitism is not a distinct concern; and that acknowledging Jewish peoplehood would somehow undermine efforts to confront white supremacy.
At a time when antisemitism has reached historic levels in the US and globally, these claims are not only deeply concerning but also evidence of a larger pattern of discrimination in professional and academic organizations and labor unions.
Like any ethnic or religious minority, Jews should not have to justify their existence to others. No one should be told that their identity is somehow invalid because it does not fit neatly into racial categories or prevailing political narratives. Yet that is precisely what is happening here.
Jewish identity has always been multifaceted, encompassing ancestry, culture, history, and, for some, religion. Jews today include families from the Middle East and North Africa, Ethiopia, Europe, and the Americas, observant and secular alike. But the specifics matter less than the principle: In every other context, communities are trusted to define their own lived experience and identity. Here, that authority is being claimed by those outside the community, ironically, inside a profession dedicated to compassionate and nuanced understanding of identity and trauma.
To understand why this moment is so troubling, one must understand something distinctive about antisemitism: It adapts to the assumptions of the era.
At times throughout our history Jews were persecuted as a religious group, forced to convert, be expelled, or be killed. At others, we were targeted as a race, culminating in Nazi racist ideology used to justify the extermination of 6 million Jews. One of our aunts (Eveline Shekhman’s), Rocha Vilenski, was forcibly transported from the Kovno ghetto in Lithuania to Stutthof and then Auschwitz. Her transport papers listed “Jude” as her race, a clear marker that she was not considered “white.”
In other periods Jews have been accused of being foreigners, disloyal to their countries of origin. And sometimes, even simultaneously, Jews are painted as the ultimate insiders, wielding outsized power to manipulate society in pursuit of some untoward end. The accusations are rarely consistent, but they do paint a pattern: Jews are blamed for whatever is most feared or condemned in society at that particular moment.
Today, in some spaces, the prevailing narrative is that Jews are overly powerful, privileged, and white. From there flows a natural conclusion: that Jews cannot meaningfully experience discrimination and therefore require no specific protections.
The logic is familiar even if the language is new.
A prejudice that changes form to match prevailing moral categories is harder to recognize. But that does not make it any less real — only adaptable. Indeed, antisemitism’s shapeshifting nature is part of what makes it so pernicious and difficult to combat.
Psychologists help shape how institutions recognize bias, how patients’ experiences are interpreted, and how discrimination is measured across society. When a field responsible for understanding prejudice treats a community’s lived experience as a definitional debate, protection becomes conditional on whether the group fits an approved framework. Such a dynamic is anathema to the discipline of psychology.
At a moment when confidence in expert institutions is fragile, credibility depends on applying principles morally, and consistently. Members of the APA Council have an opportunity to reaffirm a simple principle: Communities deserve the same respect for self-definition that psychology teaches in every other context.
Sara Colb is Director of Advocacy at the Anti-Defamation League. Eveline Shekhman is Chief Executive Officer of AJMA, The American Jewish Medical Association.
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New Location of London Bakery Founded by Israeli Vandalized With Anti-Israel, ‘Free Gaza’ Graffiti
April 4, 2025, London, England, United Kingdom: Exterior view of a Gail’s bakery in Covent Garden. Photo: ZUMA Press Wire via Reuters Connect
A newly opened London branch of a popular bakery founded by an Israeli baker was vandalized on Wednesday night with anti-Israel graffiti as the chain was accused of funding “Israeli tech.”
Photos and videos shared on social media show that the new Gail’s Bakery location, which opened this week near the tube station in the Archway neighborhood, had splattered red paint on its walls and graffiti that read “Free Gaza,” along with another message that said “Boycott Gail’s Funds Israeli Tech.”
More thuggery from so-called activists.
Pro-Palestine thugs have vandalised the newest Gail’s branch in Archway.
Targeting businesses with Jewish roots belongs in the dustbin of history.@MetPoliceUK must ensure the perpetrators face consequences.pic.twitter.com/vZ8Au7cgHv
— Campaign Against Antisemitism (@antisemitism) February 19, 2026
Police were called to the scene on Wednesday night, but the vandals had fled before officers arrived, according to a spokesperson for the Metropolitan Police.
“Our bakeries are places for the community, and no one – whether that’s our bakery teams or our customers – should feel targeted or unsafe,” a spokesperson for Gail’s told The Algemeiner following the vandalism. “We are a British business with no specific connections to any country or government outside the UK. Our focus right now is on working with the authorities and making sure our people feel safe and supported.”
An anti-Israel demonstration also took place at the same Gail’s location this week, according to multiple reports. Videos online show protesters standing outside Gail’s holding signs including a massive banner that said, “Boycott Israel for Genocide and War Crimes in Gaza.” Another sign held by a protester read “No to Gail’s” and accused the American investment firm Bain Capital, which acquired a majority stake in Gail’s parent company Bread Holdings in 2021, of having “links to Israeli war-tech.”
First the vandals, then the harassment. Another scene today at Gail’s in Archway, London, the city that we all know is a “shining beacon of hope” where “everyone is loved and wanted”. pic.twitter.com/zd25zMucqR
— habibi (@habibi_uk) February 19, 2026
Bain Capital was among the more than 200 venture capital funds that signed an open letter in support of Israel following the Hamas-led massacre in southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023. The company has investments in Israel, including in cybersecurity, artificial intelligence, and software companies. In October 2025, CTech reported that Bain Capital had invested more than $150 million into Israeli companies over the past year.
Gail’s was founded by Israeli baker Gail Mejia in the 1990s and serves freshly handmade bread, pastries, and cakes. Its first store opened in 2005 in London’s Hampstead High Street with the help of Israeli entrepreneur Ran Avidan, and today, there are hundreds of locations in and around London. Gail’s was voted the best bakery chain in Britain last year. Meija and Avidan no longer have any involvement in the company.
The European Jewish Congress condemned the “deeply concerning” anti-Israel graffiti found on Gail’s Bakery. “Targeting a local business because of perceived Jewish or Israeli associations reflects a troubling normalization of hostility that must be firmly rejected,” the EJC wrote in a post on X. “Such acts have no place in our societies and must be unequivocally condemned.”
In a statement given to The Algemeiner, the Campaign Against Antisemitism called on London’s Metropolitan Police to ensure those responsible for the vandalism are punished for their actions.
Last summer, hundreds of people signed a petition criticizing the opening of a Gail’s in east London and several of them said they opposed the new location because of the bakery’s “Zionist” ties, according to The Jewish Chronicle. In a statement released to The Guardian at the time, the company reiterated that it is “a UK-based business with no specific connections to any country or government outside of the UK and does not fund Israel.”
In an interview with The Times in 2024, Gail’s co-founder and CEO Tom Molnar denied the “ludicrous” accusations that the company is owned by Israel or funds the Jewish state.
“Gail’s proudly has Jewish roots and there’s plenty of stuff out there celebrating our heritage and history, but it’s not true it’s Israel-owned,” he said. “There’s some just crazy stuff on the web thinking we are funding Israel, which is just completely ridiculous. We’re a wholly UK-based business, paying UK taxes, it’s just ludicrous and I think it needs to be called out.”