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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.


The post Judaism doesn’t want you to wander and live just anywhere — or does it? appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.

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Arab-Israeli activist Yoseph Haddad brawls during podcast debate on Israel

A debate between Arab-Israeli activist Yoseph Haddad and an anti-Israeli activist turned physical during the filming of a popular podcast on Monday.

Dennis Feitosa, who unsuccessfully ran as a Republican for California’s 30th Congressional District, was one of 10 anti-Israel activists scheduled to debate Haddad for an episode of the Digital Social Hour, a longform podcast that features unfiltered conversations with controversial figures.

Haddad is one of Israel’s most prominent advocates and among the small minority of Arab citizens who voluntarily served in the Israel Defense Forces.

Videos posted online show Feitosa, one of the debaters, jeering at Haddad, calling him a “genocidal f**king freak,” while Haddad calls him a coward. Feitosa eventually grabs Haddad’s arm and begins to pull him across the table, before Haddad grabs his head and swings at him. In another video, apparently filmed in a parking lot after the recording, Feitosa grabs Haddad by the neck before Haddad punches him in the stomach, all while others attempt to get between the two men.

Haddad posted a video of the altercation on X, writing, “I was attacked by a groyper in the U.S… he just didn’t realize he had picked a Golani soldier!” A “groyper” is a term coined for fans of the far-right, white supremacist Nick Fuentes.

In his own posts on X, Feitosa claimed that Haddad spoke about ordering strikes on Palestinian schools during their conversation and made light of Palestinian deaths. He also reposted a photo of Haddad holding his head down with the caption, “Zionists want Christians to bow to them. They are literally the anti-Christ.” Another post called for Haddad to be deported.

This isn’t Haddad’s first physical altercation with someone who disagreed with him. In 2024, he got into a heated argument with a demonstrator outside Columbia University’s campus before he was shoved and punched. Haddad was slated to speak to a campus group that day.

Haddad, who has nearly a million followers on Instagram and 336,000 followers on X, is a popular figure in Israel, frequently speaking on the country’s biggest news channels (oftentimes in Arabic), defending Israel in international media, and speaking up about his military service as an Israeli-Arab.

While Arab-Israelis are generally exempt from serving in the IDF, they can elect to do so, which Haddad did. He served in the IDF’s Golani brigade, an elite combat unit, and was seriously injured during the 2006 Lebanon War.

After his military service, Haddad founded a non-profit called Together – Vouch for Each Other, which aims to promote greater integration of Arab citizens into Israeli society through encouragement of national service and volunteer work among the Arab population (a substitute for IDF service), and advocating for Arab-Israeli civil society issues in the government.

But Haddad is a controversial figure too. Critics both inside and outside of Israel accuse him of downplaying the discrimination many Arab Israelis face, and using his identity to justify the actions of the Israeli government. In 2024, a viral video showed him telling students wearing keffiyehs on Tel Aviv University’s campus to go study in Jenin, a West Bank city that has been a hotbed for terrorism and Israeli incursions.

Ahead of the upcoming Israeli elections, Haddad has expressed interest in starting a new political party in Israel, telling JNS in June, “My party would represent every Israeli, Arab or Jewish, secular or religious, anyone who is proud of our country.”

He added that he would not cooperate with existing Arab-Israeli leaders in the Knesset, who he charges with “destroying” the Arab-Israeli community by perpetuating the separation of Arab society in Israel. He also said he would not cooperate with Yair Golan, who leads the liberal Democrats party in Israel and has been critical of Israel’s actions in Gaza. 

A February survey done by the Midgam Institute, one of Israel’s most prominent public opinion polling firms, found that a Haddad-led party could win four Knesset seats and would take voters from both Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s coalition and the opposition.

The post Arab-Israeli activist Yoseph Haddad brawls during podcast debate on Israel appeared first on The Forward.

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‘The first time my band ever encountered such hostility’

[On Aug. 2, a performance by the klezmer band Dobranotch at a large folk festival in Galicia, Spain, was cut short when pro-Palestinian members of the audience began heckling the musicians and then throwing stones and other objects at them, targeting the band over recent concert appearances they made in Israel. 

Afterwards, the festival organizers released a statement, explaining that they cancelled the concert out of concern for the musicians’ safety. The organizers also condemned the fact that “an event historically rooted in peaceful cultural exchange, community gathering, and musical celebration was disrupted by violence.”]

Dobranotch has a special connection with Galicia. In the early years of the band, we visited and performed there many times and developed a deep affection for its traditional music and culture. After many years away, we were glad to be invited back to perform at Festival de Pardiñas, a large local folk festival.

A few months before the event, the organizers informed us that the festival supported Palestine and that some members of the audience might display Palestinian flags. They asked how we would feel about this, given that our music is associated with Jewish culture. We replied that we had no objection, but did not want to be pressured into making political statements from the stage. This appeared to be fully understood.

We received a warm welcome, and the festival was well organized, with several thousand people in attendance. When we stepped onto the stage, a couple of Palestinian flags were visible in the audience. During our performance, more flags were attached to the barrier in front of the stage, and an enormous Palestinian flag was unfolded. A small but very vocal group at the front of the stage began chanting and held up handwritten signs demanding that we “say something about Palestine.”

I do not usually make political statements from the stage on behalf of the band. However, as the pressure continued to grow, remaining silent no longer felt possible. I therefore decided to share my personal views. I said that we are living through a period of growing polarization and radicalization in many parts of the world, visible in very different contexts, including the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, Russia’s aggression against Ukraine, and political divisions in the United States. My message was simple: We need to be kinder to one another.

