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Mahmoud Khalil wants to reassure you
Mahmoud Khalil knows what you’ve heard about him. That he is an antisemite. That he supports Hamas.
That he fostered “a hostile environment for Jewish students in the United States,” as Secretary of State Marco Rubio wrote in a letter seeking to deport Khalil on national security grounds.
It’s not just that these claims offend Khalil — though they do.
Or that they jeopardize his ability to continue living in New York City with his wife and baby son — though they do that, too.
“This is what we should aspire for: to get a place where there’s no more conflict, no more killing in that place and it’s open to anyone who wants to call it their home.”
On what a ‘free Palestine’ should look like
The major reason that Khalil put on a baseball hat and sunglasses and traveled from Brooklyn to a conference room in Manhattan last week to meet with the Forward is that he believes misplaced Jewish fear remains a major obstacle to achieving what he and other protesters consider to be the liberation of Palestine.
Speaking extensively about Hamas, Oct. 7 and his preferred political solution to the conflict, Khalil sought to reassure American Jews that the protest movement he participated in and helped lead at Columbia University recognizes “absolutely a Jewish connection” to Israel and does not seek to drive Jews out of the region.
“The Jewish people are part of the land and they should remain that way,” Khalil told me. “I want to liberate everyone.”
Face of a movement
When federal agents arrested Khalil in the lobby of his Columbia student housing last March, he was transformed overnight into an emblem of the campus demonstrations against Israel. Even many of those who objected to his detention accepted the Trump administration’s premise that he was an antisemitic extremist.
“I abhor many of the opinions and policies that Mahmoud Khalil holds and supports,” Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer said at the time, before suggesting that his arrest might violate the First Amendment.
But despite occasionally speaking to the media on behalf of protesters, and negotiating between students and the administration, Khalil was not the movement’s face until he was arrested — and it was unclear what exact opinions and policies Schumer and his other critics were actually referring to.
Khalil, who is now 31, did not have any public social media accounts before his arrest. Unlike others at Columbia, he had not posted a video of himself saying “Zionists don’t have a right to live,” or held a sign labeling pro-Israel counterprotesters as “Al-Qasam’s next targets” or been caught on camera yelling at anyone to “go back to Europe.”
The protest movement at Columbia was fractious and, while Khalil managed to retain the respect of most encampment participants, on key issues — including whether a student who had insisted he had the right to kill Zionists should apologize, whether protesters should occupy Hamilton Hall, and whether to embrace the slogan “globalize the intifada” — he aligned himself with those calling for the more conciliatory approach.
His media tour following a court order releasing him from immigration detention in rural Louisiana last June largely confirmed this. There were flashes of anger, especially when he spoke about missing the birth of his son Deen last April, and resolve. “Even if they would kill me, I would still speak up for Palestine,” he told reporters immediately after his release.
But in repeated interviews, Khalil condemned antisemitism and violence against Israeli civilians, and spoke with passion about the important role of Jewish students he had demonstrated alongside.
All this made Khalil, who graduated from Columbia with a master’s degree in public administration shortly before his arrest, a poor poster child for the protest movement’s excesses.
And yet nobody has wanted to confront this reality because it requires acknowledging that the movement had both moderates and extremists. Khalil’s opponents rejected the premise that there were any moderates in the movement, while his supporters rejected the premise that there were any extremists.
A balancing act
Khalil, like the movement he came to represent, is adamant that Zionism is racist. He opposes any two-state solution that seeks to preserve a Jewish majority in Israel.
“Rejecting the self-determination of the Jewish people on the Palestinian land in itself is not antisemitism,” Khalil said during our interview. “You are denying other people’s rights in the land.”
Khalil goes beyond accusing Israel of genocide and has said that its goal is to kill all the Palestinians in Gaza — a claim Israeli officials have strenuously denied, insisting that civilian casualties are the inevitable result of dense urban warfare. In our interview, he questioned whether militants sought to kill, rather than kidnap, Israeli civilians on Oct. 7. He is sympathetic to support for Hamas among Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza. And like most of the Palestinian liberation movement, he views liberal Zionist groups that support Israel while seeking to push its government to the left as an obstacle.
He is reluctant to criticize the movement’s excesses, and ready with explanations for even the tactics and rhetoric he finds unproductive. Khalil argues that Israel is to blame for anti-Zionism sometimes slipping into antisemitism because its government has intentionally held itself out as representative of Jews and Judaism while carrying out what more than 40% of Americans — and the vast majority of Democrats — considered to be a genocide in Gaza.
Khalil keeps a magnet on his fridge with a map of Israel, the West Bank and Gaza overlaid with the pattern of a keffiyeh, the traditional Palestinian scarf, that reads: “I will stay a traveler until I go back to my home country, Palestine.”
There is nothing moderate about any of this for Jews who believe that anti-Zionism is always an expression of antisemitism.
“I have a nuanced view of the Zionist project that goes beyond ‘Zionism is bad.’”
On what he learned from engaging with liberal Zionism
But Khalil’s views are ubiquitous among those who have protested against Israel over the past two years — and are coming into the mainstream as Americans turn against Israel at a rapid pace. Its support has cratered to a paltry 13% among Democrats, and an endorsement from the AIPAC has become a liability for liberal politicians at a time when the former leader of a Students for Justice in Palestine chapter just became mayor of New York City while other Democrats who share his views on Israel are winning Democratic primaries, and liberal members of Congress are rejecting funding even for Israel’s defensive missile systems.
