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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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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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Australia shooting terrifies Jews worldwide — and strengthens the case for Israel
If the shooters who targeted Jews on a beach in Australia while they were celebrating Hanukkah thought their cowardly act would turn the world against Israel, they were exactly wrong: Randomly killing people at a holiday festival in Sydney makes the case for Israel.
The world wants Jews to disown Israel over Gaza, but bad actors keep proving why Jews worldwide feel such an intense need to have a Jewish state.
Think about it. The vast majority of Jews who settled in Israel went there because they felt they had nowhere else to go. To call the modern state “the ingathering of exiles” softpedals reality and tells only half the story. The ingathering was a result of an outpouring of hate and violence.
Attacking Jews is the best way to rationalize Zionism.
Judaism’s holidays are often (humorously) summarized as, “They tried to kill us, they failed, let’s eat.” Zionism is simply, “They tried to kill us, they failed, let’s move.”
Theodor Herzl, the founder of modern Zionism, didn’t have a religious or even a tribal bone in his body. He would have been happy to stay in Vienna writing light plays and eating sacher torte. But bearing witness to the rise of antisemitism, he saw the Land of Israel as the European Jew’s best option.
The Eastern European pogroms, the Holocaust, the massacre of Jews in Iraq in 1941 — seven years before the State of Israel was founded — the attacks on Jews throughout the Middle East after Israel’s founding, the oppression of Jews in the former Soviet Union — these were what sent Jews to Israel.
How many Australians are thinking the same way this dark morning?
There’s a lot to worry about in Israel. It is, statistically, more dangerous to be Jewish there than anywhere else in the world. But most Jews would rather take their chances on a state created to protect them, instead of one that just keeps promising it will – especially when the government turns a blind eye to antisemitic incitement and refuses to crack down on violent protests, as Australia has.
“For over a year we have seen racist mobs impeding on the rights and freedoms of ordinary Australians. We have been locked out of parts of our cities because the police could not ensure our safety. Students have been told to stay away from campuses. We have been locked down in synagogues,” Alex Ryvchin, the co-CEO of the Executive Council of Australian Jewry, wrote a year ago, after the firebombing attack on a Melbourne synagogue.
Since then a childcare centre in Sydney’s east was set alight by vandals, cars were firebombed, two Australian nurses threatened to kill Jewish patients, to name a few antisemitic incidents. There were 1,654 antisemitic incidents logged in Australia from October 2024 to September 2025 — in a country with about 117,000 Jews.
“The most dangerous thing about terrorism is the over-reaction to it,” the philosopher Yuval Noah Harari said. He was talking about the invasion of Iraq after 9/11, the crackdown on civil liberties and legitimate protest. But surely it’s equally dangerous to underreact to terrorism and terrorist rhetoric.
Israel’s destruction of Gaza following the Hamas attack of Oct. 7, 2023 led to worldwide protests, which is understandable, if not central to why tensions have escalated.
But condemning civilian casualties and calling for Palestinian self-determination — something many Jews support — too often crosses into calls for destroying Israel, demonizing Israelis and their Jews. That’s how Jews heard the phrase “globalize the intifada” — as a justification for the indiscriminate violence against civilians.
When they took issue with protesters cosplaying as Hamas and justifying the Oct. 7 massacre, that’s what they meant. And look at what happened in Bondi Beach, they weren’t wrong. Violence leads to violence, and so does support for violence.
Chabad, which hosted the Hanukkah celebration in Sydney, has always leaned toward a more open door policy with less apparent security than other Jewish institutions. But one of the reasons it has been so effective at outreach has also made it an easy target.
As a result of the Bondi shooting, Chabad will likely increase security, as will synagogues around the world. Jewish institutions will think hard about publicly advertising their events. Law enforcement and public officials will, thankfully, step up protection, at least for a while. These are all the predictable result of an attack that, given the unchecked antisemitic rhetoric and weak responses to previous antisemitic incidents, was all but inevitable.
It’s not inevitable that Australian Jews would now move to Israel, no more than it would have been for Pittsburgh’s Jewish community to uproot itself and move to Tel Aviv after the 2018 Tree of Life massacre. That didn’t happen, because ultimately the risk still doesn’t justify it.
But these shootings, and the constant drip of violent rhetoric, vandalism and confrontation raise a question: If you want to kill Jews in Israel, and you kill them outside Israel, where, exactly, are we supposed to go?
