Features
“The S.S. Officer’s Armchair” opens up an almost totally unknown aspect of Nazi history
“The S.S. Officer’s Armchair – Uncovering the Hidden Life of a Nazi”
By Daniel Lee Published 2020 Available on Amazon
Reviewed by BERNIE BELLAN
In 2011 a British historian by the name of Daniel Lee had just completed his PhD in history “that examined the experiences of Jews in Vichy France.”
Lee is Jewish – and, as he explains during the course of his fascinating new book, “The S.S. Officer’s Armchair”, his family, originally from Poland, lost several relatives during the Holocaust.
But, simply by accident, in 2011 he was introduced to a young woman at a dinner party he was hosting in Florence, which was where he was living at the time. That chance encounter led to Lee’s going down a rabbit hole that took him all over Europe – and to the Unites\d States as well, in search of answers to a mystery that was unveiled to him at that party.
What happened is the young woman, who had heard that Lee was a historian of the Second World War, asked him whether he might be interested in examining some documents that her mother, who was living in Amsterdam, had discovered had been hidden in the cushion of an armchair that she had owned for years – ever since she herself was a young student in Prague.
The documents evidently belonged to someone by the name of Robert Griesinger who, as evidenced by all the swastikas imprinted on the documents, must have been some sort of a functionary in the Nazi regime.
Naturally, Lee was fascinated by the story he heard. He proceeded to Amsterdam to interview the woman’s mother and to examine the documents for himself. That initial journey led to Lee’s dogged pursuit of one clue after another as to the background of Robert Griesinger – and the eventual discovery that Griesinger was a member of the SS (also the Gestapo), who was very likely involved in atrocities during the war.
But, what set Griesinger apart from other Nazis whose crimes have been the subjects of lengthy investigations, however, was that he was not at all a notable member of any of the organizations to which he belonged. He was actually a lawyer by training, but as Lee shows, he wasn’t a particularly good one; in fact, his entire life can
be said to be noteworthy not because of anything exceptional he did, rather because his achievements can be described fairly as having been so mediocre.
What compelled Lee to spend years tracing the life of such an unimportant figure? As he explains early on, “The famous fanatics and murderers could not have existed without the countless enablers who kept the government running, filed the paperwork, and lived side-by-side with potential victims of the regime in whom they instilled fear and the threat of violence.”
At the same time Lee’s comprehensive investigation of Griesinger’s life adds to the body of knowledge that other historians, especially Daniel Goldhagen, in his “Hitler’s Willing Executioners”, have developed in showing not just how thoroughly aware most Germans were of the atrocities that were being committed by the Nazis, they were, if not actively supporting the Nazis, complicit in not objecting to what was so clearly happening.
It was the active and willing participation of hundreds of thousands of low-level functionaries working for the Nazi state that allowed the machinery of the regime to function. As Lee also notes, “The narrative I trace will show how low-ranking officials might have existed in between two disconnected worlds; the first filled with the regime’s well-known high functionaries, and the second that comprised the ordinary German population.”
How Lee goes about his tireless pursuit of leads that begin to fill out the mystery of those documents in the armchair forms the basis of a first-rate mystery novel, let alone a non-fiction work that relies on detailed footnoting – as one would expect from a professional historian.
Many of the individuals to whom Lee turns for information are either initially reluctant to speak with him or simply turn him down outright, but in time he is able to interview sufficient members of Griesinger’s surviving family members to arrive at a thorough knowledge of Griesinger’s life, from birth almost to death. It would be impossible to know the exact circumstances of Griesinger’s death in 1945 in Prague, as Lee explains, since following the defeat of the Nazis at the hands of the Russians, aided by Czech rebels, the tables were quickly turned on whatever Germans were living in Prague at that time and they were subjected to much the same atrocities that Nazis had perpetrated on so many Czechs for years.
But, in true mystery style, Lee does uncover some quite fascinating information about Lee’s probable death from dysentery – again, from a most unlikely source.
