(JTA) — JERUSALEM – Israeli President Isaac Herzog on Sunday formally tasked Gadi Eisenkot with forming the next government, nearly two weeks after the country held a national election and days after a majority of parliamentary factions said they would recommend Eisenkot as the next prime minister.

“Yashar Leader Gadi Eisenkot, I expect you to do everything in your power to establish a government that will serve the entire people, those who supported it and those who did not, and that will be a responsible and decent address for all sectors, faiths, ways of life, and worldviews,” Herzog said in a televised ceremony held at his residence in Jerusalem.

Eisenkot has up to six weeks to assemble a coalition, a step that typically includes at least 61 seats out of 120 in Israel’s parliament, the Knesset. If he fails to do so within that time, then the president can give another Knesset member the opportunity to form a government.

In his speech on Sunday, Eisenkot said that Israeli democracy was “at one of its most vulnerable moments.”

“The campaign to undermine the legitimacy of our democracy, together with the growing distrust in state institutions, fueled daily, has brought us to an extremely dangerous point,” he said, adding that continuing on this path Israel would reach the “point of no return.”

“The formal consultations held here, at the President’s Residence, have revealed a clear picture: an absolute majority of Knesset members, representing the Israeli public, support change and support me as prime minister,” he said.

Some 67 members of the Knesset recommended Eisenkot, a former IDF chief of staff, for prime minister during those consultations. Meanwhile, 46 members of Knesset recommended incumbent Prime Minister and Likud Leader, Benjamin Netanyahu. One faction, United Torah Judaism, with seven members of Knesset, refrained from recommending any candidate.

The consultations, Herzog said, “brought to the surface the disputes, the painful points, and of course, the multitude of voices within Israeli society and politics.”

He added that the differences “reminded us all that every citizen of Israel has an equal voice, from every side, every view, every way of life, and every faith.”

Eisenkot said he would work to bridge those divisions and attempt to form a national emergency government, even if it required “creative and unconventional political initiatives.”

For his part, Netanyahu has urged Eisenkot to join him in an emergency national unity government that will keep Israel strong against ongoing threats.

Eisenkot has responded that the “national emergency government” he will form will comprise the “four Zionist parties” of the change bloc – his own Yashar Party, B’Yachad headed by former prime ministers Naftali Bennett and Yair Lapid, Avigdor Liberman’s Yisrael Beitenu Party and the Democrats under Yair Golan.

He also said he would welcome “parties and Knesset members who support Yashar’s four principles” to join the coalition.

At the President’s Residence in Jerusalem on Sunday, Eisenkot said he would be sending out formal invitations as soon as possible “to every Knesset faction, calling on all their members, both as parties and as individuals, to take part in forming the government and bringing it to its swearing-in.”

“The rule is simple,” he added. “If you are prepared to sign on to the four principles I have set out, you are potential partners in a national emergency government under my leadership.”

Throughout his campaign, and particularly since the Oct. 27 election, Eisenkot has emphasized these four principles as the basis for forming the next government.

1)    Recognition of the State of Israel as a Jewish and democratic state.

Eisenkot wants to define his coalition as a government that is committed to Israel’s Jewish national identity and to democracy, not simply an alliance united by opposition to Netanyahu.

Any party wanting to join must accept Israel’s identity as the national home of the Jewish people first. The requirement has historically been contentious for Israel’s two Arab parties, who represent 19 Knesset members.

Parties must also accept the country’s democratic institutions, which uphold equality and rights for all citizens and prioritize the rule of law.

This means parties, such as the far-right and the ultra-Orthodox, that, as members of the outgoing government, have been pushing to overhaul the country’s judiciary – a key institution in Israel’s system of democratic checks and balances – might think twice about joining.

2)    Acceptance of the values of the Declaration of Independence.

Israel’s Declaration of Independence, proclaimed and signed on May 14, 1948, is a foundational document that has helped shape the country’s constitutional principles, although Israel does not have a single, formal written constitution.

In it, the signatories laid out their vision for Israel, including the historical ties the Jewish people have to the land of Israel and its place as a safe haven for Jews around the world who are in trouble.