The post Australia shooting terrifies Jews worldwide — and strengthens the case for Israel appeared first on The Forward.
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These are the victims of the Bondi Beach Hanukkah celebration shooting in Sydney
(JTA) — A local rabbi, a Holocaust survivor and a 12-year-old girl are among those killed during the shooting attack Sunday on a Hanukkah celebration in Sydney, Australia.
Here’s what we know about the 11 people murdered in the attack, which took place at a popular beachside playground where more than 1,000 people had congregated to celebrate the first night of the holiday, as well as about those injured.
This story will be updated.
Eli Schlanger, rabbi and father of five
Schlanger was the Chabad emissary in charge of Chabad of Bondi, which had organized the event. He had grown up in England but moved to Sydney 18 years ago, where he was raising his five children with his wife Chaya. Their youngest was born just two months ago.
In addition to leading community events through Chabad of Bondi, Schlanger worked with Jewish prisoners in Australian prisons. “He flew all around the state, to go visit different people in jail, literally at his own expense,” Mendy Litzman, a Sydney Jew who responded as a medic to the attack, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Last year, amid a surge in antisemitic incidents in Australia, Schlanger posted a video of himself dancing and celebrating Hanukkah, promoting lighting menorahs as “the best response to antisemitism.”
The best response to antisemitism. Happy Chanukah! pic.twitter.com/33RSGYzhUY
— Rabbi Eli Schlanger (@SchlangerEli) December 17, 2024
Two months before his murder, he published an open letter to Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese urging him to rescind his “act of betrayal” of the Jewish people. The letter was published on Facebook the same day, Sept. 21, that Albanese announced he would unilaterally recognize an independent Palestinian state.
Alex Kleytman, Holocaust survivor originally from Ukraine
Kleytman had come to the Bondi Beach Hanukkah celebration annually for years, his wife Larisa told The Australian. She said he was protecting her when he was shot. The couple, married for six decades, has two children and 11 grandchildren.
The Australia reported that Kleytman was a Holocaust survivor who had passed World War II living with his family in Siberia.
12-year-old girl
Alex Ryvchin, co-CEO of the Executive Council of Australian Jewry, told CNN that a friend “lost his 12-year-old daughter, who succumbed to her wounds in hospital.” The girl’s name was not immediately released.
Dozens of people were injured
- Yossi Lazaroff, the Chabad rabbi at Texas A&M University, said his son had been shot while running the event for Chabad of Bondi. “Please say Psalms 20 & 21 for my son, Rabbi Leibel Lazaroff, יהודה לייב בן מאניא who was shot in a terrorist attack at a Chanukah event he was running for Chabad of Bondi in Sydney, Australia,” he tweeted.
- Yaakov “Yanky” Super, 24, was on duty for Hatzalah at the event when he was shot in the back, Litzman said. “He started screaming on his radio that he needs back up, he was shot. I heard it and I responded to the scene. I was the closest backup. I was one of the first medical people on the scene,” Litzman said. He added, “We just went into action and saved a lot of lives, including one of our own.”
The post These are the victims of the Bondi Beach Hanukkah celebration shooting in Sydney appeared first on The Forward.
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The three responses to the Bondi Beach Hanukkah attack that could make Jews safer
After two gunmen opened fire at a Hanukkah celebration on Sydney’s Bondi Beach, killing at least 11 people and wounding dozens more, the world is asking urgent questions: Could this be the first of many such attacks? Who might be behind it? And how can we prevent the next tragedy?
Was Iran involved?
Iran, with its long history of using proxies and terrorism, naturally comes to mind. Israeli intelligence has publicly warned that Tehran remains highly motivated to target Israeli and Jewish interests abroad.
Reports suggest that Israeli agencies have assessed not only that Iran has the intent, but that it also possesses the capability to use its networks — through Hezbollah, Hamas, and other proxy groups — to strike outside the Middle East. Western governments, including Australia, the U.S., and members of the EU, have acknowledged Iranian intelligence activity on their soil.
The motivation is clear: Israel’s military strike damaged Iranian infrastructure and positions in June, followed shortly by U.S. attacks that compounded the damage and were widely celebrated in Israel and by Jewish communities. To Iran’s benighted regime, they were provocations that demanded a response. Certainly some of the investigation into the Bondi Beach attack will look in that direction.
