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A Jewish museum exhibit features the Palestinian flag. Some visitors wonder if it belongs.
(J. The Jewish News of Northern California via JTA) — Tucked in the far corner of a large, brightly-lit exhibition hall on the ground floor of the Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco, there is a delicate-looking piece of art with a strong political message.
At first glance, it appears to be three circular vases with flowers in them. The ceramic vases sit on shelves attached to the wall, and colorful collages hang above them. On closer inspection, visitors will notice that the flowers are made out of paper and that affixed to each vase is an image of the Palestinian flag printed on foam board.
A nearby label written by the curators of the exhibit, titled “Tikkun: For the Cosmos, the Community, and Ourselves,” explains that the piece was inspired by a conversation the artist, Tosha Stimage of Berkeley, had with a Palestinian man. He told Stimage about the plants that are native to Palestine — “a place which he can no longer access due to the ongoing conflict in the region,” the curators write.
The label also includes a note about the flag: “Some may find its presence at The CJM troubling or confusing, while others may find it appropriate and forthright. Stimage recognizes the potential for these divergent responses and hopes to use them as a means of generating dialogue.”
On a Sunday afternoon in October, Maury Ostroff read the label and walked away without inspecting the artwork.
Visitors to the “Tikkun” exhibit are encouraged to share their responses to the artwork via comment cards. (Andrew Esensten)
Asked how the presence of the flag made him feel, Ostroff, who is Jewish and lives in Muir Beach, in Marin County, replied, “Unhappy.”
Why?
“It’s not offensive to me in the same way that a swastika is. My skin is a little bit thicker than that. But I wish it weren’t here.”
He added, “What’s so Jewish about this? What’s so ‘tikkun olam’ about all of this?”
For the “Tikkun” exhibit, which opened Feb. 17 and runs through Jan. 8, the CJM invited both Jewish and non-Jewish Bay Area artists to contribute new works on the theme of repair, however they chose to interpret it. “No one is listening to us,” the piece by Stimage, who is not Jewish, is the first work of art featuring the Palestinian flag to be shown at CJM in recent memory; the museum could not say when or if the flag has been displayed on its walls before.
The piece prompted several internal conversations among CJM staff when it was first submitted and, since it has been on display, has generated a variety of responses from museumgoers who have left comments in a box at the entrance to the exhibit. Intentionally or not, Stimage has raised numerous questions with the artwork, including: Does a work of art that is sympathetic to the Palestinian struggle for statehood belong in a Jewish museum? And what is the role of a contemporary Jewish museum, anyway?
“To truly be a contemporary art museum, meaning embedded in the contemporary issues of our day, our job is to provide a platform for dialogue and to share a diversity of perspectives on our walls,” said Chad Coerver, CJM’s executive director since September 2021. “If any institution [like ours] took the path of withholding artwork that troubled our staff, our board or our community, it would be very difficult to mount exhibitions.”
CJM is a member of the Council of American Jewish Museums, a network of 76 museums across the country. CAJM does not have guidelines about the kind of art its member museums can and cannot display, according to Executive Director Melissa Yaverbaum.
J. reached out to several CAJM member museums in New York, Los Angeles and other places by email to ask if they had ever shown artwork with Palestinian iconography or works by Palestinian artists. The museums declined to answer or did not respond.
In recent years, two Jewish museums have been embroiled in controversy over issues relating to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The Spertus Institute for Jewish Learning and Leadership in Chicago staged an exhibit in 2008 on Israeli and Palestinian concepts of homeland that included maps and portraits of Palestinians. Following outcry from members of the local Jewish community who felt the exhibit presented Israel in a negative light, the museum decided to close the exhibit after only a few weeks. And in 2019, the director of the Jewish Museum Berlin resigned after the museum tweeted a link to a pro-BDS article in a German newspaper. (The museum previously came under fire for welcoming anti-Zionist scholar Judith Butler and representatives of Iran.)
In a joint interview with J., two CJM staffers who worked on “Tikkun” — co-curator Qianjin Montoya, who is not Jewish, and a Jewish senior curator who served in an advisory role, Heidi Rabben — shared the story of how Stimage’s piece came to be in the exhibit. (Montoya’s co-curator for the exhibit, Arianne Gelardin, no longer works at the museum.)
