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A Jewish expert on monuments on what Philly’s famous Rocky Balboa statue can teach us about memory

(JTA) — Paul Farber was shocked when he first watched “Rocky” and saw a Star of David on the grave of Rocky Balboa’s coach, Mickey Goldmill.

As a Jew and as the founder of the Philadelphia-based Monument Lab, which has explored collective memory through art installations across the country for over a decade, Farber was well positioned to think about the deeper meaning of that brief shot.

“Anytime I see a Jewish funeral in a film, there’s some kind of call to attention. And I always want to know what that means, especially for a Hollywood production, especially when it may not be branded as a Jewish story,” he told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.

“We’re not there in a prolonged series of mourning, but in a split second, seeing a Jewish site of a memory is really fascinating,” he added.

That outlook lies behind Farber’s work as the host of the new NPR podcast “The Statue,” a deep dive into Philadelphia’s famed statue of Rocky Balboa, the fictional prizefighter at the center of “Rocky.” The series delves into what sports and society can convey about memory, and in his research, Farber discovered a few Jewish nuggets found in the film series — including the fact that Rocky’s love interest was originally supposed to be Jewish.

“They made an actual gravestone [for her character] and it’s in Philadelphia’s most famous cemetery, Laurel Hill. And you can go there and see this gravestone where a movie character is ‘buried,’” he said. “People leave offerings on the gravestone, including small pebbles as if it’s a Jewish site of memory.”

In an interview with JTA, Farber shared his inspiration for the series, how his Jewish upbringing informed his life’s work and the role statues — such as that of Jewish baseball legend Sandy Koufax — do, and should, play.

This interview was lightly edited for length and clarity. 

Jewish Telegraphic Agency: To start off, I’d love to hear about how you first got interested in studying monuments.

Paul Farber: I’m really interested in the ways that, in cities, we innovate toward the future, and also come to terms with our past, and it happens often in the same exact places. That could be a statue, a street, a corner store. And so that’s a big part for me.

What really inspired this project is a conversation I had with my mother, quite a few years ago. My mother is a lifelong Philadelphian. Her parents were Jewish immigrants in South Philadelphia. And when I told her I was teaching a class at the University of Pennsylvania about Philly neighborhoods, she asked me if I was covering Rocky. When I said, “Oh, it’s not on the syllabus” — and I may have said it in a way that felt dismissive — she gave me this look that I think a lot of us know: “How could you.” So for her birthday, we watched “Rocky” and we went to see “Creed.” My grandfather went to South Philly High and was in the boxing club. He shared stories in our family about what it meant to have sport and culture and belonging go together in South Philly. I started to see that across generations, from long before “Rocky” to this moment now, almost 50 years after the release of the film, many people’s family stories could be channeled through this statue, including my own, and that was enough of a prompt to go dive in.

“Rocky” is obviously not a Jewish story, but there are some nuggets. There’s the funeral scene, and you mentioned something about Adrian almost being Jewish. I’m curious what you think about the little Jewish pieces you can pull out of this famous story, and what those mean to you as a Philly sports fan.

It blew me away that Rocky’s coach, Mick, passes away and the character Rocky goes to his funeral, and you see a Star of David. Anytime I see a Jewish funeral in a film, there’s some kind of call to attention. And I always want to know what that means, especially for a Hollywood production, especially when it may not be branded as a Jewish story. And it just opened up a whole set of questions for me that blurred between art and life, between the film series and the city of Philadelphia.

In episode two, we showcase this monumental art book that Sylvester Stallone [who played Rocky] created. There was this passage in it that just blew me away, about the first draft of “Rocky,” where he says, “As for Adrian, she was Jewish in the first draft.” And he got feedback and cut that character. We never hear about Mickey’s Judaism. We never hear about Rocky’s bond across culture. But the fact that the first scene in the “Rocky” series is in a place called Resurrection Gym — that is obvious Christian iconography — and to put Jewish characters in is really fascinating to me.

There is another famous grave that is involved in the series. The character Adrian eventually passes away, and like the statue, which was made as a bronze sculpture, for the “Rocky” film series they made an actual gravestone and it’s in Philadelphia’s most famous cemetery, Laurel Hill. And you can go there and see this gravestone where a movie character is “buried.” People leave offerings on the gravestone, including small pebbles as if it’s a Jewish site of memory.

