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Beyond the ‘Day of Hate’: The best strategy to keep American Jews safe over the long term
(JTA) — My synagogue sent out a cautiously anxious email yesterday about an event coming this Shabbat, a neo-Nazi “Day of Hate.” The email triggered fuzzy memories of one of the strangest episodes that I can remember from my childhood.
Sometime around 1990, in response to local neo-Nazi activity, some Jews from my community decided to “fight back.” I don’t know whether they were members of the militant Jewish Defense League, or perhaps just sympathetic to a JDL-style approach. When our local Jewish newspaper covered the story, it ran on its front cover a full-page photo of a kid from my Orthodox Jewish high school. The photo showed a teenage boy from behind, wearing a kippah and carrying a baseball bat that was leaning threateningly on his shoulder.
As it happens, “Danny” was not a member of the JDL, he was a kid on his way to play baseball. Sometimes, a baseball bat is just a baseball bat. But not for us anxious Jews in America: We want to see ourselves as protagonists taking control of our destiny, responding to antisemites with agency, with power, with a plan. I’m sorry to say that as I look around our community today, it seems to me that we have agency, and we have power — but we certainly don’t seem to have a plan.
The tactics that the American Jewish community uses to fight back against antisemitism are often ineffective on their own and do not constitute a meaningful strategy in the composite. One is that American Jews join in a partisan chorus that erodes our politics and fixates on the antisemitism in the party they don’t vote for. This exacerbates the partisan divide, which weakens democratic culture, and turns the weaponizing of antisemitism into merely a partisan electoral tactic for both sides.
Another tactic comes from a wide set of organizations who have declared themselves the referees on the subject and take to Twitter to name and shame antisemites. This seems to amplify and popularize antisemitism more than it does to suppress it.
A third common tactic is to pour more and more dollars into protecting our institutions with robust security measures, which no one thinks will defeat antisemitism, but at least seeks to protect those inside those institutions from violence, though it does little to protect Jews down the street. Richer Jewish institutions will be safer than poorer ones, but Jews will continue to suffer either way.
A fourth tactic our communal organizations use to fight antisemitism is to try to exact apologies or even fines from antisemites to get them to retract their beliefs and get in line, as the Anti-Defamation League did with Kyrie Irving, an approach that Yair Rosenberg has wisely argued is a no-win proposition. Yet another tactic is the insistence by some that the best way to fight antisemitism is to be proud Jews, which has the perverse effect of making our commitment to Jewishness dependent on antisemitism as a motivator.
And finally, the most perverse tactic is that some on both the right and the left fight antisemitism by attacking the ADL itself. Since it is so hard to defeat our opponents, we have started beating up on those that are trying to protect us. What could go wrong?
Steadily, like a drumbeat, these tactics fail, demonstrating themselves to be not a strategy at all, and the statistics continue to show a rise in antisemitism.
Perhaps we are too fixated on the idea that antisemitism is continuous throughout Jewish history, proving only that there is no effective strategy for combating this most persistent of hatreds.
Instead, we would do well to recall how we responded to a critical moment in American Jewish history in the early 20th century. In the aftermath of the Leo Frank lynching in 1915 – the murder of a Jewish man amid an atmosphere of intense antisemitism — Jewish leaders formed what would become the ADL by building a relationship with law enforcement and the American legal and political establishment. The ADL recognized that the best strategy to keep American Jews safe over the long term, in ways that would transcend and withstand the political winds of change, was to embed in the police and criminal justice system the idea that antisemitism was their problem to defeat. These Jewish leaders flipped the script of previous diasporic experiences; not only did they become “insiders,” they made antisemitism anathema to America itself. (And yes, it was the Leo Frank incident that inspired “Parade,” the forthcoming Broadway musical that this week attracted white supremacist protesters.)