Since 2009, CJM has invited local artists from different backgrounds to create new work as part of the museum’s annual Dorothy Saxe Invitational. The idea for “Tikkun” was hatched before the pandemic put the planning process on hold. Once the CJM and Saxe — a local philanthropist and art collector — agreed on the theme, the co-curators invited artists “already engaged in healing through their relationship to community or in their practice of daily life,” Gelardin told J. last February.
The 30 artists who accepted the museum’s invitation were given only four months to conceive of and submit new works. That was likely the shortest timeline in the history of the invitational, which has been held 11 previous times, according to the museum. Each artist received a packet of materials compiled by CJM staff, with input from the Shalom Hartman Institute, a non-degree granting Jewish education center, to guide their thinking on “tikkun.”
Stimage was invited to participate because she is “very active” in the Bay Area and because “her work reflects ideas of community and connection,” Montoya said.
The curators said Stimage’s inclusion of the Palestinian flag in her submitted piece came as a surprise and prompted challenging conversations. However, they noted that they found the content of some of the other artists’ work surprising, too, and that it’s not unusual for contemporary artists to push the envelope in their work.
“I wouldn’t say we expected to receive a piece about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, but we weren’t steering anyone away from that, either,” Rabben told J., adding that the submission guidelines did not place any topic off limits. “That’s a commitment from the museum to authentically represent the creative spirit of the artists that we’re working with,” she said.
Still, the curators said they engaged in a dialogue with Stimage in order to better understand each aspect of her piece and her overall intentions. Through those conversations, the curators learned that Stimage wanted to explore a moment of “rupture,” and that through her piece she hoped to communicate “that before healing or repair might happen, you have to first acknowledge that rupture,” Rabben said.
The Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco is showing “Tikkun,” an exhibit of works by Jewish and non-Jewish artists on the theme of repair. (Andrew Esensten)
Coerver, who was involved in some of the conversations, stressed that “careful consideration” was given to including the piece in the exhibit. “We felt an artwork addressing the plight of the Palestinians was appropriate in an exhibition on healing and repair,” he said. (No work submitted as part of the Dorothy Saxe Invitational has ever been outright rejected, the museum said.)
Stimage did not respond to interview requests from J. According to a CV on her website, she was born in Jackson, Mississippi, and earned an MFA from California College of the Arts in 2016. She is a past fellow at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts in San Francisco and was an artist-in-residence at Facebook in 2018. She also owns a floral gift shop in Oakland called Saint Flora.
Her work often touches on Black identity; she created a piece honoring Sandra Bland, an African-American woman whose 2015 arrest and death in a Texas jail cell sparked protests, and contributed to a 2019 San Francisco Art Institute exhibit on the Black Panther Party.
“I have a responsibility to create things that will, to the best of my present knowledge, do more good than harm, heal, inspire and uplift other humans,” she told the San Francisco Bay View National Black Newspaper in 2015.
Stimage’s precise views on Israel are unknown. CJM referred J. to her artist statement for “No one is listening to us,” which reads: “Olive, sage, and sumac are flowering plants native to the Mediterranean (including regions of Gaza and the West Bank) that have a direct relationship to contested ancestral land and affect the livelihood of so many Palestinian farmers and families caught in the conflict. They are positioned in the space of The Contemporary Jewish Museum as a metaphor for the ongoing conflict over land rights and the desperate need for restoration and healing of an age-old wound.”
The curators told J. that during their conversations with Stimage about her piece, they asked her why including images of the Palestinian flag was important to her but did not request that she remove them.
“We determined that none of [the piece’s] components in and of themselves signified something problematic or concerning,” Rabben said. “Of course, we had the awareness that the symbol [of the flag] will be read in a variety of ways by a variety of people.”
(Rabben pointed out that the exhibit includes other works with national symbols rendered in provocative ways, such as a black-and-white photograph of an American flag that was torn apart and partially reassembled by Mexican-American artist Jose Arias.)
The Palestinian flag — which contains the Pan-Arab colors of black, white, green and red — was adopted by the Palestine Liberation Organization in 1964. Since then, it has been the primary symbol of Palestinian nationalism.
For decades, the PLO was considered an enemy organization by Israel, and anything associated with it “had no place in Israeli public life,” said Eran Kaplan, an Israeli-born professor of Israel studies at San Francisco State University. Israel never went so far as to ban the flag. However, during the First Intifada, which lasted from 1987 to 1993, Israeli soldiers sometimes followed orders to confiscate the flag from protesters in the West Bank and Gaza.
