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How Jewish comedy found religion, from Philip Roth to ‘Broad City’
(JTA) — In the 2020 comedy “Shiva Baby,” a 20-something young woman shows up at a house of Jewish mourners and gently offers her condolences. When she finds her mother in the kitchen, they chat about the funeral and the rugelach before the daughter asks, “Mom, who died?”
While “Shiva Baby” explores themes of sexuality and gender, the comedy almost never comes at the expense of Jewish tradition, which is treated seriously by its millennial writer and director Emma Seligman (born in 1995) even as the shiva-goers collide. It’s far cry from the acerbic way an author raised during the Depression like Philip Roth lampooned a Jewish wedding or a baby boomer like Jerry Seinfeld mocked a bris.
These generational differences are explored in Jenny Caplan’s new book, “Funny, You Don’t Look Funny: Judaism and Humor from the Silent Generation to Millennials.” A religion scholar, Caplan writes about the way North American Jewish comedy has evolved since World War II, with a focus on how humorists treat Judaism as a religion. Her subjects range from writers and filmmakers who came of age shortly after the war (who viewed Judaism as “a joke at best and an actual danger at worst”) to Generation X and millennials, whose Jewish comedy often recognizes “the power of community, the value of family tradition, and the way that religion can serve as a port in an emotional storm.”
“I see great value in zeroing in on the ways in which Jewish humorists have engaged Jewish practices and their own Jewishness,” Caplan writes. “It tells us something (or perhaps it tells us many somethings) about the relationship between Jews and humor that goes deeper than the mere coincidence that a certain humorist was born into a certain family.”
Caplan is the chair in Judaic Studies at the University of Cincinnati. She has a master’s of theological studies degree from Harvard Divinity School and earned a Ph.D. in religion from Syracuse University.
In a conversation last week, we spoke about the Jewishness of Jerry Seinfeld, efforts by young women comics to reclaim the “Jewish American Princess” label, and why she no longer shows Woody Allen movies in her classrooms.
Our conversation was edited for length and clarity
[Note: For the purpose of her book and our conversation, this is how Caplan isolates the generations: the Silent Generation (b. 1925-45), the baby boom (1946-65), Generation X (1966-79) and millennials (1980–95).]
Jewish Telegraphic Agency: Let me ask how you got into this topic.
Jenny Caplan: I grew up in a family where I was just sort of surrounded by this kind of material. My dad is a comedic actor and director who went to [Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey’s] Clown College. My degrees were more broadly in American religion, not Jewish studies, but I was really interested in the combination of American religion and popular culture. When I got to Syracuse and it came time to start thinking about my larger project and what I wanted to do, I proposed a dissertation on Jewish humor.
The key to your book is how Jewish humor reflects the Jewish identity and compulsions of four sequential generations. Let’s start with the Silent Generation, which is sandwiched between the generation whose men were old enough to fight in World War II and the baby boomers who were born just after the war.
The hallmark of the Silent Generation is that they were old enough to be aware of the war, but they were mostly too young to serve. Every time I told people what I was writing about, they would say Woody Allen or Philip Roth, two people of roughly the same generation.
In “Funny, You Don’t Look Funny: Judaism and Humor from the Silent Generation to Millennials,” Jenny Caplan explores how comics treated religion from the end of World War II to the 21st century. (Courtesy)
The Roth story you focus on is “Eli, the Fanatic” from 1959, about an assimilated Jewish suburb that is embarrassed and sort of freaks out when an Orthodox yeshiva, led by a Holocaust survivor, sets up in town.
Roth spent the first 20 to 30 years of his career dodging the claim of being a self-loathing Jew and bad for the Jews. But the actual social critique of “Eli, the Fanatic” is so sharp. It is about how American Jewish comfort comes at the expense of displaced persons from World War II and at the expense of those for whom Judaism is a real thriving, living religious practice.
That’s an example you offer when you write that the Silent Generation “may have found organized religion to be a dangerous force, but they nevertheless wanted to protect and preserve the Jewish people.” I think that would surprise people in regards to Roth, and maybe to some degree Woody Allen.
