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American Jews created historic summer camps. Or did summer camps create American Jews?
(JTA) — Among Sandra Fox’s most memorable finds during her years mining American archives for materials about Jewish summer camps was a series of letters about the hours before lights-out.
The letters were by counselors who were documenting an unusual window in the day when they stopped supervising campers, leaving the teens instead to their own devices, which sometimes included romance and sexual exploration.
“It was each division talking about how they dealt with that free time before bed in ‘age-appropriate ways,’” Fox recalled about the letters written by counselors at Camp Ramah in Wisconsin, the original iteration of the Conservative movement’s network of summer camps.
“I’ve spoken to Christian people who work at Christian camps and have researched Christian camps. There is no free time before bed,” Fox told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “That’s not a thing if you don’t want kids to hook up. So it was just amazing to find these documents of Camp Ramah leaders really having the conversation explicitly. Most of the romance and sexuality stuff is implicit in the archives.”
The letters are quoted extensively in Fox’s new book, “The Jews of Summer: Summer Camp and Jewish Culture in Postwar America.” Fox, who earned a PhD in history from New York University in 2018 and now teaches and directs the Archive of the American Jewish Left there, tells the story of American Judaism’s most immersive laboratory for constructing identity and contesting values.
Next week, Fox is launching the book with an event at Congregation Beth Elohim in Park Slope, Brooklyn. (Tickets for the Feb. 23 event are available here.) Attendees will be able to tour adult versions of some of the most durable elements of Jewish summer camps, from Israeli dance to Yiddish and Hebrew instruction to Color Wars to Tisha B’Av, the mournful holiday that always falls over the summer.
“I never considered doing a normal book party,” Fox said. “It was always really obvious to me that a book about experiential Jewish education and role play should be celebrated and launched out into the world through experiential education and role play.”
Sandra Fox’s 2023 book “The Jews of Summer,” looks at the history of American Jewish summer camps. (Courtesy of Fox)
We spoke to Fox about her party plans, how Jewish summer camps have changed over time and how they’ve stayed the same, and the cultural history of that before-bed free time.
This interview has been condensed and lightly edited for clarity. We’ll be continuing the conversation in a virtual chat through the YIVO Institute for Jewish Research Feb. 27 at 1 p.m.; register here.
Jewish Telegraphic Agency: Given how much Jews like to talk about camp, were you surprised that this book hadn’t already been written?
Sandra Fox: There’s been a lot of fruitful research on the history of various camps, but it’s usually been focused on one camping movement or one camp type. So there are articles about Zionist camps. There are certainly articles out there about the Ramah camps. A lot of camps have produced books — either their alumni associations or a scholar who went to let’s say, Reform movement camps have created essay collections about those camps. And there are also books about Habonim and other Zionist youth movements.
I don’t really know why this is the first stab at this kind of cross-comparison. It might be that people didn’t think there would be so much to compare. I think the overwhelming feeling I get from readers so far, people who preordered and gotten their books early, is that they’re very surprised to hear how similar these camps are. So perhaps it’s that scholars weren’t thinking about Jewish summer camps that came from such diverse standpoints as having something enough in common to write about them all at once.
Also distance from the time period really helps. You can write a book about — and people do write a book about — the ’60s and ’70s and have been for decades, but there’s a certain amount of distance from the period that has allowed me to do this, I think, and maybe it also helps that I’m generationally removed. A lot of the scholars who’ve worked on camps in the postwar period went to camps in the postwar period. It makes a lot of sense that it would be harder to write this sort of sweeping thing perhaps. The fact that I’m a millennial meant that I could write about the postwar period — and also write kind of an epilogue-style chapter that catches us up to the present.
What’s clear is that there’s something amazing about studying summer camp, a completely immersive 24/7 experience that parents send children away for. There’s no better setting for thinking about how adults project their anxieties and desires about the future onto children. There’s also no place better to think about power dynamics and age and generational tension.
I was definitely struck by the “sameyness” of Jewish camps in your accounting. What do you think we can learn from that, either about camps or about us as Jews?
I do want to say that while there’s a lot of sameyness, whenever you do a comparative study, there’s a risk of kind of collapsing all these things and making them seem too similar. What I’m trying to convey is that the camp leaders from a variety of movements took the basic structure of the summer camp as we know it — its daily schedule, its environment, its activities — and it did look similar from camp to camp, at least on that surface level.
If you look at the daily schedules in comparison, they might have a lot of the same features but they’ll be called slightly different things depending on if the camp leans more heavily towards Hebrew, or Yiddish, or English. But the content within those schedules would be rather different. It’s more that the skeletal structure of camp life has a lot of similarities across the board and then the details within each section of the day or the month had a lot of differences.
