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How Jewish comedy found religion, from Philip Roth to ‘Broad City’
(JTA) — In the 2020 comedy “Shiva Baby,” a 20-something young woman shows up at a house of Jewish mourners and gently offers her condolences. When she finds her mother in the kitchen, they chat about the funeral and the rugelach before the daughter asks, “Mom, who died?”
While “Shiva Baby” explores themes of sexuality and gender, the comedy almost never comes at the expense of Jewish tradition, which is treated seriously by its millennial writer and director Emma Seligman (born in 1995) even as the shiva-goers collide. It’s far cry from the acerbic way an author raised during the Depression like Philip Roth lampooned a Jewish wedding or a baby boomer like Jerry Seinfeld mocked a bris.
These generational differences are explored in Jenny Caplan’s new book, “Funny, You Don’t Look Funny: Judaism and Humor from the Silent Generation to Millennials.” A religion scholar, Caplan writes about the way North American Jewish comedy has evolved since World War II, with a focus on how humorists treat Judaism as a religion. Her subjects range from writers and filmmakers who came of age shortly after the war (who viewed Judaism as “a joke at best and an actual danger at worst”) to Generation X and millennials, whose Jewish comedy often recognizes “the power of community, the value of family tradition, and the way that religion can serve as a port in an emotional storm.”
“I see great value in zeroing in on the ways in which Jewish humorists have engaged Jewish practices and their own Jewishness,” Caplan writes. “It tells us something (or perhaps it tells us many somethings) about the relationship between Jews and humor that goes deeper than the mere coincidence that a certain humorist was born into a certain family.”
Caplan is the chair in Judaic Studies at the University of Cincinnati. She has a master’s of theological studies degree from Harvard Divinity School and earned a Ph.D. in religion from Syracuse University.
In a conversation last week, we spoke about the Jewishness of Jerry Seinfeld, efforts by young women comics to reclaim the “Jewish American Princess” label, and why she no longer shows Woody Allen movies in her classrooms.
Our conversation was edited for length and clarity
[Note: For the purpose of her book and our conversation, this is how Caplan isolates the generations: the Silent Generation (b. 1925-45), the baby boom (1946-65), Generation X (1966-79) and millennials (1980–95).]
Jewish Telegraphic Agency: Let me ask how you got into this topic.
Jenny Caplan: I grew up in a family where I was just sort of surrounded by this kind of material. My dad is a comedic actor and director who went to [Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey’s] Clown College. My degrees were more broadly in American religion, not Jewish studies, but I was really interested in the combination of American religion and popular culture. When I got to Syracuse and it came time to start thinking about my larger project and what I wanted to do, I proposed a dissertation on Jewish humor.
The key to your book is how Jewish humor reflects the Jewish identity and compulsions of four sequential generations. Let’s start with the Silent Generation, which is sandwiched between the generation whose men were old enough to fight in World War II and the baby boomers who were born just after the war.
The hallmark of the Silent Generation is that they were old enough to be aware of the war, but they were mostly too young to serve. Every time I told people what I was writing about, they would say Woody Allen or Philip Roth, two people of roughly the same generation.
In “Funny, You Don’t Look Funny: Judaism and Humor from the Silent Generation to Millennials,” Jenny Caplan explores how comics treated religion from the end of World War II to the 21st century. (Courtesy)
The Roth story you focus on is “Eli, the Fanatic” from 1959, about an assimilated Jewish suburb that is embarrassed and sort of freaks out when an Orthodox yeshiva, led by a Holocaust survivor, sets up in town.
Roth spent the first 20 to 30 years of his career dodging the claim of being a self-loathing Jew and bad for the Jews. But the actual social critique of “Eli, the Fanatic” is so sharp. It is about how American Jewish comfort comes at the expense of displaced persons from World War II and at the expense of those for whom Judaism is a real thriving, living religious practice.
