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Jewish immigrants and their children are divided by a common religion
This article was produced as part of JTA’s Teen Journalism Fellowship, a program that works with teens across the world to report on issues that impact their lives.
MIAMI (JTA) — When Ricardo Tanur arrived in Miami in the 1990s he had a hard time finding a religious school for his children and finding a synagogue where he felt comfortable. The biggest challenge, however, was leaving his Orthodox community in Mexico and raising his six children in an unfamiliar Jewish community whose religious values often did not align with his own.
“When I first arrived in Miami, I felt that I was leaving a part of me in Mexico, and did not feel that I truly belonged to the Jewish-American communities,” said Tanur. “I was unsure how I would raise my children in the faith when I didn’t have a temple or community which I felt a part of.”
Eventually Tanur joined the Bal Harbor Shul and the Skylake Synagogue in Miami Beach because he felt that community could make “a positive impact on his children’s personal and religious values.” This was important to him when raising children in an area whose approach to tradition was more “modern” than what he was used to in Mexico City.
The challenge of raising children in an unknown Jewish community is common for immigrants, especially for those in Miami. More than a third of the Jewish population in Miami are foreign-born adults, higher than in any other American Jewish community. With the continued population growth of foreign-born adults, the immigrant experience affects how young people approach religion by combining traditional and modern practices.
“My approach to religion differs from that of my parents mainly in the external aspect,” said Deborah Tanur, Ricardo’s eldest daughter. The 20-year-old, raised in Miami, said her father expected his daughters to wear the modest clothing typical of his Orthodox community back in Mexico. And yet her peers weren’t wearing skirts that fall below the knee, high-cut necklines or long sleeves.
Her 18-year-old sister, Raquel, recognizes the strain caused by these different ways of thinking. “The Mexican community is more closed-off and small, whereas in Miami the community is very modern and open,” she said. “This was not always easy for my mother and father to understand, as traditional appearance and practices were something which they believed to be a large part of conserving our faith.”
When Deborah was younger she was drawn to her Jewish friends’ liberal, Ashkenazi services, which were different from those in her parent’s Ashkenazi, Orthodox synagogue. “When I was little, I would sometimes ask to attend a Reform service with my friends’ families,” she said. “My parents did not allow me to do so at first, but eventually my parents and I navigated through our different perspectives in order to find common ground.”
Differences between children and immigrant parents’ are not only restricted to the level of observance, but also to their approaches to traditions and prayer. This is true for Luiz Gandleman — the son of two immigrants from Brazil and the president of the Jewish Student Union at Gulliver Preparatory in Coral Gables.
“My parents grew up in a very strict Ashkenazi community, so a lot of the prayers and service is heavily Ashkenazi which isn’t necessarily the case with me,” Gandelman said. “There are Jews from all over here [in Miami], so I observe a lot more broadly. I have attended both Ashkenazi services as well as Sephardic services, so I have adapted aspects from both.” Gandelman added that some holidays are observed differently in America than they are in Brazil.
“Hanukkah is observed on a smaller scale in Brazil, at least in my community. My parents didn’t really do anything for Hanukkah besides the traditional practices” of candle-lighting and a few special prayers, he said. “I convinced them to start celebrating on a greater scale with Hanukkah dinners and gift giving. My parents thought it to be an American thing at first, but after much convincing we were able to take the best of both worlds and mix our two beliefs.”
This different approach to faith is common for many children of immigrant parents, which Senior Rabbi Jeremy Barras of Temple Beth Am, a Reform synagogue in Pinecrest, recognizes in his congregation.
“More so in Miami Beach and Aventura, than Coral Gables and Pinecrest, the parents tend to be more traditional and the kids less so,” Barras said, referring to Miami-area suburbs. “The older generations are more interested in customs and rituals. The younger generations are more interested in culture and spirituality. It means that more creative means are required to engage younger families and the next generation. No longer can we rely on traditional models of observance to drive participation.”
The distinct way of thinking between immigrant parents and their children is not limited to their approaches to religion, but also to their feelings of belonging.