But I think what it says is that in the postwar period, the anxieties that Jewish leaders had about the future of Judaism are really, really similar and the solution that they found within the summer camp, they were pretty unanimous about. They just then took the model and inserted within it their particular nationalistic, linguistic or religious perspectives. So I think more so than saying anything about American Jewry, it shows kind of how flexible camping is. And that’s not just the Jewish story. Lots of different Americans have embraced summer camping in different ways.
So many people who have gone to camp have a fixed memory of what camp is like, where it’s caught in time, but you argue that camps have actually undergone lots of change. What are the most striking changes you documented, perhaps ones that might have been hard for even insiders to discern as they happened?
First of all, the Israel-centeredness of American Jewish education as we know it today didn’t happen overnight in 1948, for instance. It was a slower process, beyond the Zionist movements where that was already going on, for decades before 1948. Ramah and the Reform camps for instance took their time towards getting to the heavily Zionist-imbued curricula that we know.
There was considerable confusion and ambivalence at first about what to do with Israel: whether to raise an Israeli flag, not because they were anti-Zionist, but because American Jews had been thinking about proving their loyalty to America for many generations. There were some sources that would talk about — what kind of right do American Jews have to raise the Israeli flag when they’re not Israeli? So that kind of Israel-centeredness that is really a feature of camp life today was a slower process than we might think.
It fit camp life really well because broader American camps used Native American symbols, in some ways that are problematic today, to create what we know of as an iconography of camp life. So for Jews, Israel and its iconography, or Palestine and iconography before ’48, provided an alternative set of options that were read as Jewish, but it still took some time to get to where we are now in terms of the Israel focus.
One of the reasons I place emphasis on the Yiddish summer camps is to show that in the early 20th century and the mid-20th century there was more ideological diversity in the Jewish camping sphere, including various forms of Yiddishist groups and socialist groups and communist groups that operated summer camps. Most of them have closed, and their decline is obviously a change that tells a story of how American Jewry changed over the course of the postwar period. Their legacy is important, too: I have made the argument that these camps in a lot of ways modeled the idea of Yiddish as having a future in America.
What about hookup culture? Contemporary discourse about Jewish camps have focused on sex and sexuality there. What did you observe about this in the archives?
I think people think of the hookup culture of Jewish camps today and certainly in my time in the ’90s and 2000s as a permanent feature, and in some ways I found through my research and oral history interviews that that was the case, but it was really interesting to zoom out a little bit and think about how Jewish summer camps changed in terms of sexual romantic culture, in relationship to how America changed with the sexual revolution and the youth culture.
It’s not it’s not useful to think about Jewish hookup culture in a vacuum. It’s happening within America more broadly. And so of course, it’s changed dramatically over time. And one of the things I learned that was so fascinating is that Jewish summer camps were actually their leaders were less concerned in a lot of ways about sexuality at camp in the ’40s and ’50s, than they were in the late ’60s and ’70s. Because earlier premarital sex was pretty rare, at least in the teenage years, so they were not that concerned about what happened after lights out because they kind of assumed whatever was going on was fairly innocent.
In the late 1960s and 1970s, that’s when camps have to actually think about how to balance allowance and control. They want to allow campers to have these relationships, to have their first sexual experiences, and part of that is related to rising rates of intermarriage and wanting to encourage love between Jews, but they also want to control it because there’s a broader societal moment in which the sexuality of teenagers is problematized and their and their sexual culture is more public.
There’s been a real wave of sustained criticism by former campers about the cultures that they experienced, arguing that the camps created an inappropriately sexualized and unsafe space. There’s been a lot of reaction to that and the broader #MeToo moment. I’m curious about what you can speculate about a future where that space is cleaned up, based on your historical research — what is gained and what, potentially, could be lost?
Without being involved in camping today — and I want to really make that disclaimer because I know a lot of change is happening and lot of organizations are involved to talk about this issue better, to train camps and camp leaders and their counselors to not create a pressured environment for camper — I think what the history shows is that this hookup culture did not come about out of nowhere. It was partly related to the broader changes in America and the sexual revolution.
But it was also partly created because camps really needed to have campers’ buy-in, in order to be “successful.” A huge argument of my book is that we think about the power of camps as if camp directors have campers as, like, puppets on strings, and that what they do is what happens in camp life. But actually, campers have changed the everyday texture of life at camp over the course of the decades in so many different ways by resisting various ideas or just not being interested.
So hookup culture is also part of making campers feel like they have freedom at camp and that’s essential. That’s not a side project — that is essential to their ability to get campers to come back. It’s a financial need, and it’s an ideological need. If you make campers feel like they have freedom, then they will feel like they freely took on the ideologies your camp is promoting in a really natural way.