Pro-Israel groups have been able to convince Republicans to enforce prohibitions on anti-Zionism by force — epitomized by the White House’s unprecedented attempt to deport Khalil — but the conservative vanguard is turning on this approach, with some blaming Jews for the war in Iran and referring to politicians who prioritize countering antisemitism as “J-pilled.”
If anti-Zionism is here to stay, Khalil advocates a remarkably pragmatic direction for the movement. He is critical of Hamas — including its embrace of political Islam and violations of international law — and his vision for a free Palestine includes safety and security for its Jewish residents. He is attuned to concerns over antisemitism, rejects an oppositional stance toward Jews who disagree with his beliefs and cares about bringing more of them into his tent.
“For a lot of people, all Zionists are bad,” Khalil said. “To me, no — it’s not like that.”
From Khan Eshieh to Columbia
A good place to start Khalil’s political journey is at 16, when he boarded a bus from Khan Eshieh, the Palestinian refugee camp on the outskirts of Damascus where he was born, bound for the foothills of the Golan Heights.
The Syrian military normally restricted access to the border, but on May 15, 2011 — Nakba Day, marking the anniversary of the 1948 Palestinian expulsion during the establishment of the new state of Israel — soldiers allowed thousands of protesters to stream into the demilitarized zone and toward Israeli territory.
Khalil had been raised on stories of his grandparents’ expulsion from a village near Tiberias to Khan Eshieh, which Yasser Arafat nicknamed the “Camp of Return,” because of its distance just 20 miles from Israeli territory. And the Arab Spring had awoken something in him.
He marched toward the border. Khalil says it was peaceful. The Israeli military says demonstrators tried to breach the border fence and threw rocks. Gunfire broke out. An Israeli soldier shot Khalil in the leg, he said, and four protesters were killed.
The incident adds credibility to Khalil’s insistence more than a decade later that he would die for Palestine. “This is a tradition of the Palestinian resistance,” Khalil said. “Longing for home.”
But the march was not a neat morality play.
The Palestinian factions inside the Syrian refugee camps — Hamas, Fatah, the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine — had tried to stop the march from taking place because they were afraid that Bashar al-Assad’s government was using it as a distraction from mounting protests against his authoritarian rule.
A few weeks later, a similar march took place with even deadlier results. Israeli soldiers killed 22 demonstrators, sparking a Palestinian uprising in the Syrian camps that targeted their own leadership for playing into Assad’s hands and ultimately spurred a crackdown that forced Khalil to flee to Lebanon.
It was there, around the time he graduated from the American University in Beirut, that Khalil began to wonder whether he had been indoctrinated into his political beliefs about Israel.
“Growing up I was baffled by why this was happening to us — like, it’s clear this is our home, we did not do anything wrong — why were we exiled from our home?” he said.
And so Khalil began spending time in pro-Israel chatrooms on Clubhouse, a short-lived audio-only social media platform, and scrolling through Zionist discussion boards on Reddit.
“I started going into these conversations and just understanding why Israelis felt so strongly about Israel — the same way we feel so strongly about Palestine,” he said. “One of the points that caught my attention was the miscommunication and misunderstanding about what we are, and who we are, and who they are.”
Khalil suggested this lack of knowledge fueled a fear of Palestinians and the movement he participated in.
“People think that we want to drive all Jews to the sea,” he said. “We don’t believe that.”
Conflicting messages
It wasn’t always clear to outsiders what the campus protests following Oct. 7, including those at Columbia, were actually about.
The first set of demands from Students for Justice in Palestine and Jewish Voice for Peace chapters at Columbia were relatively narrow: That Columbia’s senior administrators apologize for official statements about Oct. 7 that did not mention Palestinians, “divest from companies profiting from Israeli apartheid” and end the school’s partnership with Tel Aviv University.
But these calls received far less attention than the statement the two groups released days after the Hamas attack lauding it as an “unprecedented historic moment for the Palestinians of Gaza” and a “counter-offensive against their settler-colonial oppressor.”
The protests often ran along these two tracks: The formal demands directed at university leadership, and the rhetoric and posturing that accompanied those demands.
Some of the students recognized that the inflammatory slogans and tactics could work against the movement. Especially after the first tent encampment started in April, fissures began to develop. Some participants — including Khalil, who emerged as a mediator between demonstrators and the administration — called for a more measured approach, while others wanted to aggressively escalate. “One of the reasons I was chosen to negotiate on behalf of these students is because I’m more pragmatic,” Khalil told Hasan Piker during a July livestream. “I can meet you in the middle.”
“There were maybe some bad actors who believed only in the theory of resistance — and believed themselves to be part of it — while Palestinians were like, ‘No, it doesn’t work this way.””
On divisions within the protest movement at Columbia
These divisions were often invisible on the outside. Everyone at the encampments was facing pressure from university administrators, who repeatedly called police to sweep the areas and arrest students, and from outside organizations that sought to identify and blacklist them as antisemites.