People talk about representation on screen, and I’m not sure a Jewish funeral necessarily does that, but I would imagine for some people, seeing Rocky Balboa say the “Mourner’s Kaddish“ was maybe their first interaction with Judaism in some way. What do you make of that?

Every shot is deliberate. And it’s actually that kind of attitude and outlook that created the Rocky statue, because Sylvester Stallone was the director of that film, and they could have made a styrofoam version or a temporary one, but they spent over a year making a bronze version so that when the camera faced it, it would make contact. I think very similarly, this is part of the artistry of Stallone that plays out in our podcast series. We’re not with him when he sits shiva. We’re not there in a prolonged series of mourning, but in a split second, seeing a Jewish site of a memory is really fascinating. And to see the coach Mickey, to have his Wikipedia page say he’s Jewish, all that we have is mourning.

I think about how for immigrant Jewish communities, there are gaps in our narratives. Throughout the series, and one of the reasons I wanted to share my perspective as a queer Jewish person who grew up loving sports in Philly, I’ve been informed by my own family’s history, and what we’re able to recall and what gaps there are. And I see that being echoed for so many people in the Rocky story.

It’s clearly a very personal story for you. Why did you think it was important to start the podcast with your own identity, and to include your Jewish mother?

I think it’s important that when we talk about sites of memory, we understand that there are shared and collective ways that we bring the past forward, and there are others that are incredibly personal. My hope was to find, in this case, to spotlight, a significant site of memory in the city, but ask questions about it. And I think it was important to note what position I would take, because I don’t believe there’s one story to the Rocky statue. To tell a biography of a statue, you actually have to tell it of the people who make meaning from it. So in the series, we do a lot of work where we want to know other people’s stories and backgrounds, whether they are refugees from Afghanistan, or community organizers in Kensington [a neighborhood of Philadelphia]. My hope was by positioning this from my perspective, almost as a memoir in a way, that it opened up space for others to have their experiences be valued and made meaning of.

The official artwork for Farber’s podcast. (Courtesy)

Both with the podcast and in your work with the Monument Lab, how do you feel that your Jewish identity informs what you do? Do you see overlap between your Jewish values and the values you work on in your organization?

I absolutely think so. I grew up in a Jewish community in Philadelphia, and tikkun olam was a constant refrain. The work of tikkun olam meant a worldview that necessitated building coalitions and understanding across divides, to not diminish or under-emphasize them, but to appreciate how we work in solidarity, whether that’s around racial justice, gender justice, in various struggles. I am a co-founder and director of an organization that focuses on memory, and that I really get from the stories of growing up in a Jewish household, in a Jewish community, where memory lived in different ways. We were always aware of the stories of trauma and loss, as well as reconciliation and transformation, and how you work with the gaps that you have, and you listen, and you learn and you carry the story with you. Because that is the way to bond generations. Jewish memory really grounds what I do, and I seek to use it as a tool to learn more and to feed connection across divides.

Rocky takes on this almost mythical, godlike status, and his statue in Philadelphia is a bit of a pilgrimage site. Do you see any tension there as a Jew, given the prohibition against idol worship?

I think about the importance of memory, against forces of violence and erasure. I also understand that, in a world that is full of pain and difficulty and loss, we seek places to release that. And so I understand the pull to monuments. What I would like to see, and what we try to do through this series, “The Statue,” and also with the work of Monument Lab, is to look on and off the pedestal, and really think about how history lives with us. As we say in the series and other places, history doesn’t live inside of statues, it lives with people who steward them, who create other kinds of sites of memory, who are vigilant in their modes of commemoration. What I try to do in this work is understand the ambivalence around monuments, the pull to try to remember and be enduring through time, and just that constant reminder that whenever you try to freeze the past, or freeze an image of power, you cut out the potential to find connection and empowerment, and thus forms of survival.

In sports, there are so many ways to honor people, especially different ways that, like a statue, take on the idea of permanence. When Bill Russell died, the NBA retired his number 6 across the league. On Jackie Robinson Day, every April 15, the whole MLB honors Jackie Robinson by wearing his uniform number. But statues just have a different level of oomph. Sandy Koufax has a new statue in Los Angeles that was unveiled last year; Hank Greenberg has one. What do you think it should take for an athlete to reach that status?