The last part of it is rising rates of intermarriage. As rates of intermarriage rose in the second half of the 20th century, there’s no doubt in my mind from doing the research that the preexisting culture around sexuality at camp and romance at camp got turbo-boosted [to facilitate relationships that could potentially lead to marriage between two Jews]. At that point, the allowance and control that camp leaders were trying to create for many decades leans maybe more heavily towards allowance.
There are positives to camp environments being a place where campers can explore their sexualities. There’s definitely a lot of conversation about the negative effects and those are all very, very real. I know people who went through horrible things at a camp and I also know people who experienced it as a very sex-positive atmosphere. I know people in my age range who were able to discover that they were gay or lesbian at camp in safety in comparison to home, so it’s not black and white at all. I hope that my chapter on romance and sexuality can maybe add some historical nuance to the conversation and give people a sense of how this actually happened. Because it happened for a whole bunch of reasons.
I think there’s a consensus view that camp is one of the most “successful” things the Jews do. But it’s hard to see where lessons from camp or camp culture are being imported to the rest of Jewish life. I’m curious what you see as kind of the lessons that Jewish institutions or Jewish communities have taken from camp — or have they not done that?
Every single public engagement I do about my work has boiled down to the question of, well, does it work? Does camp work? Is it successful? And that’s been a question that a lot of social scientists have been interested in. I don’t want to oversimplify that research, but a lot of the ways that they’ve measured success have been things that are not necessarily a given to all Jews as obviously the right way to be a Jew. So, for instance, in the ’90s and early 2000s, at the very least, a lot of research was about how, you know, “XYZ” camp and youth movement were successfully curbing intermarriage. A lot of them also asked campers and former campers how they feel about Israel, and it’s always if they are supportive of Israel in very normative ways, right, giving money visiting, supporting Israel or lobbying for its behalf — then camps have been successful.
I’m not interested in whether camps were successful by those metrics. I’m interested in how we got to the idea that camp should be successful in those ways in the first place. How did we get to those kinds of normative assumptions of like, this is a good Jew; a good Jew marries a Jew; a good Jew supports Israel, no matter what. So what I wanted to do is zoom out from that question of success and show how camp actually functions.
And then the question of “does it work” is really up to the reader. To people who believe that curbing intermarriage is the most important thing, then camps have been somewhat successful in the sense that people who go to these heavily educational camps are less likely to marry out of the faith.
But I am more interested in what actually happened at camp. And in terms of their legacies, I wanted to show how they changed various aspects of American Jewish life, and religion and politics. So I was really able to find how camping was essential in making kind of an Israel-centered Jewish education the norm. I was also able to draw a line between these Yiddish camps over the ’60s and ’70s that closed in the ’80s and contemporary Yiddish. The question of success is a real tricky and political one in a way that a lot of people have not talked about.
And is camp also fun? Because you’re creating a camp experience for your book launch next week.
Camp is fun — for a lot of people. Camp was not fun for everyone. And so I do want to play with that ambivalence at the party, and acknowledge that and also acknowledge that some people loved camp when they were younger and have mixed feelings about it now.
The party is not really a celebration of Jewish summer camp. People will be drinking and having fun and dancing — but I want them to be thinking while also about what is going on and why. How is Tisha B’Av [the fast day that commemorates the destruction of the ancient Jewish temple in Jerusalem that falls at the height of summer] commemorated at camp, for example?
Or what songs are we singing and what do they mean? I think a lot of people when they’re little kids, they learn songs in these Jewish summer camps that they can’t understand and later they maybe learn Hebrew and go, whoa, we were singing what?! My example from Zionist summer camp is singing “Ein Li Eretz Acheret,” or “I Have No Other Country.” We were in America and we obviously have another country! I don’t think anyone in my youth movement actually believes the words “Ein Li Eretz Acheret” because we live in America and people tend to kind of like living in America and most of them do not move to Israel.
So at the party we’ll be working through the fun of it, and at the same time the confusion of it and the ambivalence of it. I want it to be fun, and I also want it to be something that causes people to think.
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The post American Jews created historic summer camps. Or did summer camps create American Jews? appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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The Hasidic Rabbi that brings together Jews and Arabs
עס זײַנען דאָ אַזעלכע מענטשן װאָס מע טרעפֿט זײ רעגלמעסיק אױף דער גאַס, אין קאַפֿע, אַרום דער שטאָט. אַזױ איז בײַ מיר און הרבֿ הערשל גליק.