That’s an example you offer when you write that the Silent Generation “may have found organized religion to be a dangerous force, but they nevertheless wanted to protect and preserve the Jewish people.” I think that would surprise people in regards to Roth, and maybe to some degree Woody Allen.
Yeah, it surprised me. They really did, I think, share that postwar Jewish sense of insecurity about ongoing Jewish continuity, and that there’s still an existential threat to the ongoing existence of Jews.
I hear that and I think of Woody Allen’s characters, atheists who are often on the lookout for antisemitism. But you don’t focus on Allen as the intellectual nebbish of the movies. You look at his satire of Jewish texts, like his very funny “Hassidic Tales, With a Guide to Their Interpretation by the Noted Scholar” from 1970, which appeared in The New Yorker. It’s a parody of Martin Buber’s “Tales of the Hasidim” and sentimental depictions of the shtetl, perhaps like “Fiddler on the Roof.” A reader might think he’s just mocking the tradition, but you think there’s something else going on.
He’s not mocking the tradition as much as he’s mocking a sort of consumerist approach to the tradition. There was this sort of very superficial attachment to Buber’s “Tales of the Hasidim.” Allen’s satire is not a critique of the traditions of Judaism, it’s a critique of the way that people latch onto things like the Kabbalah and these new English translations of Hasidic stories without any real depth of thought or intellect. Intellectual hypocrisy seems to be a common theme in his movies and in his writing. It’s really a critique of organized religion, and it’s a critique of institutions, and it’s a critique of the power of institutions. But it’s not a critique of the concept of religion.
The idea of making fun of the wise men and their gullible followers reminds me of the folk tales of Chelm, which feature rabbis and other Jewish leaders who use Jewish logic to come to illogical conclusions.
Yes.
You write that the baby boomers are sort of a transition between the Silent Generation and a later generation: They were the teenagers of the counterculture, and warned about the dangers of empty religion, but also came to consider religion and tradition as valuable. But before you get there, you have a 1977 “Saturday Night Live” skit in which a bris is performed in the back seat of a luxury car, and the rabbi who performs it is portrayed as what you call an absolute sellout.
Exactly. You know: Institutional religion is empty and it’s hollow, it’s dangerous and it’s seductive.
Jerry Seinfeld, born in 1954, is seen as an icon of Jewish humor, but to me is an example of someone who never depicts religion as a positive thing. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)
“Seinfeld” is more a show about New York than it is necessarily a show about anything Jewish. The New York of Seinfeld is very similar to the New York of Woody Allen, peopled almost entirely by white, middle-class, attractive folks. It’s a sort of Upper West Side myopia.
But there’s the bris episode, aired in 1993, and written by Larry Charles. Unless you are really interested in the medium, you may not know much about Larry Charles, because he stays behind the camera. But he also goes on to do things like direct Bill Maher’s anti-religion documentary “Religulous,” and there’s a real strong case for him as having very negative feelings about organized religion which feels like a holdover from the Silent Generation. And so in that episode you have Kramer as the Larry Charles stand-in, just opining about the barbaric nature of the circumcision and trying to save this poor baby from being mutilated.
The few references to actual Judaism in “Seinfeld” are squirmy. I am thinking of the 1995 episode in which a buffoon of a rabbi blurts out Elaine’s secrets on a TV show. That was written by Larry David, another boomer, whose follow-up series, “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” is similarly known for its irreverence toward Judaism. But you say David can also surprise you with a kind of empathy for religion.
For the most part, he’s classic, old school, anti-organized religion. There’s the Palestinian Chicken episode where the Jews are rabidly protesting the existence of a Palestinian-run chicken restaurant near a Jewish deli, and where his friend Funkhouser won’t play golf on Shabbos until Larry gets permission by bribing the rabbi with the Palestinian chicken. There, rabbis are ridiculous and can be bought and religion is hollow and this is all terrible.
But then there’s this bat mitzvah montage where for one moment in the entire run of this show, Larry seems happy and in a healthy relationship and fulfilled and enjoying life.