Even when students thought some of their peers had gone too far, the impulse was to circle the wagons rather than be seen as giving ammunition to enemies of the protest movement.
For instance, Khalil maintained that the slogan “globalize the intifada” was unproductive. “I don’t use it just because — to me, my goal at Columbia is to get it to divest,” he told Piker. But even now, he is careful to explain that it’s not intended to invoke violence and that he would never discourage others from using it.
“Even if the students used a normal word like globalize the ‘uprising’ they would receive the same sort of backlash,” Khalil said in our interview. “The point is not about their slogan, the point is about silencing them.”
But cracks began to show the following school year. A few days after the first anniversary of Oct. 7, a group of Palestinian students broke away from Columbia University Apartheid Divest, the coalition that had organized the encampments. “We refuse to have our liberation dictated for us,” the anonymous organizers wrote in the Columbia Spectator. “We refuse to allow anyone to speak over us.”
The article also included a veiled swipe at the increasingly cavalier attitude some participants in the movement had been taking toward violence against Israeli civilians. It said the new group supported armed resistance against Israel under two specific provisions of international law but that “equally and firmly, we wholeheartedly disavow any violence outside of this context.”
Maryam Alwan, a Palestinian-American undergraduate at Columbia who had been a leader of Students for Justice in Palestine, unleashed on CUAD in an interview last month with The Blue and White, a student magazine on campus.
“They started making these crazy-ass posts,” Alwan said, referring to their Instagram account. She referred to Khymani James, the student who had said the school should be “grateful that I’m not just going out and murdering Zionists” as an “opp,” slang for enemy.
Alwan said that she and the other Palestinian students at the encampment had opposed the occupation of Hamilton Hall, in which demonstrators smashed glass door panes and two janitors said they were assaulted before police swept the building and arrested 44 people, but that they’d been ignored before being asked to defend the occupation to reporters.
The leadership of CUAD became increasingly centralized and extreme in part because students that Columbia had suspended pending expulsion — already, in many cases, those willing to take the most radical actions — now had more time for activism as other members became turned off by the organization’s direction and went back to their studies. “Anyone who could’ve talked them down was gone,” said Alwan, who described herself as being close friends with Khalil.
Khalil’s role in CUAD has been hotly contested as part of his legal case. The government accused him of failing to disclose membership in CUAD on his green card application, but the group had no formal members and Khalil’s lawyers have argued that he served as a negotiator on behalf of student protesters rather than as a representative of the coalition itself.
Either way, he is more forgiving than Alwan and emphasized that many of the students involved were teenagers who suddenly found themselves at the center of an international news story. But he has also said the occupation of Hamilton Hall was not the right move and that he was barred from entering the building while it was occupied.
“There were maybe some bad actors who believed only in the theory of resistance — and believed themselves to be part of it — while Palestinians were like, ‘No, it doesn’t work this way,’” Khalil said. “A lot of them had only read the literature of the Palestinian struggle, rather than living within it.”
The Hamas question
Khalil made headlines for declining to condemn Hamas during interviews following his release, arguing that the question represented “selective outrage” and was unfairly directed toward Palestinian activists.
He has also said that, while he is opposed to any violence against civilians, he cannot dictate what Palestinians who experience Israeli human rights abuses should do. “To them, it’s not about supporting Hamas, it’s about resisting the occupation, resisting the status quo, resisting the injustices, resisting the killing,” he said during our interview. “All of that pushed people toward any resistance to Israel: ‘Whether it’s Hamas or anyone else, we want to resist Israel.’”
But in his most detailed public comments about Hamas itself, Khalil told me that the organization is “not up to the Palestinian aspiration for liberation.”
“Hamas came to power as a result of Israel’s concerted effort to delegitimize the PLO,” Khalil said, referring to the Palestinian Liberation Organization controlled by Fatah, which continues to rule Palestinian areas in the West Bank. “The Netanyahu government was allowing funding for Hamas because they see it as a way to maintain the division within the Palestinian political sphere.”
(Netanyahu’s working relationship with Hamas has been widely reported.)
Khalil, who is Muslim, added that his personal faith and politics did not align with Hamas. “I come from a family that doesn’t believe in political Islam,” he said. “You have to separate between these two.”
More broadly, Khalil argued that most of the grassroots support for Hamas that does exist among Palestinians came about because Israel had eliminated the organizations that could pose a serious threat to its power while failing to deliver on the promise of the Oslo Accords.
“When you have the PLO, who signed the Oslo agreement — agreeing to 22% of the land, yet you see Israel continuing its settlements, blocking any attempts for the realization of Palestinian statehood — that pushed people to think, ‘This is not working,” Khalil said. “So you’re left with Hamas.”
Khalil cautioned that the support some participants in the student movement expressed for Oct. 7 and occasionally for Hamas itself — embracing the inverted red triangle symbol used in Hamas propaganda videos, for example — did not mean they believed in the organization’s ideology.
“There should be a distinction between supporting legitimate armed resistance and supporting Hamas.”
On allegations that pro-Palestinian activists support Hamas
“A big part of this movement is LGBTQ, and of course they don’t support Hamas,” he said. “That’s why you see a lot of PFLP affection in this country just because it’s the left-iest organization carrying out armed resistance.”
