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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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The new face of Holocaust denial is harder to spot — and more dangerous
(JTA) — When I learned that Holocaust deniers had infiltrated a New Hampshire legislative meeting and tried to insert their view into the state’s Holocaust education efforts, I was personally outraged.
My grandparents, my mother’s first husband and their 5-and-½-year-old son were murdered by Zyklon-B gas in a Birkenau gas chamber in August 1943 — dying cruelly in exactly the way that Germar Rudolf, who was invited by a state lawmaker to testify before a legislative committee, says no Jews were killed.
Rudolf is a prominent figure among Holocaust deniers. For more than 39 years, his “Committee for Open Debate on the Holocaust” has sought to delegitimize and undermine the historical record of the mass murder of 6 million European Jews during World War II by promoting antisemitic conspiracy theories and characterizing the Holocaust as a myth.
Historian Deborah Lipstadt describes Rudolf as “a hardcore denialist. He says no gas chambers, no plan to kill the Jews. It’s all a myth.” In the course of a 2007 trial in Germany, in which he was convicted of inciting racial hatred, he dismissed the Holocaust as “a gigantic fraud.”
Holocaust denial is not merely the manifestation of an insidious and dangerous antisemitic conspiracy theory. It constitutes a moral clear and present danger motivated by a perverse determination to radically downplay if not expunge altogether the annihilation of 6 million Jews during World War II from the historical narrative.
The alarming reality, however, is that because Holocaust denial is generally considered to be less harmful than other variants of antisemitism, it is far too often allowed to fester and foment under a spurious guise of freedom of speech.
By failing to prevent Rudolf from testifying and not striking his testimony from the official record when he questioned whether and how my grandparents and my brother were murdered, the chairperson of this New Hampshire state House committee lent credence to Rudolf’s nefarious agenda. Sadly, this is anything but an isolated incident.
Confronting and refuting Holocaust deniers has come to resemble the classic Whac-a-Mole arcade game except that unlike trying to hit inoffensive plastic facsimiles of burrowing mammals with a mallet, exposing, ostracizing and utterly discrediting Holocaust deniers is both urgent and deadly serious.
Professional charlatans such as Rudolf, David Irving, Frank Leuchter, and Ernst Zündel have made Holocaust denial a career and can be dismissed as such. But I am increasingly unnerved by mainstream or quasi-mainstream figures who spout or otherwise provide a veneer of credibility to Holocaust denial claptrap.
This isn’t new. Patrick Buchanan, the Nixon and Reagan White House official and reactionary populist candidate for the Republican presidential nomination, wrote in a March 1990 syndicated column that it would have been impossible for Jews to perish in the gas chambers of the Treblinka death camp. Until I outed him and it in a 2009 New York Daily News op-ed, his official website, Buchanan.org, featured a Holocaust denial forum that included such comments as “there simply were not gas chambers or mass crematoriums at any of the German internment camps” and “We have known for some time that the Auschwitz myth is of an exclusively Jewish origin.”
Also in 2009, Bishop Richard Williamson, the excommunicated member of an ultra-right-wing splinter group of the Roman Catholic Church whom Pope Benedict XVI briefly brought back into the fold, declared on Swedish television in 2009 that “I believe there were no gas chambers” and that no more than 200,000 or 300,000 Jews perished in Nazi concentration camps, “but none of them by gas chambers.”
And more recently, Tucker Carlson has given Holocaust deniers a platform on his shows. First, in 2024, it was the Nazi apologist Daryl Cooper who propounded the conspiracy theory that the Third Reich never intentionally annihilated 6 million Jews, insisting instead that as the German army swept through Eastern Europe, “they went in with no plan for that and they just threw these people into camps. And millions of people ended up dead there.” Then, this past October, Carlson’s guest was the white supremacist Nick Fuentes who had previously brayed that “I don’t believe there were gas chambers. I don’t believe it was 6 million. I also don’t believe that there was ever an order given out that said, OK, you know, we’re gonna kill ’em all.”
Others in the MAGA world peddle similar Holocaust-rooted conspiracy theories to millions on social media, which is what makes debunking them especially urgent in this time of surging antisemitism. Podcaster Candace Owens, for example, has dismissed the lethal medical experiments performed by the notorious SS doctor Josef Mengele at Auschwitz as “bizarre propaganda.”
New Hampshire Rep. Matt Sabourin dit Choinière, who invited Rudolf and his acolytes to the legislative meeting, fits right in with this unsavory lot. At first blush, he may appear to be just another far-right MAGA activist, indistinguishable from a slew of others like him around the country who were elected to public office in the 2024 electoral wave that returned Donald Trump to the White House.
