Uncategorized
Judaism doesn’t want you to wander and live just anywhere — or does it?
(JTA) — I was a remote worker long before the pandemic made it a thing, but it was only last month that I really took advantage of it. Early on the morning of New Year’s Day, I boarded a plane from Connecticut bound for Mexico, where I spent a full month sleeping in thatch-roofed palapas, eating more tacos than was probably wise and bathing every day in the Pacific. I’ll spare you the glorious details, but suffice it to say, it wasn’t a bad way to spend a January.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, I found myself again and again coming into contact with expats who had traded in their urban lives in northern climes for a more laid-back life in the tropics. There was the recently divorced motorcycle enthusiast slowly wending his way southward by bike as he continued to work a design job for a major American bank. There was the yoga instructor born not far from where I live in Massachusetts who owned an open-air rooftop studio just steps from the waves. There were the countless couples who had chosen to spend their days running beachfront bars or small hotels on the sand. And then there were the seemingly endless number and variety of middle-aged northerners rebooting their lives in perpetual sunshine.
Such people have long mystified me. It’s not hard to understand the lure of beachside living, and part of me envies the freedom to design your own life from the ground up. But there’s also something scary about it. Arriving in middle age in a country where you know nobody, whose language is not your own, whose laws and cultural mores, seasons and flora, are all unfamiliar — it feels like the essence of shallow-rootedness, like a life devoid of all the things that give one (or at least me) a sense of comfort and security and place. The thought of exercising the right to live literally anywhere and any way I choose opens up a space so vast and limitless it provokes an almost vertiginous fear of disconnection and a life adrift.
Clearly, this feeling isn’t universally shared. And the fact that I have it probably owes a lot to my upbringing. I grew up in an Orthodox family, which by necessity meant life was lived in a fairly small bubble. Our house was within walking distance of our synagogue, as it had to be since walking was the only way to get there on Shabbat and holidays. I attended a small Jewish day school, where virtually all of my friends came from families with similar religious commitments. Keeping kosher and the other constraints of a religious life had a similarly narrowing effect on the horizons of my world and thus my sense of life’s possibilities. Or at least that’s how it often felt.
What must it be like — pardon the non-kosher expression — to feel as if the world is your oyster? That you could live anywhere, love anyone, eat anything and make your life whatever you want it to be? Thrilling, yes — but also frightening. The sense of boundless possibility I could feel emanating from those sun-baked Mexicans-by-choice was seductive, but tempered by aversion to a life so unmoored.
The tension between freedom and obligation is baked into Jewish life. The twin poles of our national narrative are the Exodus from Egypt and the revelation at Sinai, each commemorated by festivals separated by exactly seven weeks in the calendar, starting with Passover. The conventional understanding is that this juxtaposition isn’t accidental. God didn’t liberate the Israelites from slavery so they could live free of encumbrances on the Mayan Riviera. Freedom had a purpose, expressed in the giving of the Torah at Sinai, with all its attendant rules and restrictions and obligations. Freedom is a central value of Jewish life — Jews are commanded to remember the Exodus every day. But Jewish freedom doesn’t mean the right to live however you want.
Except it might mean the right to live any place you want. In the 25th chapter of Leviticus, God gives the Israelites the commandment of the Jubilee year, known as yovel in Hebrew. Observed every 50 years in biblical times, the Jubilee has many similarities to the shmita (sabbatical) year, but with some additional rituals. The text instructs: “And you shall hallow the 50th year. You shall proclaim liberty throughout the land for all its inhabitants. It shall be a jubilee for you: each of you shall return to your holding and each of you shall return to your family.”
Among the requirements of the Jubilee was that ancestral lands be returned to their original owners. Yet the word for liberty is a curious one: “d’ror.” The Talmud explains its etymology this way: “It is like a man who dwells [medayer] in any dwelling and moves merchandise around the entire country” (Rosh Hashanah 9b).
The liberty of the Jubilee year could thus be said to have two contrary meanings — individuals had the right to return to their ancestral lands, but they were also free not to. They could live in any dwelling they chose. The sense of liberty connoted by the biblical text is a specifically residential one: the freedom to live where one chooses. Which pretty well describes the world we live in today. Jewish ancestral lands are freely available to any Jew who wants to live there. And roughly half the Jews of the world choose not to.
Clearly, I’m among them. And while I technically could live anywhere, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to. I like where I live — not because of any particular qualities of this place, though I do love its seasons and its smells and its proximity to the people I care about and the few weeks every fall when the trees become a riotous kaleidoscope. But mostly because it’s mine.
