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As trial begins in Tree of Life massacre, Pittsburgh’s Jews struggle with what to reveal and what to conceal
PITTSBURGH (JTA) — On Friday afternoon, Squirrel Hill was suffused with spring breezes and pink dogwoods, and alive with the movement that typifies the coming of Shabbat.
Toddlers scrambled up the jungle gym in the JCC playground, while the chatter in cafes was about a looming storm that could soak the walk to synagogue on Saturday. Murray Avenue Kosher was emptying out of challahs.
Barely present, at least on the surface, was any indication that Monday morning would hold a turning point in the community’s greatest trauma. That’s when jury selection was to begin in the trial of the man accused of shattering Shabbat on Oct. 27, 2018, with gunfire. His massacre of 11 worshipers, in a synagogue building a 10-minute stroll from the downtown of this leafy, heavily Jewish neighborhood, was the deadliest-ever attack on U.S. Jews.
But behind the scenes, there are clear signs that the trial’s proximity is being felt. Maggie Feinstein, the director of the 10/27 Healing Partnership, which provides post-traumatic therapy for the community, said that as the trial nears, requests for treatment have spiked.
“The trauma cues that for a while bothered us right after the shooting — for some people it might be ambulances, for other people it might be media, for some people it might be the sound of multiple police cars — you get to a place where they don’t bother you as much,” she said. “But the increased media attention and the increased awareness of this upcoming trial for a number of people is bringing back for them that maybe they didn’t do their own healing the first time around.”
A Starbucks in the Squirrel Hill neighborhood of Pittsburgh is decorated with a memorial for the victims of the 2018 massacre at the city’s Tree of Life synagogue, April 21, 2023. (Ron Kampeas)
There were three congregations in the building: Tree of Life and New Light, both affiliated with the Conservative movement, and Dor Hadash, which is Reconstructionist.
The 11 victims were brothers Cecil and David Rosenthal, couple Bernice and Sylvan Simon, Rose Malinger, Joyce Fienberg, Richard Gottfried, Jerry Rabinowitz, Daniel Stein, Melvin Wax and Irving Younger. Seven were from Tree of Life, three were from New Light and one was from Dor Hadash.
For their families, their friends, their congregations and their broader Jewish community, the legacy of the massacre is a deep-seated longing for control, a longing to never have to think again of the gunman and of the anguish he left in his wake, while grappling with tender memories of the dead, of the decades spent in celebration and in prayer in the building.
Who narrates this story, the gunman or his victims? That struggle now looms as the alleged gunman goes to trial. The community is wrestling with questions such as where and whether to put the bullet-riddled artifacts, whether to worship at the site, whether to even speak of the massacre and how and whether the gunman lives or dies.
”We believe strongly that this antisemitic attack should not stop people from practicing and being Jewish,” Feinsten said. “For a lot of people, that’s an active choice that they have to work at. It doesn’t come easily after feeling unsafe in that environment to then work to find safety in it. But a lot of people have chosen to do that.”
On Friday, Feinstein was organizing support services for families who would, if they so choose, be sequestered in a separate room in the court where they could view the trial. (Family members may also ask to be seated in the courtroom.) She assigned six therapists to be present with the families.
Compounding the revisited trauma of the event, the families are divided over whether the gunman, should he be convicted, deserves the death penalty. The accused has a lawyer, Judy Clarke, known as “the attorney for the damned” for her determination to keep her clients from execution.
What’s clear is that the Jews of Squirrel Hill are taking the trial on with their characteristic spirit of collaboration. The community has hired public relations specialists to handle media inquiries ahead of the trial, in part to safeguard locals from being pressed to answer questions that could harm them or shatter the sense of unity. Congregants reached by the Jewish Telegraphic Agency dutifully deferred to the list of approved contacts on a list distributed by a PR agency.
On Friday afternoon, signs of unity that flooded the city in the immediate aftermath of the shooting were still visible. In a tobacconist’s window a sign with the slogan “No place for hate/Stronger than hate,” which had proliferated throughout the neighborhood after the attack, remained propped up next to a flag and an ad for the lottery. A Starbucks had on its window white paint drawings depicting “love,” “kindness” and “hope” in English and in Hebrew, alongside symbols: the Star of David, a heart and a dove.