For Jews, the high-water mark of this strategy came in the aftermath of the Tree of Life shooting in Pittsburgh. It was the low point in many ways of the American Jewish experience, the most violent act against Jews on American soil, but it was followed by a mourning process that was shared across the greater Pittsburgh community. The words of the Kaddish appeared above the fold of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. That is inconceivable at most other times of Jewish oppression and persecution. It tells the story of when we are successful – when antisemitism is repudiated by the general public. It is the most likely indicator that we will be collectively safe in the long run.
We were lucky that this move to partner with the establishment was successful. I felt this deeply on a recent trip to Montgomery, Alabama. Seeing the memorials to Black Americans persecuted and lynched by and under the very system that should have been protecting them from the worst elements of society is a reminder that not all minorities in America could then — or today — win over the elements of American society that control criminal justice.
Visitors view items left by well-wishers along the fence at the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh on the first anniversary of the attack there, Oct. 27, 2019. (Jeff Swensen/Getty Images)
A strategic plan to defeat antisemitism that must be collectively embraced by American Jews would build on this earlier success and invest in the infrastructure of American democracy as the framework for Jewish thriving and surviving, and continue the historic relationship-building that changed the Jews’ position in America. It would stop the counterproductive internecine and partisan battle that is undermining the possibility of Jewish collective mobilization.
It means more investment, across partisan divides, in relationships with local governments and law enforcement, using the imperfect “definitions of antisemitism” as they are intended — not for boundary policing, but to inform and help law enforcement to monitor and prevent violent extremism. It means supporting lawsuits and other creative legal strategies, like Integrity First for America’s groundbreaking efforts against the Unite the Right rally organizers, which stymie such movements in legal gridlock and can help bankrupt them.
It means practicing the lost art of consensus Jewish collective politics which recognize that there must be some baseline agreement that antisemitism is a collective threat, even if any “unity” we imagine for the Jewish community is always going to be be instrumental and short-lived.
It means supporting institutions like the ADL, even as they remain imperfect, even as they sometimes get stuck in some of the failed strategies I decried above, because they have the relationships with powerful current and would-be allies in the American political and civic marketplace, and because they are fighting against antisemitism while trying to stay above the partisan fray.
It means real education and relationship-building with other ethnic and faith communities that is neither purely instrumental nor performative — enough public relations visits to Holocaust museums! — so that we have the allies we need when we need them, and so that we can partner for our collective betterment.
And most importantly, it means investing in the plodding, unsexy work of supporting vibrant American democracy — free and fair elections, voting rights, the rule of law, peaceful transitions of power — because stable liberal democracies have been the safest homes for minorities, Jews included.
I doubt we will ever be able to “end” individual antisemitic acts, much less eradicate antisemitic hate. “Shver tzu zayn a Yid” (it’s hard to be a Jew). We join with our fellow Americans who live in fear of the lone wolves and the hatemongers who periodically terrorize us. But we are much more capable than we are currently behaving to fight back against the collective threats against us. Instead, let’s be the smart Americans we once were.
The real work right now is not baseball bats or billboards, it is not Jewish pride banalities or Twitter refereeing: It is quiet and powerful and, if done right, as American Jews demonstrated in the last century, it will serve us for the long term.
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What I discovered during my visit to the Swedish paradise
נאָך אַ רעפֿעראַט וועגן דעם מצבֿ פֿון ייִדיש אין שוועדן, האָט פּראָפֿ׳ אַנאַ שטערנשיס אַ מאָל געזאָגט: „שוועדן איז אַ מין גן־עדן פֿאַר ייִדיש“.
