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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.
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Car Torched in Antwerp in Suspected Antisemitic Attack, Says Belgian Official
A Jewish man rides past Belgian army personnel patrolling a street as part of a deployment of soldiers outside Jewish institutions in Antwerp and Brussels following attacks at Jewish sites in Belgium and other European countries, in Antwerp, Belgium, March 23, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Yves Herman
The torching of a car overnight in Antwerp, for which two minors were arrested, is being treated as a suspected antisemitic attack, a Belgian official said on Tuesday.
European countries including Belgium, the Netherlands, and Britain have witnessed incidents targeting the Jewish community since the United States and Israel launched their war on Iran on Feb. 28.
Belgium on Monday deployed soldiers on the streets of its biggest cities to bolster security at Jewish sites including synagogues and schools.
A spokesperson for the Antwerp prosecutor said an investigation was under way, and that the two suspects had been arrested shortly before midnight on Monday, moments after the attack.
They said a video circulating on social media that purportedly showed the arson attack appeared authentic and was part of the investigation. Reuters did not independently verify the video.
Over the past two weeks, synagogues have been attacked in Liege, Belgium, and in the Dutch city of Rotterdam, as well as a Jewish school in Amsterdam. In Britain, counter-terrorism officers are leading an investigation into an attack on Jewish community ambulances.
“There must be a thorough investigation and decisive action to put an end to this climate of intimidation before it spirals further,” Israel’s ambassador to Belgium, Idit Rosenzweig-Abu, said on X.
The SITE Intelligence website said an Iran-aligned multinational militant collective called Islamic Movement of the People of the Right Hand had claimed responsibility for the attack near a synagogue in Golders Green, London.
It said the group had been behind the fires in Liege, Rotterdam, and Amsterdam.
Mark Rowley, London’s police chief, said the claim was one of the lines of inquiry being pursued.
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Iran Toughens Negotiating Stance Amid Mediation Efforts, Sources Say
Iranian Foreign Minister Abbas Araqchi speaks during a press conference following talks with Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov in Moscow, Russia, Dec. 17, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Ramil Sitdikov/Pool
Iran’s negotiating posture has hardened sharply since the war began, with the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) exerting growing influence over decision-making, and it will demand significant concessions from the United States if mediation efforts lead to serious negotiations, three senior sources in Tehran said.
In any talks with the US, Iran would not only demand an end to the war but concessions that are likely red lines for US President Donald Trump – guarantees against future military action, compensation for wartime losses, and formal control of the Strait of Hormuz, the sources said.
Iran would also refuse to negotiate any limitations to its ballistic missile program, they said, an issue that had been a red line for Tehran during the talks that were taking place when the US and Israel launched their attack last month.
Trump said on Monday that Washington had already had “very, very strong talks” with Tehran more than three weeks into the war, but Iran has publicly denied this.
The three senior sources said Iran had only had preliminary discussions with Pakistan, Turkey, and Egypt over whether the groundwork existed for talks with the United States over ending the war.
A European official said on Monday that, while there had been no direct negotiations between Iran and the US, Egypt, Pakistan, and Gulf states were relaying messages. A Pakistani official and a second source also said on Monday that direct talks on ending the war could be held in Islamabad this week.
Pakistan‘s prime minister said on Tuesday he was willing to host talks between the US and Iran on ending the war in the Gulf, a day after Trump postponed threats to bomb Iranian power plants, saying there had been “productive” talks.
However, the US was expected to deploy thousands of troops from the elite 82nd Airborne Division to the Middle East, two people familiar with the matter told Reuters on Tuesday, adding to the massive military buildup in the region and fueling fears of a prolonged conflict.
In a post on X, Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif said Pakistan welcomed and fully supported ongoing efforts to pursue dialogue to end the war.
“Subject to concurrence by the US and Iran, Pakistan stands ready and honored to be the host to facilitate meaningful and conclusive talks for a comprehensive settlement,” he said.
A Pakistani government source said discussions on a meeting were at an advanced stage and if it did happen, “a big ‘if,’” it would take place within a week. Pakistan has long-standing ties to neighboring Iran‘s Islamic Republic and has been building a relationship with Trump.
If any such talks were arranged, Iran would send Parliament Speaker Mohammad Baqer Qalibaf and Foreign Minister Abbas Araqchi to attend, the three Iranian sources said, cautioning that any decisions would ultimately lie with the hardline IRGC.
Iran’s use of ballistic missiles and its ability to effectively close the Strait of Hormuz, through which about a fifth of the world’s oil and liquefied natural gas usually flows, have been its most effective responses to the US-Israeli strikes.
It could not agree to give these up without leaving itself defenseless against further attacks, analysts say.
Inside Iran, domestic concerns are also constraining Tehran’s maneuvering room in negotiations, the senior Iranian sources said.
These concerns included the greater clout of the Revolutionary Guards, uncertainty at the top of the system, with the new Supreme Leader Mojtaba Khamenei having not yet appeared in photographs or video since his appointment, and a public narrative of resilience in the war.
