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Jewish teens, led by Ezra Beinart, are gathering on Zoom to meet prominent Palestinians
(JTA) — When Rep. Rashida Tlaib joined a Zoom with 40 teenagers, she soon found herself talking about the kinds of topics — academic and otherwise — that tend to take up their days.
There was discussion of the stress of AP exams, embarrassing dads and social media memes. She showed them pictures on Instagram of her dog at the U.S. Capitol. Everyone was on a first-name basis.
“My son is a [high school] junior,” she said, responding to a message in the Zoom chat from one of the teen participants. “Oh my God, the SAT — I was stressed out. I’m stressed because he’s stressed. He had to take all his AP exams and stuff.”
Tlaib got personal too — talking about her grandmother, with whom she last spoke on the Muslim holiday of Eid al-Fitr.
But the conversation also turned to a question many of the teens had encountered at high school, camp, youth groups or elsewhere in their lives: Is anti-Zionism antisemitism?
As the only Palestinian-American in Congress — and perhaps the chamber’s most prominent anti-Zionist — Tlaib was in a unique position to answer. And the students on the call had a particular interest in the question as well: They were all Jewish.
The teens are all participants in a new initiative, launched last year, to expose young American Jews to Palestinian voices through video chats. Founded by Ezra Beinart, a junior at a Jewish day school in New York City, the project’s goal is to bring Palestinian perspectives to a demographic that, he says, sorely lacks them.
“I live in a very Jewish community and most of the people around me are very educated on the Israeli perspective, but not as knowledgeable about the Palestinian side,” Beinart said in an interview. “And that’s why I decided to create the group to inform young Jews about the other side of the story, which I don’t think most Jewish students know much about.”
In her response to the question about antisemitism and anti-Zionism, Tlaib again turned to her grandmother, Muftieh, whom she refers to with the Arabic term “Sity” and whom she has portrayed as the face of Israel’s oppression of Palestinians. She said people were “weaponizing antisemitism” in order to chill criticism of Israel.
“My grandmother, literally solely based on the fact that she was born Palestinian, she just doesn’t have equality,” Tlaib told the teens. “Her life would be completely different if that wasn’t the case. And so, you know, for me criticizing that, if anything, is more chipping away at this form of government that does that to my Sity.”
Michigan House Rep. Rashida Tlaib speaks on stage at a concert in Detroit, July 16, 2022. (Aaron J. Thornton/Getty Images)
Beinart said he wants to increase opportunities for Jewish-Palestinian interaction. So he said he has reached out to “very Jewish” communities around the country, through chat groups and progressive synagogues, to get the word out. He started out with just a handful of teens, but his numbers are growing: His session with Tlaib drew 40 viewers.
Such interest comes at a time of political flux in Israel, and as young Jewish adults in the United States view the country less favorably than their elders. A 2020 survey by the Pew Research Center found that Jews aged 18-30 were less emotionally attached to Israel than older generations, more skeptical of its efforts toward peace and likelier to support efforts to boycott it. In recent years, activist groups founded by young Jews have pushed institutions such as campus Hillels and the Conservative movement’s Camp Ramah network to be more inclusive of Palestinian or anti-Zionist perspectives.
The initiative’s format has speakers introduce themselves for five minutes or so and then take questions, which Beinart selects, for another 30 minutes. It has held about half a dozen sessions with speakers like Ayman Mohyeldin, a journalist at MSNBC, and Amahl Bishara, a professor at Tufts University. Tlaib, a Michigan Democrat, is its most prominent guest so far. (Her office did not respond to multiple requests for an interview or for comment.)
Beinart wanted his peers to have their minds opened, as he said his was when he interned last summer at the Jerusalem Fund, a pro-Palestinian think tank and advocacy organization in Washington D.C. He noticed that a friend of his who worked there used “Palestine” as readily as he used “Israel,” and described to him how fraught traveling to the region was for her, whereas he took his ability to enter the country for granted.
