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Israel has been an LGBTQ haven in the Middle East. Its new government could change that.
(JTA) — The minister holding the country’s purse strings calls himself a “proud homophobe.” Another minister says Pride parades are “vulgar,” while a deputy minister who wants to cancel them was just given power over some aspects of what schoolchildren are taught. And then there are the lawmakers who want doctors to be able to decline medical care to LGBTQ people.
These are all members of the new Israeli government helmed by Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, and their extreme anti-LGBTQ sentiment has unnerved LGBTQ Israelis and their allies at home and overseas.
The politicians’ positions are not new, but their positions of power and leverage within the government are. Plus, the new government’s push toward a judicial overhaul that would give lawmakers the right to overrule the Supreme Court adds vulnerability to legal precedents that have protected LGBTQ Israelis.
“The majority of the gay community in Israel is feeling very unsafe,” said Hila Peer, the chairwoman of Aguda-The Association for LGBTQ Equality in Israel. “You have at least an intention to legislate laws that are dire for the gay community.”
Could Israel cease to be a haven for LGBTQ people in a hostile region? Netanyahu and others in his coalition say they are committed to protecting gay rights, but the volatile political situation means the future is hard to predict. Here’s what you need to know.
Where did LGBTQ Israelis stand before this government?
Israel is known as a gay haven in the Middle East, and Tel Aviv is frequently cited as one of the most gay-friendly cities in the world, with a Pride parade that draws hundreds of thousands of revelers from Israel and abroad. But the full picture is more complicated.
Same-sex marriage is not legal in Israel. Still, like other couples not recognized by the country’s religious establishment, LGBTQ couples can access the legal benefits of marriage.
Israel’s religious institutions control marriage for each of its constituent faiths, and the Jewish rabbinate hews to Orthodoxy. That means a slew of couples cannot marry in the country: interfaith couples; marriages between Jews in which one of the couple is not recognized as Jewish under Orthodox precepts; marriages between a man and a woman who was not divorced under religious law; marriages between a “Cohen,” or descendant of a Jewish high priest, and a divorced woman; and LGBTQ couples.
Under Israeli law, those relationships are nonetheless recognized as legal for the purposes of benefits, inheritance, parenting, adoption and other rights, if the couple is wed abroad, or in certain cases if the couple can simply prove a longstanding common-law relationship.
Israel’s Supreme Court has been essential to extending marriage rights to LGBTQ couples. In 2006, the court ruled that the country must recognize same-sex marriages performed abroad. In 2021, the court extended the right to same-sex couples to have children via surrogates, and last year, a lower court recognized marriages carried out remotely, which effectively allows same-sex marriages in which the couple, if not the officiant, is in Israel.
Other protections have come through the Knesset, Israel’s parliament, though less so in recent years. A rarely enforced ban on homosexual relations was taken off the books in 1988, and the army began allowing openly gay service members in 1993 — the same year the U.S. armed forces adopted a policy permitting gay service members only if they remained closeted.
In 1992, the Knesset passed a law banning employment discrimination based on sexual orientation, with some religious exceptions. In 1997, the Knesset extended to the LGBTQ community protections from defamatory language that are available to other communities. And in 2000, it passed the Prohibition of Discrimination in Products, Services and Entry into Places of Entertainment and Public Places Law, which forbids the denial of services to any class of people, including based on sexual orientation.
Despite the legal protections, LGBTQ Israelis have long faced opposition from within the haredi Orthodox sector, where rabbis inveigh against homosexuality and politicians have vowed to run the country according to Orthodox interpretations of Jewish law. Jerusalem’s smaller Pride parade has frequently attracted extremist protesters from the sector, some of them violent. One teenage participant was murdered in 2015.
What changes do members of the current government want to make?
Politicians from the religious parties in the new government have floated multiple changes to laws and regulations that would diminish the status of LGBTQ Israelis.
The Religious Zionist Party, one of three in the Religious Zionist Bloc, is led by Bezalel Smotrich, who has called himself a “proud homophobe” and has envisioned Israel as a theocracy. At least two members of the bloc, including Orit Strok, say a proposed law would allow service providers, including physicians, to decline treatment to LGBTQ people.