A version of this essay appeared in My Jewish Learning’s Recharge Shabbat newsletter. Subscribe here.
—
The post Judaism doesn’t want you to wander and live just anywhere — or does it? appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Uncategorized
How phase one of the Gaza peace plan is beginning to fray
President Donald Trump’s 20-point peace plan – which was reinforced in principle during a “peace summit” on Monday with the presidents of Egypt and Turkey, and the Emir of Qatar – is long on intention and short on details. Aaron David Miller, who advised six secretaries of state on Arab-Israeli negotiations under both Republican and Democratic presidents, says the road map may offer limited help in navigating peace in a place fraught with challenges.
Phase One
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu accepted the terms of the deal during a White House meeting in September, while Hamas has agreed to only the plan’s first phase, which mandates an immediate ceasefire, an Israeli troop withdrawal to an agreed upon line, a return of the hostages held by Hamas, and the release of Palestinian prisoners.
The ceasefire’s fragility is already apparent. Today, Israeli forces killed several Palestinians in Gaza City who they say were “crossing a yellow line” that is under IDF control as part of the ceasefire agreement.
Only four of about two dozen deceased hostages were turned over to Israeli authorities on Monday, with four more turned over on Tuesday. Egyptian teams are working to locate the remains, as the Red Cross warned that some may never be found.
Israeli officials reduced the number of aid trucks allowed into Gaza to 300 trucks daily, from the 600 originally intended, because of the delays in returning the dead hostages.
What’s missing
Miller, a senior fellow at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, says that what the plan leaves out may be just as significant as what it includes.
“This is not the Oslo agreement. It doesn’t call for Israeli withdrawal from the West Bank. It’s not a peace agreement between Israel and key Arab states,” Miller said. “It is a road map that could potentially end the war in Gaza. That’s what it is. It’s nothing more than that.”
One of the reasons Netanyahu was able to accept the plan, Miller said, is because there are enough provisions to satisfy the majority of the Israeli public, such as Hamas disarmament.
“It’s inherently a pro-Israeli plan, both in terms of structure and substance,” Miller said. “You could have created this plan in an Israeli laboratory.”
What the plan says will happen to Hamas, Gaza, and Palestinians
According to the plan, “Gaza will be redeveloped for the benefit of the people of Gaza, who have suffered more than enough.”
Specifics include that Gaza “will be governed under the temporary transitional governance of a technocratic, apolitical Palestinian committee.” The committee will “be made up of qualified Palestinians and international experts,” with oversight from a “Board of Peace” headed by Trump, until it is determined that the Palestinian Authority has sufficiently reformed and can effectively govern.
Hamas will “agree to not have any role in the governance of Gaza, directly, indirectly, or in any form,” the plan says. “All military, terror, and offensive infrastructure, including tunnels and weapon production facilities, will be destroyed and not rebuilt.”
But Hamas has said it will not lay down its arms. According to Miller, Hamas’ main objective — political survival and the need to retain influence in Gaza’s government — has not changed.
“What are the terms and circumstances [of disarmament]? What do you do about the tunnel infrastructure? Does Hamas get to keep its personal weapons, for example?” Miller said. “Every point in this plan is filled with a universe of complexity and detail that’s yet to be negotiated.”
The plan also says that “No one will be forced to leave Gaza, and those who wish to leave will be free to do so and free to return. We will encourage people to stay and offer them the opportunity to build a better Gaza.”
The provision marks a departure from Trump’s previous plan to turn Gaza into a “Riviera of the Middle East,” which called on Arab states to absorb Gaza’s displaced population. Trump had said those relocations would be permanent, with no right of return.
Still, some aspects of the plan nod to his idea for real estate development, including the establishment of a special economic zone with preferred tariff rates and “a Trump economic development plan.”
The agreement also establishes “an interfaith dialogue process” with the goal to “change mindsets and narratives of Palestinians and Israelis by emphasizing the benefits that can be derived from peace.”
The plan concludes that when these processes are complete, “the conditions may finally be in place for a credible pathway to Palestinian self-determination and statehood, which we recognize as the aspiration of the Palestinian people.”
But Miller remains dubious that the language is meaningful.
“I suppose you might argue that the nod to Palestinian statehood could be a problem [for Israel], but it’s so general and so distant as to be more or less not terribly relevant,” he said.
The post How phase one of the Gaza peace plan is beginning to fray appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
Trump drew Arab leaders into a historic peace agreement. Too bad about the one glaring caveat
It was impressive, no question about that: A sitting American president, flanked by the heads of Egypt, Turkey and Qatar — among dozens of other countries — signing a document that contains all the right words and sentiments needed for achieving Middle East peace.