In researching his book Lee decided to go back as far as he could in sourcing Griesinger’s familial roots. To his surprise, he learns that Griesinger’s father was actually born in New Orleans, which is to where Griesinger’s grandfather had emigrated in the 19th century.
The American connection proves highly important to understanding not only Griesinger’s racist attitudes, also the attitudes of many other Germans, it turns out. As Lee uncovers information about German immigration to the deep south of the U.S., he learns that many Germans were involved in the slave trade – and when many Germans returned to Germany (as was the case in the 1870s when the U.S. was in the grip of a severe economic depression), they brought back those racist ideas with them.
Griesinger came from an upper class background, moreover, in which anti-Semitic attitudes, in addition to racist attitudes toward Blacks, were also typically deeply engrained. Much has already been written about how could such a sophisticated culture as was Germany’s have produced such abhorrently racist ideas, but in “The SS Officer’s Armchair,” Lee is able to probe the thinking of specific individuals in Griesinger’s family to show how relatively easy it was for Hitler’s racism to be commonly accepted within the German upper and middle upper classes.
One character in particular, Robert Griesinger’s mother, “Wally”, proves to be an invaluable source for Lee, as he comes across a detailed diary that Wally had kept from the time she was a young girl throughout her life and during the Second World War. The resentment that Wally exhibits towards those who “betrayed” Germany during the First World War, which was one of Hitler’s paramount themes in engendering support for his racist platform, helps put a clear understanding how Hitler was able to go from being a marginal figure eventually to the unquestioned ruler of the German Reich.
Griesinger’s family lived in Stuttgart, which is located in south-west Germany. Robert Griesinger’s home is now owned by Jochen Griesinger, a nephew of Robert’s who, it turns out, is not on speaking terms with either of Griesinger’s daughters, Barbara and Jutta. Jochen, however, was quite willing to talk to David Lee – and to show him around the house.
In the course of his investigation Lee discovers that two of Robert Griesinger’s next-door neighbours in Stuttgart, Helene and Fritz Rothschild, were Jewish. The Rothschilds were able to escape to Paris and survived the war. Almost all the other Jews in Stuggart were not so lucky.
Robert Griesinger was an unexceptional student. Given the German well-known propensity for record-keeping, Lee is able to find reports on Griesinger’s educational career from his earliest days at school throughout his period at Tubingen University. Remarkably Griesinger was able to obtain a doctorate in law but, disappointingly for him, the most he was able to do with that degree was teach agricultural law at a rural agricultural college.
There is no particular indication from anything that Lee is able to uncover that Griesinger was an early follower of National Socialism. But, as was the case with so many other of his peers, Griesinger saw the opportunity to career advancement by joining the party.
Eventually Griesinger became a member of both the Gestapo (secret police) and the SS (strike force). Although Lee is not able to produce any documentation to show that Griesinger was involved first hand in either the torture or murder of anyone, he is able to deduce from various records that, even if he wasn’t directly involved in any specific activities of that sort, he was at the scene where those activities took place.
In particular, while working for the Gestapo (as a lawyer), Griesinger’s place of work in Stuttgart was the Hotel Silber, which was used by the Gestapo to detain and torture individuals. Lee surmises that Griesinger, whose office was situated directly over the basement of the hotel, would have had to have heard the screams of the torture victims.
Later, during the actual war, Griesinger served for a time on the Eastern Front, in Ukraine, where he was eventually wounded and sent back to Stuttgart for rehabilitation. But, during Griesinger’s period of service in Ukraine, his Wehrmacht unit was stationed outside Kiev, and he was in service at the time 30,000 Jews were murdered at Babi Yar over a two-day period, which was the worst massacre of Jews to that date (later to be surpassed by other massacres in Odessa and Poland).