Another party in the bloc, Noam, is led by Avi Maoz, who wants to cancel Pride parades. He also advocates for conversion therapy, a practice shown to increase the risk of suicide for LGBTQ people who experience it. Maoz, who was given a new role in charge of “Jewish identity,” was confirmed on Sunday to a Ministry of Education position with authority over external programming in schools.
Even the minister responsible for maintaining relations with Diaspora Jews has expressed anti-LGBTQ sentiment. Amichai Chikli favors recognition of same-sex relationships but derides LGBTQ “pride,” says he finds the annual pride parade to be “vulgar” and believes that sexual expression should be “subdued.” He has also said that the LGBTQ rainbow flag is an antisemitic symbol.
For now, these proposals and ideas exist in the realm of rhetoric. But the deal between Netanyahu’s party, Likud, and United Torah Judaism, the haredi Orthodox bloc, spells out that the 2000 prohibition-of-discrimination law will be amended “in a way that will prevent any harm to a private business that withholds services or products based on religious belief, as long as the product or service is not unique and a similar product or service is available nearby geographically and for a similar price.”
Both opponents and defenders of the change say it echoes recent U.S. Supreme Court decisions that have allowed evangelical Christian wedding retailers to decline services to same-sex couples.
That’s a license to discriminate, said Peer. “The Discrimination Act amendment will actually state that any person in Israel can be discriminated against based on ‘belief’ and that is simply a horrible situation for us to be in,” she said.
Is Netanyahu on board with anti-LGBTQ proposals?
Not directly. Netanyahu has never made anti-LGBTQ sentiment core to his governance, and he has been critical of anti-LGBTQ expressions by his coalition partners this month. He called the idea of letting medical providers deny care to LGBTQ patients “unacceptable” and has appointed a close ally who is gay, Amir Ohana, as Knesset speaker. (Some haredi lawmakers refused to look at Ohana, and a leading rabbi affiliated with Shas, one of the coalition partners, said Ohana was infected with a “disease.”) Netanyahu also opposed Maoz’s call to cancel the Jerusalem Pride parade.
Netanyahu has pointed to LGBTQ rights when insisting — as he has done frequently — that he is in control of his government, despite the prominent positions awarded to its extremist members.
“This Israel is not going to be governed by Talmudic law,” he told opinion journalist Bari Weiss. “We’re not going to ban LGBT forums. As you know, my view on that is sharply different, to put it mildly. We’re going to remain a country of laws. I govern through the principles that I believe in.”
But Netanyahu’s concessions to the far-right parties made to smooth his path back into power have his critics concerned that he may not keep his word on LGBTQ rights. The coalition agreement about the discrimination law, while not binding, indicates that he is willing to compromise.
Peer said Netanyahu’s signed pledge to the Religious Zionist bloc held more water with her than his protestations afterward.
“Why give the man the keys if you’re not going to let him drive the car?” she said.
Furthermore, even if Netanyahu prevents anti-LGBTQ laws from reaching the books, he backs proposed changes to the judiciary that would make vulnerable protections obtained through the courts.
How does the controversial judiciary overhaul proposal factor in?
The main action taken so far by Netanyahu’s new government relates to the country’s judiciary. His new justice minister, Yariv Levin, has proposed letting a Knesset majority of 61 members to override the Supreme Court if the Court strikes down a law. Levin has also proposed letting the Knesset majority appoint the majority on the panel responsible for appointing judges.
Those proposals, which are moving through the legislative process with Netanyahu’s support, would “in the long run totally and almost surely infringe on the rights” of LGBTQ Israelis, according to Amir Fuchs, a senior researcher at the nonpartisan Israel Democracy Institute’s Center for Democratic Values and Institutions.
“The coalition will have total power to appoint the judges which means they will be a lot more conservative, more religious,” Fuchs said. “If the Supreme Court will have been captured by a coalition which is very religious, very nationalist, very conservative, then we cannot rely anymore on the Supreme Court to further progress the rights” for LGBTQ people, or for others at risk of marginalization. He said the changes would likely result in a majority of right-wing judges within four to six years.
The proposals have drawn criticism from nonpartisan watchdogs, international legal experts and Israel’s left, which views the judiciary as an essential bulwark against theocratic governance. An estimated 100,000 people protested against the proposals in Tel Aviv on Saturday night, and more protests are planned.