(The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine is a Marxist organization that has faded in relevance since the 1990s but operates a militia that participated in the Oct. 7 attacks alongside Hamas.)
“There should be a distinction between supporting legitimate armed resistance and supporting Hamas,” Khalil said.
The question of what armed resistance is “legitimate” is one that has divided pro-Palestinian activists.
Some of the most radical voices argue that Jewish civilians in Israel are acceptable targets because they can be called to serve in the Israeli military, or because as settlers on ostensibly stolen land they do not deserve any expectation of safety. Others simply state that Palestinians have a right to resist “by any means necessary.”
Khalil, like the Palestinian student breakaway group at Columbia, is adamant that targeting civilians is unacceptable. “I grew up in a community that valued human rights and valued principles beyond religion, beyond race,” he said. “I would never, in any context, justify the killing of a civilian for any reason.”
Those who support the right of Palestinian armed resistance, but oppose violence against civilians, generally point to provisions of international law that say national liberation movements may use force against countries that deny them independence while remaining subject to the laws of war. “In short: Right to resist, including armed resistance: Yes. Right to indiscriminately kill or target civilians: No. It’s as simple as that,” Ihsan Adel, the founder of Law for Palestine, wrote in the aftermath of Oct. 7.
Many pro-Palestinian activists see the events of Oct. 7 very differently than most American Jews do. Where pro-Israel groups condemned the attacks as an unprovoked act of brutality, most pro-Palestinian organizations portrayed them as a reaction to the tight Israeli control of travel and trade into Gaza since it withdrew from the territory in 2005 and its killing of more than 4,000 Palestinians during four major military operations over that time period. Many student demonstrators also expressed skepticism about the extent to which the violence targeted Israeli civilians.
“Hamas, yes, targeted civilians to take them hostage, which is another crime — that doesn’t absolve them of anything like, ‘I want to kidnap them rather than kill them.’ That’s the same, as it turned out later.”
On whether Hamas intended to kill Israeli civilians on Oct. 7
Khalil said there should be an independent and transparent international investigation into Oct. 7, something the Israeli government has generally sought to prevent.
“I wouldn’t say Hamas were saints or angels and did not commit any crimes,” Khalil said. “The fact that civilians were caught up in such violence and the killing means that there were crimes committed, and Hamas has a responsibility for that.”
He demurred when I pressed him on whether he believed the Israeli civilians killed had merely been “caught up” in a hostage-taking operation that also targeted military installations near the Gaza border. “I have no idea, to be honest,” he said.
Khalil referred to the Hannibal Directive, in which the Israeli military can be authorized to kill its own citizens to prevent them from being taken hostage. Haaretz has reported that the protocol was used in several instances on Oct. 7.
“Hamas, yes, targeted civilians to take them hostage, which is another crime — that doesn’t absolve them of anything like, ‘I want to kidnap them rather than kill them.’ That’s the same, as it turned out later,” he added.
But while it’s true that Israel has interfered with inquiries into Oct. 7, Khalil’s insistence that it is impossible to know whether Hamas targeted civilians overlooks that several independent investigations have found that it did.
Amnesty International concluded that Hamas and other Palestinian armed groups “were part of a systematic and widespread assault against the civilian population,” while Human Rights Watch determined that Hamas and its allies “bear responsibility for the worst abuses” committed during the attack.
“I wouldn’t rule out that Hamas targeted civilians, but I wouldn’t confirm it either,” Khalil said. “That’s my position on this.”
Seeking a ‘utopia’
The recent and dramatic shift in American attitudes on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict make it hard to imagine that the U.S. government will be able to maintain its longstanding policy of ironclad support for Israel in the years ahead.
Influential Republicans like Tucker Carlson and Marjorie Taylor Greene have described Israel as a major burden for the U.S. and suggested that the Trump administration should wash its hands of the conflict, withdrawing military and diplomatic support rather than conditioning it on a solution.
But on the left, the question is whether the U.S. should demand a two-state solution that would preserve a Jewish majority in Israel while creating a new Palestinian state in most of the West Bank and Gaza, or press for something more radical: a “free Palestine,” an aspiration that is often left undefined.
Khalil is firmly in the latter camp.
“It’s too late to tell people like, ‘Go back to Poland, go back to Russia’ or wherever.”
On Jewish concerns about the implications of anti-Zionism
He is adamant that preserving a Jewish majority in the 1948 borders of Israel is a nonstarter. “I don’t think this framework is realistic. We would still end up in the same vicious cycle of violence that we are in right now,” he said.
That rules out cooperation with organizations like J Street, the liberal Zionist advocacy group that has called for limits on American military aid to Israel and pushed for policies that would compel the Israeli government to grant Palestinian statehood.
“J Street takes everything from a lens of Israel’s security, or a lens of Jewish security, not from a lens of human rights for everyone,” Khalil said. “They want a two-state solution because that’s better for Israel, not because that’s better for the Palestinians.”
He added: “We should fight against this.”
Jeremy Ben-Ami, J Street’s president, said in a statement that Khalil’s “characterization was incorrect” and that his organization is “grounded in a commitment to the equal rights, dignity, and security of both Israelis and Palestinians.”