פֿון אױבן אױף, זעט אױס אַז מיר זײַנען גאַנץ אַנדערש, אײנער פֿונעם צװײטן. ער איז אַ חסיד; איך בין אַ ליבעראַלע ייִדישע. ער איז אַ רבֿ; איך בין אַ לערערקע, אַ דראַמאַטורגין און אַן אַקטריסע. פֿון דעסטװעגן, װױנען מיר בײדע אין סטאַמפֿאָרד־היל, דעם „װיליאַמסבורג“ פֿון לאָנדאָן, און אונדזערע קרײַזן דעקן זיך אַ מאָל.
הרבֿ גליק איז אָבער נישט קיין געוויינטלעכער רבֿ. אַחוץ זײַן אַרבעט צוצוציִען ייִדן צו ייִדישקייט פֿירט ער אָן מיטן „אַראַביש־ייִדישן פֿאָרום“ — אַן אָרגאַניזאַציע וואָס ער האָט געגרינדעט אַ יאָר פֿאַר 9/11 — װאָס ברענגט צונויף ייִדן מיט אַראַבער און מוסולמענער, כּדי אויפֿצוהאַלטן גוטע באַציִונגען צווישן זיי. אין 2025 האָט מען אַרויסגעלאָזט אַ נײַעם דאָקומענטאַר װעגן הרבֿ גליקס לעבן און אַרבעט. דעם פֿילם — „װי אַזױ צו לעבן בשלום מיט אַלעמען“ — האָט מען שױן געוויזן אין מיאַמי, אין לאָנדאָן און אין אַנדערע שטעט.
געשמועסט האָבן מיר בײַ אים אין שטוב. אין עסצימער, איז דער טיש אַרומגערינגלט מיט נישט װײניק פּאָליצעס, אָנגעפּאַקט מיט ספֿרים און ביכער. אין גאָרטן, אױפֿן גראָז, געפֿינט זיך אַ קאָמפּלעט הױדלקעס. װען איך בין אַרײַן אין הויז, האָט ער מיר סערװירט אַן ענגליש גלעזל טײ: אַ שװאַרצער „פֿרישטיקס־טײ“ מיט מילך און צוקער, מיט אַ פּאָר קיכעלעך אױף דער זײַט. אין מיטן אונדזער שמועס, זעענדיק אַז איך האָב נאָך נישט פֿאַרזוכט די קיכעלעך, זאָגט ער מיר, מיט אַ שמײכל׃ „זײ זײַנען נישט נאָר אױף צו קוקן!“ דאַן האָב איך זײ יאָ געגעסן, נישט װילנדיק אים באַלײדיקן.
הרבֿ גליק האָט אַ לאַנגע װײַסע באָרד, און ער טראָגט כּסדר אַ שװאַרץ־און־װײַסע קאַפּאָטע מיט אַ שװאַרצן קאַפּל אונטער אַ שוואַרצן הוט. ער האָט ליב צו זאָגן, אַז ער איז אַן עכטער לאָנדאָנער, װײַל ער איז געבױרן געװאָרן אין װעסטמינסטער־שפּיטאָל, נישט װײַט פֿון פּאַרלאַמענט און פֿון באַקינגהאַם־פּאַלאַץ.
בײדע עלטערן זײַנע האָבן געשטאַמט פֿון עסטרײַך. פֿון זײ — און די באָבע־זײדעס װאָס האָבן איבערגעלעבט דעם חורבן — האָט ער זיך אױסגעלערנט אַ מעריבֿ־ייִדיש. אײדער ער איז געװאָרן אַ רבֿ, האָט ער געלערנט אַ צען יאָר אין ישיבֿות אין ברונואַ (לעבן פּאַריז), אין ניו־יאָרק, אין ניו־דזשערזי און אין מאָנטרעאָל.
הרבֿ גליק האָט ליב זיך צו פֿאַרבינדן מיט נײַע מענטשן און נײַע קהילות, און ער איז נישט װײניק אַרומגעפֿאָרן. אין 2019 איז ער געװען דער ערשטער רבֿ װאָס האָט אַ מאָל געהאַלטן אַ רעפֿעראַט אין אַן אוניווערסיטעט אין פּאַקיסטאַן. פֿאַראַיאָרן, שמועסנדיק מיט מיר אױף דער גאַס, האָט ער געפֿרעגט פֿון װאַנען די משפּחה מײַנע קומט. אַז איך האָב מודה געװען אַז איך קען בלויז דעם ייִדישן נאָמען פֿון דער עלטער־באָבנס שטעטל, האָט ער מיך געפֿרעגט וואָס איז דער ייִדישער נאָמען, און גלײַך מיטגעטײלט אַז דאָס שטעטל איז אין הײַנטיקן אוקראַיִנע און אויך װי עס הײסט אױף אוקראַיִניש. סוף־כּל־סוף, האָב איך עס געקענט געפֿונען אױף דער מאַפּע.