But a majority of Israelis appear to support allowing the Knesset to override Supreme Court rulings, according to a poll released Monday by the Israel Democracy Institute.
Do anti-LGBTQ measures have public support in Israel?
No. Polls show the majority of Israelis back equal treatment for the LGBTQ community.
“We have an extreme right-wing group that is threatening to make changes that the vast majority of the public does not stand behind,” Peer said.
Fuchs said a backlash would likely inhibit, at least in the short term, the passage of any proposed laws targeting the LGBTQ community.
“There is a strong support of LGBTQ rights, so it won’t be easy to pass laws that bluntly and openly infringe upon LGBTQ rights,” he said.
Some backlash has already occurred. Strok’s speculation that doctors could deny service to LGBTQ people immediately spurred a social media video montage of staff for 10 medical service providers in Israel in which they repeated, “We treat everyone!” One of the speakers was a Hasidic male urgent care nurse, in a sign that even Orthodox sectors might not support extreme actions.
But Smotrich says he believes his party’s supporters are not bothered by anti-LGBTQ efforts.
“A Sephardi or a traditional Jew, do you think he cares about gays? He couldn’t care less. He says, ‘Do you think I care that you [Smotrich] are against them?’” Smotrich said in a private conversation with a businessman that the public broadcaster Kan published on Monday. (The coalition is also threatening to defund Kan.) In the comments, Smotrich outlined some limits on his activism. “I’m a fascist homophobe, but I’m a man of my word,” he said. “I won’t stone gays.”
What are LGBTQ activists in Israel and the Diaspora saying and doing?
LGBTQ Israelis are playing a crucial role in the mounting anti-government protests, activating a network that put some 100,000 people in the streets in 2018 after Netanyahu voted against a bill to allow gay couples to use surrogacy.
And even without any concrete changes taking place yet, LGBTQ activists say talk is already creating a hostile environment.
Ethan Felson, the CEO of A Wider Bridge, a U.S. organization that advocates for Israel’s LGBTQ community — and stands up for Israel within the LGBTQ community — likened the language in the coalition agreements to U.S. party platforms, which do not necessarily influence policy but set a tone nonetheless.
“It can foreshadow, or it could be words on a page,” Felson said. “But those words should never be on any page. I heard from the mom of [an Israeli] trans kid this morning just how fearful they are for their families, their security. We know all too well that when people say bad things in one place we can expect other people to act out in hateful ways in another.”
Felson, whose past is in Israel advocacy — for years he directed the Jewish Federation of North America’s Israel Action Network — suggested that the part of his current job advocating for Israel in the U.S. LGBTQ community just got a lot harder.
“I would not like to wake up and find out that Kanye West is in charge of the Civil Rights Department over at Justice,” is how he described the challenge, referring to the rapper and designer who in recent months has come out as an antisemite.
Felson’s group is urging U.S. Jews who meet with politicians from the new government to raise concerns about LGBTQ Israelis. It is also planning to call on pro-Israel funders to fill any budget gap created if the Israeli government slashes funds for LGBTQ services, as Felson expects it to be.
A Wider Bridge is also planning to forego its traditional presence at Tel Aviv Pride to instead join the Jerusalem parade, which takes place in a more fraught atmosphere, according to Felson.
“There’s a time to protest and a time to party,” he said.
Stuart Kurlander, a philanthropist who is prominent in the LGBTQ and the pro-Israel communities, said that he is consulting with LGBTQ activists in Israel, and should things take a turn for the worse, making up for lost government funds could be one avenue for his philanthropy.
“If it develops and there are impacts to the LGBTQ community, then I along with other philanthropists will look to try and fill those gaps,” he said.
Kurlander said in an interview that he takes Netanyahu and Ohana at their word that they will stem an anti-LGBTQ backlash. He said his support for Israel would not be diminished if the changes by the extremists go through, but that other donors might be negatively affected.
“It’s not going to deter me and my support for Israel,” he said. “I suspect it may for some.”
—
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Women aren’t equal citizens in Israel. But this week brought us closer than ever
On Monday, three women sat for an exam — and changed the course of Israeli history.
Never before have women been permitted to take the rabbinical exams issued by Israel’s Chief Rabbinate. But thanks to a groundbreaking Supreme Court ruling in July which deemed such exclusionary practices unlawful, three scholars were able to break this glass ceiling.