This is more than a simple policy debate. One of the main reasons that some Jews found the campus protest movement to be antisemitic was because they felt that demonstrators were hinting, if not outright stating, that Jews needed to be purged “from the river to the sea.”
Khalil recognized that for many Jews the vehement opposition to the encampments was rooted in this fear, and emphasized that he rejects any solution based on “driving anyone out of the place that they were born in,” including Israeli Jews.
“It’s too late to tell people like, ‘Go back to Poland, go back to Russia’ or wherever,” he said.
He said that a “free Palestine” means a democratic country — or multiple countries — with equal rights for all citizens, and the right for Palestinian refugees and their descendants to return to the land from which they fled or were expelled during Israel’s War of Independence.
“Anyone fearing persecution can live in that country without fear,” he said. “I know it might sound like a very ideal utopia, but this is what we should aspire for: to get a place where there’s no more conflict, no more killing in that place and it’s open to anyone who wants to call it their home or their Holy Land.”
Another concern among many Jews, including Jewish college students who did not participate in the demonstrations, was that protesters were quick to ostracize anyone who did not wholeheartedly support this vision of a liberated Palestine.
Khalil has described Zionism as “very, very racist,” and suggested a “Jewish and democratic” state is a logical fallacy because a democracy cannot elevate one group over its other citizens.
Yet he has also proven sympathetic to Jewish claims to the land and recommended My Promised Land, the liberal Zionist history of Israel by journalist Ari Shavit, during his appearance on Ezra Klein’s New York Times podcast. “A lot of Jewish people subscribe to the idea of Zionism because of the fear of persecution,” he told me. “I have a nuanced view of the Zionist project that goes beyond ‘Zionism is bad’ — no, there are different layers to that project that unfortunately aren’t being seen across the Arab world or among Palestinians.”
Khalil said that many of his Jewish friends began as Zionists but changed their views over time, something he believes will need to happen more in order to achieve the right of return for Palestinian refugees, and a system of equal rights across Israel, the West Bank and Gaza. “Palestinians don’t have the power to make this happen,” Khalil said during an event with journalist Peter Beinart in November. “It’s the Jewish community — whether inside or outside of Israel — that can influence that.”
And despite blaming the Israeli government for conflating itself with Jews, Khalil said his movement had an obligation to root out bigotry. “Some anti-Zionist actions may touch on antisemitism that we absolutely oppose and don’t want and need to be educated about,” Khalil said, adding that he believes the protest movement did a good job of keeping this at bay.
Khalil said that, for the same reason, he is wary of growing far-right wing opposition to Israel among figures like Nick Fuentes and Candace Owens who mix a generalized hostility for Jews with dovish positions on American foreign policy.
“A lot of it is coming out of antisemitism, not out of support for Palestinian rights,” he said. “As someone who is taking a rights-based approach — a principled approach — I have to be careful that I don’t ally with people who are not genuine about their support.”
A mistake — or a message?
The tentative reaction to Khalil’s arrest by some leading Democrats and major Jewish organizations suggested a belief that some evidence was going to emerge that showed he was part of the most radical vanguard at Columbia.
That never happened.
“When the administration started with the smears, they did not provide any evidence or any quotes from me,” he said. “But people believed them because I’m Palestinian and I’m an Arab man named Mahmoud so that alone means you’re guilty.”
Canary Mission, which compiles blacklists of activists it considers to be antisemitic, only managed to find a quote in which he said that armed resistance was legitimate under international law.
Khalil’s case continues to work its way through the legal system and he could still be deported. But once it became clear that Khalil was prepared to condemn antisemitism and avoid inflammatory rhetoric, the image that the White House sought to paint of him seems to have fallen flat.
David Lederer, a pro-Israel student activist at Columbia, lamented in a video he shared on social media that the media “fell in love” with Khalil, while Nerdeen Kiswani, founder of Within Our Lifetime, who holds more strident views and was the recent target of a foiled alleged assasination plot, referred to him as the “perfect victim”: “A green card holder, top student, with no criminal record or radical affiliations.”
A poll of Jewish voters taken the month following Khalil’s arrest found that only 20% believed that arresting and deporting pro-Palestinian protesters would reduce antisemitism.
But there are other ways of understanding Khalil’s arrest.
One is that it was meant to send a message, as part of a larger Trump administration crackdown, that nobody who participated in the protests should feel safe.
After Khalil was arrested, immigration agents also detained Leqaa Kordia and Mohsen Mahdawi, two other international students who had participated in the Columbia protests, Rümeysa Öztürk, a Turkish graduate student at Tufts University who had written an op-ed critical of Israel, and Badar Khan Suri, an Indian Georgetown researcher. The arrests were part of a sweeping crackdown that ultimately resulted in the State Department canceling more than 800 student visas, though not all were targeted for political reasons.
The government has struggled to keep those it arrested in detention and Kordia, Mahdawi, Öztürk and Khan Suri have since been released — Kordia just last week — though the Justice Department is still seeking to deport Kordia, Khalil and Mahdawi.
“It felt like we were being hunted,” Alwan, the Columbia undergraduate student leader, told The Blue and White. “Even as a U.S. citizen, I was scared because it felt like we had exited the realm of law and logic.”