איך בין לעצטנס געפֿאָרן קיין שטאָקהאָלם, כּדי צו האַלטן אַ לעקציע פֿאַר די אָרטיקע ייִדישיסטן — האָב איך געהאַט אַ געלעגנהייט צו זען דעם דאָזיקן גן־עדן מיט די אייגענע אויגן. פֿריִער האָט ער עקסיסטירט נאָר אין די לעגענדעס, וואָס אַנדערע ייִדישיסטן האָבן דערציילט: אַ לאַנד, וווּ ייִדיש איז אַן אָפֿיציעלע מינדערהייט־שפּראַך; אַ לאַנד וואָס שטיצט ייִדיש נישט בלויז מיט ווערטער, נאָר מיט אמתע געלטער; וווּ די מלוכה העלפֿט אַרויסצוגעבן ייִדישע ביכער, רעקאָרדירונגען, טעלעוויזיע און ראַדיאָ־פּראָגראַמען; וווּ עטלעכע פּראָפֿעסאָרן לערנען די שפּראַך אין אוניוועריסיטעט; וווּ יעדעס קינד האָט אַ רעכט צו פֿאָדערן דעם ייִדיש־לימוד און יעדע ביבליאָטעק דאַרף קויפֿן ייִדישע ביכער, אויב אַ בירגער וויל זיי לייענען.
פֿאַר מײַן נסיעה האָב איך געכאַפּט אַ שמועס מיט אַ רבֿ פֿון דער וואַרשעווער קהילה, וואָס איז געבוירן געוואָרן אין שטאָקהאָלם: הרבֿ יצחק ראַפּאָפּאָרט. שפּעטער האָב איך אויך געטראָפֿן הרבֿ ראַפּאָפּאָרטס מאַמע, וואָס וווינט אין שטאָקהאָלם, כאָטש זי שטאַמט פֿון פּוילן. זייער קוק אויף שוועדן איז ווייניקער גן־עדנדיק. למשל, אין שוועדן גייט הרבֿ ראַפּאָפּאָרט נישט אויף דער גאַס טראָגנדיק אַ יאַרמקלע, אַזוי ווי אין וואַרשע. אין שוועדן קען עס זײַן אַ סכּנה. טראָגט ער דאָרט אַ היטל איבער דער יאַרמלקע.
אָבער בשעת מײַן וויזיט האָב איך נישט געזען וואָס מורא צו האָבן, נישט קיין אַנטי־ישׂראל־פּראָטעסטן אָדער קיין גראַפֿיטי, ווי מע זעט אין אַ סך אייראָפּעיִשע שטעט. איך האָב יאָ געזען אַ סך יונגע משפּחות מיט קליינע קינדער, וואָס לויפֿן אַרום פֿראַנק און פֿרײַ אין אַלע עפֿנטלעכע ערטער. דאָס איז אַ סימן פֿון אַ לאַנד, וווּ מענטשן פֿילן זיך זיכער און פֿאַרזיכערט. אָבער, צוריק גערעדט, האָב איך זיך געדרייט בלויז אין צענטער שטאָט, אין די רײַכע, טוריסטישע געגנטן. דאָרט זענען מסתּמא נישט פֿאַראַן קיין סך אַנטיסעמיטן און טעראָריסטן.
אָבער פּלוצלינג האָט מיר פּאַסירט אַן אומגליק. איך בין אַרויס פֿון טראַמווײַ און זיך געכאַפּט, אַז איך האָב נישט מײַן טעלעפֿאָן. איך בין נאָכגעלאָפֿן דעם טראַמווײַ, אָבער — פֿאַרפֿאַלן. ער איז אַוועק מיט מײַן טעלעפֿאָן אָן אַ זײַ געזונט. די איבעריקע טעג פֿון מײַן וויזיט האָב איך פֿאַרבראַכט ווי אַ טוריסט פֿון די 1990ער יאָרן: נישט וויסנדיק וווּ איך פֿאָר און נישט וויסנדיק וואָס איך זע.
פֿון דעסט וועגן, האָב איך געזען, אַז שוועדן איז אַ געבענטשט לאַנד: שיין און ריין און אָן קיין אמתע פּראָבלעמען, אַחוץ אפֿשר דעם קאַלטן ווינטער. שוועדן האָט נישט געהאַט קיין מלחמה זײַט איבער צוויי הונדערט יאָר. קומענדיק פֿון פּוילן, וווּ מלחמות האָבן כּסדר חרובֿ געמאַכט דאָס לאַנד אין משך פֿון דער גאַנצער געשיכטע, איז געווען אינטערעסאַנט צו זען אַן אָרט, וווּ גאָרנישט איז נישט חרובֿ געוואָרן.