With the signing of the Oslo Accord in 1993, Israel and the PLO recognized each other as negotiating partners. Yet the Palestinian flag remains a contentious symbol in Israel today. Kaplan noted that it recently served as a flashpoint during the funeral procession of Shireen Abu Akleh, the Palestinian American broadcaster who was killed in the West Bank in May. (The IDF conducted a review and admitted that the Israeli soldier who shot her had most likely misidentified her as an armed militant.) After warning Abu Akleh’s family not to display the flag, Israeli police attacked mourners in East Jerusalem, ripping flags out of their hands and off of the vehicle carrying her casket.
Today, the flag holds different meanings for Israelis and American Jews from different generations and political persuasions.
“There are large segments in Israeli society who view any form of Palestinian national identity as a threat to the existence of Israel,” Kaplan said. “There are others who view the PLO as legitimate partners in any form of negotiations [over the creation of a Palestinian state], but there’s an absolute split over those questions.”
Given the sensitive nature of Stimage’s work and others in the exhibit, the curators decided to solicit feedback from visitors via comment cards available at the entrance to the hall. Rabben said the museum has received a number of comments specifically about “No one is listening to us,” most of which were positive. “The majority of those comments were ‘Thank you for offering space for this topic at the museum,’” she said.
Last month, a security guard sitting in the “Tikkun” exhibition hall told a reporter that he had not witnessed any expressions of outrage or protest through the first nine months of the exhibit. “When we opened we were afraid of negative reactions, but they’re not stressed about it,” he said of visitors. “We have shown worse things here.” The guard, who has worked at the museum since it opened in 2008, mentioned a 2010 exhibit, “Our Struggle: Responding to Mein Kampf,” which included a copy of Hitler’s autobiography. “Some people were cussing us out” for displaying the book, he recalled.
Meanwhile, on the same floor as “Tikkun,” there is another, smaller exhibit containing potentially offensive art. A sign outside of the room warns visitors that inside is a Hitler marionette created by the parents of puppeteer Frank Oz. “Our intention in displaying this object is to keep the memory of the Holocaust alive through the objects and firsthand stories of those who experienced its persecution, and to encourage conversation and education about the ongoing horrors of antisemitism and authoritarianism today,” the sign says.
Coerver, CJM’s executive director, said he was proud that the museum’s three current exhibits — “Tikkun,” “Oz is for Oznowicz: A Puppet Family’s History” and “Gillian Laub: Family Matters,” which includes photographs that Laub took of her Trump-supporting relatives — are raising “challenging questions” and providing opportunities for both visitors and museum staff to “expand our horizons.”
“We’ve been wading into some issues that I think are a little thicker than maybe we’ve been confronting in the past,” he said, “and I hope that continues.”
A version of this piece originally ran in J. The Jewish News of Northern California, and is reprinted with permission.
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Chuck Schumer faces new challenges in the Senate — and now a challenger for majority leader
(JTA) — The clock may be running on Chuck Schumer, the most senior Jewish elected official in U.S. history as Democrats flipped at least seven Senate seats in midterm elections last week. The Democratic takeover of the Senate has led to some carping that he is too old, moderate or not aggressive enough against President Donald Trump to continue as leader. Maryland Sen. Chris Van Hollen, an outspoken critic of Israel who has led efforts to investigate the country’s human right practices and pressure its right-wing government, announced on Thursday that he will challenge in December’s election for Senate Majority Leader.
Schumer has led the Senate’s Democratic caucus since 2017, including as majority leader from 2021 until 2025. A pro-Israel stalwart who prides himself as a Shomer Yisrael (“guardian of Israel”), Schumer has found himself increasingly out of step on Israel-related matters with the party’s caucus and its voters. Progressives are also pushing for a bolder agenda that includes policies such as Medicare for All, which Schumer has not taken up.
Van Hollen told reporters on Monday that he is also kicking the tires on a 2028 presidential run. He has drawn blowback from some Jewish leaders in recent years over his criticism of Israel and of AIPAC, the pro-Israel lobbying group.
Vermont Sen. Bernie Sanders, an independent who caucuses with the Democrats, and Michigan Sen.-elect Abdul El-Sayed both said Thursday that they back Van Hollen. 59% of Democratic voters said they want “someone else” to lead Senate Democrats versus 22% who prefer Schumer, according to a poll commissioned last month by a progressive PAC.