“It made it much more tangible to have friends explain how Israel’s actions affect them in everyday life,” he said. “It’s different from just reading about it or seeing a video.”
If Beinart’s name is familiar, it’s because his father is Peter Beinart, the writer who was once an outspoken advocate for an independent Palestinian state alongside Israel, and now is a prominent Jewish voice supporting a single, binational Israeli-Palestinian state. The elder Beinart declined to comment for this article, as the initiative is his son’s project rather than his. But for a decade, Peter Beinart has been making the case that American Jews need to spend more time listening to Palestinian voices.
Resistance to hearing from Palestinians, the elder Beinart wrote in 2013 in the New York Review of Books, “make[s] the organized American Jewish community a closed intellectual space, isolated from the experiences and perspectives of roughly half the people under Israeli control. And the result is that American Jewish leaders, even those who harbor no animosity toward Palestinians, know little about the reality of their lives.”
Ezra acknowledges his father’s influence, albeit reluctantly. The first speaker in the series was Issa Amro, a Palestinian activist Ezra met when he accompanied Peter on a West Bank tour.
“Yeah, obviously, but I’m going my own way with it,” Ezra Beinart said, asked about his father’s influence. “I’m connecting Israel-Palestine to what I see going on with my peers, my friends.”
In the Zoom session, Tlaib intuited Ezra’s ambivalence about bringing his father into the conversation, so she trod carefully when she quoted the elder Beinart to make a point.
“Ezra, your dad said something once — I know you don’t want me to mention your dad, you’re like my son,” she said. But she then brought up a quote by Peter Beinart to explain why she had chosen, despite considerable backlash, to host an event in the U.S. Capitol commemorating the Nakba, the word meaning “catastrophe” which Palestinians use to describe their displacement during and after Israel’s 1948 War of Independence.
Peter Beinart’s quote was, “When you tell a people to forget its past, you are not proposing peace, you are proposing extinction.”
Tlaib said, “I used [Beinart’s quote] today when I got interviewed because I love this, but when Peter says it, it’s like okay, look at this is, this is a Jewish American man speaking up about the importance of understanding history.”
After the meeting, Ezra Beinart told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency that he chose questions that reflected the narrative Jewish youth were exposed to in their communities. In addition to discussing anti-Zionism and antisemitism, one question was, “What is your response to those who believe that using the word ‘occupation’ is harmful?” (Avoiding accurate terminology inhibits the advance of peace and human rights, Tlaib said.)
“Jewish people, when they think about Palestinians, they think of terror, most of them,” Beinart said. “So that’s something they should hear about from Palestinians.”
Teaneck, the northern New Jersey suburb that would qualify as a “very Jewish” community by nearly any standard, is where one of the participants, Liora Pelavin, 15, lives. Her mother, who is a rabbi, saw a post about Beinart’s Zoom meetings on Facebook and thought her daughter might be interested.
“Hearing from Palestinians really humanizes them,” Pelavin, who attended a Jewish day school through eighth grade and now goes to a public high school, said in an interview. “It makes me learn and also realize that they all have different opinions, too.”
Yehuda Kurtzer, the president of the Shalom Hartman Institute of North America, an organization whose programs include facilitating dialogue between American Jews, Israelis and Palestinians, said any interaction would be welcome.
However, he was concerned that most of the Palestinians Ezra Beinart had selected were political or advocacy leaders, instead of ordinary Palestinians who might be better suited to explain everyday realities to high school students.
“There’s probably a version of a way to do this like Encounter,” a long-running program that brings American Jews to the West Bank for dialogue with Palestinians, “where you are hearing from people and learn their stories, and you are free to come to the political conclusions you want,” Kurtzer said. “But you humanize their experience. That’s one way of doing any of this work. There’s another way to do this work, which is, ‘I want to influence the politics of your own community.’”