Yaara Widman Samuel, Ruth Agib and Rachel Tzaban’s victory against gender-based discrimination in Israeli society is momentous, an achievement rooted in many years of tireless advocacy, courageous leadership and unflinching determination. And yet, it is but one victory in a larger, ongoing battle for gender and religious equality in Israel, a battle waged over decades and across many fronts.
Recently, I had the privilege of witnessing another front in this battle at the Western Wall. There, I joined Women of the Wall, advocates for equal rights at the Kotel, for their Rosh Chodesh Adar service. It was an experience I will never forget.
Women of the Wall are engaged in an epic struggle for equality under Israeli law. For more than 37 years, they have gathered on Rosh Chodesh — the holiday that marks the start of each new Jewish month — to pray, sing, and read Torah at the Western Wall. Their mission is simple: to secure women’s right to pray at the Wall.
And for more than three decades, they have been met with anger, disdain, humiliation and denial. Most recently, Israel’s Knesset advanced a law that would prohibit non-Orthodox and egalitarian prayer at the Western Wall complex. The proposed law would grant Israel’s two chief rabbis exclusive authority over the Wall, allowing them to define prayer and what constitutes “desecration.” Under this law, those who “desecrate” prayer — such as women who wear tallit or tefillin, or mixed gender groups that gather for worship — could face up to seven years in prison.
And yet, like the women who fought for the right to take the Chief Rabbinate’s rabbinical exams, Women of the Wall has not been silenced or deterred. They know that the Western Wall is not the property of one denomination or community; it belongs to all Jewish people — regardless of gender, denomination, or affiliation.
Israel’s Declaration of Independence states that the country “will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race, or sex.” This promise must extend to the Western Wall as well. All Jewish women should be welcome at the Kotel, and all should feel safe to practice their Judaism in the manner they choose. These principles of equality and inclusion are essential to Israel’s democracy and religious identity.
But not all would agree.
When the Torah is contraband
On Rosh Chodesh Adar, we arrived at the entrance to the Wall a few minutes before 7 a.m. Even at that early hour, it was already crowded with worshippers.
The energy was charged and tense. As our group approached the security check, we were met with immediate hostility.
The security guards often harass and humiliate Women of the Wall participants. This day was no different: they asked us to remove our coats and demanded every bag be checked by hand. Purses were emptied, tallitot unfolded, even wallets were scrutinized — all in the name of preventing something “dangerous” from entering the plaza.
The “dangerous” items they were seeking were Torahs.
That morning, we carried a Torah proudly to expose the absurdity and injustice of the situation: how could our religion’s foundational document be treated as dangerous?
Security did not take kindly to our effort. Needless to say, the Torah was not allowed inside.
Shaken, we made our way toward the Wall. As we walked, we found ourselves surrounded by mobs of children, many apparently from traditional communities, who screamed hateful things, calling us heretics and shouting at us to leave. They mocked women wearing kippot and tallitot, pushing and shoving as they did.
Their contempt wasn’t surprising; similar scenes have unfolded many times, over many years. But it was shocking — and deeply disheartening.
When it came time to leave the plaza, many of us held hands, for solidarity, but also for safety. We circled back to the Kotel entrance, to read from the Torah, since we couldn’t do so at the Wall itself.
As we read, the commotion reached a crescendo. The noise was deafening, and we were increasingly hemmed in by rioting crowds. Meanwhile, the security guards — tasked with keeping the peace — not only allowed the agitators to continue, but targeted us. Ultimately, two of our prayer leaders were detained — simply because they were women reading Torah.
Not at the Wall. Outside the Wall.
Incredulously, these women — rather than the violent crowds around them — were deemed a “disturbance to public order.” rather than the violent rioters attacking them. And yet, even amidst this harassment, they bravely stood their ground. Until the moment they were detained, they prayed with sincerity, with strength, and — appropriately for the start of Adar, a month that ushers in joy — with audacious joy.
A continuing fight
After their release from police custody, the two women who had been arrested put out a video in which they said, defiantly, “We will be back!”
And indeed, in honor of Rosh Chodesh Iyyar they returned. While their Torah was seized yet again, they remained undeterred, declaring: “We will not give up our Jewish right. We held a Torah reading at the entrance to the Wall — and we will continue our just struggle.”