That’s where he falls in love with Loretta Black during a bat mitzvah and imagines a happy future with her.
It’s so startling: It is the most human we ever see Larry over the run of the show, and I believe that was the season finale for the 2007 season. It was much more in line with what we’ve been seeing from a lot of younger comedians at that point, which was religion as an anchor in a good way — not to pull you down but to keep you grounded.
So for Generation X, as you write, Judaism serves “real, emotional, or psychological purpose for the practitioners.”
I wouldn’t actually call it respect but religion is an idea that’s not just something to be mocked and relegated to the dustbin. I’m not saying that Generation X is necessarily more religious, but they see real power and value in tradition and in certain kinds of family experiences. So, a huge amount of the humor can still come at the expense of your Jewish mother or your Jewish grandmother, but the family can also be the thing that is keeping you grounded, and frequently through some sort of religious ritual.
Who exemplifies that?
My favorite example is the 2009 Jonathan Tropper novel, “This Is Where I Leave You.” I’m so disappointed that the film adaptation of that sucked a lot of the Jewish identity out of the story, so let’s stick with the novel. In that book, where a family gathers for their father’s shiva, the characters are horrible people in a dysfunctional family writ large. They lie to each other. They backstab each other. But in scene where the protagonist Judd describes standing up on the bimah [in synagogue] to say Kaddish [the Mourner’s Prayer] after the death of his father, and the way he talks about this emotional catharsis that comes from saying the words and hearing the congregation say the words — it’s a startling moment of clarity in a book where these characters are otherwise just truly reprehensible.
Adam Sandler was born in 1966, the first year of Generation X, and his “Chanukah Song” seems like such a touchstone for his generation and the ones that follow. It’s not about religious Judaism, but in listing Jewish celebrities, it’s a statement of ethnic pride that Roth or Woody Allen couldn’t imagine.
It’s the reclamation of Jewish identity as something great and cool and fun and hip and wonderful and absolutely not to be ashamed of.
From left, Ilana Glazer, Abbi Jacobson and Seth Green in an episode of “Broad City” parodying Birthright Israel. (Screenshot from Comedy Central)
Which brings us to “Broad City,” which aired between 2014 and 2019. It’s about two 20-something Jewish women in New York who, in the case of Ilana Glazer’s character, anyway, are almost giddy about being Jewish and embrace it just as they embrace their sexuality: as just liberating. Ilana even upends the Jewish mother cliche by loving her mother to death.
That’s the episode with Ilana at her grandmother’s shiva, which also has the B plot where Ilana and her mother are shopping for underground illegal handbags. They spend most of the episode snarking at each other and fighting with each other and her mother’s a nag and Ilana is a bumbling idiot. But at the moment that the cops show up, and try to nab them for having all of these illegal knockoff handbags, the two of them are a team. They are an absolute unit of destructive force against these hapless police officers.
I think all of your examples of younger comics are women, who have always had fraught relationships with Jewish humor, both as practitioners and as the target of jokes. You write about “The JAP Battle” rap from “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend,” which both leans into the stereotype of the Jewish-American Princess — spoiled, acquisitive, “hard as nails” — and tries to reclaim it without the misogyny.
Rachel Bloom’s character Rebecca in “Girlfriend” self-identifies as a JAP, but she doesn’t actually fit the category. It’s her mother, Naomi, who truly is the Philip Roth, “Marjorie Morningstar,” Herman Wouk model of a JAP. So Bloom is kind of using the term, but you can’t repurpose the term when the original is still there.
So as an alternative, I offer up a new term: the Modern Ashkenazi American Woman. It’s very New York, it’s very East Coast, it’s very particular to a type of upbringing and community that in the 1950s and ’60s would have been almost exclusively Conservative Jews, and then may have become a bit more Reform as we’ve gotten into the ’90s and 2000s. They went to the JCC. They probably went to Jewish summer camp.