Jonathan Kessler — a former senior official at the American Israel Public Affairs Committee who now leads Heart of a Nation, a group that facilitates dialogue among Jewish American, Palestinian and Israeli teens — said he was aware of Beinart’s initiative, and that it is an example of how Gen Z may be better able to break down barriers than their elders.
“A generation that does not think of gender and sexuality in binary terms is uniquely well positioned to approach a conflict, which has for too long been defined in a binary way,” Kessler said.
Yousef Munayyer, a Palestinian political scientist who has spoken to Beinart’s group, said it was particularly important for Palestinian speakers to reach Jewish teens.
“Within the Jewish community, particularly in the organized Jewish community, there may be a lot of pro-Israel perspectives represented and not a whole lot of Palestinian perspectives represented,” he said. “I’m always inspired when I speak to younger people about this issue who have an interest in learning more.”
For Tlaib, it was also a forum where she had expressed views that she hasn’t otherwise voiced publicly — saying that she felt conflicted about evacuating Israeli settlers because they had lived in the West Bank for so long.
“Just the idea around taking families that — that’s been their home — it’s just completely uprooting, forcibly displacing,” Tlaib said. “It’s something I struggle with because, like, we’re doing it all over again, right? This happened during the Nakba.”
Beinart said he and others on the call, including Pelavin, were moved by her sentiments.
“A lot of the Jewish community thinks like, ‘Palestinians hate us, and don’t think we’re people too,’” Pelavin said. “I think that’s so wrong, and being on these calls has just confirmed that for me.”
Ezra Beinart favors a single binational state — Tlaib is the only elected lawmaker who also takes that position — and Pelavin said her views on Israel trended left. But while much of the organized American Jewish community has historically bristled at criticism of Israel, neither teen said that they were made to feel like a pariah in their Jewish milieus.
“They think it’s cool that I do these types of things, but I think a lot of their goal is to just stay away from this topic around me, because they don’t really want to get into an argument about it,” Pelavin said of her peers.
And Beinart said holding a minority viewpoint hasn’t been a problem for him, either. “The kids in my school know who I am,” Ezra Beinart said. “No one’s mean to me. There are kids who share my views — a few, but not many.”
Despite the weighty subject matter, the conversation had an informal, friendly feel. Tlaib also wanted to learn more about the participants, but when she asked what colleges they were planning to attend, no one spoke up — until she noticed answers to her question piling up in the Zoom chat.
“Oh look there — you guys looove the chat!” she said. She then attempted to get her dog to hop on screen, but settled for showing the teens photos.
Ezra Beinart said he was fine with Tlaib’s cooing and kvelling about the college plans.
“I’m not going to pretend that this is a group of well-educated adults,” he said. “This is a group of kids who don’t know about this stuff as well. And that’s why that’s why I’m doing it — it’s not supposed to be for people who are experts, right?”
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The Iran War: Peace Through Strength
Mojtaba Khamenei, the second son of Iran’s Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, visits Hezbollah’s office in Tehran, Iran, Oct. 1, 2024. Photo: Office of the Iranian Supreme Leader/WANA (West Asia News Agency)/Handout via REUTERS
George Washington once observed, “To be prepared for war is one of the most effective means of preserving peace.” And as it turns out, sometimes the best way to preserve peace is to go to war — and finish the job.
Until October 2023, Israel — and, to a large extent, the United States as well — operated under a doctrine that seemed sensible enough: avoid war whenever possible, and when provoked, respond in a limited, carefully measured way.
When rockets were fired, Israel retaliated just enough to signal displeasure. When terrorist leaders threatened destruction, their words were dismissed as overheated rhetoric, aimed at rallying an eager audience of haters rather than signaling an intention to wage war. And when enemies amassed weapons, the assumption was that overwhelming military superiority would deter their use.