That struggle has been going on for decades, but has perhaps never been more important than today. The erosion of religious freedom in Israel may begin at the Wall — but it will not end there.
That is partly why the image of the three brave women taking the Chief Rabbinate’s exams resonated so deeply: Our rights are under threat, but at the same time, we have clear proof that progress is still possible. It’s a reminder that privileging one segment of the Jewish community at the expense of the rest will only divide us, within Israel and across the Diaspora. As Rabbi Mauricio Balter teaches, “A strong Israel is a democratic Israel. A faithful Israel is a pluralistic Israel.”
And so, we persist. We fight for ourselves, for our mothers and our grandmothers, and for our daughters and granddaughters. We do not give up this fight because religious equality matters. Because gender equality matters. And because Israel’s future as a democracy depends on it, for those who live there and for those who call it their spiritual home.
The post Women aren’t equal citizens in Israel. But this week brought us closer than ever appeared first on The Forward.
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The Israeli plant with a heavenly sweet fragrance
יאָרן לאַנג האָב איך דאָ אין ישׂראל געהערט רעדן וועגן די וווּנדער פֿון בעז. די וואָס זײַנען געקומען אַהער פֿון מזרח-אייראָפּע האָבן דערציילט וועגן אַ לעגענדאַרן לילאַ-בוים, וואָס גיט אַ ריח גן-עדן אינעם וווּנדער-שיינעם מאָנאַט מײַ. לעגענדאַר – ווײַל אין ישׂראל, צום באַוידערן, וואַקסט נישט קיין שום בעז. עס איז געוואָרן אַ מין פֿויגלמילך, אַ סימבאָל פֿונעם פֿאַרלוירענעם עבֿר פֿון יענע לענדער. אָט למשל, האָט דער כּסדר-בענקענדיקער פּאָעט בינעם העלער געשריבן אין אַ ליד אין 1966, ווען ער האָט שוין געוווינט אין תּל-אָבֿיבֿ:
די בײמער בליִען בלאָ בײַ מיר אין גאָרטן.
די בײמער בליִען בלאָ, און איך פֿאַרגעס,
אַז ערגעץ אין דער קינדהײט, ערגעץ דאָרטן,
האָט בלאָ אַזױ געבליט דער בעז.
די בײמער בליִען בלאָ. װי הײסן אָט די בײמער?
װאָס אַרט עס מיך? אַבי זײ בליִען בלאָ.
און אױף דער פֿרילינג־שפּראַך, אױף דער געהײמער,
איז בלאָ – די פֿרײד, װאָס איז נישטאָ.
די בײמער בליִען בלאָ, און איך װיל מער נישט װיסן
די שײַכות צװישן זײ און בלאָען בעז –
כאָטש בײדע בליִען בלאָ אַזױ פֿאַרביסן,
און בײדנס בליִונג איז אַ נס
פֿונעם בוך „דור און דויער“.