But even that doesn’t even really speak to the American sense of what Jewish is anymore, because American Jews have become increasingly racially and culturally diverse.
There is also something that’s happening historically with Generation X, and that’s the distance from the two major Jewish events of the 20th century, which is the Holocaust and the creation of Israel.
The Silent Generation and baby boomers still had a lingering sense of existential dread — the sense that we’re not so far removed from an attempted total annihilation of Jews. Gen X and millennials are so far removed from the Holocaust that they don’t feel that same fear.
But the real battleground we’re seeing in contemporary American Judaism is about the relationship to Israel. For baby boomers and even for some older members of Gen X, there’s still a sense that you can criticize Israel, but at the end of the day, it’s your duty to ultimately support Israel’s right to exist. And I think millennials and Zoomers [Gen Z] are much more comfortable with the idea of Israel being illegitimate.
Have you seen that in comedy?
I certainly think you can see the leading edge of that in some millennial stuff. The “Jews on a Plane” episode of “Broad City” is an absolute excoriation of Birthright Israel, and does not seem particularly interested in softening its punches about the whole idea of Jews going to Israel. I think we can see a trend in that direction, where younger American Jewish comedians do not see that as punching down.
You’re teaching a class on Jewish humor. What do your undergraduates find funny? Now that Woody Allen is better known for having married his adoptive daughter and for the molestation allegations brought by another adoptive daughter, do they look at his classic films and ask, “Why are you teaching us this guy?”
For the first time I’m not including Woody Allen. I had shown “Crimes and Misdemeanors” for years because I think it’s his most theological film. I think it’s a great film. And then a couple years ago, I backed off, because some students were responding that it was hard to look at him with all the baggage. He’s still coming up in conversation because you can’t really talk about the people who came after him without talking about him, but for the first time I’m not having them actually watch or read any of his stuff.
They have found things funny that I didn’t expect them to, and they have not found things funny that I would have thought they would. They laughed their way through “Yidl mitn fidl,” the 1936 Yiddish musical starring Molly Picon. I also thought they’d enjoy the Marx Brothers’ “Duck Soup” and they did not laugh once. Some of that is the fact that Groucho’s delivery is just so fast.
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The post How Jewish comedy found religion, from Philip Roth to ‘Broad City’ appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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The ‘godfather of denim’ was an Italian designer whose Jewish father was murdered at Auschwitz
(JTA) — Adriano Goldschmied became known as the “godfather of denim” for elevating jeans from casual wear to a luxury staple. His own father’s story was equally riveting.
Goldschmied, who died April 5 at 82, following a battle with cancer in a hospital in Castelfranco Veneto, Italy, credited himself with founding or developing at least 50 brands, including Diesel, AG, Replay, Gap 1969, A Golde and Goldsign.
He was just an infant in 1944 when his Italian Jewish father was arrested by the Nazis.
Goldschmied’s mother, Sofia, was in hiding with his sister at the time of his birth on Nov. 29, 1943, in Vico Canavese, Italy. The Nazis had invaded Italy just months earlier.
His father, Livio, had joined the Italian resistance after the Nazis took over. When he tried to visit his wife, daughter and newborn son, he was apprehended en route. One of six people with his last name deported by the Nazis via Milan’s central station, he was ultimately sent to Auschwitz, where he was killed several months later.
According to a testimony made by a survivor to Yad Vashem, Israel’s Holocaust center, Livio was denounced by a midwife and received permission to visit his son briefly after his arrest. The testimony, which cannot be independently verified, said he had rejected an offer to move to the United States to work with the physicist Enrico Fermi because he would not have been able to bring his family, and had also declined an opportunity to escape from the train that took him to Auschwitz.
Following the war, Goldschmied moved with his mother to Trieste. He later spent a stint pursuing skiing in the 1960s in Cortina, the ski resort in the Southern Alps.