די הײַנטיקע שוועדן זענען אָבער גאָר נישט ענלעך צו די אַמאָליקע. הײַנט איז שוועדן אַ לאַנד פֿון ליבעראַליזם, פֿעמיניזם, און טאָלעראַנץ. מיט הונדערטער יאָרן פֿריִער האָבן די שוועדישע אַרמייען געוואָרפֿן אַ פּחד אויף גאַנץ אייראָפּע. אין פּוילן געדענקט מען נאָך די „שוועדישע פֿאַרפֿלייצונג“ פֿון 17טן י״ה, ווען די שוועדישע סאָלדאַטן האָבן פֿאַרוויסט און באַראַבעוועט דאָס לאַנד. אין משך פֿון די מלחמות דעמאָלטס איז אומגעקומען אַ דריטל פֿון דער פּוילישער באַפֿעלקערונג. אין די שוועדישע מוזייען קען מען נאָך הײַנט זען שיינע קונסטווערק און סקולפּטורן, און פֿון די אויפֿשריפֿטן לעבן די חפֿצים דערוויסט מען זיך, אַז דאָס האָבן די שוועדן אין יענע יאָרן געגנבֿעט פֿון די פּוילישע פּאַלאַצן.
סוף־כּל־סוף זענען די שוועדן געוואָרן מיד פֿון די אַלע מלחמות. די געווינערס זענען סײַ ווי געווען נישט די שוועדן און נישט די פּאָליאַקן, נאָר די רוסן. רוסלאַנד האָט פֿאַרכאַפּט די שוועדישע אימפּעריע בײַם באַלטישן ים, אַרײַנגערעכנט פֿינלאַנד. זײַט דעמאָלטס איז שוועדן געוואָרן אַ לאַנד פֿון שלום און ראַציאָנאַליזם.
בשעת דער צווייטער וועלט־מלחמה האָט די שוועדישע רעגירונג געהאָלפֿן צו ראַטעווען טויזנטער ייִדן. אין 1943 האָבן די שוועדן מיטגעאַרבעט מיט די דענער, וואָס זענען געווען אונטער דער דײַטשער אָקופּאַציע, כּדי אַריבערצושמוגלען די דענישע ייִדן קיין שוועדן. דענישע פֿישערס האָבן אין זייערע שיפֿלעך אַריבערגעבראַכט קיין שוועדן איבער 7,000 ייִדן. אין 1944, בעת די דעפּאָרטאַציעס פֿון אונגערישע ייִדן קיין אוישוויץ, האָט די שוועדישע רעגירונג געשיקט דעם דיפּלאָמאַט ראַוּל וואַלענבערג קיין בודאַפּעשט, כּדי צו ראַטעווען וואָס מער ייִדן. וואַלענבערג האָט צעטיילט „שוצפּאַסן“, וואָס האָבן געמאַכט די ייִדן פֿאַר פּאָטענציעלע שוועדישע בירגער. ער האָט באַהויזט עטלעכע טויזנט אונגערישע ייִדן אין געוויסע בנינים, וואָס מע האָט גערופֿן די „שוועדישע הײַזער“. אַזוי זענען איבער פֿיר טויזנט ייִדן געראַטעוועט געוואָרן.
נאָך דער מלחמה זענען טויזנטער ייִדישע פּליטים געקומען קיין שוועדן. אַ סך זענען ווײַטער געפֿאָרן קיין ישׂראל אָדער אַמעריקע, אָבער אַ טייל זענען געבליבן. אַ סך פּליטים זענען געקומען דווקא פֿון פּוילן און דערפֿאַר רעדן די שוועדישע ייִדן — אויב זיי קענען ייִדיש — געוויינלעך פּויליש ייִדיש. איך האָב געהאַלטן אַ לעקציע מיטן טיטל „פּויליש ייִדיש איז דאָס בעסטע ייִדיש“ און דאָס איז אַלעמען געפֿעלן — אַחוץ איין ליטוואַטשקע (הרבֿ ראַפּאָפּאָרטס מאַמע).