The pinnacle in sports is to have a statue dedicated to you outside of the stadium. And I do believe the cultures of social media have amplified that, because we grew up with the story of Sandy Koufax not pitching in the World Series during the High Holy Days, and that wasn’t because we learned it from a statue or a plaque. We learned it because it was carried forward and put into different forms of remembering and recalling its importance. I went to several Maccabi Games in the U.S. — I used to be a sprinter. And the culture of memory and sport, they were one in the same.

In professional sports, the pinnacle is the statue, but I think you brought up other really important ways of remembering that operate in non-statue forms that feel like they are living memorials. The idea of retiring someone’s number, and keeping their number up, is a way to acknowledge, in this really public of all public spaces, an intimacy and a care, and especially when an athlete passes away, how that transcends the lines of city geography. Jackie Robinson Day is something that did not occur immediately after Jackie Robinson was the first Black player to play in the major leagues, but was a product of a later moment when people around Major League Baseball sought to activate his memory. So yes, a statue outside of a stadium is like a particular kind of professional accolade. But the other forms are really meaningful.


The post A Jewish expert on monuments on what Philly’s famous Rocky Balboa statue can teach us about memory appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.

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Belgium Indicts Jewish Mohels, Sparking Diplomatic Firestorm With US and Israel

Belgian army personnel patrol a street as part of a deployment of soldiers outside Jewish institutions in Antwerp and Brussels following attacks at Jewish sites in Belgium and other European countries, in Antwerp, Belgium, March 23, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Yves Herman

Belgian authorities have indicted two mohels for allegedly performing illegal circumcisions, amid a government probe into the Jewish ritual — with Jewish and political leaders warning the case is a direct threat to religious freedom.

A mohel is a trained practitioner who performs the ritual circumcision in Jewish tradition known as a bris.

On Wednesday, the Antwerp Public Prosecutor’s Office formally indicted two local mohels for “intentional assault or bodily harm with premeditation against minors, as well as the illegal practice of medicine.”

Prosecutors in the northern Belgian city announced they have concluded their investigation into suspected illegal circumcisions and found sufficient evidence to refer the case to criminal court.

The two men are now set to appear before a closed-door pre-trial chamber on June 18, which will decide whether the case proceeds to trial.

The prosecution comes as the Belgium Jewish community is sounding the alarm over a surge in hostility and targeted violence against Jews across the country. In March, following an explosion at a synagogue in Liege that authorities called an antisemitic act, soldiers were deployed on the streets of leading Belgian cities to bolster security for the Jewish community.

With Jewish leaders warning their way of life is being threatened, the legal proceedings against the mohels have sparked fierce backlash, escalating into a public row involving Belgian authorities and Israeli and US officials.

Israeli Foreign Minister Gideon Saar condemned the case as an attack on Jewish religious practices, calling on the Belgian government to intervene immediately and seek a swift resolution.

“With this act Belgium joins a short and shameful list, together with Ireland, of countries that use criminal law to prosecute Jews for practicing Judaism,” the top Israeli diplomat wrote in a post on X.

“This is a scarlet letter on Belgian society,” Saar continued.

US Ambassador to Belgium Bill White also condemned the legal action, calling it a “shameful stain” on the European country.

“The prosecution of these religious figures (mohels), one of whom is American, is wrong and won’t be tolerated,” White wrote in a post on X.

“The Trump Administration condemns this judicial action and also condemns the political inaction by the Belgian Government to find a solution with the beautiful Jewish communities here in Belgium,” he added.

The US diplomat had previously slammed the Belgian government’s probe against the mohels as a “ridiculous and antisemitic prosecution.”

In response, Belgian Foreign Minister Maxime Prévot urged White to “exercise greater restraint” and to view his role in “its proper context.”

“It is inappropriate to publicly criticize a country and tarnish its image simply because you disagree with judicial proceedings,” the top Belgian diplomat said in a post on X. 

“To portray this as a country’s effort to undermine the religious freedom of Jews is defamatory. This freedom has never been called into question and never will be in our country. Our Constitution protects it,” he continued.

Prévot also noted he would be willing to travel to Israel to discuss the issue, adding that he remained open to dialogue.

“Enough with these caricatures,” he further said. “In Belgium, the judiciary is independent and makes its decisions — whether one agrees with them or not — free from any political influence.”