Yeah, it surprised me. They really did, I think, share that postwar Jewish sense of insecurity about ongoing Jewish continuity, and that there’s still an existential threat to the ongoing existence of Jews.
I hear that and I think of Woody Allen’s characters, atheists who are often on the lookout for antisemitism. But you don’t focus on Allen as the intellectual nebbish of the movies. You look at his satire of Jewish texts, like his very funny “Hassidic Tales, With a Guide to Their Interpretation by the Noted Scholar” from 1970, which appeared in The New Yorker. It’s a parody of Martin Buber’s “Tales of the Hasidim” and sentimental depictions of the shtetl, perhaps like “Fiddler on the Roof.” A reader might think he’s just mocking the tradition, but you think there’s something else going on.
He’s not mocking the tradition as much as he’s mocking a sort of consumerist approach to the tradition. There was this sort of very superficial attachment to Buber’s “Tales of the Hasidim.” Allen’s satire is not a critique of the traditions of Judaism, it’s a critique of the way that people latch onto things like the Kabbalah and these new English translations of Hasidic stories without any real depth of thought or intellect. Intellectual hypocrisy seems to be a common theme in his movies and in his writing. It’s really a critique of organized religion, and it’s a critique of institutions, and it’s a critique of the power of institutions. But it’s not a critique of the concept of religion.
The idea of making fun of the wise men and their gullible followers reminds me of the folk tales of Chelm, which feature rabbis and other Jewish leaders who use Jewish logic to come to illogical conclusions.
Yes.
You write that the baby boomers are sort of a transition between the Silent Generation and a later generation: They were the teenagers of the counterculture, and warned about the dangers of empty religion, but also came to consider religion and tradition as valuable. But before you get there, you have a 1977 “Saturday Night Live” skit in which a bris is performed in the back seat of a luxury car, and the rabbi who performs it is portrayed as what you call an absolute sellout.
Exactly. You know: Institutional religion is empty and it’s hollow, it’s dangerous and it’s seductive.
Jerry Seinfeld, born in 1954, is seen as an icon of Jewish humor, but to me is an example of someone who never depicts religion as a positive thing. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)
“Seinfeld” is more a show about New York than it is necessarily a show about anything Jewish. The New York of Seinfeld is very similar to the New York of Woody Allen, peopled almost entirely by white, middle-class, attractive folks. It’s a sort of Upper West Side myopia.
But there’s the bris episode, aired in 1993, and written by Larry Charles. Unless you are really interested in the medium, you may not know much about Larry Charles, because he stays behind the camera. But he also goes on to do things like direct Bill Maher’s anti-religion documentary “Religulous,” and there’s a real strong case for him as having very negative feelings about organized religion which feels like a holdover from the Silent Generation. And so in that episode you have Kramer as the Larry Charles stand-in, just opining about the barbaric nature of the circumcision and trying to save this poor baby from being mutilated.
The few references to actual Judaism in “Seinfeld” are squirmy. I am thinking of the 1995 episode in which a buffoon of a rabbi blurts out Elaine’s secrets on a TV show. That was written by Larry David, another boomer, whose follow-up series, “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” is similarly known for its irreverence toward Judaism. But you say David can also surprise you with a kind of empathy for religion.
For the most part, he’s classic, old school, anti-organized religion. There’s the Palestinian Chicken episode where the Jews are rabidly protesting the existence of a Palestinian-run chicken restaurant near a Jewish deli, and where his friend Funkhouser won’t play golf on Shabbos until Larry gets permission by bribing the rabbi with the Palestinian chicken. There, rabbis are ridiculous and can be bought and religion is hollow and this is all terrible.
But then there’s this bat mitzvah montage where for one moment in the entire run of this show, Larry seems happy and in a healthy relationship and fulfilled and enjoying life.
That’s where he falls in love with Loretta Black during a bat mitzvah and imagines a happy future with her.