He did not speak readily about his family’s Holocaust history, and unlike his sister, he did not connect with his Jewish heritage. Diana was responsible for installing Stolpersteine, small memorials embedded in sidewalks documenting the Jews who lived at that address before the Holocaust, to commemorate their family members who were murdered.
“Like my father, my brother was a man of great intelligence and extraordinary intuition,” Diana told the Italian-Jewish news outlet Moked. “However, he did not want to talk about our family history. I think memory was working inside him, though.”
Goldschmied got his start in fashion in the 1970s, when he launched his shop, King’s Shop, in Cortina d’Ampezzo, and started a denim line, Daily Blue.
“That first production was going to a fabric store in my hometown, buying crazy fabrics for a very high price and going through manufacturing with my tailor,” Goldschmied told Women’s Wear Daily in 2023. “The product was extremely expensive, and in some way, I created a premium denim by accident.”
In 1981, Goldschmied went on to found the Genius Group, a collective that backed emerging labels like Diesel, Replay and Goldie.
Among Goldschmied’s innovations throughout his career were the development of the stonewash technique, experimenting with Tencel fibers, creating super-stretch denim and pioneering sustainable production methods as early as the 1990s.
“He was the architect of a global staple,” Mariette Hoitink, the co-founder of House of Denim, told Women’s Wear Daily. “Adriano didn’t just design jeans; he orchestrated the greatest transformation in the history of apparel. He was the singular force who elevated denim from rugged workwear into a global fashion staple.”
Goldschmied is survived by his wife, Michela; his daughters Sara, Marta and Glenda; two grandchildren; and his sister.
“Adriano and I led very separate lives,” Diana told Moked. “I rediscovered my Jewish identity. He took a different path, but everyone carries the past within them.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post The ‘godfather of denim’ was an Italian designer whose Jewish father was murdered at Auschwitz appeared first on The Forward.
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Not Stupidity — Something Worse: Why the ‘Israel Controls America’ Myth Keeps Spreading
US President Joe Biden and Democratic presidential candidate and US Vice President Kamala Harris react onstage at the Democratic National Convention (DNC) in Chicago, Illinois, US, Aug. 19, 2024. Photo: REUTERS/Kevin Lamarque
In a recent post, Donald Trump took aim at Tucker Carlson, Megyn Kelly, Candace Owens, and Joe Kent, calling them “low IQ” and “losers,” and asking — between Carlson and Kent — “who is dumber?”
It was vintage Trump: blunt, theatrical, and calibrated to dominate a news cycle with a single line. He has long relied on that instinct — to compress a dispute into something sharp enough to stick. But beneath the spectacle sits a more serious issue.
The problem is not intelligence. Many of these figures are clearly relatively smart. The problem is that they — along with a growing chorus of voices on the political left such as Ana Kasparian, Cenk Uygur, and Mehdi Hasan — continue to advance a claim that collapses under minimal scrutiny. Strip away the stylistic differences, the accents, and the partisan framing, and the argument is identical: “Israel controls the United States,” or in its updated form, “Benjamin Netanyahu controls Donald Trump.”
That claim has resurfaced repeatedly over the years, sometimes dressed in more sophisticated language, sometimes stated outright. What makes its latest iteration notable is not merely its persistence, but where it is now being voiced.
This weekend, Kamala Harris, speaking at a Democratic fundraiser in Detroit, said that Donald Trump had been “pulled into this war” by Benjamin Netanyahu. That phrasing carries a clear implication: that the president of the United States — the commander-in-chief of the most powerful military in the world — is not acting independently but is being maneuvered into conflict by a foreign (Jewish) leader.
When this idea circulates on the fringes, it is dismissed. When amplified by pundits chasing attention, it’s often ignored. But when it’s echoed, even cautiously, by a former vice president and major presidential candidate, it crosses a different threshold. At that point, the claim can no longer be dismissed as noise. It has been normalized.