Saar responded by saying that Prévot’s comments “completely miss the point,” insisting that the core issue was being misrepresented and must be addressed directly.

“There should never have been such an investigation, had the issue of Brit Milah been regulated like in other European countries that respect Jewish religious freedom,” the Israeli diplomat posted.

“Especially so in a country with one of the oldest Jewish communities in Europe,” he said. “Had Belgium had a strategic plan to fight antisemitism and foster Jewish life, you might have known this. Alas, it doesn’t.”

Belgian Prime Minister Bart De Wever said on Wednesday evening that his country “is not an antisemitic state,” dismissing such accusations as “nonsense” and arguing that Belgium has always been able to reconcile its laws with Jewish traditions.

“Circumcision is essential to the Jewish faith and Islam, but so are the quality standards of our legislation. You have to reconcile the two,” he said.

The highly controversial case began a year ago when Belgian police raided the homes of several mohels in Antwerp, seizing their circumcision tools after a local anti-Zionist Jewish rabbi filed a complaint.

Last May, Belgian authorities specifically raided three locations in the Jewish Quarter, searching for knives and other equipment allegedly used in unauthorized or illegal circumcisions. 

Among the homes raided by the Belgian police was that of Rabbi Aharon Eckstein, a highly experienced mohel and a prominent leader within the Antwerp Jewish community.

According to a police report, the searches were ordered by a judge following a complaint filed in 2023 by Rabbi Moshe Aryeh Friedman, an anti-Zionist activist previously accused of Holocaust denial, against Eckstein and other mohels within the Jewish community.

Since 2024, prosecutors have been investigating illegal circumcisions in the country amid concerns from local authorities that some Jewish circumcisions were being performed by individuals without proper medical training.

In his complaint, Friedman accused six mohels, whom he identified to the police, of endangering infants by performing the metzitzah b’peh ritual, in which the mohel uses his mouth to suction blood from the circumcision area.

However, Eckstein and other rabbis, along with parents of children circumcised by them, have denied such accusations, insisting that they do not perform this practice.

At the time, Jewish and political leaders accused local authorities of using the raids as part of a broader effort to intimidate religious figures in Belgium.

In Antwerp, Friedman is known for publicly criticizing several customs that are important to ultra-Orthodox Jews, who represent the majority of the city’s 18,000 Jewish residents.

Despite several attempts to ban it across Europe, ritual circumcision remains legal in all European countries – though many, including Belgium, limit the practice to licensed surgeons and often perform it in a synagogue.

Last July, dozens of European Jewish leaders called on the European Union to take action against Belgium, arguing that the Belgian police’s actions “represent a breach of an EU fundamental right, that of freedom of religion” and warning that this “echoes one of the darkest chapters in European history.”

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ADL Reports Overall Drop in US Antisemitic Incidents, Rise in Assaults

A man with an Israeli flag looks on next to police officers working at the site where two Israeli embassy staff were shot dead near the Capital Jewish Museum in Washington, DC, US, May 21, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Jonathan Ernst

Antisemitic incidents in the US decreased overall in 2025, but violent attacks targeting American Jews remained at alarmingly high levels, according to the Anti-Defamation League (ADL), whose new report pointed to several lingering areas of concern.

The ADL on Wednesday released its annual “Audit of Antisemitic Incidents” for the last calendar year, tallying 6,274 incidents of antisemitic assault, harassment, and vandalism in 2025, an average of 17 such outrages per day.

While antisemitic assaults increased by just 4 percent, from 196 in 2024 to 203 in 2025, perpetrators increased their use of “deadly” weapons by nearly 40 percent, the ADL said. Incidents of assault involving a deadly weapon increased to 32 in 2025 from 23 in 2024.

The advocacy group noted that the upward shift was reflected in the shocking murders of Jews in antisemitic attacks in the US for the first time since 2019. Two Israeli embassy staffers — a young couple set be engaged — were shot dead in Washington, DC last May, and weeks later a firebombing in Colorado claimed the life of an octogenarian. In both crimes, the alleged killers cited anti-Zionism as their motivating ideology.