Khalil thinks something else was at play.
He believes the government was incompetent and did not understand that some protesters were more radical — and easier to paint as threats to national security — than others, and may have erred in turning him into something of a poster child for the movement.
But he believes the pro-Israel groups that targeted him online, and encouraged the Department of Homeland Security to deport him, realized that it was the very nature of his moderate brand of anti-Zionism that made him a threat.
“It was very malicious and very targeted,” Khalil said. “They did not want someone who can actually present a viable solution where everyone can live in peace.”
The post Mahmoud Khalil wants to reassure you appeared first on The Forward.
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Their sons are fighting for Israel, and it’s driving them mad
Oxygen and A Burning Man, two films showing at the Israel Film Center Festival, zero in on the deep-seated anxiety Israeli parents face when their sons are called to duty. Though both are flawed, each captures the universal experience of parents yearning to protect a child from outside forces that they cannot control, yet on some level helped create. They tell personal stories that are also political.
The films evoke a world where war and the threat of war are constants. The sound of warning sirens and drones abound. A repeated scene in Oxygen features apartment dwellers dashing down darkened stairways to the basement for shelter as the alerting alarms shriek in the distance.
Oxygen and A Burning Man are singularly Israeli films — I’m not sure they could be made anywhere else — and on many fronts they are stunners.
Netalie Braun’s Oxygen forges a claustrophobic space. Even the title summons forth the image of gasping for air.
The opening scene metaphorically hints at airless entrapment. Anat (brilliantly played by Dana Igvy) and her child are romping about in the waves. They are neck high in water and appear to be in the middle of the ocean. The moment conjures a nostalgic portrait, but a touch of surreal menace is also present. So too is the openly erotic relationship between mother and son, bordering on incest. They touch each other and their bodies intertwine. And later, when her son Ido (Ben Sultan) is an adult, Anat becomes even more obsessed with him.
Though Ido completes his tour of duty and is coming home, as skirmishes break out on the northern border, he volunteers to return to combat. Anat feels abandoned, betrayed and enraged. Her over-protective maternal instincts kick into high gear as she sets out to get her son discharged from duty. Storming onto the off-limits army base to confront the powers that be, Anat succeeds only in demeaning herself and publicly humiliating her already infantilized son.
Anat’s life is further complicated by her relationship with her larger-than-life warrior father (film producer Marek Rozenbaum) who suffers intense PTSD episodes thanks to his experiences in earlier wars. Sweating and shaking, he belly crawls across the living room floor as if heading to a foxhole. Anat blames his jingoistic furor for boosting Ido’s determination to be a military hero. “You wanted him to be a martyr,” she accuses her father.
He, in turn, reminds her that she gave her written permission for Ido to serve even though she had every right to refuse on the grounds that he was an only son. Anat has grown opposed to Israel’s policies, perhaps even moving towards pacifism, and these feelings are at odds with her own national tribalism. Duality is everywhere.
The final section of the film is enigmatic. It’s unclear to me if what we’re witnessing is real or Anat’s dreams or imaginings or combinations thereof.
She has managed to get her son a temporary leave of absence to celebrate his birthday, which slowly morphs into an explosive celebration that feels more like purgatory than a joyous occasion.
“My mother would do anything for me!” Ido bellows and the large crowd at the shindig repeats the words, growing louder with each repetition. “Anything!” “Anything!”
In a last ditch effort to save him from returning to the base, Anat drugs him, rendering him unconscious. She’s driving away with him, blindfolded and shackled in the passenger seat.
At the coda, he has shape-shifted into a child again and she’s carrying him, cradled in her arms, onto a ferry’s empty vehicle deck. No cars. No workers.
What’s happening in this flight of fancy? Anat successfully protecting her son who will always be a baby in her eyes? Still, one wonders where her adult son is at this point in the story. Perhaps I’m being too literal-minded.
I wish I could say the film’s resolution is hauntingly ambiguous, but alas for this viewer, it’s just confusing. Still, despite the shortcomings, the film starkly brings to life the anguished experiences of a parent and an adult son trying to survive and failing dismally in a war-ravaged universe that celebrates nationalism and extols sacrifice, coupled with a particularly unsettling mom-son relationship.
Eyal Halfon’s A Burning Man is the more successful of the two films. Set outside a remote army base on a stretch of endless sun-baked desert it immediately elicits an atmosphere of oppressive tedium, pointlessness and futility. It has its Beckettian elements and absurdity is never far from the surface.
Yonah (Shai Avivi who gives a complex understated performance) cannot let go of his child, Omer (Ran Kaplan) and instead of depositing his son at the bus terminal to make the trip on his own, he camouflages his own anxiety by lightly dubbing the three-hour drive across the flat no man’s land a father-son road trip. Throughout much of the ride, Omer is sleeping and when they arrive at the military outpost he departs for his tour of duty with a wave of the hand.
Driving home, Yonah sights a convoy of military vehicles on flatbeds heading towards the garrison, their presence further provoking his deepest fears. He spins around and speeds back to the base.
He asks one of the drivers what the armored carriers will be used for. “Maybe maneuvers, maybe exercises,” he shrugs, not especially interested. But in an unexpected gesture of friendship he gives Yonah a sandwich. The scene is at once comic, poignant and unexpected.