Political strategist Hank Sheinkopf told JTA that a Van Hollen leadership would “move the Senate more to the left, unquestionably,” and cautioned that Van Hollen would “permit” discussions that would jeopardize defensive military assistance to Israel.
But he noted that it was difficult to imagine Van Hollen winning the leadership position for a number of reasons, not least of which, the Democrats just retook control of the Senate on Schumer’s watch.
“Unless the entire [class of] new Senate members are completely disloyal, it’s hard to imagine them saying no to Chuck Schumer and yes to Van Hollen,” he said. “Schumer just raised an extraordinary amount of money, has probably extracted pledges from them for committee positioning. You know, this is straight-ahead politics, not about ideology and not about Israel.”
Schumer, long an ally of Israel, broke with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu in March 2024 when he said on the Senate floor that Netanyahu had “lost his way” and called for the country to hold new elections. Schumer also called for a two-state solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and said the U.S. should use its leverage to push for its goals in the region if Netanyahu remains in power.
But Schumer’s leadership since then has not quieted critics who say that he should have done more to exert pressure on the Israeli government during its military campaign in Gaza and West Bank settlement expansion. He is among the small minority of Senate Democrats who have continued to vote against Bernie Sanders-led resolutions blocking weapons sales to Israel; all but seven out of 47 voted with Sanders earlier this year.
Van Hollen, meanwhile, has consistently voted to block those transfers and has said he would oppose selling offensive weapons to Israel “so long as Israel is violating international law and American law.” Van Hollen also said this year that there is “an important distinction” between selling offensive and defensive weaponry, and that he supports selling components for the Iron Dome missile system given that Israel is in “a tough neighborhood.”
Hadar Susskind, president and CEO of progressive Zionist group New Jewish Narrative, told JTA that Van Hollen would “meet the moment” and “prioritize and steer toward real, meaningful things that can leverage U.S. influence” as majority leader.
“I think he has always been and remains a proponent of a strong U.S.-Israel relationship — but one that is different than what we’ve seen between Trump and Netanyahu,” Susskind said.
“There are people who perhaps would stand up there and simply say, ‘OK, the Israeli government’s been doing bad and we don’t support it.’ Van Hollen is much more thoughtful than that,” Susskind said.
Van Hollen was long seen as a pro-Israel politician in his time as a Maryland congresman, though pro-Israel groups criticized him after he called for a ceasefire to end the 2006 Lebanon war.
In 2019, he opposed anti-BDS legislation, clarifying on the Senate floor that he disagrees with boycotting Israel but asserting that people should not be punished by the government for doing so. Schumer supported that legislation, which facilitated states’ ability to pass laws banning business with supporters of the boycott, divestment and sanctions movement against Israel.
Van Hollen has taken a more vocally critical stance on Israel and the pro-Israel lobby since the Israel-Hamas War started in 2023. Ron Halber, CEO of the Jewish Community Relations Council of Greater Washington, took aim at Van Hollen’s outspoken criticism of the Israeli government during a JCRC event last year, which prompted a Van Hollen spokesperson to call Halber an “apologist for the Netanyahu government” who is out of step with his constituents. Halber called the comment “laughable” and other Jewish leaders responded with outrage, while Susskind rushed to Van Hollen’s defense, saying he had “always been there for his Jewish constituents and in support of the people of Israel.”
Speaking at this year’s J Street national convention, held in Washington by the liberal Jewish Middle East advocacy group, Van Hollen panned AIPAC and said that it is neither pro-Israel nor pro-American, drawing pushback from some Jewish leaders.
Neither AIPAC nor J Street returned a request for comment on the possible battle for leadership in the Senate.
J Street’s president Jeremy Ben-Ami has written positively about Van Hollen, calling him “a true friend of Israel” in a 2024 opinion piece for the Washington Jewish Week. The piece came in response to an editorial claiming that Van Hollen is “not our friend” because of his “self-righteous spewing of anti-Israel accusations and positions,” and Ben-Ami countered by pointing to Van Hollen’s record of voting to send “tens of billions of dollars” in aid to Israel.