Other statistics dropped by digit double digits, according to the ADL. Antisemitic vandalism was down 21 percent in 2025. So too was antisemitic harassment, which decreased 39 percent. However, both categories still combined for a total 6,071 incidents, a figure which eclipses the number of hate crimes the FBI said was committed against African Americans in 2024. For context, the Black community is roughly 7 times larger than the Jewish community.

“Behind every one of these incidents is a real person: a family threatened at their synagogue, a rabbi attacked on the street, a student harassed on campus,” ADL senior vice president Oren Segal said in a statement released with the report. “[The year] 2025 brought some of the most violent antisemitic attacks in recent memory. Even as overall incidents declined, the surge in physical assaults is a stark reminder that a historically high level of antisemitism puts Jewish lives at risk.”

“The safety of Jewish communities depends on our collective willingness to meet this moment with urgency, which is what we’re doing every day at ADL,” he added.

The ADL recorded its steepest decline on campuses, where Jewish university students have reported alarming levels of anti-Jewish bias often disguised as or justified by anti-Israel animus. Such antisemitic incidents fell 66 percent to 583 incidents in 2025, down from 1,694 the previous year. The plunge coincided with the second term of US President Donald Trump, whose administration has launched dozens of federal investigations into campus antisemitism and impounded taxpayer funding from schools found to have failed to address the issue.

Last year saw a wide range of antisemitic incidents covered by The Algemeiner. These included, among many others, a public-school principal inveighing against “Jew money,” an attempted arson at the Hillel International chapter in San Francisco, California, and the movement of some conservative students into the far-right ecosystem of antisemitism — a path cleared by Nicholas Fuentes, Candace Owens, Kanye West, and troops of social media influencers. In New York City, home to the world’s largest Jewish population outside of Israel, Jews were targeted in the majority of all hate crimes despite comprising a small fraction of the total population.

The wave of hatred has changed how American Jews perceive their status in the US. According to the results of a previous survey commissioned by the ADL and the Jewish Federations of North America, a striking 57 percent of American Jews believe “that antisemitism is now a normal Jewish experience.”

The survey results revealed other disturbing trends: Jewish victims are internalizing their experiences, as 74 percent did not report what happened to them to “any institution or organization”; Jewish youth are bearing the brunt of antisemitism, having faced communications which aim to exclude Jews or delegitimize their concerns about rising hate; and the cultural climate has instilled a pervasive fear that the non-Jewish community will not act as a moral guardrail against continued violence and threats.

On Wednesday ADL chief executive officer Jonathan Greenblatt committed his organization to reversing this trend.

“Our 2025 audit, which shows that it was one of the most violent years for American Jews on record, is a reminder of how dramatically the threat landscape has shifted. Numbers that would have shocked us five years ago are now our floor,” Greenblatt said. “People are being murdered because of antisemitism on American soil, and thousands more are threatened. ADL will not stop until that baseline changes.”

Follow Dion J. Pierre @DionJPierre.

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An Israeli genocide scholar looks to Israel’s history to understand ‘what went wrong’

On Nov. 10, 2023, the Israeli-American historian Omer Bartov published a guest essay in the New York Times. Though scarcely a month had passed since the Hamas massacre of hundreds of Israeli men, women and children, Bartov expressed fears over Israel’s military response to this horrifying act of barbarity. But, he concluded, while “it is very likely that war crimes, and crimes against humanity, are happening,” he concluded, there is “no proof that genocide is taking place in Gaza.”

By mid-2025, however, Bartov revised his stance in a second Times essay. As a scholar of genocide who has taught classes on the subject — including at Brown University, where he is currently based — for a quarter of a century, he announced, “I can recognize one when I see one.”

In his new book Israel: What Went Wrong?, Bartov offers a searing analysis, both personal and professional, of the tragically entwined history of Israelis and Palestinians that climaxed with the disaster of October 7, 2023, when Hamas attacked Israel, followed by the even more disastrous response of Israel. Bartov’s account resembles an earlier book on an earlier war: Marc Bloch’s Strange Defeat, in which the veteran of two world wars examines the causes to France’s collapse in 1940. Both internationally known historians, and patriots who served their nation in arms, each man wrote their book when the debacles were still fresh.

For France, the collapse was as much moral and political as it was military. “Whatever the complexion of its government,” Bloch observed, “a country is bound to suffer, democracy becomes hopelessly weak, and the general good suffers accordingly if its higher officials are bred up to despise it.”