It’s so startling: It is the most human we ever see Larry over the run of the show, and I believe that was the season finale for the 2007 season. It was much more in line with what we’ve been seeing from a lot of younger comedians at that point, which was religion as an anchor in a good way — not to pull you down but to keep you grounded.
So for Generation X, as you write, Judaism serves “real, emotional, or psychological purpose for the practitioners.”
I wouldn’t actually call it respect but religion is an idea that’s not just something to be mocked and relegated to the dustbin. I’m not saying that Generation X is necessarily more religious, but they see real power and value in tradition and in certain kinds of family experiences. So, a huge amount of the humor can still come at the expense of your Jewish mother or your Jewish grandmother, but the family can also be the thing that is keeping you grounded, and frequently through some sort of religious ritual.
Who exemplifies that?
My favorite example is the 2009 Jonathan Tropper novel, “This Is Where I Leave You.” I’m so disappointed that the film adaptation of that sucked a lot of the Jewish identity out of the story, so let’s stick with the novel. In that book, where a family gathers for their father’s shiva, the characters are horrible people in a dysfunctional family writ large. They lie to each other. They backstab each other. But in scene where the protagonist Judd describes standing up on the bimah [in synagogue] to say Kaddish [the Mourner’s Prayer] after the death of his father, and the way he talks about this emotional catharsis that comes from saying the words and hearing the congregation say the words — it’s a startling moment of clarity in a book where these characters are otherwise just truly reprehensible.
Adam Sandler was born in 1966, the first year of Generation X, and his “Chanukah Song” seems like such a touchstone for his generation and the ones that follow. It’s not about religious Judaism, but in listing Jewish celebrities, it’s a statement of ethnic pride that Roth or Woody Allen couldn’t imagine.
It’s the reclamation of Jewish identity as something great and cool and fun and hip and wonderful and absolutely not to be ashamed of.
From left, Ilana Glazer, Abbi Jacobson and Seth Green in an episode of “Broad City” parodying Birthright Israel. (Screenshot from Comedy Central)
Which brings us to “Broad City,” which aired between 2014 and 2019. It’s about two 20-something Jewish women in New York who, in the case of Ilana Glazer’s character, anyway, are almost giddy about being Jewish and embrace it just as they embrace their sexuality: as just liberating. Ilana even upends the Jewish mother cliche by loving her mother to death.
That’s the episode with Ilana at her grandmother’s shiva, which also has the B plot where Ilana and her mother are shopping for underground illegal handbags. They spend most of the episode snarking at each other and fighting with each other and her mother’s a nag and Ilana is a bumbling idiot. But at the moment that the cops show up, and try to nab them for having all of these illegal knockoff handbags, the two of them are a team. They are an absolute unit of destructive force against these hapless police officers.
I think all of your examples of younger comics are women, who have always had fraught relationships with Jewish humor, both as practitioners and as the target of jokes. You write about “The JAP Battle” rap from “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend,” which both leans into the stereotype of the Jewish-American Princess — spoiled, acquisitive, “hard as nails” — and tries to reclaim it without the misogyny.
Rachel Bloom’s character Rebecca in “Girlfriend” self-identifies as a JAP, but she doesn’t actually fit the category. It’s her mother, Naomi, who truly is the Philip Roth, “Marjorie Morningstar,” Herman Wouk model of a JAP. So Bloom is kind of using the term, but you can’t repurpose the term when the original is still there.
So as an alternative, I offer up a new term: the Modern Ashkenazi American Woman. It’s very New York, it’s very East Coast, it’s very particular to a type of upbringing and community that in the 1950s and ’60s would have been almost exclusively Conservative Jews, and then may have become a bit more Reform as we’ve gotten into the ’90s and 2000s. They went to the JCC. They probably went to Jewish summer camp.
But even that doesn’t even really speak to the American sense of what Jewish is anymore, because American Jews have become increasingly racially and culturally diverse.
There is also something that’s happening historically with Generation X, and that’s the distance from the two major Jewish events of the 20th century, which is the Holocaust and the creation of Israel.