Van Hollen voted yes on a $14 billion security assistance package to Israel in February 2024, even as he accused the country of committing “war crimes.” (Van Hollen has since accused Israel of “ethnic cleansing” and said he agrees with organizations and scholars who say that Israel’s actions in Gaza meet the legal standard for genocide.)
This week, Van Hollen led a letter signed by a dozen Senate Democrats, addressed to House and Senate leadership, about the 2027 National Defense Authorization Act, urging them to remove provisions on U.S.-Israel military and intelligence cooperation.
Senate Democrats will pick their next majority leader in a December vote. A number of them have said they want new leadership and a fresh voice to steer the caucus and direct its legislative agenda.
Still, Schumer says he is “confident” that he will win the leadership election. Jim Kessler, vice president of the Democratic think tank Third Way and a former Schumer aide, agrees with him.
Kessler told JTA in an email that it’s “hard to imagine anyone mounting a serious challenge to Schumer after he led the most successful midterm for Democrats in 50 years.”
“He can say, well look at me, I was the leader when we had this big win,” said Democratic strategist Steve Jarding, in a JTA interview.
Schumer played an active role in recruiting candidates who won Senate seats in red and purple states, such as Sherrod Brown of Ohio, Roy Cooper of North Carolina, Josh Turek in Iowa and Scott Colom in Mississippi.
“It’s hard to imagine them saying no to Schumer and yes to Van Hollen,” said Sheinkopf, who pointed out that a number of the new Senate Democrats are moderates.
Progressive critics have said Schumer’s choices were too old and too moderate, and pointed out that his top choices in Michigan (Rep. Haley Stevens) and Maine (Gov. Janet Mills) were unsuccessful. Van Hollen said during an event on Tuesday that Schumer and the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee “sided with the crypto industry and AIPAC against” a pair of progressives who were elected, including presumably El-Sayed. (The Schumer-aligned Senate Majority PAC spent $30 million boosting El-Sayed in that election after he won the primary.)
Jarding, a past executive director of the South Dakota Democratic Party, opined that it would be “good for the party” for another senator to “emerge and at least test Schumer.” Should that happen, Jarding said, the leadership race could be “much closer than people think.”
“There’s a lot of people in that caucus that want a change. They may not say it publicly, but I know people in that caucus that want a change,” Jarding said.
Michigan Sen. Elissa Slotkin, who is Jewish, has said she would “certainly not vote for” Schumer without seeing a satisfactory 100-day plan from him, according to Politico.
Minnesota Senator-elect Peggy Flanagan said one day after her election that “it’s time for new leadership.” She has not said who she would support instead of Schumer, but told Politico that she has been “very impressed by Senator Van Hollen’s leadership.”
Incoming freshmen Troy Jackson of Maine and Juliana Stratton of Illinois have explicitly said that they would not support Schumer, while Annie Andrews of South Carolina says it is “time for a generational change on both sides of the aisle.” New Hampshire Senator-elect Chris Pappas has been noncommittal, saying that “this is a moment to see a passing of the torch.”
Kansas Senator-elect Adam Hamilton, meanwhile, has said that he won’t support Schumer because he is too far to the left, in the eyes of his constituents. Hamilton did not have a specific successor in mind, but said that there are senators who could “lead more from the center.”
Connecticut Sen. Richard Blumenthal, who is Jewish, told reporters on Monday that he would not endorse Schumer and that Democrats “need a conversation about leadership going forward because we need new energy and ideas.” But he changed his tune later that day, saying he will in fact support Schumer.
Pennsylvania Sen. John Fetterman, Arizona Sen. Ruben Gallego, Rhode Island Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse and Sherrod Brown have said they will support Schumer, while most senators have not publicly committed either way.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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Call Your Mother bagel shop, JCC were refuge during deadly DC shooting
As a deadly shooting unfolded Thursday in Washington, D.C., people fleeing the scene in the Logan Circle neighborhood took refuge in a bagel shop and a local Jewish Community Center.
The shooting took place at VIDA gym, and outside the gym in the street, just north of the White House. One person was killed, four were injured, and the suspect took his own life, authorities said, after barricading himself in his apartment.
The bagel chain Call Your Mother, located just around the corner from the gym, helped locals stay safe.
“We tried to get as many people who were running out into the building,” general manager Oscar Vazquez told reporters. “After that we locked the doors.”
The shop posted about the incident on its Instagram page. Many users commented thanking Vazquez for ushering people to safety during the crisis.