As Bartov’s book reminds us, this diagnosis applies not just to the decay that undermined the French Third Republic, but also to the moral rot that has been sapping the foundations of the Israeli republic. In his account, Bartov weaves the parallel histories of Israelis and Palestinians — a history composed of two catastrophes, the Shoah and the Nakba, that have ever since shaped events.

Inevitably, the very mention of these events in the same breath often sparks a violent response from many Israeli and diasporic Jews, but Bartov rightly insists upon their pairing. One of the many reasons why Bartov’s book is so important is his insistence that the two events are “inextricably linked historically, personally and as part of a politics of memory” and that they each have “become constitutive of Israeli and Palestinian national identities.”

William Faulkner’s old chestnut — the past is neither dead nor even past — is the through-line to Bartov’s sharply, at times brutally, etched history of Israeli-Palestinian relations. Crucially, Bartov argues that what has gone so terribly wrong since 1948 was inevitable only in retrospect. An alternative history, one shaped by a Zionism faithful to the ideals of the Enlightenment, was, if unlikely, certainly not impossible. At the very least the history of the past eight decades could have gone in a liberal and democratic direction.

An Israeli officer raising the National Flag for the first time during the celebration of the birth of the Israeli State after its proclamation, on May 14, 1948. Photo by Photo by -/INTERCONTINENTALE/AFP via Getty Images

What, then, went wrong? First, there is the simple and tragic fact that the resurrection of one people meant the destruction of another people. Bartov underscores that early Zionist pioneers like his own father and grandfather, the offspring of “mutilated families” that were decimated by the Holocaust, were taught they represented the future of this reborn people. They only slowly grasped that this rebirth required the removal of the Palestinian people. For many Israelis, he observes, this “generated contradictory responses — guilt and regret, or negation and denial; a hope for redress and reconciliation, or a conscious and, just as important, unconscious will to eradicate and erase.”

The will to eradicate has been enabled by the occupations of the West Bank and Gaza, and their management. Since 1967, the metastasizing of walls and fences have transformed these territories into mazes, leading to a different kind of erasure. Israeli civilians, who once regularly encountered the Arab occupants of the land, no longer had occasion to see their Palestinian neighbors, hidden behind these walls, while Israeli soldiers serving in occupied territories were influenced by the burgeoning of ethno-nationalistic sentiment, making them increasingly incapable of seeing Palestinians as fellow human beings.

This form of “social death” — when a group or entire people are shunned and shut into confined spaces — has led with increasing frequency to all-too-real deaths. According to a recent United Nations report, more than 1,000 Palestinians living in the West Bank have been killed by Israeli soldiers, while settler violence has displaced nearly 2,000 Palestinians from their villages since the start of 2026, often with the complicity of the IDF.

For those who have been following events since Oct. 7, 2023, much of what Bartov recounts will not be a surprise. (As Bartov notes, however, the Israeli media have, with a few exceptions including Haaretz and +972, largely shielded the reality of what the IDF has done in Gaza and the West Bank from Israel’s inhabitants.)

Yet as a native-born Israeli who served as an officer during the Yom Kippur War, Bartov brings intimacy and intensity to his account. He confesses to a sense of estrangement from Israel, which now seems to be “a different, strange, and threatening place, whose people, including some of my friends, have been transformed, perhaps irretrievably.”

No less important, as a historian who has written several books on war and genocide, Barton delves into harsher and darker corners of Israeli actions, the entwined histories of Israelis and Palestinians mostly ignored by the media. To better understand the acts and words of brutality and, at times, inhumanity committed and expressed by Israeli politicians and soldiers, Bartov compares the results of his early research on German soldiers — crucially, those serving not in the Nazi SS, but in the Wehrmacht, the broader German army which, after the war, sought to distance itself from the machinery of the Shoah.

The comparison is provocative, but it is also painfully instructive. Just as latter employed animalistic images and apocalyptic claims to justify the systematic destruction of European Jewry, Israeli political and military leaders have used similar rhetoric towards Palestinians. This was true of then-defense minister Yoav Gallant, who declared Israel was fighting against “human animals,” as well as retired Major General Giora Eiland, who promised that “Gaza will become a place where no human being can exist.” No wonder, as Bartov notes, that there have been countless social posts by IDF troops calling to “kill the Arabs” and “burn their mothers.”