The Silent Generation and baby boomers still had a lingering sense of existential dread — the sense that we’re not so far removed from an attempted total annihilation of Jews. Gen X and millennials are so far removed from the Holocaust that they don’t feel that same fear.
But the real battleground we’re seeing in contemporary American Judaism is about the relationship to Israel. For baby boomers and even for some older members of Gen X, there’s still a sense that you can criticize Israel, but at the end of the day, it’s your duty to ultimately support Israel’s right to exist. And I think millennials and Zoomers [Gen Z] are much more comfortable with the idea of Israel being illegitimate.
Have you seen that in comedy?
I certainly think you can see the leading edge of that in some millennial stuff. The “Jews on a Plane” episode of “Broad City” is an absolute excoriation of Birthright Israel, and does not seem particularly interested in softening its punches about the whole idea of Jews going to Israel. I think we can see a trend in that direction, where younger American Jewish comedians do not see that as punching down.
You’re teaching a class on Jewish humor. What do your undergraduates find funny? Now that Woody Allen is better known for having married his adoptive daughter and for the molestation allegations brought by another adoptive daughter, do they look at his classic films and ask, “Why are you teaching us this guy?”
For the first time I’m not including Woody Allen. I had shown “Crimes and Misdemeanors” for years because I think it’s his most theological film. I think it’s a great film. And then a couple years ago, I backed off, because some students were responding that it was hard to look at him with all the baggage. He’s still coming up in conversation because you can’t really talk about the people who came after him without talking about him, but for the first time I’m not having them actually watch or read any of his stuff.
They have found things funny that I didn’t expect them to, and they have not found things funny that I would have thought they would. They laughed their way through “Yidl mitn fidl,” the 1936 Yiddish musical starring Molly Picon. I also thought they’d enjoy the Marx Brothers’ “Duck Soup” and they did not laugh once. Some of that is the fact that Groucho’s delivery is just so fast.
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The post How Jewish comedy found religion, from Philip Roth to ‘Broad City’ appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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How the New Palestinian Authority ‘Constitution’ Could Lead to Endless War
French President Emmanuel Macron welcomes Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas at the Elysee Palace in Paris, France, Nov. 11, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Benoit Tessier
When then-Palestinian Authority (PA) leader Yasser Arafat walked away from Israeli peace deals in 2000 and 2001, his main pretext was reportedly a refusal to compromise over the Palestinian demand for a so-called “right of return” to pre-state Israel for Palestinian refugees of 1948 and their descendants.
In 2004, the UK newspaper Al-Quds Al-Arabi published an account of an associate of Arafat that confirmed this:
I admit that I was very close to the Palestinian president, Yasser Arafat, but the period when I was close to him was at the height of his lean years, particularly the period of the first Gulf War and after it … President Arafat was not willing to sign a permanent agreement with the Hebrew state, because he knew full well that that agreement would put him among the traitors in the annals of history, as it [the agreement] would be at the expense of conceding the right of return and most of the sovereignty over East Jerusalem. [emphasis added]
[Al-Quds Al-Arabi newspaper (UK), Nov. 19, 2004]
This was corroborated by a White House insider as well:
Professor Alan Deshowitz: I can tell you that President Clinton told me directly and personally that what caused the failure of the Camp David-Taba accords was the refusal of the Palestinians and Arafat to give up the right of return. That was the sticking point. It wasn’t Jerusalem. It wasn’t borders. It was the right of return.
[Debate, Harvard’s Kennedy School of Government, Nov. 29, 2005]
As Palestinian Media Watch has documented, the PA’s leaders endlessly cite UN General Assembly Resolution 194 as though it were some kind of instrument of “non-negotiable rights” under “International law”:
Mahmoud Al-Habbash: “It is the right of Palestinian refugees, according to Resolution 194 published by the UN in 1948, to return to the villages and cities from which they were expelled. This is an authentic and non-negotiable right.