בײַם סוף פֿון דער קאָמוניסטישער תּקופֿה אין מזרח־אײראָפּע, האָט ער זיך פֿאַרבונדן מיט דער ייִדישער קהילה, װאָס איז דעמאָלט געווען אין טשעכאָסלאָװאַקײַ. דאָרט האָט ער געפֿונען ייִדן, װאָס האָבן געװאָלט לערנען תּורה און תּלמוד.
„דאָס זײַנען געװען עלטערע ייִדן װאָס האָבן אין די קינדעריאָרן זיך געלערנט אין חדר, אין דער הײם“ — האָט הרבֿ גליק געזאָגט — „און מיט אַ מאָל האָבן זײ געהאַט אַ געלעגנהייט צו לערנען מיטן יונגן דור תּורה.“ צוליב דעם װאָס עס זײַנען נישט געװען קײן משניות אױף טשעכיש, האָט הרבֿ גליק געקױפֿט אַ קאָמפּלעט משניות איבערגעזעצט אויף ייִדיש פֿון שׂימחה פּעטרושקע (1893—1950). אַזױ אַרום, האָבן די װאָס האָבן נישט גוט געקענט לשון־קודש געקענט איבערזעצן יעדע משנה פֿון ייִדיש אױף טשעכיש, און ווײַטער לערנען.
הײַנט צו טאָג איז הרבֿ גליק דער עמערירטער רבֿ פֿון דער שיל „שערי מזל־טובֿ“ (װאַלפֿאָרד־ראָוד), לעבן סטאַמפֿאָרד־היל. פֿאַר דעם איז ער געװען דער רבֿ פֿון דער האַקני־שול, נישט װײַט פֿון יענער געגנט. ער איז אויך געווען דער בעל־הבית פֿונעם באַקאַנטן כּשרן בעקערײַ „פּאַרקװײ.“ זינט 2015 איז ער דער פּרעזידענט פֿון די שומרים פֿון סטאַמפֿאָרד־היל.
װי אַזױ איז אים אײַנגעפֿאַלן צו גרינדן דעם „אַראַביש־ייִדשן פֿאָרום“? נאָכן אַרבעטן אױף עטלעכע פּראָיעקטן װאָס שליסן שלום צװישן לענדער װי איראַן, קוּװײט, איראַק און ישׂראל־פּאַלעסטינע, זאָגט ער, „האָב איך זיך באַקענט און באַפֿרײַנדט מיט אַ סך אַראַבער, מוסולמענער און אַנדערע, אין דעם געגנט. און כ׳האָב געזען אַז מע קען אַרבעטן צוזאַמען — נישט נאָר אַז מע קען, נאָר אַז מע אַרבעט זײער געשמאַק צוזאַמען פֿאַר אַלגעמײנע זאַכן.“
ער האָט אָנגעהױבן טראַכטן פֿון די באַציִונגען צװישן ייִדן, אַראַבער און מוסולמענער אין ענגלאַנד, װוּ ער װױנט.
„מע אַרבעט צוזאַמען, און מע פֿאַרשטײט אײנער דעם צװײטן, און מע העלפֿט אײנער דעם צװײטן, און מע שטיצט אײנער דעם צװײטן,“ האָט הרבֿ גליק געזאָגט. „אָבער כ׳האָב געטראַכט אַז, פֿאָרט, [זײַנען] דאָ ענינים װאָס גראָבן אונטער די גוטע אַרבעט צװישן אונדז. מע דאַרף עפּעס מאַכן — גוטע פֿונדאַמענטן — כּדי אַז די גוטע צוזאַמען־לעבן און די גוטע מיטאַרבעט זאָל װײַטער גײן, בעזרת השם.“
נאָכן דורכרעדן דעם געדאַנק מיט פֿאַרשידענע ייִדישע און מוסולמענישע פֿירער אין לאָנדאָן, איז דער פֿאָרום געגרינדעט געוואָרן אין יאָר 2000.