“We are proud of our shop’s General Manager for leading with care and composure through such a difficult situation, and we thank our entire team for supporting one another,” said the bagel shop in a statement to the Forward.
About 8-10 employees were in the store at the time, Call Your Mother owner Andrew Dana told The Washington Post.
The shop closed for the rest of the day following the incident.
“Obviously, selling bagels is not important,” Dana told the Post.
The Edlavitch DC Jewish Community Center, located a few minutes away from the gym, sent an email to its community members Thursday afternoon assuring them it wasn’t a target of the shooting and noted certain programs would be canceled for the rest of the day:
“Throughout today’s events, we have been grateful that the EDCJCC could serve as a safe, welcoming space for our community, including neighbors who were evacuated from their homes and the law enforcement officers responding to the incident.”
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In a family divided over Israel, which side would Tevye choose?
Sixteen members of my family spent two terrifying years concealed in the attic of a peasant’s home in rural Poland during the Holocaust. Their lives depended on the extraordinary courage of the Polish couple and on the hope that the world outside would eventually become a place where they could live freely again. When liberation came, the 13 survivors emerged carrying memories that would shape generations to come.
My mother was among them. Like so many survivors, she rarely spoke of the past, but its presence was unmistakable in our childhood. We inherited our parents’ anxieties, their sense of vulnerability and their understanding of how suddenly the familiar world could become dangerous.
For the generation raised in the shadow of the Holocaust, the establishment of Israel represented an extraordinary transformation in Jewish history. After centuries of persecution, culminating in the systematic murder of six million Jews, the Jewish people possessed a sovereign state capable of providing refuge and defending its citizens. For families such as mine, whose survival had depended on the willingness of a stranger to risk her life on their behalf, the significance of Jewish self-determination carried an emotional weight far beyond the ordinary language of politics.
For many younger American Jews, their understanding of Israel has been shaped by the occupation of the West Bank, the expansion of Jewish settlements there, the suffering of Palestinians and now the Oct. 7 attacks and the devastating consequences of the war in Gaza.
The result is a profound generational divide in which people who share a historical inheritance increasingly struggle to recognize one another’s moral reasoning. For parents whose understanding of Israel emerged from the Holocaust and its aftermath, challenges to the legitimacy of the Jewish state can awaken deeply embedded fears about Jewish vulnerability. For their children, expressions of unconditional loyalty to Israel can seem incompatible with the moral responsibilities they associate with their Jewish upbringing.
As I began thinking about how to explore these divisions dramatically, I found myself returning to Sholem Aleichem and Fiddler on the Roof. Tevye the milkman struggles to reconcile his love for his daughters with their rejection of traditions he has spent his life upholding. His conversations with God, his humor and his anguish capture something timeless about Jewish family life: the painful realization that the next generation may not embrace the values and beliefs that have sustained its parents.
I wondered what Tevye’s dilemma might look like in an American Jewish family today. The questions have changed, but the underlying struggle remains remarkably familiar. Where Tevye wrestled with his daughters’ choices about marriage and religious tradition, today’s Jewish parents may find themselves confronting children whose views about Israel challenge their deepest understanding of Jewish history and survival. Like Tevye, they must ask themselves how far they can bend without betraying what they believe, and whether holding too tightly to those beliefs risks losing the people they love most.
Marc Chagall’s paintings provided another source of inspiration. His floating violinists, suspended above the rooftops of Eastern European villages, evoke a Jewish world that has largely vanished but whose traditions, memories and anxieties continue to shape succeeding generations. The image of a violinist hovering above a modern Manhattan street became a way for me to connect that lost world to the lives of an American Jewish family struggling with questions their ancestors could scarcely have imagined.
Such tensions form the central conflict of my new play, The Blue Violinist Over West End Avenue, which unfolds during a gathering in the Upper West Side apartment of a Jewish family. The evening descends into confrontation when the youngest son arrives with his anti-Zionist girlfriend, whose convictions challenge the father’s understanding of Jewish history and survival.
As the argument deepens, the son insists that Jewish identity carries no automatic obligation of loyalty to a state, while his father, for whom Israel embodies the aspirations and sacrifices of generations, demands an affirmation of the Jewish state’s importance. Their disagreement becomes so painful that the father orders the young couple to leave, turning a family celebration into an occasion of rupture and exposing the fragility of relationships that had seemed secure.