“Most of the people that are here [in Miami] came from Latin America which wasn’t always as safe and as great of a situation for Jews. In any minute if things got bad you would want to move. because of fear of anti-semitism. Americans don’t really worry about that, Americans never think that they are going to have to leave,” Barras said.
This lack of belonging also affects identity. Such is true for the Guimaraes family, Reform Jews who immigrated from Brazil.
“I would define myself first as Brazilian, and then as Jewish. Personally, I see myself as being merely a Brazilian Jew on American soil,” said Cassio Guimaraes.
Her youngest child, Ana Catherine, has the opposite view. “My identity is best described as an American Jew,” the 16-year-old said. “I always felt that I had a place here despite my Latina makeup. My traditions and values are well rooted in the community within Miami.
Despite differences between immigrant parents’ and their children, their religion provides common ground.
“Although me and my parents pray differently, it widens perspective. For example, I pray using a wider range of prayers than do my parents. For example, I recite the amidah while my parents do not. Nevertheless, I love learning how my mom was raised praying and how my dad learned to pray, and they love learning what I know,” Gandelman said. “We end up teaching each other. It is a nice way for us to connect and build on each other’s religious beliefs together.”
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The post Jewish immigrants and their children are divided by a common religion appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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In two controversial ads, a tale of how not to fight antisemitism — or support Israel
Multimillion dollar ad campaigns aimed at scaring Jews, or scaring others on Jews’ behalf, are not working.
They are not effectively combating antisemitism. They are not strengthening Jewish life. And they are not persuading Americans to embrace Israel or its government’s current course of action. They are, in fact, backfiring.
That was recently made clear in two very different contexts: A New Jersey Congressional race, and the Super Bowl. The reactions to two disparate ads — one attacking former Rep. Tom Malinowski, and one advocating an approach for fighting antisemitism that some found dated — sent the same message.
We Jews are tired. We are tired of being told that the only way to be Jewish in the United States is to defend Israel’s indefensible actions. We are tired of being blamed for every policy choice the Israeli government makes. We are in a precarious moment in history, possibly a pivotal one — and we are tired of being shown half-hearted solutions. We are tired of being afraid.
Fear is not a strategy. It is a reflex. And acting reflexively will not help us build a strong future.
A telling political miscalculation
The United Democracy Project, the super PAC affiliated with AIPAC, spent at least $2.3 million attempting to defeat Tom Malinowski in the race to replace now-New Jersey Gov. Mikie Sherill in the House of Representatives. Malinowski is no fringe critic of Israel. He is a longtime supporter of the Jewish state, who has said he would not deny the country what it needs to defend itself.
His only deviation from AIPAC orthodoxy was that he refused to rule out placing conditions on U.S. aid. For that, he became a target.
The AIPAC-backed ads themselves did not mention Israel at all. Instead, they criticized Malinowski for a vote on immigration enforcement funding during President Donald Trump’s first term, in a clear attempt to paint him as unreliable on domestic security issues. The goal, as a spokesperson for the PAC stated openly, was to push votes toward the group’s preferred candidate in the crowded primary.
Instead, Analilia Mejia, a left-leaning organizer who openly stated she believes Israel committed genocide in Gaza, surged to the lead. She declared victory on Tuesday.
In other words, after $2.3 million in negative ads, the candidate who most directly accused Israel of genocide appeared to benefit the most.
Many of AIPAC’s choices in this matter could be criticized, including their stance that openness to any conditions on aid is anti-Israel or worse, antisemitic. But perhaps the most important one was their decision to treat the issue of support for Israel as one that must be smuggled into a race under cover of unrelated issues.
If the case for unconditional support of Israel’s current government is strong, then why cloak it in ads about ICE? If such support is as morally and politically sound as its architects insist, it should be able to stand in the open.
The choice to obscure it suggests something else: that traditional, narrow support for the current Israeli government and its military campaigns no longer carries the traction it once did. Voters can sense when an argument is being rerouted through unrelated fears. And when they do, it breeds not persuasion but distrust.
Post-it advocacy
Then there was the Super Bowl.