We now know that not only is he a Holocaust denier but that he is also in bed with likeminded groups and individuals whose goal is to sleaze their lies and conspiracy theories into the political, educational and social mainstream. By exposing him to scrutiny and notoriety, NPR and the Jewish Telegraphic Agency have performed an important public service.
The New Hampshire case required investigative reporting in part because Sabourin dit Choinière and Rudolf offered a twist on the old formula at the hearing by cloaking their denial in palatable language. They spoke about a quest for truth and, in the case of the lawmaker, averred that he believed that terrible atrocities had been visited upon Jews during the Holocaust, but that there were nevertheless mitigating facts that had to be told. That left one of his colleagues so confused, JTA has reported, that she seemed to indicate agreement with their testimony. In fact, she did not understand that what she was hearing constituted Holocaust denial.
The two questions we must ask ourselves are (a) how many others like Sabourin dit Choinière are there around the country, and (b) how do we unmask and defang them? The one thing we know for certain is that we cannot afford to ignore them in an illusory hope that they will somehow slither back into the ideological swamp from whence they came. To this extent, the New Hampshire House committee meeting fiasco may actually have been a much-needed wakeup call as well as a teachable moment.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of JTA or its parent company, 70 Faces Media.
The post The new face of Holocaust denial is harder to spot — and more dangerous appeared first on The Forward.
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Why J Street’s New Policy Initiative Is Seriously Misguided
Israel’s Iron Dome anti-missile system intercepts rockets, as seen from Ashkelon, Israel, Oct. 1, 2024. Photo: REUTERS/Amir Cohen
We live in a time when synagogues and Jewish-sponsored events are under violent attack from London to Bondi Beach, to Temple Israel in Michigan.
At such a moment, efforts by J Street to see US military aid to Israel stopped are not just misguided; they are profoundly irresponsible.
On April 13, J Street posted a statement on its website titled, “Reassessing the US-Israel Security Relationship.”
J Street said, “The United States should phase out direct financial support for arms sales to Israel and treat Israel as it does other wealthy US allies.”
J Street did say (at the end of the statement) that, “The United States should continue to sell short-range air and ballistic missile defense (BMD) capabilities to Israel.”
But is that part just a way for them to play both sides if they need to? Otherwise, why make this charge (at the beginning of the statement): “Section 502B of the Foreign Assistance Act prohibits security assistance to any country whose government engages in a consistent pattern of gross violations of internationally recognized human rights.”
Also alarming is how J Street deliberately misrepresents the positions of people who want to end direct military aid to Israel: “A responsible and relatively rapid phase-out of all financial assistance, including for ballistic missile defense, is now supported by figures from across the political spectrum, such as Prime Minister Netanyahu, Senator Lindsey Graham …”
However, neither Netanyahu or Graham have made statements that fit J Street’s flawed approach and dishonest narrative.
The truth is that when interviewed by The Economist, Netanyahu stated, “I want to taper off the military within the next 10 years.” How can J Street say that “the next 10 years” is the same as “relatively rapid”?
And on January 9 on X , Graham tweeted the following: “The aid we have provided to Israel has been a great investment keeping the IDF strong, sharing technology, and making their military more capable – to the benefit of the United States.” Graham went further saying, “we need not wait ten years,” but nowhere did Graham say he was for ending all military assistance while Israel is at war.
You’ll often hear from J Street, and other critics of Israel, that American aid is a “blank check.” It isn’t. US military assistance to Israel is governed by agreements and legal frameworks that require much of that funding to be spent on American-made defense systems.
In practice, that means a significant share of the aid flows back into the US economy — supporting domestic manufacturing, defense jobs, and technological development. You can debate the policy. But calling it a blank check is simply inaccurate — and yet the phrase persists because it fits a far too often preferred anti-Israel narrative. And it’s very hard to believe that J Street does not understand this reality, even as it advances that framing.
There is a huge difference in the strategic relationship that America has with Israel than any of its other allies. Israel offers America military support, intelligence, and operational experience that is unparalleled. Yet J Street’s advocacy to curtail or condition aid ignores the depth and mutual benefit of that partnership, reducing a complex alliance to a one-sided transaction.
The Iron Dome and David’s Sling — key components of Israel’s multi-layered missile defense system — are battle-proven in real-world conditions. The United States has directly benefited from Israeli innovation in missile defense, counterterrorism, and battlefield medicine. No US ally in any corner of the world has contributed to America’s defense in such an immediate and practical way. And that should mean we debate aid to Israel differently than aid to allies who don’t give us those tangible benefits.