A tobacconist window includes a poster of the “No Place for Hate” slogan that proliferated after the Tree of Life Massacre in 2018, in Pittsburgh, April 21, 2023. (Ron Kampeas)
Representatives of the community talk about “doing Jewish” as a means of coping, including redoubling the very activities — allying with the city’s Black minority and advocating for immigration, refugees and gun control — that fueled the rage of the alleged attacker.
The attacker allegedly was driven in part by the partnership between Dor Hadash and HIAS, the Jewish refugee aid group, and the congregation’s sponsorship of refugee families.
“We have, if anything, doubled down on our commitment to immigrants and refugees,” said Dana Kellerman, the chair of the communications committee at Dor Hadash. “We are currently coming up on the end of our first year working with a new resettlement program to resettle a Congolese immigrant family in Pittsburgh, and we have every intention of when the year commitment is up of working with a second family.”
Kellerman said the shooting had “honestly become part of the background of our existence at this point.” In keeping with her congregation’s rules aimed at protecting their community, Kellerman declined to talk about the day of the massacre, the death penalty or about details of the trial. But she was open about the ways in which her congregation has leaned into the values it has long held, and that the gunman so reviled.
“We have become louder and more public about practicing our Judaism,” she said. Now, she said, the congregation incorporates advocacy for refugees into its service, with liturgical readings on immigration.
There are other changes. “We even have hats now! We have baseball caps!” Kellerman said with a smile, unearthing a photo of herself in a white cap with “Dor Hadash” and a stylized Magen David in blue, standing alongside gun control advocates.
“Previously we all would have shown up as our individual selves, and now we show up in our Dor Hadash baseball caps,” she said. “Mine kept blowing off.”
Steve Cohen, the co-president of New Light, said the congregation’s relationship with Black churches in the city has reached new intensity since the massacre. The congregation’s rabbi and congregants who know Hebrew partner with the churches to analyze sacred texts in the original.
“We would bring our Tanachs [Hebrew Bibles], and the Christian congregation would bring their Bible and then we would talk about the Proverbs and go through it, not just what the intention of the author was, but how different ways the same words can be translated in order to imply different things,” he said. “And so we went through the whole Book of Proverbs with the Rodman Street Baptist Church, and this past winter, we did the selected Psalms with the faith and Destiny Church on the north side.”
The interior of the new sanctuary of the New Light congregation, four and half years after a gunman massacred three of its congregants, in Pittsburgh, April 21, 2023. (Ron Kampeas)
New Light took its cue from survivors of the 2015 attack on the Emanuel Church in Charleston, South Carolina, in which a white supremacist murdered nine Black worshipers, Cohen said. Leaders of New Light traveled to the church and heard from its elders that it was not enough to tend to the traumatized individuals, but to the community; they emphasized outreach, bringing congregants back in.
“That’s a lot of the reason why we have an outpouring of members who never attended shul now attending shul,” he said.
Feinstein, too, said she had an intensification of religious and ritual observance among her clients: more frequent attendance at Shabbat services, forming a daily minyan, finding a study partner for daily Talmud study.
Kellerman said the community has become closer; she sees it in congregants who linger. “It shows up in things like people showing up for Friday night services, and hanging out to chat or getting on a little early to chat,” she said.
A rendition of architect Daniel Libeskind’s plans for the interior of the new Tree of Life synagogue. (Tree of Life)
In the days leading up to the trial, the community bid farewell to the most salient relic of that painful day: the hulking synagogue building on the corner of Wilkins and Shady that has stood empty since then. All three congregations have decamped to nearby synagogues, leaving behind the chain-link fence draped with paintings from children across the country wishing for strength.
“Nobody has been meeting in the synagogue since the day of the shooting,” said Carole Zawatsky, the Tree of Life CEO who is overseeing the plans to replace the building. The only people to have been inside at all, she said, were survivors and “special friends” — donors to the rebuilding and politicians.