Griesinger had long wanted to be posted to Prague during the war, as Prague was seen as a haven of tranquility for Germans living there. In 1943 he got his wish and he was able to move his wife Gisela, his two daughters, and a stepson from a previous marriage of his wife, to Prague, where they were mostly spared the deprivations that ordinary Germans were suffering throughout Germany as the result of heavy Allied bombing.
While in Prague, Lee is able to piece together Griesinger’s duties, which involved the arrest and deportation of thousands of individuals, both Jews and non-Jews. His principal duty was to arrange for the shipment of Czechs to be used as slave labourers in German factories and mines. Griesinger was also responsible for the confiscation of Czech factories from their rightful owners – always done with the imprimatur of official Nazi regulations.
As Lee works his way through an ongoing series of visits to repositories of archives and interviews with anyone who might have some knowledge of Griesinger’s life, he is able to put together an amazingly detailed description of what life would have been like for Griesinger.
Considering that he was still conducting interviews as recently as 2018 the fact that he has produced such a compelling read is testament to his skill as not just a historian, but a very talented writer who was able to work quickly, as well.
Toward the end of his book Lee revisits his motivation in wanting to go to such extraordinary lengths to describe the life of a “faceless bureaucrat”: “This book shows that it is possible to trace the life of one of those ordinary Nazis whose role in war and genocide seems to have vanished from the historical record. Returning texture and agency to one such perpetrator affords Griesinger the opportunity to stand in for the thousands of anonymous ordinary Nazis whose widespread culpability wreaked havoc on so many lives and whose biographies have, until now, never seen the light of day.”
In looking at some of the reviews posted by readers on Amazon, there is a consistent theme of gratitude expressed to Lee for opening up a door to a part of history that has hitherto remained largely unknown – not because historians were disinterested in the subject; rather, they were stymied by the lack of evidence to paint the sort of detailed picture of just an “ordinary” Nazi bureaucrat that Lee has so brilliantly succeeded in doing. If it weren’t for that chance meeting at a Florence dinner party, however, this book would never have been written.
Features
Monitored phone calls and fear of arrest: What life looks like for Iran’s Jews now
This story was originally published in the Forward. Click here to get the Forward’s free email newsletters delivered to your inbox.
Amid the war in Iran, one Iranian Jewish woman who lives in the United States, but whose family remains in Iran, has been wracked with fear. Before the ceasefire, she spoke with her parents once a week for exactly one minute — both because of the exorbitant cost, about $50 per minute, and because of the fear of surveillance.
During one call a few days into the war, she said, something felt off.
“I could see that something is so wrong. It’s as if someone was there,” the woman, who moved to the U.S. in 2008, said in an interview with the Forward. “It seemed like my mom was actually reading from a note.”
She later learned that the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps had come to her parents’ home, questioning why they frequently called an American number. They instructed her parents to download Bale, an Iranian messaging app widely believed to be monitored by authorities, before making any further calls.
“It’s a spy app, and everyone knows that,” the woman said with a wry laugh. Her parents refused. Instead, they were told to call their daughter and read from a script while IRGC members watched.
“Basically, they said to prove that you are with us and not with Israel, read this when you call her,” the woman said. “After that day, they didn’t call for a long time.”
Eventually, she learned that her parents had fled to a safer part of the country to escape bombardment.
Her family are among the estimated 10,000 Jews who still live in Iran, in the largest Jewish community in the Middle East outside of Israel. Once numbering around 120,000, the community has dwindled significantly since the 1979 Islamic Revolution, when life for religious minorities fundamentally changed. Today, Jews who remain in Iran must carefully navigate life under the regime, publicly expressing loyalty to avoid being falsely accused of Zionist espionage.
Amid Iran’s war with the U.S. and Israel, that pressure has intensified.
With an ongoing internet blackout, communication is limited and closely monitored. To understand what life is like for Iranian Jews today, I spoke with several people in the U.S. who remain in sporadic contact with family members inside Iran. Everyone interviewed requested that they not be identified, fearing repercussions for either themselves or their families.