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The JCPOA’s Sunset Has Arrived — and Iran Just Proved It
Deputy Secretary General of the European External Action Service (EEAS) Enrique Mora and Iran’s chief nuclear negotiator Ali Bagheri Kani and delegations wait for the start of a meeting of the JCPOA Joint Commission in Vienna, Austria December 17, 2021. EU Delegation in Vienna/EEAS. Photo: Handout via REUTERS
On the night of March 20-21, 2026, Iran launched two ballistic missiles at the joint US-UK base on Diego Garcia, an atoll in the Indian Ocean nearly 4,000 kilometers from Iranian territory. One failed in flight; the second was intercepted. Neither struck the base.
Iran’s Foreign Minister had stated weeks earlier that Tehran had deliberately capped its missile range at 2,000 kilometers. The gap between that claim and this week’s launch is not merely a military story. It is the story of the Iran nuclear deal (known as the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action — JCPOA), and a direct answer to the question dividing Western foreign policy for a decade: what happens when the world tries to engage diplomatically with Iran?
On July 14, 2015, President Obama announced the JCPOA, and declared: “This deal is not built on trust. It is built on verification. We will be in a position to know if Iran is violating the deal.”
In 2026, that verification looks like a missile fired at a base 4,000 kilometers away, when Iran claimed its range limit was half that distance.
The Iran nuclear deal rested on a core assumption: that Tehran had come clean about its military history. The exposure of Iran’s nuclear archive by the Mossad, presented by Prime Minister Netanyahu in 2018, proved otherwise. Tehran had transferred its ambitions to a classified track, preserving its knowledge base intact and waiting for the restrictions to expire.
The JCPOA’s sunset clauses tell the story plainly. In October 2020, the UN arms embargo expired, allowing Iran to legally purchase tanks and aircraft from Russia and China. In October 2023, all restrictions on Iran’s ballistic missile and drone programs expired. In October 2025, the nuclear file was removed from the UN Security Council’s agenda.
Obama acknowledged this in an April 7, 2015 NPR interview with Steve Inskeep: in years 13 through 15, breakout times would shrink toward zero. The deal bought time. The question was always what that time would be used for.
The financial consequences were immediate. Iran gained access to over $100 billion in frozen assets. EU-Iran trade peaked at 20.7 billion euros in 2017. Airbus signed a $19 billion aircraft deal. TotalEnergies signed a $5 billion energy contract. Iran’s GDP grew 12.5 percent in 2016, per IMF data.
When asked in April 2016 whether this windfall would empower the Revolutionary Guard Corps, President Obama, speaking to Jeffrey Goldberg for The Atlantic’s “The Obama Doctrine,” argued that Iran’s infrastructure needs were too vast to leave room for IRGC expansion.
The evidence did not support that premise. The precision-guided munitions transferred to Hezbollah, the drones supplied to the Houthis, and the missile program that reached Diego Garcia were not funded by a government that ran short of money for domestic investment. The capital was fungible, and a revolutionary government proved capable of allocating it accordingly.
In that same interview, Obama called on Saudi Arabia and Iran to share the neighborhood, treating their rivalry as symmetrical rather than as a confrontation between a US partner and a state committed to violently reordering the region.
Within the administration, JCPOA preservation had become the flagship foreign policy achievement, generating a powerful institutional logic: any action risking Iranian withdrawal had to be weighed against losing the agreement. Governments in Jerusalem and Riyadh did not need to be told that escalation carried costs in Washington. Tehran read the architecture with precision. The years between 2015 and 2018 were among the most consequential in the construction of Iran’s regional proxy network.
The deal’s defenders argue, correctly, that it extended Iran’s nuclear breakout time from roughly two months to approximately one year, and that the 2018 withdrawal accelerated the nuclear advances it was meant to prevent. Iran today enriches uranium to 60 percent, a level prohibited under the agreement. These are factual claims.
The harder question is whether the framework was ever capable of a durable outcome. The sunset clauses suggest it was not designed to be. It was designed to buy time. In effect, it risked enabling Iran to reach a nuclear arsenal with international legitimacy. In such a scenario, the Middle East would face a new reality in which Iran possesses nuclear capability and reshapes the regional balance of deterrence. The missiles fired at Diego Garcia offer one answer.
Obama said in 2015 that the best outcome was to place Iran inside a box. The execution rested on assumptions that the nuclear archive, the proxy wars, and the Diego Garcia launch have each challenged in turn.
The next framework will need a different foundation: one that does not schedule its own obsolescence, does not assume capital flows moderate revolutionary ideology, and does not treat military responses to Iranian aggression as threats to diplomatic progress. Building it, before the current conflict forces the question under far worse conditions, is the most urgent task in Western foreign policy today.
Sagiv Steinberg is the CEO of the Jerusalem Center for Security and Foreign Affairs (JCFA), a leading Israeli research institute. He has an extensive background in senior leadership positions across the Israeli and global media landscape.