Zawatsky said it is wrenching to even contemplate returning for some. “You can walk through the building and see where the gunman was destructive,” she said. “You can see where the gunman was apprehended, where the gunman opened fire. It’s devastating to witness.”
But some intend to: Tree of Life lost seven congregants but plans on returning once the building is rebuilt as a museum and education center focused on the dangers of extremism.
On Sunday, the Tree of Life congregation had an outdoor ceremony to say “L’hitraot,” Hebrew for “until we meet again,” to the building as it has existed up to now.
“We are grateful to God for the thousands of blessings that have passed through these doors,” Rabbi Jeffrey Myers, the rabbi who sheltered congregants and alerted police, said at the ceremony. “We cannot, we must not, permit one day … to define us, nor outweigh all the good.”
The new center is being designed by Daniel Libeskind, the architect who designed the master plan for the World Trade Center site reconstruction in New York and the Jewish Museum in Berlin.
But Dor Hadash and New Light decided their moves were permanent in part because families of their victims swore never to return to the building.
New Light is now ensconced in what once was a secondary chapel at the Beth Shalom synagogue, as if it has been there for decades: Plaques honoring past donors and presidents adorn the walls of the sanctuary. The only signs of the massacre are the 1,000 paper cranes Pittsburgh’s Japanese community gave the congregation, reflecting a Japanese tradition that folding cranes will make a wish come true. They hang at the entrance to the sanctuary, unexplained by any plaque. There is a stained glass monument to the three victims at the cemetery where they are buried.
Even with Tree of Life’s commitment to return, many questions remain about what that will look like. The congregation has yet to decide what objects will stay in the sanctuary, what will stay in storage and what will be part of a separate exhibit, Zawatsky said.
“The first work that’s had to be done for the synagogue is ‘What are the things that need to be saved and go into storage during construction?’” she said.
In some ways, she indicated, the work of rebuilding could bear some resemblance to the balancing act that the community will have to navigate during the alleged shooter’s trial.
“We are thinking deeply about how you exhibit some of these materials,” Zaslavsky said, “in ways that are both teachable moments and don’t retraumatize.”
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Polish novel portrays nostalgic image of the Jewish life that once existed there
ס׳איז לעצטנס אַרויס אַן ענגלישע איבערזעצונג פֿונעם ראָמאַן „איך הייס שטראַמער“, וועגן אַ ייִדישער משפּחה אין דער פּױלישער שטאָט טאַרנע (טאַרנאָוו). דאָס בוך האָט אָנגעשריבן דער פּױלישער שרײַבער מיקאָלײַ לאָזינסקי.
אין משך פֿון העכער װי 150 יאָר האָט טאַרנע געהערט צו דער עסטרײַכישער פּראָװינץ גאַליציע. אונטער דער עסטרײַכישער אימפּעריע האָבן ייִדן ניט געליטן פֿון מלוכישן אַנטיסעמיטיזם, און די באַציִונגען צװישן ייִדן און פּאָליאַקן זײַנען געװען רעלאַטיװ רויִקע.
דער מצבֿ האָט זיך געביטן נאָכן אױפֿקום פֿון דער אומאָפּהענגיקער פּױלישער רעפּובליק נאָך דער ערשטער װעלט־מלחמה. די באַציִונגען זײַנען געװאָרן אַלץ מער געשפּאַנט מיטן צוּװוּקס פֿונעם פּױלישן אַנטיסעמיטיזם אין די 1930ער יאָרן.
די העלדן פֿונעם ראָמאַן זײַנען די משפּחה שטראַמער, װאָס באַשטײט פֿון זעקס מענטשן: דער טאַטע, די מאַמע, פֿיר זין און צװײ טעכטער. זײ זײַנען ייִדן פֿון אַ גאַנץ יאָר. דער טאַטע נתן איז אַ לא־יוצלח, װאָס האָט אַ מאָל עמיגרירט קײן אַמעריקע אָבער האָט ניט געהאַט קײן מזל אין דער „גאָלדענער מדינה“ און זיך אומגעקערט אַהײם צו זײַן פֿרױ און קינדער. זינט דעם פֿעפֿערט ער זײַנע ייִדישע רײד מיט ענגלישע װערטער און האַלט אין אײן חלומען װעגן צוריקפֿאָרן קײן ניו־יאָרק, װוּ ער האָט אַ ברודער אַן אָלרײַטיק.