For Eisenkot, the emphasis appears to be on one particular section that declares: “The State of Israel will foster the development of the country for the benefit of all its inhabitants; it will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel; it will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its citizens,​​ irrespective of religion, race or sex; it will guarantee freedom of religion, conscience, language, education and culture; and it will safeguard the Holy Places of all religions; and it will be faithful to the principles of the Charter of the United Nations.”

By embracing the Declaration of Independence, Eisenkot is recognizing the place of Israel’s minority groups, highlighting their “full and equal citizenship.” A point mentioned twice in the declaration.

The declaration also reaffirms that Israel is a country seeking peace, rather than endless conflict, at a time when Netanyahu has recently been criticized over his handling of the country’s wars on multiple fronts.

3)    Mandatory service for all — military, national, and civilian, to strengthen the IDF and expand its ranks.

Including this condition for joining the government is a direct message to the ultra-Orthodox parties, at least one of which is considering supporting Eisenkot’s coalition.

United Torah Judaism, which has been aligned closely with Netanyahu’s bloc for at least the past two decades, on Thursday refused to recommend the prime minister as Israel’s next leader. Instead, the party, which holds seven seats, abstained from recommending any candidate.

Both UTJ and the second ultra-Orthodox party, Shas, have resisted efforts that would include ultra-Orthodox young men studying in yeshiva under a universal draft law requiring all eligible Israelis to perform military service.

Previous exemption laws have expired, and Israel’s Supreme Court has ruled that the state’s blanket exemption of yeshiva students from military service has no legal basis and violates principles of equality before the law.

By including this condition, Eisenkot is telling the ultra-Orthodox – and even the Arab community, most of whose members are also exempt from mandatory military service – that everyone in Israel must do their part, whether through military service or some type of national or community service.

This stipulation could either keep the ultra-Orthodox out of the government, even though Eisenkot’s partners have expressed willingness to allow their participation. Or it could force them to be more flexible on an issue that until now they have appeared unrelenting.

4)    Recognition of Hamas as a terrorist organization and commitment to dismantling its military and governing power.

Leaders of the two Arab parties, the Islamist Ra’am Party and the more nationalist Joint List, have refused to make this statement out loud.

Ra’am leader Mansour Abbas, who has repeatedly condemned the Oct. 7 attack, has said he does have a clear position on this but refuses to state it publicly for several reasons ranging from concerns about his personal safety to his ties to the Muslim Brotherhood, to which Hamas is also affiliated. He has also questioned why Arab politicians are required to pass loyalty tests that are not applied equally to Jewish politicians.

When President Herzog pressed him on the matter last week, Abbas said: “I have an unequivocal answer, but leave me space to be a bridge. To also influence the other side.” He argued that maintaining channels of communication with Palestinians requires him not to adopt language that would immediately alienate them.

For the Joint List, the continued refusal to call Hamas a terror group appears to reflect the view that Hamas is part of the broader Palestinian political movement. Some of its members argue that labeling it a terrorist organization risks delegitimizing Palestinian political aspirations as a whole.

Members of the 11-member faction have condemned the Oct. 7 massacre, but are unlikely to accept this particular condition because it could be used to justify Israel’s military campaigns in Gaza and the West Bank. Its leaders also want to preserve their credibility among Palestinian voters, many of whom see the conflict through the lens of occupation and Palestinian national rights.

This article originally appeared on JTA.org.

The post Israel’s President Herzog tasks Gadi Eisenkot with forming Israel’s next government appeared first on The Forward.

(JTA) — TEL AVIV — Sound problems, guitar trouble and an admission of forgotten lyrics punctuated Boy George’s second Tel Aviv show Saturday night. But the British pop star, irreverent, occasionally exasperated and frequently hilarious, could hardly have asked for a more forgiving audience.

At 65, the Culture Club frontman is no longer the chart-topping phenomenon of the 1980s. Although plenty of those who filled Menora Mivtachim Arena were old enough to remember his heyday firsthand, his appeal went well beyond nostalgia.

At a time when international stars have largely stayed away from Israel, George has become one of the country’s most outspoken supporters, enduring considerable backlash from within the music industry for his refusal to remain silent over the Oct. 7 Hamas attack.

“Silence is not a f—ing option,” he said to thunderous applause.