לױט הרבֿ גליק, האָט דער פֿאָרום דערמעגלעכט בעסערע באַציִונגען צװישן דער מוסולמענישער, ייִדישער און אַראַבישער באַפֿעלקערונג אין לאָנדאָן, ספּעציעל אין און אַרום סטאַמפֿאָרד־היל. „מע גײט דאָ אין גאַס, און מע גײט דאָ אין געגנט — זעט מען נישט נאָר אַז ייִדן און מוסולמענער לעבן גוט אײנער לעבן צװײטן; מיר לעבן גוט אין אײנעם, ב״ה.“
הרבֿ גליק האַלט, אַז כאָטש ס׳איז זיכער דאָ מער אַנטיסעמיטיזם איצט װי פֿאַר די טעראָריסטישע אַטאַקן אויף ישׂראל דעם 7טן אָקטאָבער 2023 און דער מלחמה צווישן ישׂראל און די פּאַלעסטינער, איז נישטאָ קײן פֿאַרגלײַך צװישן אונדזערע צײַטן און די יאָרן פֿון דער נאַציסטישער תּקופֿה.
„װען מע קוקט װי ייִדן לעבן הײַנט, איבער דער גאַנצער װעלט, זײַנען דאָ שװעריקײטן — כ׳װײס פּונקט װאָס קומט פֿאָר, אפֿשר בעסער װי אַנדערע. אָבער איך האָב עלטערן װאָס האָבן מיטגעלעבט די 30ער יאָרן, און איך זאָג אײַך, אָן קײן שום ספֿק, אַז הײַנט איז נישט אַזױ װי אין די 30ער יאָרן.“
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Jon Ossoff romped to a second Senate term. Can he aim higher?
(JTA) — ATLANTA — Sen. Jon Ossoff’s soaring popularity and cruise to reelection last Tuesday have spurred speculation about his political future — and whether he might aim to become the first Jewish president of the United States.
Less than an hour after polls closed on Election Night, he was projected to handily defeat his Republican challenger Mike Collins. With a campaign focused on expanding affordability and fighting corruption, Ossoff built a broad coalition in one of the nation’s most diverse states, even earning endorsements from Republicans. Ultimately, he retained his seat by a margin of 59%-41%.
The leading polling analyst Nate Silver said Saturday that Ossoff was his “slam dunk number one pick” for a Democratic presidential candidate in 2028, despite Ossoff’s insistence that he has “zero interest in running for president.”
Ossoff’s Jewish supporters have expressed pride in his affirmation of Southern Jewish history while leading a state with a fervent Christian population. But other Jewish constituents have said they feel betrayed by his mounting criticism of Israel’s actions in Gaza, and it remains to be seen whether Georgia’s pro-Israel Jews would coalesce around Ossoff if he pursues the country’s highest office.
For Andrew Lewis, there’s no question that Ossoff is a worthy standard-bearer for the Jewish community. A board member of Atlanta’s oldest synagogue, the Temple — where Ossoff had his bar mitzvah — Lewis said the senator frequently cites the Temple’s role in the civil rights movement, a point of pride for Jewish Atlantans. In 1958, white supremacists bombed the Temple because its rabbi, Jacob Rothschild, advocated desegregation and allied with Martin Luther King Jr. Ossoff was sworn into the Senate on Rothschild’s well-worn bible.
“Our Rabbi Rothschild worked with Dr. King and helped shepherd Atlanta’s Jewish community, and our city and nation, through a very different yet equally divisive time,” said Lewis, who also co-founded the interfaith organization First Five Freedoms. “I take a great deal of pride in that, and I see every time Jon Ossoff speaks about it, he takes equal pride.”
Ossoff has said his entry into politics was interning for Rep. John Lewis, the late civil rights giant, which helped spur his career as an investigative documentarian before he ran for office himself.
Ossoff’s fellow Georgian in the Senate, Raphael Warnock, serves as a pastor at King’s former pulpit, Atlanta’s Ebenezer Baptist Church. When Ossoff and Warnock ran at the same time in the 2021 runoff elections for the state’s two Senate seats, they called attention to their rekindling of the Southern Black-Jewish alliance.
Elise Eplan, a former president of the American Jewish Committee chapter in Atlanta, said she appreciated Ossoff’s references to his Jewish identity. Ossoff has said that his father descended from Ashkenazi immigrants and he grew up among relatives who were Holocaust survivors.
“When you grow up in the South, it used to be harder to talk about not being Christian, and being really open about it,” said Eplan. “I have admired the fact that he’s not shied away from that.”
Ossoff during his 2021 run delivered a direct appeal to the state’s Jewish community in the Atlanta Jewish Times, saying that his Jewish upbringing instilled “a conviction to fight for the marginalized, the persecuted and the dispossessed.” He noted to JTA in 2019 that his wife, physician Alisha Kramer, is also Jewish. The couple started dating in high school, according to the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.
Two years ago, Ossoff faced blowback from Jewish institutions for supporting Sen. Bernie Sanders’ resolutions to block certain weapons sales to Israel. The local Anti-Defamation League Southeast chapter, the Jewish Federation of Greater Atlanta, the American Israel Public Affairs Committee and an array of synagogues said they were “deeply disappointed” by his votes for the resolutions, which did not pass. In 2025 and 2026, he voted for further measures to restrict offensive military aid to Israel, while supporting defensive arms sales.