A synagogue vigil for the Supreme Leader
On April 16, Tehran’s Yusef Abad synagogue held a memorial for Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, who was killed on the first day of the war. The event was attended and reported on by several state-affiliated media channels, filming as participants from Iran’s Jewish community shared their appreciation for the deceased Supreme Leader.
Inside and around the synagogue, posters featuring photos of Khamenei were displayed alongside Farsi slogans like “Unity of Iran’s faiths against aggression — condemnation of the attack on the Tehran synagogue by the child-killing Zionist regime and criminal America” and “The Jewish faith is separate from Zionism.”
Regime media pointed to the vigil as evidence of Jewish support for Iran’s theocratic government. But experts say that interpretation misses the reality.
Beni Sabti, an Iranian-born analyst at Tel Aviv’s Institute for National Security Studies, said displays like the synagogue vigil are often a matter of survival. Jews who remain in Iran are frequently compelled to demonstrate loyalty to the regime — and opposition to Israel — in order to avoid suspicion of having ties to Israel. Allegations of such ties have often led to imprisonment and executions following the Islamic Revolution in 1979.
To protect the community, Jewish leaders — especially rabbis — often participate in pro-regime events, including memorials for senior regime figures. In some cases, Iranian rabbis have even sat alongside members of Hamas and Hezbollah to pay their respects to senior IRGC commanders responsible for funding and training terror groups across the Middle East.
The regime exerts significant pressure to stage these displays, Sabti said, “because it’s good for them to show the world, ‘You see, we don’t oppress anyone.’”
Beyond public displays, much of Iran’s economy is tied to the state — what officials often describe as a “resistance economy.” In that system, some say, expressions of loyalty can become intertwined with economic survival.
The woman who left Iran in 2008 said one of her relatives was once pressured to confiscate land from dozens of people and transfer it to the government in order to keep his job — a loyalty test she says was especially harsh because of his Jewish identity. “In the job interview, they told him, you have a Jewish background, so you have to first prove how far you will go,” she explained.
Since the 12-Day War between Israel and Iran in June 2025, the situation has grown even more tense. More than 30 Jewish Iranians were reportedly detained during that conflict because of alleged contact with Israel. While some Jewish community members were arrested during the wave of anti-regime protests that occurred at the beginning of the year, Sabti said he has not heard of a similar wave of arrests during the current war.
Still, the fear remains.
Synagogues as shelter
Some Iranian Jews have managed to stay in touch with relatives via landline phones, although calls are expensive and likely monitored. Most avoid discussing politics, using their limited time simply to confirm they are alive.
“After the 12-Day War, people really didn’t talk on the phone,” said the woman who moved to the U.S. in 2008. “We do talk, it’s not like they literally cannot, it’s just like they realized that the scrutiny was so high that no one has meaningful conversations.”
Even so, fragments of sentiment emerge.
One 25-year-old Iranian Jew from Los Angeles said his Jewish cousins in Iran cried tears of joy when they heard of the Ayatollah’s death.
He said his great uncle and cousin told him over the phone, “I don’t care, whatever the cost. If you can eliminate Khamenei, if you can eliminate Mojtaba, his son, if you can eliminate any threat… do it.” He added, “Most Persian Jews in Iran are happy, is what I hear.”
Amid the current ceasefire, a 64-year-old Iranian Jewish woman from LA said her Jewish friends in Iran have expressed relief. “They are happy that the situation is calm, but on the other hand, nobody is happy. They all want it to get finished,” she said, adding that they hope for “regime change.”
For Nora, an Iranian Jew living in New York, the war has come at a time of crisis for her family in Iran. She says her aunt has been focused on caring for her son, who is suffering from bone marrow cancer. Because the family keeps kosher, her aunt has had to leave the house — even during bombardments — to ensure he has food and other necessities.