The father’s anguish emerges from a history that has shaped his deepest convictions, while his son’s resistance reflects a different understanding of the responsibilities that accompany Jewish identity. Each approaches the argument with the conviction that something essential is at stake, and each experiences the other’s position as a challenge to values that have become inseparable from his sense of self. Their inability to recognize the emotional and historical foundations of each other’s beliefs transforms a political disagreement into a crisis of familial belonging.
I recognize in this conflict an echo of the questions that first led me to explore my history. In 1988, I made a documentary about my family’s experiences, returning to Poland with my aunt and cousins to meet the couple who had sheltered our relatives. The journey was an attempt to recover a history that had shaped our lives while remaining largely beyond the reach of ordinary family conversation.
My mother’s generation carried experiences whose enormity often exceeded the possibilities of language, while their children absorbed the consequences of those experiences through the atmosphere of family life. The silence surrounding the Holocaust became a form of communication in itself, shaping our understanding of danger, responsibility and the precariousness of Jewish existence.
Today, the challenge facing many Jewish families arises from the intensity of their disagreements and the difficulty of sustaining meaningful conversation across them. The language of political conviction can leave little room for complexities, and can seem to contradict inherited experience, particularly when arguments about Israel become measures of moral character or Jewish authenticity.
I have experienced some of these tensions within my own extended family, particularly in conversations with younger relatives whose understanding of Israel differs sharply from mine. One nephew has been intensely critical of Israel’s conduct during the war in Gaza and deeply sympathetic to the Palestinians, while firmly rejecting Hamas. He accepted many of the accusations made against Israel during the war, including some that were subsequently disputed or discredited, such as an early account of a hospital bombing. Our disagreements reflected the different sources of information we trusted, as well as the different assumptions and experiences we brought to the conflict.
My nephew and I eventually recognized how quickly our conversations became heated and decided to try a different approach, exchanging articles, podcasts and other material that might help each of us understand the other’s perspective. Even that effort generated tension, and we gradually abandoned it, leaving Israel as a subject we largely avoid when we are together. I have often wondered whether the play might help us find a way back to those conversations, allowing us to recognize in the characters something of ourselves and perhaps understand why the same events can provoke such different reactions among people who love one another.
The fears of older generations deserve to be understood within the historical circumstances that produced them, just as the ethical concerns of younger Jews deserve serious consideration on their own terms. Acknowledging the suffering of Palestinians and the legitimate aspirations of their people can coexist with an understanding of Jewish historical vulnerability and the importance of Israel to Jewish collective life. Such recognition requires a willingness to engage with the experiences and convictions that give different perspectives their emotional force.
Families possess a particular responsibility in this regard because their bonds reach beyond the political positions of any given moment. Parents transmit values, memories and traditions to their children, but the meaning of that inheritance inevitably changes as children encounter the world through their own experiences. The continuity of a family depends in part on its capacity to accommodate that transformation while preserving the relationships through which its history is passed along.
In my play, the father eventually encounters a form of ancestral wisdom through a dream in which his family’s long-departed relatives return, including the milkman who, according to family lore, inspired Sholem Aleichem’s Tevye. These ancestors urge him to apologize for the harm he has caused and to leave the door open for his son, an appeal that places the preservation of their relationship alongside the convictions that have divided them. Family can and must prevail, even when the questions at stake touch the deepest elements of identity.
When I think of the 16 members of my family who survived together in that attic in Poland, I think of the extraordinary value of the lives that were preserved and of the generations that followed because a courageous woman chose to shelter them. Their story belongs to a history of persecution and survival, but it also attaches to the human capacity for solidarity and the responsibility we bear toward one another.
The generations that followed inherited both the memory of that vulnerability and the opportunity to build lives enriched by freedoms their ancestors could hardly have imagined. Honoring that inheritance requires an understanding of the fears that shaped our parents, together with an openness to the different moral questions that confront our children.
The future of Jewish family life will depend in part on our ability to sustain those conversations with generosity, humility and a recognition of the profound bonds that connect us across generations. Our disagreements over Israel may remain intense, and the questions they raise will continue to demand serious engagement. Yet the preservation of our relationships is itself an expression of the continuity that our ancestors struggled so desperately to secure.
We can honor their memory by keeping our doors open to one another.
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