But the pressure only intensified. They wanted me to speak more, and they tried to hand me a Palestinian flag to wave from the stage. I tried to explain that, in my view, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is complicated — and the moment I said the word “complicated,” the crowd erupted.

I wanted to continue my statement, but I was not given the chance to do so.

A group of people shouted, insulted us and made hostile gestures. A person carrying a flag managed to get onto the stage. Objects began flying towards the stage, including stones. One of my fellow musicians was hit by a stone. At that moment, we realized that the situation had crossed a line and decided to stop the concert.

As we were leaving the stage, someone from the festival team, obviously shocked by the situation, suggested that I simply say “Free Palestine” so the performance could continue.

I support the right of all people, including both Israelis and Palestinians, to live in freedom, dignity and safety. But repeating political slogans under pressure would have been both meaningless and unacceptable.

The organizers subsequently announced that the concert was being stopped for safety reasons and reiterated the festival’s support for Palestine.

After the concert, we discovered evidence suggesting that the protest had been planned and coordinated in advance. We found social-media posts published before the festival accusing us of having performed in “occupied Palestine,” apparently referring to a previous concert in Tel Aviv, and calling for a boycott of our performance.

This was the first time Dobranotch had encountered such hostility, whether as a group performing Eastern European Jewish traditional music or as anti-war emigrants from Russia. It is deeply regrettable and disturbing that such a radicalized and hostile atmosphere could have developed at a traditional culture festival.

The incident shows how difficult public discussion has become when artists are expected to repeat prescribed political formulas rather than being allowed to express a thoughtful position — or simply to choose not to make political statements from the stage at all.

We look with deep sadness at the amount of violence and radicalization in the world, and we wish for peace, safety and freedom for everyone. We believe that our music can do more to bring people together than political arguments ever could. This is where we want to focus our energy.

The post ‘The first time my band ever encountered such hostility’ appeared first on The Forward.

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After settling antisemitism claims, Columbia now faces lawsuit from Palestinian students

A group of current and former Palestinian students and faculty at Columbia University filed a lawsuit this week, alleging that the university discriminated against them because of their Palestinian identity and treated them less favorably than other students engaged in political advocacy.

Filed in New York State Supreme Court, the complaint accuses the university of encouraging the mistreatment of Palestinian students by holding “unfair and biased disciplinary hearings” and creating a “hostile and unsafe environment” following Hamas’ Oct. 7 attack on Israel that sparked university-wide protests and tensions on campus. The lawsuit alleges that the university “actively participated in and amplified the racially, ethnically, and politically motivated targeting of Palestinian students, staff, and faculty.”

The case is the latest in a string of legal battles born out of Columbia’s handling of campus protests. In July 2025, the Ivy League university on New York’s Upper West Side agreed to pay $21 million to settle charges by the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission that alleged a hostile work environment for Jewish employees as a part of its federal resolution agreement with the Trump Administration.

In February 2026, the university also settled with a group of Jewish plaintiffs that had alleged the university failed to protect them from antisemitism. As a part of that settlement, Columbia agreed to implement additional programming to address antisemitism.

The new lawsuit alleges that Columbia discriminated against Palestinian students by, among other things, retaining private investigators to surveil students involved in a March 2024 “Resistance 101” teach-in. The event featured Khaled Barakat, whom the U.S. State Department has identified as a leader of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, which the U.S. has designated a foreign terrorist organization. Following the event, the lawsuit states that six students were suspended from the university and evicted from Columbia housing.

The suit also accuses the university of failing to treat physical assaults of Palestinian students seriously, citing alleged incidents where keffiyehs were forcibly removed from Palestinian students, and an incident where a student sprayed a foul-smelling substance at pro-Palestinian demonstrators in January 2024.

That incident was initially investigated by the New York Police Department as a possible hate crime, with some claiming that the substance was a military grade chemical weapon, but Columbia later announced that the substance was a legal, non-toxic novelty fart spray. The students involved were suspended, but eventually reached a settlement with Columbia after arguing that they had wrongfully portrayed the incident as a chemical attack rather than a “harmless expression of his free speech.”

It also challenges Columbia’s decision to call in New York police to clear protest encampments and arrest demonstrators in the spring of 2024.

Plaintiffs include lecturer and former anthropology student Hadeel Assali, who allegedly canceled her classes so that students could attend Pro-Palestinian protests and who made headlines earlier this year when she gave a talk at the City University of New York’s law school called “The Underground in Gaza.” That lecture, and her dissertation at Columbia overseen by Mahmood Mamdani, father of New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani, sought to examine “the history and usage of tunnels in Gaza, focusing on land use and social organization in resistance to colonization,” apparently referring to the Hamas tunnel network.

Other plaintiffs include Bahia Munem, a former lecturer at Columbia’s Center for the Study of Ethnicity and Race; Mahdi Sabbagh, a Ph.D. student; Maryam Alwan, who graduated from Columbia in 2025 and was a student leader in the pro-Palestinian movement who was arrested during the encampment protests; and Layla Saliba, who earned a master’s degree in social work from Columbia in 2025.

In April 2025, the Columbia office of Institutional Equity investigated Saliba and Alwan for their role in writing an op-ed in the campus newspaper Columbia Spectator that called on the university to stop admitting Israeli students who had served in the Israel Defense Forces. The university later dropped its investigations into the two activists.

The lawsuit seeks monetary damages under New York City Human Rights Law, which prohibits discrimination or harassment based on race, creed, national origin, immigration status, or citizenship.

Columbia University did not immediately respond to the Forward’s request for comment.

The post After settling antisemitism claims, Columbia now faces lawsuit from Palestinian students appeared first on The Forward.

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