An ad funded by Patriots owner Robert Kraft’s Blue Square Alliance Against Hate, formerly known as the Foundation to Combat Antisemitism, ran during the game. In it, a teenage Jewish boy walks down a school hallway, not knowing that someone has put a Post-it on his backpack reading “dirty Jew.” He looks small and isolated.
A larger Black classmate notices, covers the note with a blue square, then puts another blue square on his own chest in solidarity. The message is that allies can stand up to antisemitism.
But the image felt oddly untethered from the current moment. It asked viewers to see Jews primarily as vulnerable targets of crude prejudice. It did not speak to the nuance of Jewish life in America today. It did not grapple with the political entanglements or technological shifts shaping public debate. It flattened Jewish identity to an experience of persecution.
The same broadcast gave us a chance to understand the risks of that approach — of acting like minorities live in a state of constant endangerment.
Puerto Rican artist Bad Bunny headlined the halftime show with a performance that was an act of cultural declaration. His staging celebrated Puerto Rican life and heritage, in all its complexity. There were the sugar cane fields, where enslaved people were forced to labor before emancipation, turned into a site of essential but emotionally mixed heritage. There were joyful community scenes interspersed with critiques of infrastructural failure. He performed almost entirely in Spanish, ending with a roll call of countries across the Americas and a message of unity that transcended borders and expectations.
That was a radical act at a time when this country is rife with state violence largely targeting Spanish speakers from many of those countries. Immigration and Customs Enforcement raids, deportations, and threats against immigrants that have left families terrified and communities in crisis. Just days before his performance, Bad Bunny used his Grammy acceptance speech for Album of the Year to demand “ICE out,” a protest call to make clear that immigration enforcement’s brutality was unacceptable and dehumanizing.
The contrast could not be sharper.
Bad Bunny’s presence, his language choice, his celebration of heritage spoke to millions; it was the most-watched halftime show ever. It’s hard to imagine it being so successful if he had focused exclusively on the Latinx experience of persecution in the U.S.
Cultural vitality is an essential partner to moral clarity in building a stronger future. That building means saying no to violence, but also yes to life, even when it is complex and unsettled. It means joy. It means pride.
The AIPAC-funded ad against Malinowski and the Blue Square Alliance-funded one about fighting antisemitism made the same mistake. Fear alone does not persuade people to seek change. Faith in the good that life has to offer must be part of the picture.
In the classic Jewish text The Big Lebowski, Walter Sobchak delivers a vocal celebration of our identity. “Three thousand years of beautiful tradition from Moses to Sandy Koufax,” he says, “you’re goddamn right I’m living in the past.”
It’s a funny line. But it’s also a reminder.
We come from a civilization of argument, poetry, exile, reinvention, baseball heroes, mystics, storytellers, radicals, comedians, ping-pong hustlers and stubborn moral voices. We do not need to be reduced to frightened caricatures. We do not need to outsource our dignity for protection. We do not need to insist on adherence to dated principles in order to prove our belonging.
If we are going to invoke thousands of years of Jewish history, let it be the history of ethical wrestling, cultural creativity, and unapologetic presence. Let it be a Judaism that refuses both erasure and weaponization.
That is the Jewish future worth living for.
The post In two controversial ads, a tale of how not to fight antisemitism — or support Israel appeared first on The Forward.
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Tucker Carlson, the Kennedy Assassination, and the Theater of ‘Just Asking’ About Israel
Fox personality Tucker Carlson speaks at the 2017 Business Insider Ignition: Future of Media conference in New York, U.S., November 30, 2017. Photo: REUTERS/Lucas Jackson
In one of Tucker Carlson’s recent Instagram reels, drawn from a conversation with far-left anti-Israel pundit Cenk Uygur, Carlson returned to a maneuver that has become central to his treatment of Israel and Jews.
Carlson noted references to Israel in the assassination files of John F. Kennedy and Robert F. Kennedy, and wondered aloud why some remain redacted more than 60 years later.
His guest, Cenk Uygur, supplied the line that Carlson basically asked for: “That’s almost an admission.”