Yonah’s most trenchant and arguably least subtle encounter is with an aging motorcyclist (Benny Avni) who brags about his son having dumped the national service to make animated films instead of working for “Netanyahu’s freaks.” The usually impassive Yonah is triggered, accusing the man’s son of being a “shirker,” “a privileged leech.” It’s a confrontation many Israeli parents, especially those who have children serving tours of duty, might find all too relatable.
Yet Yonah, like Anat, is an amalgam of contradictions when it comes to politics. Later in the film, he meets up with a deserter and desperately tries to defend him when the arresting officers arrive on the scene. They lock arms with the defector, marching him down the hill away from Yonah who screams words of encouragement to him as the threesome recede into the distance.
Let’s not forget our hero’s name is “Yonah” (translation Dove, bird of peace). It’s heavy-handed. I could also have done without the repeated closeups of babblers, small desert birds, known for their cooperative social behavior. Creatures who embody life lessons I suppose.
At one point, Yonah’s zealously religious real estate agent (Vladimir Friedman) arrives on the scene sporting a yarmulke, tzitzit, and frequently quoting biblical text. He is there both to try to sell Yonah an apartment but also to help a fellow Jew who he understand is in trouble. But nothing goes right. Yonah does not welcome his company, his car has broken down and he grows increasingly terrified in the desolate desert, especially as night falls. This segment has some great comic moments.
Along the way, Yonah enjoys an erotic brush with a nubile young woman who is part of a hippie commune, and is helping to set up a “Burning Man” festival in the desert. It’s inspired, she says, by the annual countercultural event in Nevada.
In the final scene, we’re presented with a stoned Yonah dancing wildly about, first by himself in a psychedelically altered desert and then in the middle of the pop-up festival, which is even more hallucinogenic with its strobe lights flashing, music blasting and congested crowds stomping and gyrating. Jonah’s dancing becoming progressively more intense and out of control.
But in the end, it is a hollow, totally meaningless Bacchanalian eruption. The scene takes on a mythic flavor, punctuating both visually and emotionally, all the events that have led to this moment. Yonah is a burning man. He, along with Anat, both living in a neverending combat zone and forever anguished over their sons’ potential fates, have perhaps become a new Israeli archetype.
‘Oxygen’ and ‘A Burning Man’ are being shown as part of the 14th annual Israel Film Center Festival in New York City, June 9-16.
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The post Their sons are fighting for Israel, and it’s driving them mad appeared first on The Forward.
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For many queer Jews, Pride has lost its joy
I noticed something during last year’s Pride that I could not stop thinking about afterward: silence.
Not total silence. Pride events still filled city streets in San Francisco, where I live. Rainbow flags still hung from windows. But many queer Jews I knew had become quieter in subtle, almost imperceptible ways. Some had stopped posting online. Some had withdrawn from political conversations altogether. Others no longer mentioned being Jewish in spaces where that identity had once felt unremarkable.
A few quietly disappeared from communities they had helped build. Invitations were declined. Group chats went unanswered. One friend told me they hesitated before wearing a Star of David necklace to Pride for the first time in years.
At first, I told myself I was imagining it. Then I began hearing the same thing in private conversations: people calculating whether it was safe to say certain things out loud. Wondering whether expressing ongoing grief over the Hamas attack of Oct. 7, 2023 would cost them friendships, belonging or community. Deciding it was easier to remain silent than risk becoming a problem to manage.
I recognized that instinct, because I felt it too.
As a psychologist and psychoanalyst practicing in San Francisco who has facilitated support groups for queer Jews since Oct. 7, I’ve perceived a clear phenomenon: While for years, many queer Jews experienced queer spaces as a refuge, after Oct. 7, that sense of refuge became less certain.
The spaces where we built chosen family, recovered from shame, fell in love, and constructed identities used to be shaped by the belief that vulnerability should not have to be hidden in order to belong.
Now, in some of those spaces, it feels like certain forms of Jewish grief have become socially suspect.
In some spaces, expressing horror at the massacre of Israeli civilians has felt permissible only when immediately qualified or contextualized.
In conversations over the past year, I have repeatedly encountered the same pattern: queer Jews becoming more cautious and less certain about what they could safely say in response to pressure to express grief only in publicly acceptable ways.
Silence can be a form of self-protection. People grow quiet when they sense that emotional honesty may carry steep social costs inside communities they still want to belong to.
Some queer Jews no longer attend events they once loved. Others still attend, but carefully. They edit themselves in real time, measuring how much grief they can express before it becomes unintelligible to others.
None of this is unilaterally true about queer communities, which are not monoliths. And many LGBTQ people feel profound anguish over Palestinian suffering, as do many Jews.
But queer Jews are exhausted. The strain of constant self-translation; the effort of proving that mourning one people does not entail hatred of another; and the vigilance required to navigate belonging that feels increasingly conditional have taken their toll.
The loss of a place where you were supposed to exist without negotiation feels existential. And as each Pride passes, certain griefs intensify as they remain unspoken.
This Pride, I’m thinking less about who will show up than about who will remain quiet once they arrive.
What kinds of silence do communities require in exchange for belonging?