כאָטש דער בעז אַליין וואַקסט טאַקע נישט דאָ, איז זײַן נאָמען גאָר באַקאַנט, און אויף עבֿרית פֿאַרמאָגט ער גאָר אַ שיינעם נאָמען: לילך. זײַט מיר מוחל, אָבער איך מיין אַפֿילו אַז “לילך” (וואָס קומט פֿון לילאַ) איז נאָך שענער ווי „בעז“, און עס פֿאַרמאָגט אין זיך צוויי ווערטער: “לי” און “לך” („פֿאַר מיר“ און „פֿאַר דיר“). לכּבֿוד דעם לילך האָט מען געשריבן לידער אויך אויף עבֿרית. אָט למשל דאָס ליבע-ליד „פּרח הלילך“ (די בלום פֿונעם בעז): אורי אסף האָט עס געשריבן, און נורית הירש האָט צוגעפּאַסט איינע פֿון די שענסטע מעלאָדיעס. (אַגבֿ, נורית הירש האָט קאָמפּאָנירט הונדערטער העברעיִשע לידער, און אויך עטלעכע אויף ייִדיש, אַזוי ווי איציק מאַנגערס „מיט פֿאַרמאַכטע אויגן“. אויב ס’איז נישט גענוג, האָט חוה אלבערשטיין געזונגען דאָס ליד, און דאָ זעץ איך איבער דעם רעפֿרען:
מען ליבט זיך שטיל און נישט גראַנדיעז,
מיר ריידן נישט אַזוי ווי מענטשן
וואָס וועלן סײַ ווי סײַ גאָר נישט פֿאַרשטיין
ווי שיין און פֿײַן עס בליט נאָך אַלץ די בעז.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GEBMh5Kmyvw&list=RDGEBMh5Kmyvw&start_radio=1
אָבער כאָטש דער בעז וואַקסט נישט אין ישׂראל בליִען דאָ יעדן פֿרילינג, סוף אַפּריל־אָנהייב מײַ, די שיינע קליינע לילאַ-בלויע בלומען פֿון אזדרכת (איזדאַרעכעט), אויף ייִדיש — מעליע. אמת, איר נאָמען קלינגט נישט אַזוי שיין ווי „לילך“ ; עס זײַנען דאָ אַ סך פֿרויען און מיידעלעך וואָס הייסן „לילך“ און קיינער הייסט נישט אזדרכת. פֿון דעסט וועגן, דערמאָנט איר ריח דעם ריח פֿונעם בעז, און עס טראָגט זיך אין דער לופֿטן ווי אַ זיסן פּאַרפֿום. עס איז גאָר מעגלעך אַז אָט דעם בוים וואָס בינעם העלער האָט באַשריבן איז די אזדרכת, וואָס וואַקט אויך אַנטקעגן מײַן פֿענצטער.
ווי דער בעז געהערט צו די צפֿונדיקע לענדער, אַזוי איז אזדרכת אַ טראָפּישער-סובטראָפּישער בוים. איר וויסנשאַפֿטלעכער נאָמען איז Melia azedarach. „מעליאַ“ באַטײַטהאָניק, אָט דער ריח פֿון אירע בלומען, און azedarach איז אַ פּערסיש-אַראַבישער טערמין. אין צאַנינס ווערטערבוך הייסט עס דווקא אויף ייִדיש: „כינעזישע לילאַ“. סײַ ווי סײַ, האָבן די ביימער עולה געווען אין ארץ-ישׂראל שוין אינעם 16טן יאָרהונדערט, און געהערן צו די „ותיקים“, ד”ה זיי זײַנען מיט דער צײַט געוואָרן אַ טייל פֿונעם ארץ-ישׂראלדיקן פּייזאַזש.
די אזדרכת קאָן מען נישט איגנאָרירן, בפֿרט איצט, ווען ס׳איז באַדעקט מיט בלומען. דערנאָך וואַקסן די אזדרכת-פֿרוכטן: קליינע רונדיקע געלבע פּירות, וואָס זײַנען גיפֿטיק צום עסן אָבער די קינדער האָבן סײַ־ווי ליב זיי צו וואַרפֿן ווי קליינע באַלן. סוף זומער שטייט די אזדרכת אין שלכת, עס הייבן אָן צו פֿאַלן די בלעטער. אַ פּאָר חדשים ווינטערצײַט שטייט די אזדרכת גאָר נאַקעט, און דאַן, פּלוצעם, צעבליִען זיך די בלעטער און די בלומען.
אָבער אַפֿילו אין די ווינטער־חדשים בלײַבט נישט די אזדרכת אַליין: זי ציט צו זיך כּלערליי פֿייגל, וואָס עסן אירע פֿרוכטן. איינע פֿון די פֿייגל איז די דוכיפת (Hoopoe), וואָס צוליב איר פּרעכטיקער קרוין האָט זי אַ ייִדישן ייחוס: ווען דער פּאָעט חיים־נחמן ביאַליק האָט איבערגעזעצט זײַנע לידער אויף עבֿרית האָט ער די פֿראַזע „גאָלדענע פּאַווע“ איבערגעזעצט ווי „דוכיפת הזהב“, כאָטש דאָס וואָרט פֿאַר פּאַווע איז „טווס“. ווי די אזדרכת, איז די דוכיפת אייגנטלעך נישט קיין סאַברע, אָבער אויך זי איז שוין אַ ותיקה און ווערט אַפֿילו באַצייכנט ווי דער נאַציאָנאַלער פֿויגל.