Saturday’s concert, the second of two nearly sold-out performances following Wednesday’s show at the same venue, was dedicated to survivors of the Nova music festival massacre and bereaved families, with 1,500 tickets donated to members of the community. Israeli DJ and producer Ofer Nissim joined George onstage in the second half, bringing a dance-club element to an evening that mixed Culture Club classics, covers and newer material.

His habit of mocking himself and mimicking others repeatedly drove the crowd to laughter, turning interruptions that might have derailed a slicker performance into part of the entertainment.

The banter ranged from wisecracks about technical glitches to personal reflections on the hostility he has encountered over his support for Israel. When a guitar failed to produce any sound, he appeared mildly irritated, telling the crew, “You have to plug things in, you know.”

“This is a weird moment,” he added, before smiling and continuing, “but this whole night has been a weird moment.”

Introducing his cover of Bob Dylan’s “It Ain’t Me, Babe,” he explained that he had attempted it on Wednesday but forgotten the lyrics. “Luckily, this time I have autocue,” he said, breaking into his trademark laugh.

As for his detractors around the world, he made clear that he had little interest in winning them over.

“I’m 65. It’s too late to hate me, I don’t give a s–t,” he told the audience.

The one person’s opinion that mattered to him, he said, was his late mother’s. Recalling an Irishman who had suggested that his Irish mother would be ashamed of his support for Israel, given Ireland’s strong sympathy for the Palestinian cause, George was defiant.

“I can tell you categorically my mother will be more proud of me than she’s ever been,” he said.

In another characteristically unpredictable diversion, George dedicated his solo release “Clouds” to Philip Sallon, a longtime Jewish friend and influential figure in London’s club scene who helped introduce him to Jewish traditions when he was young.

The two have since fallen out. “He hates my guts right now,” George said, asking anyone who knew Sallon to tell him that he had sung the song for him in Israel as an act of forgiveness, “as a mitzvah.”

But the evening’s most emotional moments belonged to “We Will Dance Again,” the song George released in July about the Nova attack. Its lyrics explicitly reference the atrocities committed on Oct. 7, criticize fellow musicians for their silence and challenge accusations of genocide against Israel.

George’s eight-day visit included a meeting with President Isaac Herzog and a trip to the Nova massacre site near Kibbutz Re’im, where Hamas terrorists murdered more than 360 festivalgoers on Oct. 7, 2023.

Having visited Israel many times before, he told the audience that this trip had affected him differently. He also appeared uneasy about the gratitude being lavished on him.

“It’s awkward for me as an outsider to be in the midst of this amazing recovery and sadness,” he said.

Survivors of the Nova massacre and relatives of those murdered joined George onstage carrying Israeli flags for “We Will Dance Again.”

George, having changed into a colorful, geometric-print suit and rhinestone-studded black hat, performed the reggae-inflected song about one of the most traumatic events in Israeli history while embracing the survivors and bereaved relatives beside him.

At one point, he seemed close to tears. “I’m going to cry,” he said.

But even the solemnity didn’t last long. When George invited one of the bereaved women to address the crowd, she demurred because she didn’t speak English.

“I’ve never met a Jewish person who doesn’t have anything to say,” he joked, drawing laughter and applause from the crowd.

In the audience, people swayed to lyrics that included an explicit reference to girls raped against trees. Kay, a singer from Tel Aviv, remained seated, tears in her eyes.

“I can’t dance to that,” she said.

Yet she was deeply moved by George and the atmosphere surrounding the performance, and was untroubled by its hiccups.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be human, and that’s what connects us,” she said.

Tammy, a 60-year-old dance instructor who regularly plays Culture Club songs in her classes, hadn’t initially intended to attend. But after seeing footage of George’s Wednesday performance, she changed her mind.

“I saw the clips on social media and was jealous of people who went,” she said.

Lavie, a 24-year-old Israeli-born performer who divides his time between New York and Los Angeles, had never heard of Boy George before the singer began making headlines in Israel. He started studying his music ahead of the concert, hoping to learn from the veteran entertainer’s stagecraft.

“I learned a lot,” he said toward the end of the performance. “What impressed me most was how he handled all the glitches with grace and humor.”

Not everyone was quite so impressed.