The right of return and compensation is an authentic right of the Palestinian refugees. We say that the solution to this issue will be implemented based on Resolution 194 published by the UN. There may be agreements here and there, but the basis for solving this problem is Resolution 194, which concerns the return of refugees and compensating the refugees for the suffering and leaving their towns, cities, and villages, from which they were forcibly and violently expelled in 1948 during the Palestinian Nakba.” [emphasis added]
[Mahmoud Abbas’ Advisor on Religious Affairs and Islamic Relations Mahmoud Al-Habbash, YouTube channel, Sept. 23, 2025]
However, there is no “right of return,” which is not a right at all. Palestinians distort Resolution 194’s interpretation and mask their intent behind their demand for it — which is to demographically erase the Jewish majority in Israel in the PA’s vision of a “two-state” outcome. Moreover, like all UNGA resolutions, Resolution 194 was non-binding.
Currently, the Palestinians are in the process of drafting a “constitution” that aims to tie the hands of future Palestinian leaders who might make peace with Israel in a variety of ways, but specifically by making the right of return part of Palestinian law and thus make any concession on the “refugee” issue unconstitutional.
The PLO Department of Refugee Affairs, in cooperation with the Center for Refugee Policy Research, held a dialogue meeting under the title “Draft Interim Constitution of the State of Palestine for 2026: Constitutional Approaches and Strengthening Refugee Rights in Light of the Current Challenges.” The meeting discussed the status of the refugee issue and the right of return in the draft interim constitution.
The meeting was attended by PLO Executive Committee members Ahmad Abu Houli, Ahmed Majdalani, and Bassam Al-Salehi. Also present were representative of the Constitution Drafting Committee Ammar Dwaik, secretary of the Constitution Committee Mounir Salameh, and Secretary-General of the [PA] Parliament (Legislative Council) Ahmed Abu Hashish.
The participants noted that the PLO, as the sole legitimate representative of the Palestinian people, holds the original and sole authority in handling the refugee issue, and that this issue and the right of return are at the core of the Palestinian cause. They also emphasized that the right of return is a non-derogable and inalienable ‘supra-constitutional right.’” [emphasis added]
[Official PA daily Al-Hayat Al-Jadida, March 27, 2026]
“Non-derogable,“ you could say, is not a household word. It is, however, terminology lifted from the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR). It describes a fundamental human right that cannot be suspended, restricted, or taken away by a government under any circumstances — even during times of war, public disaster, or a state of emergency.
This is far from the only problematic aspect of the emerging “Palestinian constitution” — an attempt to graft the Palestinian war against Israel’s existence into the core identity of any potential future Palestinian state.
It’s but one more compelling argument why a PA-Palestinian state would be a disaster for the world. It would not bring peace, but guarantee endless war.
The author is a contributor to Palestinian Media Watch, where a version of this article first appeared.
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The BBC Tried to Blame Israel — But Exposed Hezbollah Instead
People walk past a billboard portraying the late Hamas leader Yahya Sinwar at the site of a rally held by protesters, mainly Houthi supporters, to show support to Lebanon’s Hezbollah and Palestinians in the Gaza Strip, in Sanaa, Yemen, Oct. 18, 2024. Photo: REUTERS/Khaled Abdullah
It is well established that Hezbollah has not only turned southern Lebanon into a base for terrorism targeting Israel, but has also embedded itself deep within Beirut’s civilian suburbs.
Yet when the BBC reports from those same areas, it appears determined to obscure that reality.
That may not be surprising. As HonestReporting previously documented, Hezbollah tightly controls access and information available to foreign journalists. What reporters see — and therefore what international audiences are shown — is often filtered through Hezbollah’s interests.
When a Sky News crew reported from Lebanon earlier this year, journalists openly acknowledged the restrictions imposed on them. Hezbollah limited where they could go and what they could film following Israeli airstrikes, likely to conceal evidence of terrorist activity.
So when BBC reporters arrive in Lebanon two months later and somehow fail to find evidence of Hezbollah’s presence, it is hardly coincidental.