Joshua Simmons is a psychologist and psychoanalyst who serves on the American Psychological Association’s Collaborative of Jewish Psychologists.
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Thomas Massie calls for USS Liberty probe, elevating anti-Israel conspiracy theory to House floor
(JTA) — Republican Rep. Thomas Massie took to the House floor Monday to call for an investigation into Israel’s 1967 attack on an American spy ship, giving new prominence to a decades-old conspiracy theory that has become a touchstone for critics of Israel.
“It’s my great honor, maybe one of the biggest honors of my lifetime, to stand here on the floor and do something that’s 59 years overdue, to recognize the survivors and those who gave their lives on the USS Liberty,” Massie said. “Fifty-nine years ago today when they were viciously attacked by IDF jets and also after that by torpedo boats.”
The attack on the USS Liberty occurred on June 8, 1967, in the midst of Israel’s Six-Day War. The intelligence-gathering ship was stationed off the shore of the Sinai Peninsula during the conflict when it came under attack by Israeli forces, killing 34 crew members and injuring 171 more.
Israel later apologized for the attack, explaining it had mistaken the boat as Egyptian, and paid damages to the United States and the families of the victims. Multiple U.S. investigations, including by the CIA, have since determined that the attack was a mistake.
Still, the incident has become a rallying point for critics of Israel who claim the attack was deliberate and gained more adherents lately as anti-Israel sentiment has swelled. On Friday, Massie cited a host of U.S. military and intelligence officials he said had cast doubt on the outcomes of the U.S. investigations.
“None of these distinguished men think this was an accident,” Massie continued. “They think it was intentional murder by the country of Israel, either as a false flag operation or because they simply didn’t want anybody observing what they were doing that day.”
Massie, who will be departing Congress next year after losing his primary in Kentucky, used the anniversary of the incident to call for Congress to pass a resolution honoring the victims of the attack and for a new investigation into the circumstances surrounding it.
The USS Liberty Veterans Association praised Massie’s remarks in a post on X, writing that it was a story that “NO other member of Congress will even listen to.”
Massie is far from the only critic of Israel to use the attack as broader evidence of Israeli misconduct.
Last year, the far-right influencer Candace Owens interviewed a survivor of the attack and tweeted that there was “perhaps no story that can more enlighten you to the deceitful and despicable nature of the modern state of Israel — and its stranglehold on the American government.”
Florida gubernatorial candidate James Fishback has called for the attack to be taught in schools, and the antisemitic streamer Nick Fuentes has claimed that Israel initiated the attack to “conceal their troop movements.”
During his speech at Amfest in December, conservative pundit Tucker Carlson, who devoted part of his podcast last year to elevating the conspiracy theory that the attack was a false flag operation on the part of Israel, told attendees that asking “why a foreign government tried to sink one of our ships in 1967” does not “make you an antisemite.”
Oren Segal, the ADL’s vice president of counterextremism and intelligence, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency that his organization had been concerned about the “normalization” of Carlson’s views, including his rhetoric on the USS Liberty attack.
“No one’s been a bigger boon to the USS Liberty conspiracy of late than Tucker Carlson,” Segal said.
Following Carlson’s remarks at Amfest, the annual conference of the right-wing group Turning Point USA’s, the ADL denounced conspiracy theories about the attack that it said had swirled for decades.
“Despite official findings that the attack was a tragic case of mistaken identity, these narratives continue to be amplified by actors seeking to inflame distrust and undermine U.S.-Israel relations,” the ADL said in a post on X.
At the conference, the Jewish pundit Ben Shapiro was also asked about the attack by an audience member, and responded that “the vast majority of people who bring this up are doing so to suggest that Israel deliberately attacked an American ship because Israel deliberately wants to harm America.”
Some of Massie’s fellow critics of Israel praised him for bringing up the incident on the floor of Congress on Monday.
“Thank you Thomas Massie for recognizing the heroic members of the USS Liberty, which was attacked by Israel, where 34 crew members were killed and 174 were wounded,” tweeted Marjorie Taylor Greene, the former member of Congress. “Why did our ‘greatest ally’ attack us??”
Other right-wing figures, including at least one member of Congress, criticized Massie’s gambit.
Rep. Dan Crenshaw of Texas tweeted that he had previously believed that Massie was “standing on heartfelt principles and had intellectual backing” even as they did not always agree.
“But comments like this make me question his authenticity,” Crenshaw wrote. “The USS Liberty incident is a tragic one, but it’s an incident with a clear conclusion if one uses any objective analysis of the facts. … Perhaps we are simply witnessing another example of the irresistible incentive to jump on the bandwagon of grifters that guarantee you a specific kind of social media audience and attention that ultimately results in profits.”
Adam Mossoff, a former legal fellow of the right-wing Heritage Foundation, took aim at Massie’s address in a post on X, writing that the Kentucky Republican had “fully gone down the rabbit hole of antsemitism and Jewish conspiracy theories — via the modern American antisemite’s favorite boogeyman, Israel.”
“For the American woke left and woke right, the USS Liberty is the equivalent of the Dreyfuss Affair in France,” Mossoff wrote. “It’s the cause celebres of nationalism and bigotry in which history’s greatest villains — the Jews — can be smeared again with nefarious and evil motives.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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