זײַן פֿרױ רבֿקה איז אַ יוסטע באַלעבאָסטע װאָס האַלט אונטער דאָס גאַנצע געזינד. יעדער אײנער פֿון די קינדער האָט אײגענע דאגות, באַגערן און פּלענער פֿאַר דער צוקונפֿט.
לאָזינסקי שטעלט צונויף דעם סיפּור־המעשׂה אויף אַ קונציקן אופֿן, מישנדיק פּערזענלעכע שטאַנדפּונקטן פֿון פֿאַרשײדענע פּערסאָנאַזשן. אַזױ אַרום שאַפֿט ער אַ פֿילזײַטיקן קאָלעקטיװן פּאָרטרעט פֿון אַ טיפּישער משפּחה מיט אירע טאָגטעגלעכע עסקים.
לכתּחילה איז דער נאַראַטיװער טאָן אַ ביסל איראָניש. עס דאַכט זיך אַז די פּאָליטישע ענדערונגען האָבן ניט קײן סך השפּעה אױף זײער לעבן. דער טאַטע בענקט נאָך די אַלטע גוטע צײַטן פֿונעם אַמאָליקן עסטרײַכישן מלכות: „עס װעט קײן מאָל ניט זײַן אַזױ גוט װי בײַם קייסער פֿראַנץ־יאָזעף“, בעת זײַנע קינדער פּרוּװן זיך צוצופּאַסן צו די נײַע פּױלישע פּאַראָנדקעס.
די קינדער װאַקסן אונטער און די שטימונג פֿונעם ראָמאַן װערט ערנסטער. די האַנדלונג שטײַגט אַריבער די דלתּ־אַמות פֿון דער הײמישער שטאָט טאַרנע. נתן און רבֿקה רעדן נאָך אַלץ ייִדיש, אָבער זײערע קינדער פֿילן זיך הײמיש אין פּױליש. זײ בײַטן זײערע נעמען — הערש־צבֿי למשל װערט העסיאָ – און לערנען זיך אין פּױלישע גימנאַזיעס.
שפּעטער קלײַבן זײ אױס פֿאַרשײדענע דרכים: דער עלטסטער זון שטודירט לאַטײַן און גריכיש אינעם יאַגעלאָנער אוניװערסיטעט אין קראָקע אָבער קלײַבט אױס אַ קאַריערע װי אַ געשעפֿטסמאַן. זײַן ייִנגערער ברודער װערט פֿאַרטאָן אין דער קאָמוניסטישער פּאַרטײ, ער פֿאַרברענגט אַ פּאָר יאָר אין תּפֿיסה און דערנאָך פֿאָרט ער קײן שפּאַניע צו קעמפֿן אינעם בירגערקריג.
מיט דער צײַט װערט דער דערצײלערישער טאָן אַלץ מער דראַמאַטיש. דאָס שפּיגלט אָפּ די אַלגעמײנע פֿינצטערע אַטמאָספֿער אין פּױלן אין די 1930ער יאָרן, װען דער אַנטיסעמיטיזם װערט אַלץ מער בולט, און די עקאָנאָמישע לאַגע פֿון ייִדן ווערט אַלץ ערגער.
„עס האָט זיך אָנגעהױבן מיט ׳יעדער אײנער פֿאַר זײַנע אײגענע און מיט זײַנע אײגענע׳ און ׳קױף ניט בײַ די ייִדן׳ [די פּאָפּולערע אַנטיסעמיטישע לאָזונגען], און ענדיקט זיך מיט צעבראָכענע פֿענצטער אין ייִדישע קראָמען און לאָזונגען ׳ייִדן קיין מאַדאַגאַסקאַר!׳.“
אַזױ טראַכט דער ייִנגערער זון נוסעק, װאָס האַלט זיך װײַט פֿון פּאָליטיק. אָבער אַפֿילו ער װערט געװױר, אַז פּױלן גליטשט זיך אַרײַן אין אַ פֿאַשיסטישן רעזשים װי אין דײַטשלאַנד און איטאַליע.