The “investigation” — titled, “BBC traces how 10 minutes of Israeli bombing brought devastation to Lebanon” — attempts to portray Israel as deliberately targeting Lebanese civilians.
But the report itself repeatedly undermines that narrative.
The very case study the BBC highlights gives the game away.
In Beirut’s Hay el Sellom suburb, a BBC journalist interviews Mohammed, whose son Abbas was killed in an Israeli airstrike on an apartment building in April 2026.
Mohammed claims that had he known Hezbollah operatives were nearby, he would have left. But that admission directly undermines the BBC’s broader framing.
It reinforces the reality that Israel’s operations are linked to Hezbollah’s presence, not random or indiscriminate attacks against civilians.
Another interviewee claims Israel is bombing Lebanon in an attempt to “take over” the country.
Yet the report’s own details point to something else entirely: a campaign directed at Hezbollah infrastructure and operatives in an effort to restore security along Israel’s northern border.
According to the IDF, the April 8 strikes that reportedly killed Abbas also targeted more than 250 Hezbollah terrorists.
Ironically, while touring the suburb, the BBC journalist also filmed martyr posters of Ali Mohammed Ghulam Dahini, reportedly killed in the same strikes — corroborating Israeli media reports identifying him as a Hezbollah operative.
Yet the BBC still avoids acknowledging the obvious implication: these strikes were targeting Hezbollah personnel embedded within civilian areas.
Civilian deaths in war are tragic. But tragedy alone does not determine intent.
Under the laws of armed conflict, counterterrorism operations require assessing proportionality — weighing anticipated military advantage against potential civilian harm. In each example highlighted by the BBC, evidence of Hezbollah’s presence at the strike locations is difficult to ignore.
The report itself notes that Mohammed expressed support for Hezbollah in Arabic-language interviews, praising the group for “defending Lebanon.” But Lebanon would not require “defending” from repeated wars had Hezbollah not transformed civilian neighborhoods into military infrastructure.
The BBC acknowledges that Mohammed gave pro-Hezbollah views when speaking to local media. Yet Mohammed presents himself differently to international English-speaking audiences. That discrepancy raises an obvious question: why?
The answer may lie even closer to home.
Investigative journalist David Collier revealed that Mohammed’s son, Abbas Khair al-Din, was himself affiliated with Hezbollah, citing martyr posters and Hezbollah imagery at his grave.
Had the BBC acknowledged these Hezbollah ties, its central framing — that Israel was recklessly targeting civilians — would have become far more difficult to sustain.
This is not the first time the BBC has minimized or erased Hezbollah’s presence in Lebanon.
By omitting Hezbollah’s systematic use of civilian infrastructure, the outlet constructs a narrative in which responsibility falls almost exclusively on Israel while Hezbollah’s role fades into the background.
Most remarkably, despite the evidence presented throughout the report, the BBC still repeats Hezbollah’s denial that it embeds itself among civilians.
The contradiction is striking: the BBC’s own reporting repeatedly points to Hezbollah activity within civilian areas, yet the outlet still amplifies Hezbollah’s denials with minimal scrutiny.
Not all Lebanese civilians support Hezbollah. But the BBC’s inability — or unwillingness — to feature meaningful Lebanese criticism of the terrorist organization reveals how selective the report truly is.
Hezbollah has effectively held Lebanon hostage, exploiting civilians while dragging the country into repeated cycles of conflict.
There is genuine dissent within Lebanon. Many Lebanese are exhausted by Hezbollah’s dominance and want a future free from perpetual war. Yet those voices are almost entirely absent from the BBC’s report.
The BBC intended its report to portray Israel as conducting a campaign against Lebanese civilians.
Instead, it inadvertently documented something else entirely: Hezbollah’s deep entrenchment within civilian infrastructure.
The report repeatedly presents evidence of Hezbollah activity, Hezbollah support, and Hezbollah-linked individuals in the very locations Israel targeted — while simultaneously attempting to deny or downplay the implications.