This is not a new idea. It is one of the oldest political accusations in circulation, and it is remarkably easy to test against reality. Only last week, Trump effectively dictated that Israel must accept a temporary ceasefire with Hezbollah — an outcome widely opposed within Israel, where many believe the campaign should be completed and remain skeptical that the Lebanese state will ever disarm Hezbollah. If Israel were directing American policy, that outcome would not occur.
Historically, the “Israel controls America” claim has appeared in different ideological forms but with identical substance. On the far-right, figures such as David Duke have advanced it explicitly. On the far-left, figures like Cynthia McKinney have repackaged it in political language. The wording changes, but the core allegation remains the same: that American power is not sovereign, but subject to external — specifically Jewish — control, echoing Henry Ford and his “International Jew” conspiracy theories of the 1920s and 1930s.
The argument collapses as soon as one examines scale and structure. The United States is a $27 trillion economy with unmatched global reach across military, financial, technological, and diplomatic domains. It maintains a permanent seat on the UN Security Council and leads a network of alliances that spans continents. Israel’s economy, by contrast, is approximately $700 billion. Its military is highly capable, but it is not a global force. It does not control sea lanes, command multinational coalitions, or set the terms of global finance. The disparity is not marginal; it is foundational.
This asymmetry is not unique. The United States maintains deep strategic relationships with many smaller allies such as South Korea, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and Kuwait. In fact, the United States fought a war to liberate Kuwait in 1991, sustaining approximately 150 American combat fatalities in the process. Yet, almost no one claims Kuwait controls Washington, or that Saudi Arabia dictates US foreign policy. Only one small ally is routinely described in those terms.
The historical record reinforces the absurdity of this Israel “controls” America trope.
In 1956, despite repeated attacks on Israel from the Sinai and Egypt-controlled Gaza, Dwight D. Eisenhower forced Israel to withdraw from Sinai following the Suez Crisis; Israel complied. In 1982, Ronald Reagan pressured Israel to halt operations in Beirut, facilitating the evacuation of Yasser Arafat and the PLO leadership to Tunisia. In 1991, George H. W. Bush asked Israel not to respond to Iraqi Scud missile attacks to help preserve the US-led coalition; Israel absorbed 39 Scud strikes, 13 deaths, and stood down.
In 2015, Barack Obama advanced the Iran nuclear deal despite sustained Israeli opposition. Under Joe Biden, Israeli operations in Rafah were delayed for months under US pressure despite Israeli hostages being held there and its centrality to Hamas’ military infrastructure.
More recently, on June 24, 2025, as a Trump-negotiated ceasefire was taking effect, Iran launched multiple ballistic missiles at Beersheba, killing four Israelis. Israel prepared a large retaliatory strike. Trump intervened and effectively ordered Israel to turn its planes around.
This is what an unequal alliance looks like: coordination, pressure, and at times outright constraint. It is not a relationship where the far smaller country exercises “control.”
So why does the claim persist? Not because it is analytically persuasive — but because it is emotionally effective. Political narratives built on grievance often prefer simple explanations to complex realities.
It is easier to attribute outcomes to hidden manipulation than to acknowledge the interplay of strategic interests, risks, and constraints that define foreign policy decision-making.
There is also a deeper historical layer. For centuries, European political culture absorbed and transmitted variations of the same vile accusation: that Jews operate behind the scenes, exercising covert and pernicious influence over institutions and leaders.
So, when modern commentators repackage that idea — whether in the language of “influence,” “lobbying,” or outright “control” — it does not enter a neutral environment. It lands on fertile soil, reinforcing a long-established and familiar narrative.
Since World War II, the claim hasn’t changed — only its migration from the margins into the mainstream. And once it crosses that threshold, it stops being rhetoric and starts shaping behavior.
As it did in Germany after World War I, if a significant number of people come to believe that their government has been captured, that their leaders are not acting independently but are controlled by a nefarious external force, the range of conclusions and actions they will justify or rationalize expands dramatically. History offers no shortage of examples of where that logic can lead.