But Tuesday’s display in the Egyptian city of Sharm el-Sheikh may be all for naught. For Hamas to disarm and disappear — which is the only way that this two-year nightmare can truly end well — massive, sustained, multi-dimensional and focused pressure will be needed in the days and weeks ahead.
The newly signed so-called Trump Declaration for Enduring Peace and Prosperity is a far-reaching and courageous diplomatic text. It unambiguously denounces radicalization and violent extremism, signalling that the Arab states are no longer willing to indulge militancy as a permanent fact of life — a major move in shifting the balance of the Arab-Israeli conflict away from jihadism. The declaration also does something else extraordinary: it explicitly acknowledges the Jewish historical and spiritual connection to the land of Israel, and insists on “friendly and mutually beneficial relations between Israel and its regional neighbors.”
The text envisions new efforts to create peace between Israelis and Palestinians, on the heels of the Gaza war, not as working toward a reluctant truce, but rather as a civilizational project grounded in tolerance, education, opportunity and shared prosperity. All of this — if it is to be enforced — will represent a moral revolution for a region long trapped in denial, grievance, and violence. It suggests the assembled are truly ready for an end to the cycles of violence.
The symbolism does have meaning. That Qatar and Turkey, both of which have long existed in enmity with Israel, lined up behind a statement calling for peaceful coexistence is no small thing. For a region so long dominated by grievance, that alone suggests a tectonic shift.
But symbolism is not a plan.
The leaders who signed the Tuesday statement know this, and have thrown their weight behind the successful execution of President Donald Trump’s peace plan, which both Israel and Hamas have agreed to. “We acknowledge that the Middle East cannot endure a persistent cycle of prolonged warfare, stalled negotiations, or the fragmentary, incomplete, or selective application of successfully negotiated terms,” they wrote.
Reading between the lines, that’s an acknowledgment that there is one major way in which the plan could fail: If Hamas refuses to disarm and vacate Gaza. That one clause — buried among the 20 points of the deal Trump announced two weeks ago — is the fulcrum on which the entire edifice rests. And the problem is that this “successfully negotiated term” has not been publicly agreed to by Hamas. Trump merely announced that peace had been achieved. And experienced observers of Hamas know that the group will seek any possible out to ensure their own survival.
If they find one, and Trump and his regional collaborators don’t crack down, then the whole thing collapses. The Arab leaders can declare peace, but if Hamas still has weapons, the war is not over. It’s paused.
The early signs are bad, despite Hamas’ release of the 20 remaining living hostages on Monday. Even as Trump and the Arab leaders signed their declaration, reports from Gaza described Hamas commanders consolidating power, executing accused collaborators, and appointing local “emirs” to replace municipal officials. The group is not surrendering; it is reorganizing.
Trump’s triumph is real enough in the short term. But if the deal falters on this front, it will mean disaster for Gaza, where Israel would be within its rights to resume the war to oust Hamas. It could also be a death stroke for the career of embattled Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. If Hamas doesn’t disarm, and reestablishes power, Netanyahu’s critics will argue correctly that what actually occurred — ending the fighting in exchange for the hostages — was achievable since the very early days of the war, when many more people were still alive. Netanyahu will be accused of having fought, and sacrificed, for nothing — except for, perhaps, the survival of his extremely unpopular far-right coalition.
Though unseemly to admit, some in Israel may be quietly hoping for this outcome: That Hamas, true to form, will make a mockery of the deal, and ensure that Netanyahu cannot escape political judgment for his failures — leading up to the attack of Oct. 7, 2023, and ever since.
I sympathize: Netanyahu is terrible for Israel. But it’s in all our best interests to hope against that result, and for the peace powerfully if vaguely outlined in Tuesday’s agreement. We must hope, too, that Trump resists his habitual pattern of losing interest. His pattern in global affairs — from North Korea to Iran — has been to claim credit and move on, leaving others to clean up the contradictions. If that happens again here, the “Trump Peace Agreement” will join a long list of Trumpian theatrics.
The post Trump drew Arab leaders into a historic peace agreement. Too bad about the one glaring caveat appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
‘They’re fed up’: Post-ceasefire, Israel faces an enormous political reckoning

My brother-in-law, David Levy, didn’t sleep much the night before the release of the last living hostages. That day, he stayed glued to the family TV — along with what seemed like the entire country.
“You could just see the injection of spirit this has given to Israel,” he said.