איך האָב גערעדט מיט עטלעכע ייִדן פֿונעם „דור פֿון 1968“. אין יענעם יאָר האָט די פּוילישע רעגירונג דורכגעפֿירט אַן אַנטיסעמיטישע קאַמפּאַניע און פֿאַרטריבן די מערסטע ייִדן פֿון לאַנד. איין פֿרוי האָט מיר געזאָגט, אַז זי וויל אַפֿילו נישט באַזוכן פּוילן. זי איז נאָך אַלץ אין כּעס איבער דעם אופֿן, ווי אַזוי די פּאָליאַקן — די פּשוטע מענטשן, נישט די רעגירונג — האָבן זי באַהאַנדלט מיט 60 יאָר צוריק. זיי האָבן אויסגעכאַפּט די געלעגנהייט אויסצודריקן זייער אַנטיסעמיטיזם. איך האָב איר געזאָגט, אַז די הײַנטיקע פּאָליאַקן זענען גאַנץ אַנדערש, אָבער עס איז שווער איבערצורעדן אַן עלטערן מענטשן.
ייִדן זאָגן: אַ גאַסט אויף אַ ווײַל זעט אויף אַ מײַל. אַ באַזוכער זעט זאַכן, וואָס די אײַנוווינערס זעען נישט, ווײַל זיי זענען אַזוי צוגעוווינט צום אָרט, אויך צו זײַנע חסרונות. אָבער אין מײַן פֿאַל איז דאָס ווערטל פֿאַלש, ווײַל איך האָב נישט באַוויזן זיי צו זען.
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An Israeli dissident filmmaker finds tainted love amid the Gaza rubble
Nadav Lapid started writing his Oct. 7 movie in summer 2021 — before the events that shaped it took place. He says it hasn’t changed much, and that it’s not really about Oct. 7.
“It’s the same bitter reflection about the place of the artist,” Lapid told me on a Zoom call, a day after arriving in New York for the American debut of Yes, his withering satire of Israeli complacency.
“In a way, in the first version, you could notice the shadow of a catastrophe, the shadow of a disaster and a society on the edge of the abyss,” he said. “With the second version, this society made another few steps and went and fell down from the hill to the valley of hell”
As the title might suggest, Yes — which is sometimes styled with an exclamation mark — is about a kind of maximalist version of affirmative consent that ends in complicity. It follows Y (Ariel Bronz), a jazz pianist, who with his wife, Yasmin (Efrat Dor), serves as a willing entertainer and sex slave for the Israeli elite. The couple submit to almost anything, no questions asked. But when a Russian oligarch commissions Y to write an “anthem for the victory generation,” with bloodthirsty lyrics about annihilating Gaza, it’s (almost) too big of an ask.
What follows is a kind of Israeli Mephisto, alternating from orgiastic spectacle (fellated baguettes, geysers of cherry tomatoes, drugs) to biblical indictment (Y is pelted with stones from heaven for cravenly taking his hasbara assignment).
The film is well within Lapid’s oeuvre, which has skewered Israeli masculinity (Synonyms) and Israeli restrictions on free expression (Ahed’s Knee, which also featured a protagonist named Y, who contra our present hero is characterized by defiance). But the film has ratcheted up its critique along with its experimentation, seeming to say yes to its every outlandish idea.
Lapid was living in Paris on Oct. 7, 2023. He returned to Tel Aviv a couple of weeks later to see the aftermath with his own eyes, and later to begin filming.
“Almost immediately, when the airplane landed, I was taken by two, I think, contradictory feelings,” Lapid said the first was an “unfamiliar empathy” (he is famously conflicted about his home country) and a sense that the nation was partaking in a “collective shiva.”