פֿון דעסט װעגן קומט דער חורבן אומגעריכט פֿאַר די שטראַמערס. אַפֿילו װען היטלער און סטאַלין צעטײלן פּױלן, האַלטן זײ נאָך אַלץ בײַ אַ האָפֿענונג, אַז אַלץ װעט זיך װי ניט איז אױססדרן און דאָס לעבן װעט זײַן װידער נאָרמאַל.
„איך הייס שטראַמער“ געהערט צו אַ נײַער כװאַליע אין דער פּױלישער ליטעראַטור, װאָס פּרוּװט צו באַטראַכטן דעם פּױלישן עבֿר דורך אַ ייִדישן שפּאַקטיװ. פֿאַרן חורבן זײַנען בערך צען פּראָצענט פֿון דער פּױלישער באַפֿעלקערונג, דאָס הײסט, בערך דרײַ מיליאָן נפֿשות, געװען ייִדן. ערשט ניט לאַנג צוריק האָט מען אָנגעהױבן צו באַטראַכטן ייִדן װי אַ װיכטיקער באַשטאַנדטײל פֿון דער פּױלישער געשיכטע.
עס איז ניט קײן חידוש, װאָס דער פֿאָקוס איז דאָ אױף די באַציִונגען צװישן ייִדן און פּאָליאַקן און ניט אױף די אינעװײניקע פּראָבלעמען פֿונעם ייִדישן ציבור. דער דאָזיקער חילוק צװישן דעם פּױלישן און ייִדישן קוקװינקל איז בולט װען מען פֿאַרגלײַכט „ איך הייס שטראַמער“ מיט די ייִדישע ראָמאַנען פֿון יענער תּקופֿה, װי למשל מיכל בורשטינס „איבער די חורבֿות פֿון פּלױנע“, לײב ראַשקינס „די מענטשן פֿון גאָדלבאָזשיץ“ אָדער אַלטער קאַציזנעס „שטאַרקע און שװאַכע“.
די פּערסאָנאַזשן אין אָט די ייִדישע ראָמאַנען זײַנען געװען טיף פֿאַרטאָן אין ייִדישע סאָציאַלע, רעליגיעזע, קולטורעלע און פּאָליטישע פּראָבלעמען, בעת די קריסטלעכע פּאָליאַקן זײַנען געװען זײַטיקע און לרובֿ פֿײַנטלעכע פֿיגורן.
די ייִדישע מחברים האָבן באַטאָנט די אָפּזונדערונג פֿון ייִדן אין פּױלן, בעת בײַ לאָזינסקין זײַנען ייִדן מיטגלידער פֿון דער ברײטער פּױלישער געזעלשאַפֿט, כאָטש זײער אינטעגראַציע איז װײַט ניט קײן פֿולע.
אַזאַ צוגאַנג איז היסטאָריש אַקוראַט, װײַל אַ היפּשע צאָל ייִדן, בפֿרט אין די שטעט, האָבן טאַקע זיך געװאָלט אַסימילירן אין דער פּױלישער געזעלשאַפֿט. לאָזינסקי װײַזט די דאָזיקע טענדענץ גאַנץ גוט, אָבער װען עס קומט צו ייִדישקײט, זײַנען דאָ פֿעלערס װי למשל װען נתן, און ניט רבֿקה און די טעכטער, צינדט אָן די שבת־ליכט און דערצו נאָך, שרײַבט ער, „אײן ליכט פֿאַר יעדן משפּחה־מיטגליד“.