Ossoff stood by those votes during a debate with Collins last month. He also said he had “no doubt” that Israeli forces committed war crimes in Gaza, deferring the charge of genocide as “a question for the International Criminal Court.”
Michael Morris, the publisher of the Atlanta Jewish Times, accused Ossoff in an open letter of “lying to me and your constituents” about his support for Israel by repeatedly voting against arms sales.
But when Ossoff emerged triumphant on Tuesday, the ADL offered him congratulations — despite denouncing other victorious Israel critics.
ADL Southeast Director Todd Young rebuked Collins, Ossoff’s opponent, for links to white nationalists. “This race also underscored the importance of confronting antisemitism in Georgia politics,” he said in a statement. “Throughout the campaign, serious concerns emerged about individuals close to Mike Collins.”
Collins’ former staffers were accused of posting racist and antisemitic imagery and participating in a white nationalist group chat, while his son-in-law promoted antisemitic conspiracy theories online. Those controversies might have muffled Jewish groups’ objections to Ossoff’s voting record on Israel, according to Rebecca Stoil, a professor of U.S. political history at Clemson University.
“Ossoff, and his candidacy with Jewish voters, was benefited by the clear concerns that Jewish voters had with Collins,” said Stoil, a member of Atlanta’s Jewish community.
In his 2021 campaign, Ossoff accused his then-opponent, Sen. David Perdue, of antisemitic dog whistling after a campaign ad depicting Ossoff with an elongated nose.
Ossoff says that he supports the security of Israelis as well as the safety and security of Palestinians. In a Senate speech in November 2023, he said, “Just as I pray for the freedom of hostages taken so cruelly from their families, as a pro-Israel Jewish American I urge mercy for the innocent civilians in Gaza.”
As a rising left flank of his party presses for the end of the U.S.-Israel alliance, Ossoff continues to define himself as “pro-Israel.” He argued last month that before sending weapons to any ally, the United States should assess “whether that foreign government is acting consistent with our interests, our laws and our values.”
Ossoff’s argument that one can be pro-Israel even while conditioning U.S. aid has been increasingly embraced by the center of the Democratic Party, according to political scientist Dov Waxman. He pointed to surveys that capture a drop in sympathy for Israel among Americans, including American Jews.
A new poll from J Street, a liberal Jewish Middle East policy group, reported that 39% of Jewish voters said defensive aid for Israel should continue with conditions, while 31% said all military aid should end and 30% said aid should continue without conditions. Among Jews under 35, 60% supported severing military aid and said that Israel has committed genocide in Gaza.
Waxman said those trends spelled both parties moving away from traditionally stalwart pro-Israel positions of delivering offensive and defensive aid to Israel with few conditions.
“I think Ossoff’s position is really the mainstream position now in the Democratic Party — the center of gravity,” said Waxman. “Which is to say, a position that broadly supports the continuation of the U.S.-Israel alliance, but is not willing to write a blank check for Israel, and is not willing to support what the Israeli government does unconditionally.”
Eplan, the former AJC leader, said she was initially “concerned” about Ossoff’s votes to block offensive weapons sales in 2024. But three years into Israel’s prosecution of the war in Gaza under Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, she said, “I understand it.”
“Unfortunately, under Netanyahu, it has become more and more difficult to be pro-Israel in the way we always have been historically,” said Eplan. “I do think that we need leaders who understand some of the nuance, and who are willing when necessary to take a tough stand, but at the end of the day understand the importance of Israel as our ally and as a Jewish homeland.”
If Ossoff decides to run for president, it would be in a new world of U.S.-Israel relations. Democrats are not alone in increasingly scrutinizing the alliance. Republican Vice President J.D. Vance blamed his party’s crushing defeats in the midterm elections partly on “our relationship to Israel” and the Iran war, which the United States joined with Israel. (Ossoff, like other Democrats across the country, has excoriated Trump for “lying a nation into war” and sending “prices soaring with his warmongering in the Middle East.”)
Trump announced on Election Day that the United States would halt military aid to Israel by the end of 2026, saying that Republicans “suffer the slings” from Democrats over the issue.
“Now it is the policy both of the incumbent administration and of people like Jon Ossoff to limit aid to Israel,” said Stoil. “For voters who did care so much about Israel that it was going to be their basis for voting, the moment it becomes a bipartisan consensus to cut off aid, then you pick what most closely represents you on the other topics.”