Around three weeks into the war, her house in Tehran was destroyed after a nearby police station was struck. She briefly moved into a local synagogue; now, she lives with another Jewish family who opened their home to her. Her son remains too sick to leave the hospital.
A synagogue destroyed
Nora’s aunt is not the only Iranian Jew to find shelter in a synagogue. Sabti heard from another Jewish family inside Iran that Jewish communities have been using synagogues as bomb shelters throughout the war. He recalled doing the same during his youth at the time of the Iran-Iraq war that began in 1980.
Beyond using the space for physical safety, synagogues have also become a place for Jews to be together during the difficult time. “They come just to gather there, passing the time, meeting and having a little bit better time together,” he said.
For members of the Rafi’ Nia synagogue, a 150-year-old religious institution in Tehran, this sense of comfort has disappeared. On April 6, the community gathered there for Passover services. The next morning, they learned the building had been destroyed by an Israeli strike.
The Israel Defense Forces said that the target of the strike was not the synagogue, but rather a top commander from Khatam al-Anbiya, Iran’s military emergency command. But Iranian media suggested that the IDF had intentionally targeted the building. The head of the synagogue made a statement condemning the attacks and wishing the Iranian regime success in the war.
The woman who immigrated in 2008 had visited the Rafi’ Nia synagogue during Passover around 10 years ago. She described it as a beautiful old building. Seeing images of its destruction brought back painful memories of her family’s past.
She and her family were forcibly converted to Islam around 70 years ago, she said, with one uncle publicly hanged after he refused to convert. Her family continued practicing Judaism in secret — celebrating Shabbat behind locked doors and in her grandmother’s basement, always afraid.
She believes her family became a target for conversion after the synagogue in their area was destroyed, leaving them without formal affiliation to a recognized religious institution. On two occasions, she said, the IRGC raided their home during Jewish holidays, searching for evidence of religious practice. When they found a menorah, her father was detained. “When my dad came back, he was a ghost.” She fears that members of the destroyed synagogue could now face a similar vulnerability.
In Iran, certain religious minorities, including Jews, are constitutionally recognized. But she says that their protection is closely tied to existing institutions.
“When we talk about the lack of protection, it has a very nuanced meaning. In Iran, this doesn’t mean that the synagogues cannot exist, but it means that the existing synagogues are the only legal protection that Jews do have,” she said. “Good luck with rebuilding that place. Good luck with asking for a new synagogue.”
Sabti said the regime has already used the synagogue’s destruction as propaganda, publicly condemning the attack while reinforcing the state narrative of religious inclusion. “The head of the Islamic clerics condemned Israel and paid condolences to the Jews,” he said. “Everyone pays condolences and says, ‘Oh, sorry, we are in this together’ … but everyone knows that the other one also is lying.”
An American Jewish detainee
For one Iranian American Jew, the war has made a dire situation worse.
Kamran Hekmati, a 70-year-old Iranian American from Great Neck, New York, traveled to Iran in June 2025 and was detained during the 12-Day War. According to advocates, his alleged crime was traveling to Israel 13 years earlier for his grandson’s bar mitzvah.
Kieran Ramsey of the Global Reach advocacy group, who represents Hekmati’s family, said in an interview that Kamran being the Iranian regime’s only Jewish American prisoner puts him in a particularly precarious position. “There can be risk of retribution or reprisals against him at any moment,” Ramsey said, “from prison guards or other prisoners…his identity certainly puts him at higher risk.”
On March 16, almost three weeks into the war, Secretary of State Marco Rubio designated Hekmati as wrongfully detained, a status that allows the federal government to deploy all possible levers — diplomatic, legal, and economic — to secure his release. Ramsey says that change in designation is helpful, but only goes so far.
His organization is now pushing for the release of all American prisoners in Iran to be an integral part of the U.S.-Iran negotiations to end the war.