צום סוף פֿונעם ראָמאַן גיט לאָזינסקי צו אַ רשימה ביכער, װאָס ער האָט גענוצט װי היסטאָרישע מאַטעריאַלן. דאָס רובֿ זײַנען דאָס סאָלידע פּױלישע היסטאָרישע שטודיעס און זכרונות, אָבער עס איז ניטאָ קײן אײן מקור איבערגעזעצט פֿון ייִדיש אָדער העברעיִש. עס פֿעלט דאָ אַפֿילו דאָס יזכּור־בוך „טאַרנע: קיום און אומקום פֿון אַ ייִדישער שטאָט“ װאָס איז פֿאַראַן אין אַן ענגלישער איבערזעצונג. אין דער הײַנטיקער פּױלישער ליטעראַטור װעגן ייִדן פֿאַרבלײַבט ייִדיש בלױז אַ סימן פֿון ייִדישקײט, און ניט קײן שליסל צום רײַכן קולטורעלן אוצר.
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There Are No ‘Moderates’: Most of the Democratic Party Is Turning Against Israel
Former Wayne County Health Director Abdul El-Sayed, a Democrat now running for US Senate in Michigan, speaks at a “Hands Off” protest at the state Capitol in Lansing, Michigan, on April 5, 2025. Photo: Andrew Roth/Sipa USA via Reuters Connect
Americans are bracing for a politically charged summer as momentum builds for radical Democrats in key races across the country.
In what is emerging as a clarifying moment for just how far the Democratic Party is willing to swing, current polls depict a competitive race among the three candidates running for US Senate in Michigan’s August Democratic primary.
Some of the latest numbers show Abdul El-Sayed, the Bernie Sanders-endorsed physician, holding a slight lead over the other two Democratic challengers, Michigan State Senator Mallory McMorrow and Congresswoman Haley Stevens.
In a page pulled out of New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani’s playbook, El-Sayed, who blamed Israel for the attempted terrorist attack in March that targeted preschoolers at Temple Israel in Detroit, often cloaks his radicalism in rhetoric that focuses on affordability and universal healthcare.
He displays open contempt for Israel, and has called the Jewish State “just as evil” as the genocidal terrorist group Hamas.
El-Sayed campaigns with people who justified the 9/11 attacks, and refused to take a position on the death of former Supreme Leader Khamenei for fear of offending the Islamist sensibilities of Michigan’s Dearborn residents.
For many Jewish Americans, the ascendance of El-Sayed, Mamdani, and Graham Platner, the Democratic Senate Candidate from Maine who has praised Hamas’ military tactics (and had an SS symbol tattooed on his body), reflects a new moment — a shifting of the Overton window that not only propels dangerous candidates to prominence, but paves a paradigm in which politicians whose views would have been disqualifying just a decade ago are rebranded as moderates.
Campaigning as a suburban mom trying to capture the votes of centrists and peel off some left-wing voters from El-Sayed’s camp, the present political landscape is planting the 39-year-old Mallory McMorrow firmly in the center of the Democrats’ electoral path in Michigan, with El-Sayed to her left, and the Congresswoman Haley Stevens, who has pro-Israel views, to her right.
Yet when it comes to the state senator’s platform regarding Israel, McMorrow engages with many of the same anti-Zionist ideas espoused by her challenger, El-Sayed.
She traffics in similar language falsely accusing Israel of committing genocide in Gaza with a deft talent for fashioning her far-left views in a palatable package: a Christian wife and relatable mother, whose husband also happens to be Jewish.
McMorrow satisfies the Democrats’ defined virtuous, big-tent philosophy with competing statements insisting that she would not meet with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu but also believes that Democrats’ affinity for Hasan Piker is a step too far into the realm of radicalism.
Should McMorrow be elected to the US Senate, would she vote any differently than El-Sayed when it comes to supporting the US-Israel alliance and providing Israel with the critical weapons it needs for its self-defense? It seems highly unlikely.
Much of the public discourse surrounds the surge of left-wing Democrats such as El-Sayed, Platner, and Mamdani, but the larger story to consider lies with politicians like McMorrow, who are using the atmospheric conditions to claim the mantle of moderation, but adopting the exact far-left positions of the candidates who hate Israel, and spread libels about Israel committing “genocide” and practicing “apartheid.”