Meanwhile, Israel is undergoing its own political change following elections on Oct. 27. The next president of the United States could be dealing with a new Israeli government after Netanyahu’s rival, Gadi Eisenkot, scored enough seats and endorsements from other parties to seek to form a new governing coalition.
Pro-Israel groups in the United States are already retooling for the next stage of relations. Kathy Manning, a former North Carolina congresswoman who chairs the advocacy group Democratic Majority for Israel, hopes that a new Israeli government will pave the way for a renewed alliance that Democrats like Ossoff can support.
“If the current government, Netanyahu and his far-right extremists, continue to be the leaders of Israel, I think that it’s going to be very tough for many Democrats to continue to stand shoulder to shoulder,” said Manning. “If the government of Israel changes and we see a Gadi Eisenkot coalition moving forward, I think that’ll be an opportunity for us to rebuild the U.S.-Israel relationship.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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Socialists plan to ‘break’ the US-Israel alliance after winning big in the midterms
The Democratic Socialists of America is looking to use its growing influence to push for a full arms embargo against Israel and ultimately “break” the longstanding alliance between the U.S. and the Jewish state, party leaders said during a recent post-election organizing call after expanding its presence in Congress to eight members once midterm winners are sworn in.
During the call, Kareem Ellerfi, a member of DSA’s National Political Committee, said the newly elected House members will “ensure that Palestine is not forgotten, it’s not left behind, and that we’re fighting to break the U.S.-Israel relationship.” Ellerfi recently returned from a Palestinian solidarity mission that began in Jordan. The delegation had planned to travel to Ramallah in the West Bank but was detained by Israeli authorities while attempting to cross the border and sent back to Jordan.
The call featured three newly elected members of the House — Chris Rabb of Pennsylvania, Claire Valdez of New York and Angela Gonzalez Torres of California — and DSA organizers who said the election results showed that candidates could win while openly opposing Israel and advocating for Palestinian rights.
“Campaigns like mine showed that moral clarity on the genocide in Gaza and an economic populist agenda would win over voters who stayed home in 2024 or who voted for Donald Trump,” said Valdez, whose district includes parts of Brooklyn and Queens. She said a “free Palestine” was among her top agenda items.
A shifting landscape on Israel
The DSA victories come as American support for Israel faces growing divisions across the political spectrum, including among young Jewish Americans.
A growing number of progressive House members already back ending all U.S. aid to Israel, including funding for Israel’s Iron Dome defense system. Earlier this year, 103 of 212 Democrats supported a measure to eliminate the annual military assistance to Israel and another 10 abstained. Dozens also co-sponsored a pair of measures – the Block the Bombs Act and Ceasefire Compliance Act – that would restrict certain offensive arms sales to Israel and increase oversight of Israel’s policies in the occupied West Bank and in Gaza.
Republicans have also voiced support for phasing out military assistance to Israel and moving toward a relationship in which Israel purchases American weapons without financial assistance. Some Republicans have grown increasingly isolationist during the conflicts with Iran, which some in the party blame on Israel.
On Election Day, President Donald Trump announced that he and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu had agreed to end the roughly $3.8 billion in annual U.S. military aid to Israel by the end of this year — two years before the current 10-year memorandum of understanding expires in Sep. 2028. Secretary of State Marco Rubio said Monday that Israel is “rich enough” to purchase needed weapons.
But DSA leaders made clear that their goals go much further. They want a complete arms embargo and an end to the U.S.-Israel alliance.
The organization quadrupled its presence in the House in Tuesday’s midterm elections, with six new members joining Reps. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez of New York and Rashida Tlaib of Michigan. DSA also celebrated victories in local races, announcing that more than 100 socialists now hold lower-level offices across more than 37 states. Its growing influence includes Los Angeles Mayor-elect Nithya Raman and D.C. Mayor-elect Janeese Lewis George, who join New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani, elected last year.
Among the priorities on the call were forcing a vote on the Block the Bombs Act and challenging Senate Democratic leader Chuck Schumer and House Democratic leader Hakeem Jeffries, both longtime supporters of Israel.
With Democrats holding a sizable majority in the House, DSA members may not have the votes to pass key legislation. But their presence in Congress and alliance with the Progressive Caucus, which has increased to more than 100 members, could give them a louder voice in shaping the party’s future on Israel and U.S. military aid.
Rabb, who made criticism of Israel and opposition to AIPAC central to his congressional campaign, was defiant. “People think that we can’t do what we do,” he said. “And to those people, I say, get the f–k out of the way and let us do what we need to do.”
A post-election survey of 800 Jewish voters, conducted by the Mellman Group for the Jewish Electorate Institute, found that 24% of Jewish Democrats see their party as “becoming too much of a home for socialists and the far left.”
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