די אזדרכת ציט אויך צו צוויי אַנדערע פֿייגל, וואָס געהערן צו די „אַרײַנדרינגענדיקע מינים“. די ערשטע איז די דררה, אַ מין גרינער פּאַפּוגײַ, וואָס פֿרעסט די פֿרוכטן פֿון אזדרכת מיט גרויס חשק און רעש – זי פּלאַפּלט אָן אַן אויפֿהער און מאַכט אַ גראַטשקע. כאָטש די דררה איז אַ שעדיקער, איז זי גאָר שיין און אַ ביסל קאָמיש דערצו — קאָקעטיש און „פֿאַרפּוצט“. דער צווייטער פֿויגל איז די מײַנע , אַ קליינער שוואַרצער פֿויגל מיט אַ געלבן שנאָבל, וואָס איז זייער קלוג, און קאָן נאָכמאַכן פֿאַרשיידענע שטימען פֿון פֿייגעלעך. די צרה איז אַז די מײַנע האָט נישט ליב קיין קאָנקורענץ, טרײַבט זי אַוועק די אַנדערע פֿייגל, און בפֿרט די אָרטיקע, וואס האָבן נעבעך ווייניק שׂכל און כּוח.
אַלע ישׂראלים זײַנען אויפֿגעבראַכט וועגן די מײַנעס, אָבער בײַ מיר דערוועקט זייער נאָמען אַ שמייכל, ווײַל עס דערמאָנט מיר אָן דעם וויץ מיט אַ פּוילישן ייִד וואָס זיצט אין אַ ווינער קאַפֿע. דער ייִד בעט דעם קעלנער אים געבן דאָס זעלבע וואָס זײַן שכן טרינקט, און דער קעלנער ענטפֿערט: “דאַס איזט זאַהנע!” (Sahne, דאָס דײַטשע וואָרט אויף שמאַנט). זאָגט דער ייִד (מיט זײַן פּוילישן אויסרייד): “דוס איז זאַאַנע, אָבער ווי איז מאַאַנע?”
ווי געזאָגט, אין די לאַנגע זומער חודשים ווערט די אזדרכת, צוליב אירע געלבע פֿרוכטן, אַ באַליבטע סבֿיבֿה פֿון די פֿאַרשיידענע פֿייגל. אַמאָל פּראָבירן זיי לעבן בשלום איינער מיטן אַנדערן, ווײַל עס זײַנען דאָך פֿאַראַן געונג פּירות פֿאַר אַלעמען. אָבער פֿון צײַט צו צײַט ווערט אַזאַ געשריי בײַם בוים, אַז עס גלוסט זיך פּשוט צו פֿאַרמאַכן דאָס פֿענצטער — כאָטש ס׳איז אַ שאָד צו פֿאַרפֿעלן דעם ריח גן־עדן!
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I’m an Orthodox student in NYC. I’m grateful Mamdani vetoed the school buffer bill
My classmates at Manhattan’s Hunter College regularly gather to protest in a plaza at the southwest corner of East 68th Street and Lexington Avenue. This winter, that intersection hosted many protests against Immigration and Customs Enforcement — protests that felt more urgent because, for many Hunter students and their family members, detainment and deportation are very real threats.
Seeing how committed my classmates were to fighting back against injustice made me proud to be a New Yorker, and a student at Hunter.
Detractors often portray college protesters as liberal elites, comfortably removed from real-world issues. That’s not the case at Hunter. That’s part of why, as an Orthodox Jew deeply involved with Jewish life on campus, I’m glad that Mayor Zohran Mamdani vetoed a bill that would have established security perimeters disallowing protests near educational facilities.
On campus, there has been much discussion around City Council Intro 175-B, which the council passed by a 30-19 vote in March. Students suspect that these policies are in place not to protect us but rather to shield the Israeli government from criticism. Internal discussion among Jewish students has been varied. Some students say the bill is necessary to protect us, while others agree with the progressive views of a majority of Hunter’s politically active students, and want their voices to be heard.
Either way, Jewish students are not a monolith, and I am distrustful of politicians and bills which claim to speak for all Jews as a bloc.