When media outlets obscure Hezbollah’s use of civilian areas, they do more than distort the story. They sanitize the conditions Hezbollah itself created. And in this case, the BBC’s own reporting ultimately undermines the narrative it set out to build.
The author is a contributor to HonestReporting, a Jerusalem-based media watchdog with a focus on antisemitism and anti-Israel bias — where a version of this article first appeared.
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When it comes to Israel/Palestine, everyone is sure that everyone else is a bigot
Welcome to the Great Hardening, in which Zionists and Anti-Zionists have each decided that the other side is made up of Nazis.
Literally.
For many on the Hard Left, all Zionists are Genociders. Doesn’t matter if you’re in Standing Together or Smol Emuni — Zionism is settler colonialism and entails genocide. And on both the Hard Right and what I have come to call the Hard Center, Anti-Zionists are Antisemites. Doesn’t matter if you’re Jewish, or even a rabbi — all anti-Zionism, and even strong criticism of Israel, is antisemitism and thus bigotry.
As is typical of this decade of purity politics, each side embodies their rigidity by excluding the impure from the camp, as Leviticus 13:46 commands. On the Hard Left, some of my own progressive communities now explicitly ban “Zionists” (as they understand the term) from participation — at one event, a community meeting was halted because one person identified themselves as Israeli. Israeli DJs, including some who are vocally critical of Netanyahu and others who have “renounced their Israeliness,” have been banned at venues in London, Belgium and New York. Radical inclusion does not include “genociders.”
The Hard Center is equally uncompromising, defining its political opponents (often including liberal Zionists) as bigots who must be defeated, deplatformed and delegitimized. Anti-Zionist Jews aren’t even Jews, they say, and the term “genocide” is a blood libel. I have seen this firsthand as well; since daring to consider whether the term might apply to Gaza, I have not been invited as a scholar in residence or keynote speaker by a single mainstream Jewish organization. Meanwhile, leading institutions of the New York Jewish community now platform centrist or right-wing speakers exclusively, including at religious events happening next week.
On the Left, Right and Center, I have seen artists, academics, writers and musicians de-platformed for not condemning Israel, not condemning Hamas, mentioning Oct. 7, not mentioning Oct. 7, or issuing one’s condemnations without invoking the appropriate shibboleths. And, like the Levitical tzaraat, wrong views are contagious. If you fail to condemn someone who fails to condemn Israel, or Hamas, or antisemitism, or the occupation, then you are condemned.
As Shaul Magid has recently written, the limits of pluralism seem to have been redefined — and tightened. American Jews can accommodate disagreement on theology, halachic observance, intermarriage, LGBTQ inclusion and American politics — but not Israel. Magid himself was recently informed by a synagogue that “no one who is not a Zionist is permitted to speak from the pulpit.” (He identifies as a post-Zionist.) Meanwhile, students who privately protested the choice of Israeli President Isaac Herzog to speak at the JTS graduation had their jobs and livelihoods threatened as a result.
I know that there are many of us who feel caught between the Hard Left and Hard Center (and aren’t engaged with the Hard Right). Present company included, we are exhausted by all the shouting and shadow-banning. Is there nothing we can do about this? Is it just the new normal?
I want to make a case for a softening of the Hard Places — but I admit to some pessimism, because doing so may require a rethinking of what political arguments are really about. And the prescription I offer is thus, well, a little “soft.”
By which I mean: It addresses the real sources of all this hardening, which are emotional, and even spiritual. I mean a softening of the hard walls — built out of certainty, rage, and trauma — that demarcate the boundaries of pure and impure.
I don’t mean resolving our disagreements or pretending they don’t matter. They do matter. I also don’t mean centrism; writing this article, I took one of those online political quizzes and on a scale of 100, with 100 being the most conservative, I scored 15 on economic issues and 10 on social issues. That’s not the center.