Daniel, a Jaffa resident originally from Los Angeles, was scathing about the musical performance and even more critical of the audience’s reaction.

“Everyone was off-key, and it was just awful,” he said. “But what bothered me most was the crowd’s desperate need for approval.”

“We need a national therapy session to counter our neediness,” he added.

George saved “Karma Chameleon,” the 1983 hit that made him a household name around the world, for the finale. By then, the show had stretched to roughly two and a half hours, but thousands of people were still on their feet.

George contrasted the atmosphere in Israel with London, which he described as “full of anxiety and tension.”

“It feels so relaxed here,” he said. “I don’t want to go home.”

This article originally appeared on JTA.org.

The post Boy George’s Tel Aviv concert was not perfect. For the crowd, that was beside the point appeared first on The Forward.

There is a photograph from my wedding that I think about more than any other. My wife Donna and I are standing under a chuppah. But we are not in a synagogue. Or even on a beach. We are in the beautifully ornate St. Matthew’s Cathedral in Washington, D.C. — the same church where John F. Kennedy’s funeral Mass was held.

Donna is Catholic. I am Jewish. The ceremony, which took place a little more than 20 years ago, was co-officiated by a rabbi and a priest. Before we exchanged vows, we signed a ketubah — the Jewish marriage contract — on the altar, beneath the Cathedral’s great mosaic of St. Matthew, the apostle who was himself a tax collector before he was called to follow Jesus: a man of two worlds, presiding over our union with what I have chosen to interpret as equanimity.

We like to call it a “Ḥuppah in the Ḥurch.” The guttural Hebrew Ḥet — the sound that “chuppah” and “church” share when English speakers say them — makes the joke land differently out loud than it does on the page. But the feeling it captures is real: that the most Jewish act of my adult life happened inside a Catholic cathedral, and that this was not a contradiction; it was the whole point.

I did not fully understand, at the time, what that photograph meant. I understand it better now, with one child who stood on a bimah at our synagogue to become b’nei mitzvah in 2024, and a second who followed this October. The earlier wedding chuppah at St. Matthew’s was not a compromise. It was a declaration of intent of how we would define our family.

According to the 2025 Greater Boston Jewish Community Study — a comprehensive survey of Jewish communal life commissioned by Combined Jewish Philanthropies and released earlier this year — only 23% of children ages 14-17 from interfaith families have a bar or bat mitzvah, compared to 82% of children from families where both parents are Jewish. That gap — 59 points — is not a rounding error. It is a chasm. I believe it measures less a failure of Jewish identity than a failure of Jewish institutions.

The Boston study found that 65% of Jewish households with children in the greater Boston area are interfaith — a majority. Nationally, the 2020 Pew Research Center survey found that 42% of married American Jews were married to a non-Jewish spouse, with that number rising among younger and non-Orthodox Jews. Interfaith families are not an edge case in American Jewish life. They are the center of it.

Jodi Bromberg, who led 18Doors — a nonprofit dedicated to supporting interfaith families in Jewish life — for a decade before stepping down in 2024, put it bluntly: Interfaith families “aren’t a drop in the ocean. We are the ocean.” The irony is that 18Doors itself has since become a casualty of the communal prioritization it was warning against. After Oct. 7, 2023, donors shifted their giving toward Israel and antisemitism-related causes; earlier this year, according to JTA, 18Doors slashed its staff from 15 to four. Bromberg left asking: “The question it left in the minds of families like mine: whose priority are mixed heritage and interfaith families in Jewish life?”

The Jewish community has largely supported welcoming interfaith families. The language has shifted — from “intermarriage” as problem to “interfaith family” as constituency. What has not yet shifted, in too many places, is what actually happens when those families show up.

My family showed up. What happened to us is a complicated story about what Jewish continuity actually costs — and who is being asked to pay for it.

The first wall we encountered was not unwelcoming people. It was doctrine.

Matrilineal descent — the principle that Jewish identity passes through the mother — is not stated plainly in the written Torah. The rule was codified by the early rabbis, likely in the first or second century CE, and yet it functions today, in Conservative and Orthodox congregations, as a theological absolute — a sorting mechanism that places children of Jewish fathers and non-Jewish mothers in a separate category, recognized as fully Jewish by Reform and Reconstructionist movements but not by much of the rest of the Jewish world.