I proudly wear a kippah and tzitzis to campus every single day. Friends jokingly call my accent a “generic northeastern yeshivish,” interspersed with Aramaic and Hebrew terms. Before you know my name, you know I’m a Jew. And I feel complete confidence in saying that Hunter is a good place to be Jewish.
My non-Jewish friends and professors have respected my identity and perspective. That isn’t to say that protests related to Israel and the Gaza war haven’t been contentious or charged: they have been. But when I pass my friends who wear kaffiyeh in protest of the destruction in Gaza, they still dap me up.
That image — of a kippah-wearing Jew and a kaffiyeh-clad Arab student greeting in the hallway — encapsulates my experience at Hunter.
Yes, some protesters have crossed lines. At a protest during my freshman year, a protester displayed a banner with an AK-47 and red block letters saying: “BRING THE WAR HOME.” I thought the goal was ending wars abroad, not bringing them home. I was appalled, as were many other students across the political spectrum.
But I believe it’s the responsibility of New York City’s colleges and universities, relying on the input of their students, to address these issues. They can make informed decisions about which applications to approve or deny, take their own safety measures, and, as a last resort, oversee necessary disciplinary action.
Hunter is capable of promoting free expression and dialogue, along with security measures to protect students when necessary. There’s nothing to gain from imposing heavy-handed restrictions on my university and my classmates that would suppress their speech. And there’s much to lose.
Hunter is a bastion of free thought, somewhere my classmates and I can immerse ourselves in different perspectives, and learn through dialogue and debate. It’s somewhere you can espouse unpopular opinions, as long as you have the ability to defend your argument.
Notably, 175-B — which still may be passed, as the council has launched an effort to overturn Mamdani’s veto — contains a carveout for labor protests, allowing these protests to move inside security barriers. I agree that these protests should continue unencumbered by barriers or buffer zones on our campuses. But I don’t see why they should be the only ones. Encountering ideas that differ from your own should be thought-provoking, even thrilling. It should be what college is all about.
So when people back home on Long Island ask me how I’m dealing with antisemitism at Hunter, my answer is another question: “Do you mean anti-Zionism or antisemitism?”
Many Hunter students are staunch or outspoken anti-Zionists, opposing Israel’s right to exist. That perspective is challenging for students with a deep attachment to the Jewish state. It took several difficult conversations with honest and principled anti-Zionists before I began to understand that their logic and perspective is as informed as any other.
In my experience, anti-Zionism and antisemitism are not the same. My peers are entitled to their First Amendment rights, and when they exercise them, everyone benefits in the long run. Engaging outlooks that make us uncomfortable is the best way to learn and grow. I’d rather speak with my classmates face to face than confine their ideas to the perimeter of a buffer zone.
Antisemitism is an extremely dangerous issue in New York City, and Jews in America are rightfully on high alert. But a policy platform of censoring free speech will not disincentivize rogue incidents of hate violence. Those are the most imminent physical threat to American Jews, and I have done my best to make sure Hunter’s social justice community understands that. This line of open communication is what keeps Jews safe at Hunter, and 175-B threatened to sever it.
The NYPD told the City Council in February that its existing authority is enough to handle protests. 175-B went beyond that authority, erecting barriers with the stated goal of protecting Jewish students like me. But as a Jewish student, I believe they would have violated the First Amendment rights of all students — Jewish and non-Jewish alike. The bill, rather than creating new security for students like me, seemed poised to isolate the Jewish community: no one wants to debate someone whom they see, fairly or not, as participating in the restriction of their rights.
And truthfully, I have experienced far more antisemitism on the streets and subways of New York than I ever have on Hunter’s campus. It is no small thing that I am safe at Hunter, and I would speak out if I was not.
With this veto, the mayor recognized that our community and our city did not need this crackdown on expression. We need the opposite. The United States, and New York in particular, have been a haven for Jewish life and culture for more than a century. Our community will never achieve safety and security by allying ourselves with those who treat civil and constitutional rights as dispensable.
I don’t always agree with everything protesters have to say, but it isn’t my place, or the City Council’s, to legislate where and how they say them.
I don’t want to see roadblocks or barriers on 68th and Lexington. I want to see Hunter students exercising their right — and fulfilling their duty — to speak out against injustice and tyranny. I salute Mamdani’s decision to veto City Council Intro 175-B. It would have cost more in freedom than it could ever provide in safety.
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