The theory behind this approach was simple. Escalation is dangerous, and war is costly — financially and, of course, in human lives. Restraint, it was believed, would keep life relatively stable. Israel responded when necessary, but always carefully, operating on the assumption that a rap on the knuckles would be enough to signal that continuing attacks was a bad idea.
The problem, as October 7 revealed with horrifying clarity, is that not every enemy shares this logic. For some enemies, it isn’t about equilibrium or stability; it’s about inflicting violence on those you hate — again and again, without pause or restraint.
For decades, Israel’s main adversaries — Hamas, Hezbollah, and above all the Iranian regime — made their intentions clear. Their slogans were blunt: “Death to Israel,” “Death to America.” Israel, like much of the West, preferred to believe these words were exaggerations, not literal plans.
And so life went on. Gaza was tolerated as a hostile enclave, and every so often Israel “mowed the lawn.” Hezbollah, entrenched on Israel’s northern border with tens of thousands of missiles, was considered a threat that would never fully materialize. Iran, distant and absorbed in its own problems, was seen as dangerous but manageable.
The hope was that monitoring, occasional strikes, persistent warnings about a nuclear Iran, and deterrence would prevent catastrophe.
Then came October 7. The brutal massacre on Israel’s southwestern border shattered those assumptions. The belief that terror groups and their backers could be contained collapsed overnight. The idea that economic incentives or agreements might moderate radical regimes suddenly looked naïve.
Israel — and under President Trump, the United States as well — realized something fundamental: you cannot coexist with movements or regimes whose very purpose is your destruction. The rules of the game have changed.
The new doctrine is simple: if terrorists and radicals are running for their lives, they cannot threaten yours. When those plotting your destruction are forced onto the defensive, their ability to act collapses.
Over the past two years, the consequences of this shift have been dramatic. Hamas’s military structure has been dismantled and its leaders eliminated. Hezbollah’s leadership was taken out, and much of its vast missile arsenal destroyed.
And now, in a stunning development few would have imagined possible even a month ago, the Iranian regime itself has suffered devastating blows — its supreme leader eliminated in a precision strike and the IRGC crippled.
For decades Iran acted as the conductor of the anti-Israel, anti-America orchestra, funding and arming terror movements across the region while feverishly pursuing a nuclear weapon. The regime assumed it could operate safely behind its proxies, directing violence from afar while remaining immune to consequences at home. That illusion has now been shattered.
What Israel has finally rediscovered is an ancient truth: when there is a serious threat, delay is dangerous. It must be confronted quickly and decisively. This principle is not only a lesson from modern security doctrine; it has deep roots in Jewish tradition, vividly illustrated in Parshat Ki Tisa.
The central drama of this portion is the catastrophic episode of the Golden Calf. After forty days of waiting for Moses to descend from Mount Sinai, something shifts in the Israelite camp. Egged on by the pagan hangers-on who joined the Israelites during the Exodus, the people demand a replacement leader, and within hours they have constructed a golden idol.
Interestingly, most of the nation did not actively participate. They stood on the sidelines as this shocking desecration of the covenant with God unfolded before them. Perhaps they assumed it didn’t really affect them — that life could continue as normal as long as the upheaval remained confined to a relatively small group.
But when Moses descends the mountain and sees what has happened, the Torah describes an extraordinary sequence of events. Moses does not attempt to “mow the lawn.” He does not deliver a carefully calibrated response. He does not negotiate with the idolaters or seek a diplomatic compromise. Instead, he acts with stunning decisiveness.
First he shatters the tablets. Then he completely destroys the calf, grinding it into powder and scattering it on water. Then he confronts the people and demands that they make an immediate choice (Ex. 32:26): מִי לַה׳ אֵלָי — “Whoever is for God, join me.”
No equivocation, no wishy-washy middle ground: you are either with me or against me. The tribe of Levi rallies to him, and the rebellion is crushed before it can spread any further and cause irrevocable damage.
Commentators emphasize that Moses’ actions were not impulsive rage but deliberate leadership. The Ramban explains that breaking the tablets was meant to shock the nation into grasping the gravity of the situation.