Trump attempted to reduce this to a punchline. But this is not a matter of tone. It is a warning sign. And this time, it is coming from closer to the political center than it has in a very long time.
Micha Danzig is an attorney, former IDF soldier, and former NYPD officer. He writes widely on Israel, Zionism, antisemitism, and Jewish history. He serves on the board of Herut North America.
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War or No War, India Stands With Israel
FILE PHOTO: Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi addresses the nation during Independence Day celebrations at the historic Red Fort in New Delhi, August 15, 2020. Photo: REUTERS/Adnan Abidi/File Photo
In today’s global climate, Israel is a country many are expected to avoid. Turn on the international media — from CNN, to European and Indian broadcasters — and one narrative dominates: Israel as aggressor and pariah, Israel as a place defined by war, or worse, apartheid. Add to this the open hostility of regimes like the Islamic Republic of Iran, Turkey, and a growing hostility among Western leaders, such as Italian Prime Minister Meloni suspending defense cooperation.
The message is clear: Stay away from Israel.
And yet, in the midst of missile fire, media hostility, and geopolitical pressure — they came anyway.
A group of Indian workers, recruited through an Indian manpower agency, chose not to be deterred. Their arrival in Israel a few days ago is more than a labor story. It is a quiet but powerful act of defiance against a global narrative increasingly detached from reality. When I received photos of the team from the Israel-Jordan border, proudly waving the Indian and Israeli flags, my heart was happy.
Their journey was anything but straightforward.
After receiving their visas, these men and women left their jobs in India, stepping into uncertainty. Then came the cancelled flights, closed routes, and more than a month of waiting as airlines suspended operations to Israel. Many may have reconsidered at this juncture.
They did not.
Instead, they flew to Amman, waited again, and then endured long hours of land travel and layered security checks on both sides of the Jordanian-Israeli border before finally entering Israel.
Since the October 7 attacks, Israel has faced an acute labor shortage, especially in sectors such as construction, caregiving, and general services, which were once filled by Palestinian workers. India, with its vast labor pool and long history of global migration, is uniquely positioned to help fill this gap. Following Prime Minister Modi’s historic visit in February, just before the Iran-Israel/US conflict escalated, Israel and India strengthened ties through key Memoranda of Understanding in defense, technology, agriculture, research, and labor.
One visible outcome is the arrival of Indian workers who choose to come to Israel, to see and experience the country for themselves despite the weight of propaganda, fear, and misinformation.
They also came after weeks of watching missile barrages over Israeli cities on their television screens. They came despite a steady stream of coverage portraying Israel as unsafe, unstable, and morally suspect. They came knowing that public opinion in parts of India, influenced by global narratives, has grown more critical of Israel.
I recently interviewed an Indian caregiver documenting life under Iranian missile fire — daily fear, resilience, and routine. Her videos have gone viral in India. Alongside support, she also faces hostility from those echoing distorted narratives, but equally sparks curiosity and a deeper desire to understand Israel.
Together with others working to strengthen Israel-India relations, I recently shared a reel on Instagram about Indian workers arriving via Jordan. The response has been overwhelming from both sides: messages from India expressing support and genuine interest in a country often misunderstood, and Israelis warmly welcoming the new arrivals.
What we are seeing is the rise of a people-to-people alliance. One that is less visible, less celebrated, but potentially more enduring. An alliance that is built on shared values: resilience, pragmatism, and the instinct to move forward despite adversity.
At a time when parts of the international community are distancing themselves from Israel, the arrival of these workers offers another perspective on alliance.
If Israel is wise, it will recognize this as an opportunity to invest in these relationships, amplify these voices, and allow a narrative to emerge not from above, but from those who have seen the country firsthand.
At a moment when the nation is misrepresented, and misunderstood, the decision of these workers from India to come to work in Israel carries meaning beyond economics.
In difficult times, we know who stands with us.
Paushali Lass is an Indian-German intercultural and geopolitical consultant, who focuses on building bridges between Israel, India, and Germany.