Carlson widened the frame: Why do we keep seeing Israel [in these files]? Why are the lines blacked out? Why, he asked, are there two “monuments” in Israel to James Jesus Angleton, the CIA’s former counterintelligence chief?
Then came the disclaimer. Carlson says he opposes conspiracy thinking because it “drives you crazy.” But, he adds, “if you don’t tell people the truth, like what are they supposed to think?”
The performance is familiar. The host is merely “asking questions.”
But questions of this type are not requests for information. They are accusations regardless of the punctuation. They gesture toward a very nefarious destination, while preserving the speaker’s ability to claim he never quite traveled there.
And as with almost everything Carlson has written or said about Israel in the past few years, this series of “questions” is missing important information and is deeply misleading.
Anyone who has spent time with the Kennedy archives knows that Israel is hardly unique in attracting redactions. Black bars sit beside Mexico, Cuba, the former Soviet Union, Jordan, and a host of other countries. They exist for reasons that are often mundane: protecting sources, preserving methods, honoring liaison agreements, or shielding names that remain sensitive.
A redaction is not a confession. It is often paperwork.
Carlson should know this. Uygur should as well.
But this ordinary explanation, and the fact that many other countries have redactions in the Kennedy assassination files, would collapse the drama.
The “show” depends on persuading viewers that redactions related to Israel must mean something darker.
And so, evidence is withheld. Suspicion advances. Tone does the work that proof cannot.
This is not investigation. It is nefarious storytelling.
Then there is the Angleton insinuation.
Angleton oversaw counterintelligence and, among many responsibilities, managed relationships with allied services across Europe and the Middle East. His ties with Israel grew out of years of professional cooperation and personal familiarity.
Israel later honored him.
There is nothing extraordinary in that. Intelligence communities commemorate foreign officials who strengthen relationships and collaboration. Streets are sometimes named. Plaques are mounted.
Gratitude is not evidence of control. And commemoration is not proof of conspiracy.
To present routine diplomacy as something sinister is to convert normal statecraft into conspiracy.
Carlson’s particular gift (and grift) lies in inversion. He warns against conspiracism while practicing it. He performs reluctance while manufacturing certainty.
If conspiracy thinking corrodes those who consume it, as he says, one might imagine restraint before distributing it at scale.
But insinuation has become Carlson’s product. And it is not randomly distributed. It moves in one direction. The questions chosen, the contexts omitted, the raised eyebrows, the studied bewilderment — they point somewhere specific.
Toward Jews. Toward Israel.
There is never any actual evidence that Tucker provides. What remains are misleading hints elevated into conclusions, delivered with deniability and received, inevitably, by far too many, as fact.
History knows this propaganda method well. It is the politics of implication, the art of constructing guilt through repetition rather than demonstration. The speaker positions himself just outside the accusation while ensuring that the audience hears it clearly.
We know, in retrospect, what such machinery can produce.
The tragedy is not only that it is dishonest. It is that it works.
Micha Danzig is an attorney, former IDF soldier, and former NYPD officer. He writes widely on Israel, Zionism, antisemitism, and Jewish history. He serves on the board of Herut North America.
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Forverts podcast, episode 5: Jewish Education
דער פֿאָרווערטס האָט שוין אַרויסגעלאָזט דעם פֿיפֿטן קאַפּיטל פֿונעם ייִדישן פּאָדקאַסט, Yiddish With Rukhl. דאָס מאָל איז די טעמע „ייִדישע דערציִונג“. אין דעם קאַפּיטל לייענט שׂרה־רחל שעכטער פֿאָר איר אַרטיקל, „וואָס סע פֿעלט בײַ אונדזערע ייִדישע מיטלשולן.“
צו הערן דעם פּאָדקאַסט, גיט אַ קוועטש דאָ.
אויב איר ווילט אויך לייענען דעם געדרוקטן טעקסט פֿון די אַרטיקלען, גיט אַ קוועטש דאָ און קוקט אונטן בײַם סוף פֿון דער זײַט.
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