Israeli soldiers stand guard at the entrance of an alley in Hebron. Photo by hoto by Mosab Shawer / Middle East Images / AFP via Getty Images

Given the postwar imperative of “Never again,” how has it come to this? As Bartov observes, the phrase has always carried two meanings, one applied exclusively to a repeat of a Jewish genocide, the other to the eruption of genocide, plain and simple, against any people at any time and in any place. The first definition, Bartov suggests, has bleak consequences. If the Shoah is seen, as it is by many Israelis, as an event that made the case for a Jewish state, it also turns that state “into a unique entity that operates according to its own rules and logic,” he writes. It unshackles, in short, Israel from the “constraints imposed on all other nations, not least because ‘they,’ as the saying goes, stood by while the Jews were slaughtered.”

Israel thus finds itself overseeing what Raphael Lemkin, the Jewish lawyer who coined the term “genocide,” called the “crime of crimes.” Bartov finds that Israel’s government checks the boxes for the 1948 genocide convention, which defines the crime, in part, as the commission of “acts with the intent to destroy, in whole or part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group as such.”

When it comes to “intent,” Bartov lists a partial list of vows made by Israeli political and military leaders in the immediate aftermath of the Hamas massacre. These threats of complete destruction were not empty: from the targeting of hospitals and schools and razing of entire cities to causing tens of thousands of civilian deaths, the IDF has repeatedly violated the genocide convention. From the very beginning, the war’s goal, Bartov writes, has always been “to make the entire Gaza Strip uninhabitable, and to debilitate its population to such a degree that it would either die out or seek all possible options to flee the territory.”

In leveling these charges, Bartov does not ignore Hamas’ practice of using civilians and civilian infrastructure as shields against Israeli reprisals. Obviously, these tactics constitute a war crime, as does the unspeakable massacre committed by Hamas on Oct. 7th. Nevertheless, Bartov insists, Israel’s response has been no less criminal, ranging from its consistent failure to apply the principle of proportionality to its policy of blocking all humanitarian assistance in the early 2025.

It is tempting to conclude that apologists for the IDF’s excesses reflexively — though not reflectively — blame Hamas for the deaths of the tens of thousands of innocents. But even this conclusion is problematic given the many blanket accusations made by Israeli leaders against the people of Gaza. For example, President Isaac Herzog declared, a few days after the war, that it is “an entire nation out there that is responsible.”

And yet, the most tragic passages in the book are devoted to the Israeli constitution that never was. With a nod to counterfactual history, Bartov suggests that the unfolding of events over the last seven decades was not inevitable. Though Israel’s Declaration of Independence, inspired by its American counterpart, anticipated a similar constitution, the document never saw the light of day. On the one hand, the Declaration affirms “complete equality of social and political rights to all its citizens irrespective of religion, race, or sex.” As for the other hand, it is empty. The constituent assembly, though required by the UN’s 1948 partition plan, failed to write a constitution. Instead, there has been a series of basic laws, two of which address human rights — an ideal that for Arab citizens of Israel, not to mention Palestinians living in the occupied territories, is mostly a mirage.

What might Israel look like today if its founders had, in fact, endowed the nation with a constitution that resembled our own? For Bartov, it might well be a nation of laws where the Supreme Court, rather than being the frequent enabler of the ethno-nationalist goals of the current government, would instead serve as a powerful check to both the executive and legislative branches. With a constitution, it is conceivable, as Bartov suggests, the now-embattled court might oppose the nature of the occupation of the West Bank, perhaps even the actions of the IDF in Gaza. Israel would be a light onto other nations not because it resolved the inherent tension in being both a Jewish and democratic nation, but because it was committed to managing it.

Of course, this possible Israel never came to pass. The original purpose of Zionism, which Bartov poignantly describes as a “Jewish rebellion against fate and oppression, religious resignation and prejudice,” has given way, he says, to the God of the zealots.

“As Israel is led singing and praying and dancing into the abyss,” Bartov concludes, “it is finally shaking itself free of Zionism and heading down the path of theocracy and apocalypse following a pillar of fire and smoke.”

The post An Israeli genocide scholar looks to Israel’s history to understand ‘what went wrong’ appeared first on The Forward.

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