But focusing solely on Iran risks missing a more immediate and pervasive danger: Violence against Jews does not require orchestration by a foreign state. The conditions that make it possible — and increasingly thinkable — are already everywhere.
Terrorism against Jews has gone global
Terrorism is tragically easy to carry out. Only two months ago, two Jews were killed by a Muslim attacker on Yom Kippur who rammed a car into a crowd outside a synagogue in England and attacked people with knives.
And while the UK and Australia severely restrict access to weapons, nowhere in the developed world is mad violence easier to orchestrate than in the United States. Firearms are cheap, accessible, and legal for virtually anyone, and the sheer size of the country makes monitoring and security far more difficult than in smaller, more centralized nations. Lone actors can wreak destruction on a scale that would be unthinkable elsewhere. If one wanted to locate the most vulnerable place for ideologically motivated attacks, the United States sits uncomfortably near the top.
Motivation for such violence has been growing steadily. Antisemitic attacks have increased across the Western world, and the way the Gaza war unfolded has only accelerated the trend. The narrative of “genocide” has become increasingly entrenched, making it harder for Jews to occupy the once-unquestioned moral space: I still defend Israel and should not be attacked for it. That space is collapsing.
“The idea that Jews collectively bear responsibility for Israel’s actions is seeping into public consciousness in ways that make massacres like Bondi Beach more thinkable, if not inevitable.”
Dan Perry
Polls now show that roughly half of Americans believe Israel is committing genocide in Gaza. Substantial minorities go further, rationalizing recent attacks against Jews as “understandable” or even “justified.” These numbers do not indicate majority support for violence, but they are significant enough to suggest that moral restraints are weakening.
This shift is particularly pronounced among younger generations, where hostility toward Israel has become a moral baseline. It does not automatically translate into action, but it lowers the social cost of excusing violence. The idea that Jews collectively bear responsibility for Israel’s actions is seeping into public consciousness in ways that make massacres like Bondi Beach more thinkable, if not inevitable.
The situation is compounded by Israel’s current government. Its policies and rhetoric have alienated large swathes of the global community, including non-orthodox Jews in the United States. The government’s posture — contemptuous, dismissive, and occasionally openly sneering — makes the work of diplomats, community leaders, and advocates far more difficult. Israel’s failure to convey a nuanced understanding abroad of the delicacy of its own situation, nor give any inkling of introspection about its conduct in Gaza, feeds perceptions of illegitimacy and exacerbates antisemitism.
So, what can be done?
The 3 ways to make Jewish communities safer
First, Jewish communities must assume that maximal security at every event, and certainly on holidays and around landmarks, is essential not optional. Every public event, school, and institution should be protected at the highest feasible level. Prudence demands it. Governments that claim to protect minorities must fund and sustain this protection, not treat it as an emergency add-on after tragedy strikes.
Second, political leadership matters. World leaders must speak clearly and forcefully against antisemitic violence. Silence or hedging is read as permission. Muslim leaders, in particular, should speak plainly: Condemning attacks on Jews is not an endorsement of Israel, nor a betrayal of Palestinian suffering — it is an assertion of basic moral boundaries. President Donald Trump, despite his many failings, has a unique capacity to apply pressure. If he insisted publicly that major figures in the Muslim world denounce antisemitic violence, he could secure statements and commitments that might otherwise be unattainable. That could save lives.
Finally, Israel itself must confront its role. The current government has become a strategic liability — not just for Israel’s security, but for Jews worldwide. Its policies, tone, and posture have helped create the conditions in which antisemitism flourishes abroad. This in no way justifies attacks on Jews, but we must live in the real world that can be cruel, indifferent, superficial and unfair.
A government that understands the global stakes, communicates openness to the world, respects the diversity of the Jewish diaspora, and approaches foreign and domestic policy with nuance and restraint would do enormous good. It would not eliminate the threat overnight, but it would drastically reduce the conditions that allow such hatred to grow. Replacing the current government with one capable of such diplomacy and moral awareness could, in a sense, be the most effective preventive measure of all.
The Bondi Beach massacre is a devastating warning. It is a tragedy that could have happened anywhere and serves as a grim reminder that antisemitic violence is an urgent threat to Jews everywhere.
The post The three responses to the Bondi Beach Hanukkah attack that could make Jews safer appeared first on The Forward.