“I finally get why Judaism talks so much about ‘the redemption of captives,’” he said, referring to the religious duty to free prisoners. “You see how this has just driven Israelis crazy for the past two years.”
Now, there’s a budding sense of normalcy, he said, and a tentative if clear-eyed hope for the future.
But when I asked David if he thought Palestinians and Israelis would achieve coexistence — the last point on President Donald Trump’s 20-point plan to end the war — he broke into a smile.
“Yeah,” he said, “maybe Hamas will ask for the sheet music to ‘HaTikvah.’”
After the hostage release, a reckoning
I called David, my wife’s brother, on Oct. 7, 2023, after news broke of the Hamas attack. He and his wife, Etti, had just endured a two-hour missile barrage at Kibbutz Mishmar HaNegev, where they have lived for 40 years, some 20 minutes by car from the Gaza border. He was seething with anger at how his government could let this happen.
“This is a total f-ed up,” he said at the time. He spent the next several days at funerals, shivas and memorial services for many murdered friends and colleagues.

With the release of the 20 living hostages Monday, in exchange for close to 2,000 Palestinian prisoners, there’s finally a real chance for the anger he and other Israelis felt that day to have a political impact, David said when we spoke by video app on Monday.
There will likely be an election before fall, David said — elections are mandated in 2026. He expects Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to face a reckoning over three primary issues: the cash payments Qatar made to Hamas under his watch, essentially financing the Oct. 7 attack; his refusal to force Haredi men to serve in the army, which has contributed to enormous strains on Israel’s reserve forces amid the war; and his rejection of a government investigation into Israel’s failures on and leading up to Oct. 7.
“As opposed to almost everybody else, he has never said, ‘I’m sorry,’ David said.
The long-running complaint of many Israelis is that the political opposition to Netanyahu has never coalesced around a strong candidate. But David said the past two years may have changed that as well. A new generation of young people became politically engaged because of the attack, the hostage crisis and the war.
“You had guys with jobs and families spending 400, 500, days in the army doing reserve service,” he said. “They’re fed up. All these young, capable people that just went through this war, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re going to get their say and do something.”
‘Israelis are still mourning’
I asked David if that reckoning will include an acknowledgment of Israel’s destructiveness in the war in Gaza. If the ceasefire holds, rebuilding efforts will surely be accompanied by more reports on the death toll and debastation — although international journalists are still being denied entry to the strip.
How will Israelis come to terms with it?
“What did Mosul look like after the Americans left?” he asked. Meaning: American, Iraqi and allied troops destroyed an estimated 60% of the Iraqi city of Mosul in a 2017 effort to rout ISIS fighters, killing an estimated 9,000 civilians. Did Americans ever really confront that harm — or even, as a collective, feel an obligation to?
“I don’t think the mindset was we just turn the place into rubble for the sake of turning it into rubble,” he said.
He has seen the rubble of Gaza himself, during visits to friends in border communities, and said he agrees “the destruction is going to be something that has to be reckoned with,” he said.
“But you know, Israelis are still mourning. That sounds like a cop out, but Israelis have not totally not dealt with the other side.”
The reason, he said, is that two years later, the trauma of Oct. 7 is still fresh.
“The Israeli public has been so devastated,” he said, “we’re wrapped up in ourselves. I don’t know when we’ll get over it. Everybody knows somebody who knows somebody who’s been affected directly by this war.”
What comes next?
Israel wants its image abroad to improve, David said. Trump’s peace plan, although fragile — already, there are clashes over Hamas’ delay in returning the bodies of slain hostages — offers an opening.
“If there’s peace, and Gaza gets rebuilt properly, so that these people can have a good life instead of just being pawns in this crazy death cult of Hamas, then I’m sure that this will improve Israel’s reputation around the world,” David said. “But will Hamas give up power and disarm?”
That question is central to fears over whether Trump’s plan will be fulfilled. It’s a serious concern. Even as David raised it, I noticed an incoming news alert that Hamas militants had killed at least 33 Gazans whom the group accused of collaborating with Israel.
Yet there are still reasons to be hopeful. After attending a day of memorials on the second anniversary of Oct. 7, David said he was preparing to spend Simchat Torah — the holiday on which the massacre took place in 2023 — at a festive family meal, cooked by his son-in-law, who owns a Jerusalem restaurant.
Is that kind of true celebration a sign the war is really over? I asked.
“I want to hope so,” he said. “I really, really want this to be over.”
The post ‘They’re fed up’: Post-ceasefire, Israel faces an enormous political reckoning appeared first on The Forward.