What I mean is that our responses to these disagreements are not a matter of political ideology, but of more primal, instinctual drives. Consider: When someone says something you find strongly objectionable, how do you feel, physically? Often the response is physical disgust — like our Israelite ancestors, we want to put the defilement outside the camp. This is not an accident: Neuroscientists tell us that moral disgust activates the same parts of the brain as physical disgust. Which makes sense evolutionarily — it’s safest to keep the contaminant far away — but which affects how we tolerate dissent and disagreement in our midst. Often, we are repulsed by it.
Or consider this: Take a moment to reflect on how you feel — psychologically, tribally, morally, physically — about (take your pick) Israel or Palestine. Speaking for myself, I grew up loving Israel. Even before I visited it (in 1987, on a USY teen trip), I understood that it was the only place where I could feel fully at home. My group was in the majority. I could eat in all the restaurants. And I hated anyone who hated it. I had no space, intellectually or emotionally, for their narrative of 1948. And I still, to this day, have a love for the land and culture of Israel, where I lived for three years.
Is it not obvious that, when we love a person or place or country, we might be biased toward it?
Or maybe you’re on the other side of the emotional-political spectrum. Maybe you are in communities or close relationships with Muslims, Arabs, or others who have family directly impacted by Israel’s actions in Gaza, the West Bank, Lebanon, or Iran. Maybe you have seen videos or movies of atrocities in those places — of innocent children dead or maimed, of entire cities flattened by a supposedly defensive war. So of course you have emotional as well as political responses; you wouldn’t be human if you didn’t.
No wonder the Left and Center are putting up walls. They are in pain. And, as the saying goes, hurt people hurt people.
This is why nationalists never want to see the suffering on the other side. The cognitive and emotional dissonance is unbearable. The people you love have done horrible things. The enemy is not entirely evil; in fact there are many innocent people who have suffered. Their blood, too, cries out from the ground.
Now can you reread the preceding paragraph from the other ‘side’? Maybe the real sides aren’t Israel and Palestine, but Coexistence and Violence.
If these last few paragraphs sound a little ‘soft’, that is the point. Paraphrasing Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., hardness cannot drive out hardness. Only softness can do that: coming to see our own pain, sharing vulnerability and uncertainty, and understanding that questions of Palestine and Israel are as emotional as they are political, for all sides of the debate, including the center and right.
I am not naïve here, which is why I am pessimistic. I know, obviously, that the Hard Left, Hard Right, and Hard Center are composed precisely the people least interested in processing our grief or leading with vulnerability. But that doesn’t mean their trauma isn’t there. They’re just enacting it unconsciously rather than consciously.
They may seem like the strong ones, but they are not strong enough to face their own pain.
But doing this kind of inner work is not impossible; I have seen it work in my own life. And then seeing multiple narratives, cultivating intellectual humility, and recognizing that, in fact, there are coherent worldviews on all sides — all that becomes the easy part. When it comes to Israel/Palestine, I have Socialist and Jewish Voice for Peace friends whom I regularly consult for their takes, and I have Security Hawk and Soft Center (by which I mean: sad that coexistence seems impossible, but not hardened or nationalist) friends with whom I do the same. It works because we have been friends for a long time, and when we have argued intensely in the past, there’s been time to let the anger cool. We are invested in one another as people, not as bearers of positions. And when I see myself getting triggered, I step back from the brink.
Maybe we need a change of Jewish metaphor, away from Leviticus and its lepers, and toward the Talmudic sages and their modeling of constructive disagreement. Sincere debate, they said, is l’shem shamayim — for the sake of heaven. And when the disagreement cannot be resolved, elu v’elu divrei Elohim Chayim; both views are the words of the living God. The sage Rabbi Meir even continued to learn from Elisha Ben Avuyah after he committed apostasy.
These rabbis were not softies; they resisted imperialism, created a new form of religious life, and probably saved the Jewish people. Many of them were martyred. And yet they were ‘soft’ in the best ways: They were emotionally, spiritually and intellectually permeable, and, though still limited by their culture in many ways (sexism, for example), they were able to live in community even while strongly disagreeing with one another.
Can we?
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