If McMorrow is victorious in Michigan’s Democratic primary, her win would certainly be used by the Democratic establishment and its media allies to uphold a false narrative that the election was a defeat for the far left.
Yet there is perhaps no better example that illustrates just how successful leftists have been in dragging the center down than last month’s vote in the United States Senate, when nearly 80 percent of Democrats voted in favor of two anti-Israel measures introduced by Vermont Senator Bernie Sanders (I-VT) that, if passed, would have blocked approximately $450 million in weapons transfers to Israel.
The retreat from previously held pro-Israel leanings is reverberating beyond Congress, as “moderates” like Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro (D) and Rahm Emanuel showcase their willingness to create daylight between the US and Israel.
For its part, AIPAC has been historically quick to praise and bolster the candidacies of politicians like New Jersey Senator Cory Booker, only to have the lawmaker court his state’s growing Muslim and Arab constituencies by announcing that he will no longer accept money from AIPAC. Senator Booker also backed both Senate resolutions halting military aid to Israel.
If there are legitimate debates about AIPAC’s policies to be had, Democrats aren’t engaging in it. They’re instead using AIPAC as a bogeyman to jump on the “Israel is evil bandwagon,” and perpetuate the libel that Jews control American politics with money.
Progressive populists and Muslim Socialists may differ in their ideological appeal, but both brands of candidates use their gaining leverage as a vehicle to inject their morally blind politics into the American ecosystem and generate a new standard of what constitutes a moderate in today’s Democratic Party.
There’s very little that separates El-Sayed and McMorrow’s foreign policy vision, just as there would be scant differences in how a Shapiro or a Kamala Harris White House would approach America’s relationship with Israel.
When it comes to supporting Israel’s right to exist and defend itself, the party appears nearly united in intensifying its hostility and moving the Democratic coalition onward — and firmly against Israel.
Irit Tratt is a writer residing in New York. Follow her on X @Irit_Tratt.
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Abraham Foxman, Former ADL Head and Advocate for American Jews, Dies at 86
Abraham Foxman, a Holocaust survivor and member of the US Holocaust Memorial Council, speaks at the US Holocaust Memorial Museum’s Annual Days of Remembrance Commemoration in the Emancipation Hall of the US Capitol on April 23, 2025. Photo: Mattie Neretin/Sipa USA via Reuters Connect
Abraham H. Foxman, who was the national director of the Anti-Defamation League for nearly three decades, has died at the age of 86, the ADL announced in a statement on Sunday.
The organization said it “deeply mourns the loss of our longtime national director,” but did not provide details about where, when, and how Foxman died. He is survived by his wife Golda, children Michelle and Ariel, son-in-law Brandon Cardet-Hernandez, and grandchildren, Cielo, Leila, Gideon, and Amirit.
Foxman retired in 2015 after spending his entire 50-year career with the ADL. He was “one of the world’s foremost voices against antisemitism and hate,” as well as an “outspoken, passionate, and tireless advocate for the Jewish people and Israel,” according to the advocacy organization.
Foxman graduated from City College of New York and NYU School of Law. He joined the ADL immediately after graduating from law school and served in various roles in the organization, including assistant director of legal affairs, before being becoming its national director in 1987. When Foxman announced his retirement from the ADL, then-US President Barack Obama said the long-time civil rights activist was “irreplaceable.”
Jonathan Greenblatt, the current CEO of the ADL, described Foxman as “an iconic Jewish leader who embraced the ideal of an America free from antisemitism and hate and who strongly believed that these scourges could be defeated if good people opposed it.”
“America and the Jewish people have lost a moral voice, a passionate advocate for the Jewish people and the state of Israel, and a remarkable leader,” Greenblatt said in a released statement. “In his storied career, Abe transformed ADL while confronting antisemitism and hate (from both left and right), opposing the global rise in antisemitism, holding world leaders accountable and working to ensure that Israel was Jewish, secure and democratic. Abe’s voice was heard – and listened to – by popes, presidents, and prime ministers, a voice he used wherever Jews were at risk. Abe Foxman spoke on the global stage with moral authority and clarity and was relentlessly dedicated to his pursuit of a world without hate.”