Rav Hirsch observes that Moses’ call eliminated ambiguity: in moments of existential crisis, neutrality is impossible — one must choose. The Sforno adds that swift punishment of the instigators prevented the sin from becoming normalized. Moses understood what history repeatedly confirms: some crises must be confronted decisively.
Had Moses hesitated, what began as a limited aberration — serious though it was — might have metastasized into something far worse. If he had attempted compromise, or even hinted that the problem could be contained, the rot would have set in, and before long everything might have collapsed.
Instead, decisive action restored clarity. The Golden Calf was destroyed. Those who built it were eliminated. And then the covenant was renewed with a second set of tablets. The lesson is unmistakable: destructive forces must be confronted with overwhelming force before it is too late.
That pattern — crisis, decisive response, and renewal — recurs throughout Jewish history. In our own time there have been painful moments of reckoning. As a result, both the Western world in general and Israel in particular have had to rediscover the necessity of strength.
For far too long, the United States and Israel hoped that a cautious approach toward Iran and its proxies would stabilize the region. But peace and tranquility are not built on illusions. When a regime like Iran spends decades arming itself and its proxies while openly proclaiming genocidal ambitions, those ambitions cannot be ignored. If they are not confronted, the threat only grows — and eventually leads to disaster.
The war against Iran — aptly codenamed “Epic Fury” — may well be seen as a turning point. It marked the moment when the strategic assumptions that shaped the Middle East for decades were finally set aside.
The Jewish people learned long ago that survival demands difficult decisions and decisive leadership. For a time Israel drifted away from that mindset. But the ancient lesson still resonates — and has now returned with renewed conviction.
The lesson is clear: when those who threaten your destruction are confronted with resolve and strength, they can be defeated.
The author is a rabbi in Beverly Hills, California.
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Mahmoud Abbas Gave Direct Orders to Name Hall After Palestinian Hitler Ally
The Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, Haj Amin al-Husseini, meets with Adolf Hitler in 1941. Photo: German Federal Archives via Wikimedia Commons.
During World War II, Grand Mufti of Jerusalem Haj Amin Al-Husseini was a Nazi ally and an associate of Hitler, living in Germany from 1941 until the war’s end — and receiving funding from the Nazi government.
The Mufti also led the lethal 1936-1939 Arab Revolt, in which at least 400 Jews were murdered.
Now the Palestinian Authority (PA) has built and named a public hall after Al-Husseini — and none other than PA leader Mahmoud Abbas himself instructed PA officials about the naming, thereby making a public statement about which historical values the PA chooses to uphold.
When laying the building’s cornerstone, PA officials stressed that the naming of the hall is “out of loyalty to the great figures of our people”:
Text on sign: “Under the auspices of His Honor President
Mahmoud Abbas, may Allah protect him
President of the State of Palestine
His Honor Jericho and Jordan Valley District Governor Dr. Hussein Hamayel
And His Honor Jericho Mayor Mr. Abd Al-Karim Sidr
laid the cornerstone for the Mufti Haj Amin Al-Husseini Hall”
Under the auspices of [PA] President Mahmoud Abbas, yesterday, Sunday, [Feb. 15, 2026,] Jericho and Jordan Valley District Governor Hussein Hamayel and Jericho Mayor Abd Al-Karim Sidr laid the cornerstone for the Mufti Haj Amin Al-Husseini Multi-Purpose Hall …District Governor Hamayel emphasized that the laying of the cornerstone was done out of loyalty to the great figures of our people, and according to direct instructions from President [Abbas] regarding the need to commemorate the memory of the leaders and fighters. [emphasis added]
[Official PA daily Al-Hayat Al-Jadida, Feb. 16, 2026]
Deciding to put a specific person’s name on a public building is a deliberate statement of values. By elevating an individual like Nazi ally Al-Husseini, Abbas and the PA aren’t just labeling a hall — they are officially endorsing Al-Husseini as a hero for the entire community.