I grew up in a Reform congregation, but in my twenties I spent time studying at Aish HaTorah in Jerusalem — an Orthodox yeshiva — and came home with a deeper appreciation for traditional observance. When Donna and I started a family, I was drawn toward a more traditional congregation. What I found, at more than one Conservative synagogue, was that my daughters — daughters of a Jewish father and a devoted, deeply engaged Catholic mother — would need to convert to be considered fully Jewish. The synagogue said it would accept our family. But our daughters would need to be processed.

This is not outright rejection. It is something subtler: the message that your children’s belonging is conditional, something to be granted rather than inherited. You are welcome, but the rest of your family is a question we haven’t resolved yet.

I almost let it win.

Our older child started Hebrew school at a large synagogue in northern Virginia and came home crying. The environment was harsh; she was behind and everyone knew it. After several months, she asked us if she could stop. The pandemic arrived, and we let it make the decision for us.

When restrictions lifted, we found a congregation in Arlington that had built a hybrid model during the pandemic — Sunday morning religious school in person, Hebrew instruction via individual Zoom sessions during the week. What looked like an emergency accommodation turned out to be an unintended innovation: a model that removed the social pressure of being seen to struggle. Away from the eyes of their peers, our child learned and caught up. In February 2024, they led their own bat mitzvah service, then started a Jewish student cohort at their school.

What saved their Jewish education was not ideological commitment. It was an accident of pandemic logistics. That is a fragile kind of salvation. Most interfaith families do not find it. The data says so.

There is something the data does not capture: what the work actually looks like inside an interfaith home. Donna agreed, before the Ḥuppah at St. Matthew’s, to raise our children in the Jewish tradition, and she has kept that agreement with a fidelity that still catches me off guard. She runs our Jewish household calendar, ensures the girls study their Hebrew and Torah portions, has made raisin kugel and matzo ball soup from scratch, and has shown up for every bat mitzvah preparation meeting — all as a Catholic woman who continues to practice her own faith and has not surrendered anything of herself to make room for ours.

Meanwhile, I string the outdoor Christmas lights every year, drove the girls to Catholic Sunday school for years, gave Donna a diamond cross necklace early in our relationship that she still wears today. An interfaith marriage requires not one partner’s sacrifice and the other’s gratitude, but a genuine doubling of belonging.

When I asked Donna what the harder moments were, she said they were not in our own home. They were in other people’s institutional spaces — the moments when she felt regarded as a problem to be managed rather than a parent to be welcomed. The 23% is often read as a story about interfaith families failing to commit. It is at least as much a story about Jewish institutions failing to make the non-Jewish partner feel that her commitment matters.

My younger daughter stood on the bimah on Oct. 3. She is a different person than her older sibling— a social butterfly with her own questions, her own relationship to what this all means — and she was honest with me about those questions in ways that required me to listen rather than answer. She completed her bat mitzvah not because she had resolved those questions, but because she made a commitment and she was going to honor it. There is something deeply, if unintentionally, Jewish about that: a covenant is not a feeling, it is a promise kept because you said you would keep it.

She was in the 23%. She almost wasn’t.

The fear behind the continuity crisis narrative has been used to justify exclusion, to draw lines, to send signals to interfaith families about whether they truly belong. Those signals are self-fulfilling. The families who make it to the bimah found an institution that treated them as members rather than complications, had a non-Jewish partner committed enough to keep showing up anyway, and got lucky with a workaround that happened to be exactly what their child needed. That is too much to ask, and too random a path to count on.

The Jewish community has accepted interfaith families in principle. The 23% tells you what that acceptance looks like in practice. If the number is going to change, something structural has to change with it — not just the language of welcome, but the architecture of it. Not just the open door, but what’s waiting on the other side.

My daughter chanted her Torah portion with her Catholic mother who was on the bimah behind her, and her older sister in the front row, wearing a cross and a Star of David together because she has decided there is no reason she cannot wear both.

If we truly believe interfaith families are the future of American Judaism, what do we owe the 77% who never made it to the bimah?

The post The Jewish community accepts interfaith families in principle — but it doesn’t look that way in practice appeared first on The Forward.