“Abe Foxman helped build the modern liberal era of America,” ADL Board Chair Nicole Munchnik added in a separate statement. “He was recognized across the globe as a great leader and passionate advocate for tolerance, a voice of the generation rebuilding in the shadow of the Shoah, and longtime advisor to American presidents and world leaders. To those of us who knew him, Abe was a warm friend, advisor, spirited antagonist and hugger – all over lunch.”
The American Jewish Committee praised Foxman as a “towering figure in the fight against antisemitism and hatred” and someone who “brought moral clarity, courage, and unwavering conviction to generations of advocacy and leadership.” The AJC said his advocacy “helped shape the American Jewish experience and strengthened the global fight against bigotry in all its forms.”
Born in 1940 to Polish Jews in what is now Belarus, Foxman survived the Holocaust under the care of his Polish Catholic nanny Bronislawa Kurpi, who baptized him and raised him as a Catholic to hide his Jewish identity. He lost 14 family members in the Holocaust but was reunited with his parents after the war. Together they immigrated to the United States, where Foxman attended the Yeshiva of Flatbush as a teenager. He later served as vice chairman of the Museum of Jewish Heritage in New York City and was a member of the United States Holocaust Memorial Council, to which he was appointed by President Ronald Reagan in 1987 and reappointed by Presidents George H.W. Bush, Bill Clinton, and Joe Biden.
The Auschwitz Jewish Center Foundation (AJCF) called Foxman “one of the most consequential Jewish leaders of the postwar era” and a Holocaust survivor who “devoted his life to confronting antisemitism and defending the Jewish people.”
“Abe Foxman belonged to a generation that carried the weight of history personally and transformed it into public service,” said AJCF Chairman Simon Bergson in a statement. “He dedicated his life to ensuring that the lessons of the Holocaust were applied to the defense of democratic values, human dignity, and the Jewish people. His legacy will endure for generations.”
Following the news of Foxman’s death, Israeli President Isaac Herzog praised him as a “legendary leader of the Jewish people, a champion of justice and equality, and a longtime, dear friend of mine.”
“Coming into a world at war, the Holocaust shaped Abe’s character and defined his mission: Combating antisemitism and hypocrisy, calling out racism and bias, speaking up for the Jewish people and the Jewish democratic Israel,” Herzog shared in a post on X. “His story, of rising from the ashes, is our story, the story of our people.”
Israel’s president also described Foxman as “a prominent, distinguished force in the American Jewish community, and a bridge between Israel and the Diaspora” as well as a “passionate Zionist, a humanist, and an outspoken, wise friend.”
“The affection and the respect we had for one another enabled us to openly discuss every challenge and every obstacle,” added Herzog. “I am so grateful for the profound conversations we shared over the years, and for the brave leadership he exemplified. I will miss Abe’s counsel and voice, and I know that his legacy and his message will live on.”
Foxman was a board member of the Met Council on Jewish Poverty, America’s largest organization combating Jewish poverty. Its CEO and Executive Director David G. Greenfield said he was “heartbroken” by the passing of his “dear friend and mentor.”
“At Met Council, we were privileged to have Abe as a board member, adviser, and friend,” Greenfield explained. “He brought wisdom, compassion, and deep commitment to everything he did. Even near the end of his life, Abe continued showing up for the community. Just a few weeks ago, he joined us with his granddaughters at Met Council’s Passover Day of Service at the Spitzer Fulfillment Center, helping ensure that New Yorkers in need could celebrate Pesach with dignity.”
“Public leaders do not always match their public reputations in private,” Greenfield added. “Abe was the rare person whose private kindness, humility, and generosity were even greater than his public stature. All who knew him loved him … His voice, his courage, his friendship, and his leadership will be deeply missed.”
Foxman also served as vice chairman of the Museum of Jewish Heritage in New York City.