At first there was a rare tenderness.
“It didn’t last long,” he said. “It was quickly replaced by what you see in the movie, by the kind of morbid vivacity, this ecstatic, dark party by a nation which, in a way, deeply knows that it’s giving up all its limits.”
Lapid saw his fellow artists throwing their weight behind the war and lending their talents to the government. He started production on Yes while drones were still bombarding Gaza. He filmed the smoke plumes from the border, guerilla style. It was an active military zone and he was only allowed to stay on thanks to the intercession of an interested officer, who peppered them with questions about the cameras. (When crew members learned the film was critical of the war, some walked off set — a career first for Lapid.)
In a film with extravagant, overstimulating set pieces, the sequence that takes place at the border stands out for its stillness.
During a road trip to find inspiration for his chest-thumping anthem, Y’s ex-girlfriend Leah (Naama Preis) explains to him the Hamas crimes she translates for the government on social media. It’s a gutting list of real-life murders and maimings. She interrupts the litany with the dismissive comments she sees daily, a signal of the world’s limited empathy.
Lapid chose to film this sequence simply in a static shot, emphasizing what he calls the “destabilizing power of the accumulation of facts.” Facts, he says, that many who he agrees with politically have difficulty acknowledging over a “childish lack of complexity, in the incapacity of looking at reality as it is.”
He sees the scene as a complement to the film’s main subject: the Israeli blindness to the humanitarian crisis in Gaza.
The director lets the weight of Leah’s words sink in, but doesn’t offer them as an excuse. Even these horrors are commoditized by our opportunistic hero. The next shot shows Y trudging up a hill overlooking Gaza, muttering the Hamas atrocities Leah recited. He’s using them to find the melody for a song that lauds how Israel will “exterminate our enemies.” (The camera then pans to Gaza, and we hear Leah and Y, unbothered, making out.)
The lyrics Y is tasked with working off are from an actual altered version of Haim Gouri’s poem “The Brotherhood” that emerged during the Gaza war. Asked if the song, in its original form from 1949, represented a purer vision of Israel, Lapid offered a kind of yes and.
“On one hand, of course, there’s a huge gap between a genocidal anthem and the song talking about, you know, brotherhood in battlefield,” Lapid said. At the same time, both versions refer in their chorus to a “love sanctified by blood,” what he thinks may be the “most important collective myth in Israel.”
“In the heart of Yes there is also this question whether it’s possible in such a society, in such a place, to love,” Lapid said of Israel, which he deems a failed experiment. “And the answer is ‘no.’ The answer is that at the very end, everything will be stained, will be polluted, will be contaminated.”
With a new war in Iran only a month old, Lapid thinks the film is only growing more relevant, reflecting a society mixing vulgarity and nationalism, communicating only in slogans.
But he’s a more even-handed critic of slogans than some seem to think. He was surprised that most reviews of the film overlook a moment critiquing performative activism in the west. The film isn’t just taking aim at the Israeli institutions and hardliners that have ended up condemning it.
“I haven’t done this movie in order to flatter or to polish the ego, or to give a kind of audiovisual demonstration of the theory of anyone,” he said. “I think the artist, filmmaker shouldn’t and doesn’t belong to any camp. His only real place and true place is in the contradiction.”
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Iran Sees US Peace Plan as ‘One-Sided’ as Trump Presses for Deal
A view of a residential building damaged by a strike, amid the US-Israeli conflict with Iran, in Tehran, Iran, March 23, 2026. Photo: Majid Asgaripour/WANA (West Asia News Agency) via REUTERS
A US proposal for ending nearly four weeks of fighting is “one-sided and unfair,” a senior Iranian official told Reuters on Thursday, while US President Donald Trump said Iran must make a deal or face a continued onslaught.
The Iranian official said the proposal, conveyed to Tehran by Pakistan, “was reviewed in detail on Wednesday night by senior Iranian officials and the representative of Iran‘s Supreme Leader.”