Efforts by J Street to target funding for these systems are not abstract policy debates; they would weaken tools that save civilian lives and inform US defense capabilities.
President Truman recognized the State of Israel on May 14, 1948, just minutes after Israel declared independence. Of course, this had something to do with the Holocaust. What’s more, the very fact that Israel is encircled by Iranian terrorist proxies that seek to destroy it, that so many nations refuse to even recognize its right to exist, and that Iran is struggling to preserve its nuclear program are all reasons that dictate that there is something inherently different about its situation compared to its neighbors. And that should be taken into account when debating and deciding on US policy.
This is not about silencing debate. It is about grounding that debate in facts, history, and the real-world consequences of policy choices. At a time of rising threats, weakening a proven alliance and undermining defensive systems like Iron Dome does not advance peace or security — it puts both at risk.
Positions like these help explain J Street’s limited support within the American Jewish community — and why its views must be scrutinized and challenged.
Moshe Phillips is national chairman of Americans For A Safe Israel, AFSI, (www.AFSI.org), a leading pro-Israel advocacy and education organization.
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A View From Campus: Universities Are Failing to Protect Debate While Claiming to Defend It
Universities are meant to be spaces where ideas are debated and challenged, but they are also institutions that set the rules for how students participate.
That authority comes with responsibility — but in recent years, administrators have applied their standards unevenly, particularly when protests around Israel and the Palestinians turn disruptive.
Codes of conduct exist because universities believe behavior within their communities should be governed by certain standards. Universities rely on this principle across campus life, yet when protests cross into disruption or intimidation, they often fail to enforce it.
Faced with these realities, masked protesters have repeatedly violated codes of conduct without consequence — for instance, occupying and vandalizing Columbia’s Hamilton Hall in 2024, blocking Jewish students at Yale encampments, and chanting antisemitic slogans at Berkeley rallies. Meanwhile, in the United Kingdom, screenings documenting the October 7 attacks have required heavy police protection simply to proceed, reflecting an environment in which disruption is anticipated rather than prevented.
These incidents share a common thread: universities reacting to disorder instead of enforcing the baseline conditions that would allow events to occur without intimidation in the first place.
Protest itself is not the problem. The problem arises when demonstrations cross into disruption or intimidation, and institutions fail to enforce the basic rules that protect students and ensure equal access.
One clear example of this inconsistency is how universities handle anonymity during protests. On many campuses, protestors routinely wear masks or face coverings — even when directly engaging with others or disrupting organized events. In theory, anonymity can protect individuals from retaliation. In practice, it removes accountability.
Instead of taking responsibility and addressing the protesters’ behavior adequately, universities have often shifted the burden onto the students.
Jewish and pro-Israel groups are frequently required to coordinate security, accept police presence, or modify events simply to proceed. In some cases, programming continues under heavy supervision; in others, it is quietly scaled back, relocated, or cancelled entirely.
Events that should be educational experiences become exercises in risk management, with students navigating logistical hurdles and hostile crowds rather than engaging in meaningful dialogue.
I saw this firsthand at an event featuring former Israeli soldiers last year. Although the event was initially intended to be on campus, the threat of violence instigated by anti-Zionist protestors “convinced” the only University of Manitoba pro-Israel student group to move it away from the school.
This still didn’t stop around 50 protesters, many masked, from showing up at the new venue to harass and almost assault attendees. Thankfully, there was enough of a police presence to keep everyone safe.
Instead of demanding that certain events have armed guards, administrators should reflect on why some of their students need them in the first place just to voice their opinions. They should ask themselves what they have signaled, intentionally or not, about which behaviors will be tolerated and which will not.
Their inconsistent enforcement has clearly increased the likelihood of harm and discourages students from participating at all.
Universities need to shift their approach to responsibility, and concrete action is required.
Universities should publish clear protest guidelines that address anonymity, define disruption, and outline consequences that are consistently enforced, and then enforce them.
Security requirements should be transparent and scaled to the actual risk level of an event. When an event requires heightened security, violations of conduct aimed at disrupting or preventing it should carry proportionately stronger consequences. Disruptions and disciplinary outcomes should also be publicly reported to ensure accountability.
If universities want to be taken seriously as places of open inquiry, they need to do more than defend debate. They must protect the conditions that make debate possible. Right now, those conditions are eroding not because campuses lack authority, but because they have chosen not to use it when it matters most.
Police can only do so much; universities themselves have a responsibility to ensure that campus culture allows everyone to participate without fear of intimidation or interference.
Adam Katz is a 2025-2026 CAMERA on Campus fellow and a political science and history student at the University of Manitoba.