“Our hope is that Kamran Hekmati and the other Americans that are being held are put to the front of the list in terms of issues to decide, and not as a deal sweetener,” he said adding, “We know the U.S. negotiators have a list of American names. We know Kamran is at the top of that list…. We also know there are some very rational actors inside the regime, and we are trying to convince them that you have a no-cost way to open doors. Use Kamran as that no-cost way.”
The last time the woman who emigrated in 2008 visited Iran was two years ago. Even then, she worried that photos taken of her in the U.S. wearing a Jewish star necklace might draw the regime’s suspicion.
Now, she believes whatever space existed for quiet concessions from the Iranian government to Jews may disappear. The regime’s efforts to retain a firm grip on the Iranian people following January’s massive anti-regime protest wave and the war pose new risks.
“Just because of everything that has happened… I’m sure that any type of like ‘OK, let this go,’ ‘Let this person go,’ will end,” she said.
“Now I know that I could not go back,” she added. “I really feel if the Islamic Republic stays — and they probably have a good chance of staying — I feel like I lost Iran.”
This story was originally published on the Forward.
Features
‘Don’t give up on us now’: Israel peace summit convenes thousands to aim for elusive progress
By Rachel Fink April 30, 2026
This story was originally published in the Forward. Click here to get the Forward’s free email newsletters delivered to your inbox.
TEL AVIV, ISRAEL — On Thursday’s bright, sun-drenched morning during a rare pause in the multi-front war Israel has been locked into for nearly three years, in between the protests, funerals and steady drumbeat of violence and trauma, something decidedly more hopeful was taking place.
In one of the city’s largest conference centers, thousands gathered for the third annual People’s Peace Summit under the banner “It must be. It can be. It will be.” The event was organized by the It’s Time coalition, a partnership of more than 80 grassroots peacebuilding and shared society organizations.
Young activists in T-shirts representing their various causes stood alongside older attendees, some in kippot, others in hijabs. Diplomats in business attire moved through the crowd, as did the handful of Israeli politicians still publicly associated with the peace camp – familiar faces in a political landscape where their ranks have thinned considerably. Outside the main arena, Hebrew mingled with Arabic and English as participants strolled through art installations and an organizational fair showcasing the work of It’s Time’s partners.
While previous events took place at the height of war — while hostages remained in captivity and Gaza endured devastating destruction — this year’s summit unfolded during a fragile lull in fighting, the tenuous ceasefires with Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps allowing, however briefly, for conversations to move beyond issues of immediate survival. Speakers tackled settler violence in the West Bank, looming elections, the immense challenge of rebuilding Gaza and the broader question of how to move Israel and Palestine beyond its default state of perpetual conflict. Inside the packed sessions, the tone was equal parts practical, sober and hopeful.
After a quick coffee break, the thousands of participants came together for an evening of stirring speeches and raucous musical performances. When Israeli pop icon Dana International took the stage with a familiar anthem of peace, the crowd rose to its feet, wrapping their arms around one another and belting out the words.
Despite the joyous atmosphere, the event — and the coalition behind it — is not immune from criticism. Some critiques appear to have been internalized: this year’s programming leaned more heavily into policy, strategy and the hard realities of war than previous gatherings. Other issues remain unresolved. Palestinian participation, while present, was still markedly limited, which organizers attribute largely to government-imposed restrictions on movement rather than a lack of interest. Still, the question of whether a civil society movement like this can translate hope and optimism into concrete political change remains to be seen.
That tension between aspiration and reality extends well beyond Israel. In the United States, support for Israel, particularly among younger American Jews, is waning. A 2024 Pew survey found that fewer than half of American Jews under 30 say they feel “very attached” to Israel, while a JFNA poll released in February 2026, found that just 37% of all American Jews identify as Zionists. Both numbers represent a sharp decline from older generations.
For Shira Ben Sasson, Israel director of the New Israel Fund, it is precisely the peace camp which could hold the answer to this growing disillusionment. If the state itself no longer reflects the values that once anchored many American Jews’ connection to Israel, she suggests, perhaps their more natural partner is the small but determined coalition of Israelis working to change it.