It lacked the minimum requirements for success and served only US and Israeli interests, the official said, while stressing that diplomacy had not ended despite the lack for now of a realistic plan for peace talks.
Trump described the Iranians as “great negotiators” but added that he was not sure he was “willing to make a deal with them to end the war.”
Iran has launched strikes against Israel as well as US bases and civilian sites in the Gulf states. The Iranian regime has also effectively blocked Middle East fuel exports via the Strait of Hormuz since the US and Israel attacked Iran on Feb. 28.
“They now have the chance, that is Iran, to permanently abandon their nuclear ambitions and to join a new path forward,” Trump said during a Cabinet meeting at the White House.
“We’ll see if they want to do it. If they don’t, we’re their worst nightmare. In the meantime, we’ll just keep blowing them away.”
Oil jumped to $105 a barrel on Thursday and stock markets fell on renewed pessimism over ceasefire prospects as global plastics, technology, retail, and tourism struggled with the impact.
STRAIT OF HORMUZ A CRUCIAL ISSUE
Trump suggested on Thursday that Iran let 10 oil tankers transit the Strait of Hormuz as a goodwill gesture in negotiations, including some Pakistan-flagged vessels, elaborating on what he had described as a “present” from Iran.
The president, who is expected to send thousands of troops to the Middle East, driving expectations of a ground invasion, also said taking control of Iran‘s oil was an option but gave no further details.
A note seen by Reuters on Tuesday to the United Nations from Iran said “non-hostile vessels” could transit the strait if they coordinated with Iranian authorities.
A Thai oil tanker has passed through the strait following diplomatic coordination with Iran, and Malaysia said its vessels were also being allowed to transit in a sign that restrictions were loosening for some countries. Iran would be receptive to any request from Spain related to the strait, its embassy in Madrid said, in the first such offer to an EU state.
US Special Envoy Steve Witkoff confirmed that the US had sent a “15-point action list” as a basis for negotiations to end the war.
Pakistan’s foreign minister said “indirect talks” between the US and Iran were taking place through messages relayed by Islamabad, with other states including Turkey and Egypt also supporting mediation efforts.
Any talks, were they to happen, would likely prove very difficult given the positions laid out by both sides.
According to sources and reports, the 15-point proposal includes demands ranging from dismantling Iran‘s nuclear program and curbing its missiles to effectively handing over control of the strait.
Iran has hardened its stance since the war began, demanding guarantees against future military action, compensation for losses, and formal control of the strait, Iranian sources say.
It also told intermediaries that Lebanon must be included in any ceasefire deal, regional sources said.
Trump has not identified who the US is negotiating with in Iran, with many high-ranking officials among the thousands of people killed in the war across the Middle East.
Israel removed Iranian Foreign Minister Abbas Araqchi and Parliamentary Speaker Mohammad Baqer Qalibaf from its hit list after Pakistan urged Washington to press Israel not to target them, a Pakistani source with knowledge of the discussions told Reuters. An Israeli military spokesperson declined to comment.
A Western diplomat said the US had taken a “maximalist” position and it was not clear if Washington was seeking to end the war or to calm markets before a potential ground operation.
WAVES OF MISSILES
On Thursday, Iran launched multiple waves of missiles at Israel, striking Tel Aviv, Haifa and other areas, including a Palestinian town in central Israel.
At least one ballistic missile hit Tel Aviv, according to the military, while others carried cluster munitions that dispersed smaller explosives, damaging homes and cars. Israel’s ambulance service said a man was killed in Nahariya after Hezbollah fired a rocket barrage at the northern city.
In Iran, strikes hit a residential zone in the southern city of Bandar Abbas and a village on the outskirts of the southern city of Shiraz, where two teenage brothers were killed, Iran‘s Tasnim news agency said. A university building in Isfahan was reported to have been hit.
US and Israeli officials said Israel had killed the naval commander of Iran‘s Revolutionary Guards, and that it had many more targets left as it degraded Iranian capabilities.