Haj Amin Al-Husseini was also featured at a PA event held under the auspices of PA Prime Minister Muhammad Mustafa, with numerous PA and Fatah officials in attendance, during the marking of the 150th anniversary of the private, coeducational Catholic school Collège des Frères in Jerusalem.
On a huge screen, organizers displayed an image of Al-Husseini. Al-Husseini was on Yugoslavia’s list of wanted war criminals, and was responsible for a Muslim SS division that murdered thousands of Serbs and Croats. When the Nazis offered to free some Jewish children, Al-Husseini fought against their release, and as a result, 5,000 children were sent to the gas chambers.
The author is a contributor to Palestinian Media Watch, where a version of this story first appeared.
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I First Experienced Antisemitism at Six Years Old; But We Must Never Let Hate Win
An Oxford student is seen chanting hateful slogans at Jews, during a pro-Palestinian march in central London, an incident captured on viral video that has drawn widespread condemnation. Photo: Screenshot
When I was six years old, my father founded Carmel College, and moved the family into the English countryside west of London. My father’s school initially only took pupils of a certain age. So, I was sent to a local Church of England village school with one teacher, located just outside the Carmel estate.
For the first time, I became aware of Christian antagonism when I was surrounded by other pupils, bullied, and told that I had killed Jesus. Even at six-years old, I had a mind of my own, and told off the other children. The teacher was furious, got in touch with my father, and insisted that he remove me from the school. Instead, he arranged for home schooling until I was able to join Carmel College.
Several years later, during school holidays, I would walk the three miles from the school to Wallingford, the nearest town, with enough pocket money to buy a ticket to the local cinema. When I got there, the manager told me that the price had gone up, and I didn’t have enough money to get in. I replied that I thought this was unfair and that as I had walked all this way, perhaps he could make an exception. But he replied that since I was a Jew, I should know all about money, because that’s all that mattered to Jews. It was another incident that reinforced my awareness that we were different and not very popular.
A few years later, when I was old enough to play on the school soccer team, we often went to play against non-Jewish schools. In almost every case, either our opponents or the local spectators would abuse us for being Jewish and often played rough either to test us or to express their antagonism. When I mentioned this to my father his response, surprisingly, was simply to tell us to repay them in kind.
The first debate I participated in at Cambridge University in the Union was on the biased subject of whether the Jews had any right to “take” the state of “Palestine” from the Arabs. I argued our case strongly and we won the vote. In those days, the voices of those who supported Israel’s right to exist were strong enough to win the argument.
I was always aware of anti-Jewish sentiment. But it was mainly low key, and I could hardly say that I suffered. Anyway, I had sufficient confidence in my Jewish identity not to let it get to me.
Later I became a rabbi in London and I accepted Chief Rabbi Jakobovitz’s invitation to become responsible in his cabinet for interfaith relations. For a few years I devoted myself to establishing good relations with the various Christian denominations and with Muslims, who at that stage were still relatively new to England and were grateful for the support and encouragement we gave them.
I enjoyed these interactions and conferences and the friendships, some of which I have to this day. But I soon became aware that the interfaith world comprised a small layer of intelligent, sensitive good men and women of all faiths. Although they got on well with each other, they seemed to have little impact on the vast majority of the members of their different religions who were still mired in prejudice and so I withdrew.
I mentioned all these little things because I am conscious of the fact that these small little things affected my sense of alienation, although I was also aware of how wonderful and rewarding the small acts of friendship and warmth were.
Many of our children will experience much more alienation than we had to. We have to fight more prejudice and one-sided information today, and indeed, there are many Jews who prefer joining our enemies. Despite everything, we must encourage good relations with other human beings — many of whom also fight against prejudice and discrimination. Little things can have a huge impact, both ways.
The author is a writer and rabbi based in New York.