“I appreciate how difficult it is to be a Jew who cares about Israel right now,” she told the Forward as the conference, which New Israel Fund helped support and coordinate, got underway. “People are struggling with what they are seeing — the way Israel is conducting itself. Its policies. They are watching the value set that once connected them so strongly to the Jewish state disappear.”
Her response is one of both reassurance and redirection.
“Thank you for continuing to care,” she said. “But remember — the Israeli government is not your partner. We are. Pro-democracy civil society is your partner. Those of us who are fighting for equality here, for the rights of non-Israeli Jews and the rights of non-Jewish Israelis are your partners. This is where those shared values still live.”
If that message feels unfamiliar to those in the diaspora, Ben Sasson suggests the reason ultimately comes down to lack of exposure.
“We, the Israeli peace camp, need to be in many more places than we are right now,” she said. “We must get the word out that while we might not be the majority here, we are not only growing in number, we are expanding our diversity as well.”
She pointed to the rising number of Orthodox Jews, like herself, who have joined the movement as one example.
Ben Sasson also emphasized that, as with any strong partnership, the relationship must move in both directions. Israeli peace activists, she said, must make themselves more visible to American Jews. But American Jews also need to be willing to open their eyes.
“The mainstream Jewish community has to challenge itself,” she said. “They have to be able to voice their concern for Israeli democracy, for the violence in the occupied territories. And they have to be willing to engage in an honest discussion about peace.”
She is less worried about reaching individuals whose support for Israel may be wavering — many of whom, she believes, will connect with the movement’s vision — than she is about the institutions that have long shaped American Jewish engagement with Israel. Those institutions, she said, have been slow to open themselves to this kind of messaging.
“I think there’s fear,” Ben Sasson explained. “The word ‘peace’ has come to sound political. And once something is labeled political, these legacy institutions don’t want to touch it.”
But that avoidance, she warned, comes at a cost.
“They cannot afford to just stick with the same old stale perception of Israel,” she argued. “If you aren’t willing to talk about the real-life issues that Israelis are facing, you simply won’t be relevant anymore — particularly for the young people in your community.”
“Do not be afraid of controversy,” she added. “Do not be afraid to invite an Arab and a Jew to your event, where there may be disagreement. That’s okay. Struggling and wrestling is a core part of our identity.”
While Ben Sasson contends there is a critical mass of people who are hungry for an alternative way to relate to Israel, the question of feasibility remains; the same question that follows the peace movement inside Israel: Does its growing visibility reflect real political momentum, or is it simply too late to reverse course?
To those who are ready to walk away altogether, Ben Sasson points out that Israel stands to lose not only their support, but also the values and organizing traditions American Jews have long brought to the relationship.
“You’ve helped us achieve so many things in Israel for decades,” she said. “You helped us get a state. And now we need a different kind of support. The Jewish values that you offer — the concept of tikkun olam, which is not at the heart of Israeli Judaism but is at the heart of American Judaism — this is the support you can offer us right now.”
Her final plea was simple.
“Do not give up on Israel,” Ben Sasson said. “There have been so many times when things felt insurmountable and you did not give up on us. Don’t give up on us now.”
Rachel Fink is a Tel Aviv-based journalist covering Israel and the Jewish world. Her work has appeared in Haaretz, The Times of Israel, The Jerusalem Report, and Kveller.
This story was originally published on the Forward.
Features
The complete story of the delusional Winnipeg con man who duped people all over the world
By BERNIE BELLAN I have been publishing different chapters from a book I have written about a Winnipeg man who has been telling people for years that he is someone of great wealth who wants to invest in various projects in which those people are engaged.
I’ve now compiled those stories into one large pdf file, which you can read here – or download as a pdf. Simply click on the image below to open the pdf:
