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A new book made me appreciate Jewish Sunday schools — and the volunteer women who have powered them
(JTA) — As a kid I went to Sunday school at our Reform synagogue. I didn’t hate it as much as my peers did, but let’s just say there were literally dozens of other things I would have preferred to do on a weekend morning.
As a Jewish adult, I had a vague understanding that Sunday school was a post-World War II invention, part of the assimilation and suburbanization of American Jews (my synagogue was actually called Suburban Temple). With our parents committed to public schools and having moved away from the dense urban enclaves where they were raised, our Jewish education was relegated to Sunday mornings and perhaps a weekday afternoon. The Protestant and Catholic kids went to their own religious supplementary schools, and we Jewish kids went to ours.
In her new book “Jewish Sunday Schools,” Laura Yares backdates this story by over a century. Subtitled “Teaching Religion in Nineteenth-Century America,” the book describes how Sunday schools were the invention of pioneering educators such as Rebecca Gratz, who founded the first Sunday school for Jewish children in Philadelphia in 1838. As such, they were responses by a tiny minority to distinctly 19th-century challenges — namely, how to raise their children to be Jews in a country dominated by a Protestant majority, and how to express their Judaism in a way compatible with America’s idea of religious freedom.
Although Sunday schools would become the “principal educational organization” of the Reform movement, Yares shows that the model was adopted by traditionalists as well. And she also argues that 20th-century historians, in focusing on the failures of Sunday schools to promote Jewish “continuity,” discounted the contributions of the mostly volunteer corps of women educators who made them run. Meanwhile, the supplementary school remains the dominant model for Jewish education among non-Orthodox American Jews, despite recent research showing its precipitous decline.
I picked up “Jewish Sunday Schools” hoping to find out who gets the blame for ruining my Sunday mornings. I came away with a new appreciation for the women whose “important and influential work,” Yares writes, “extended far beyond the classrooms in which they worked.”
Yares is assistant professor of Religious Studies at Michigan State University, with a joint appointment in the MSU Program for Jewish Studies. Raised in Birmingham, England, she has degrees from Oxford University and a doctorate from Georgetown University.
Our conversation was edited for length and clarity.
Tell me how your book came to be about the 19th century as opposed to the common 20th-century story of suburbanization.
There’s a real gap in American Jewish history when it comes to the 19th century, chiefly because so many American Jews today trace their origins back to the generation who arrived between 1881 and 1924, the mass migration of Jews from from Eastern Europe. So there’s a sense that that’s when American Jewish history began. Of course, that’s not true at all.
The American Jewish community dates back to the 17th century and there was much innovation that laid the foundations for what would become institutionalized in the 20th century.
Sunday school gets a very bad rap among most historians of American Judaism. If they’ve treated it at all, they tend to be dismissive — you know, there was no substance, they just taught kids the 10 Commandments, it was run by these unprofessional volunteer female teachers, so it was feminized and feminine.
But there’s also a lot of celebration of Rebecca Gratz, who founded the first Sunday school for Jewish children.
That’s the first indication I had that there might be more of a story here. Rebecca Gratz is lionized as being such a visionary and being so inventive in developing this incredible volunteer model for Jewish education for an immigrant generation that was mostly from Western Europe. And yet, by the beginning of the 20th century, [Jewish historians] say it has no value. So what’s the story there?
Two other things led me on the path to thinking that there was more of a story in this 19th-century moment. I did my Ph.D in Washington, D.C. And as I was searching through the holdings of the Library of Congress, there were tons and tons of Jewish catechisms.
“Sunday school gets a very bad rap among most historians of American Judaism,” says Dr. Laura Yares, author of the new book, “Jewish Sunday Schools.” (Courtesy of the author)
A catechism is a kind of creed, right? It’s a statement of religious beliefs. “These are things we believe as Jews.”
So Jewish catechisms had that, but they were also philosophical meditations in many ways. Typically, the first question of the catechism was, what is religion? And then the second question is, what is Jewish religion?
And then I started reading them. They were question-and-answer summaries of the whole of Judaism: belief, practices, holidays, Bible, you name it, that the children were expected to memorize. This idea that you’ve got to cram these kids with knowledge went against this historiographic dismissal of this period as being very thin and that kids were not really learning anything. The idea that children had a lot to learn is something that Sunday school educators actually really wrestle with during this period.
What was the other thing that led you to pursue this subject?
When I was beginning to research my dissertation, I was working as a Hebrew school teacher in a large Reform Hebrew school in Washington, D.C. And I remember very distinctively the rabbi coming in and addressing the teachers at the start of the school year. He said, “I don’t care if a student comes through this Hebrew school and they don’t remember anything that they learned. But I care that at the end of the year they feel like the temple is a place that they want to be, that they feel like they have relationships there and they have an (he didn’t use this word) ‘affective’ [emotional] connection.”
And so I’m sitting there by day at the Library of Congress, reading these catechisms that are saying, “Cram their heads with knowledge.” What is the relationship between Jewish education as a place where one is supposed to acquire knowledge and a place where one is supposed to feel something and to develop affective relationships? The swing between those two poles was happening as far back as the 19th century.
You write that owing to gaps in the archives, it was really hard to get an idea of the classroom experience. But to the degree that there’s a typical classroom experience in the 1860s, 1870s and you’re the daughter or grandchild of probably German-speaking Jewish immigrants, maybe working or lower middle class, what would Sunday school be like? I’m guessing the teacher would be a woman. Are you reading the Bible in English or Hebrew?
You are probably going for an hour or two on a Sunday morning. It’s a big room, and your particular class would have a corner of the room. It’s quite chaotic. Most of the teachers were female volunteers. They were either young and unmarried, or older women whose children had grown. Except for the students who are preparing for confirmation — the grand kind of graduation ritual for Sunday schools. Those classes were typically taught by the rabbi, if there was a rabbi associated with the school.
There would be a lot of reading out loud to the students with students being expected to repeat back what they had heard or write it down so they had a copy for themselves. Often the day would begin with prayers said in English, and often the reading of the Torah portion, typically in English, although in many Sunday schools, we do have children reporting they learned bits of Hebrew by rote memorization. Or they memorized the first chapters of the book of Genesis, for example, but I’m not sure that they quite understood what they memorized. “Ein Keloheinu” is a song that often children tell us [in archival materials] that they had memorized in Hebrew. They probably would have learned at least Hebrew script, and a little bit of Hebrew decoding. But it is fair to say that if they were reading the Bible, they were reading it mostly in English, because you have to remember that most of the women who were volunteering to teach in these schools came of age in a generation where Hebrew education wasn’t extended to women.
What’s the goal of these Sunday schools?
The Sunday school movement arose because there was a whole generation of immigrant children who did not have access to Jewish education, because their parents didn’t have either the economic capital or the social capital to become part of the established Jewish community. They couldn’t afford a seat in the synagogue, they couldn’t afford to send their children to congregational all-day or every-afternoon schools [which were among the few options for Jewish education when Gratz opened the Philadelphia Sunday school]. Sunday schools are really a very innovative solution to a problem of a lack of resources.
You also write that the founders of these supplementary schools want to defend children against “predatory evangelists.”
That was how Rebecca Gratz described her goal when she created the first Sunday school. She was very, very worried about the Jewish kids who were not receiving any kind of Hebrew school education. She talks about Protestant missionaries and teachers who would go out onto the street ringing the bell for Sunday school and offering various kinds of trinkets, and Jewish kids would get kind of swept into their Sunday schools. There was a very concrete need to give Jewish children somewhere else to go.
So Gratz and the people who created the first Hebrew Sunday school in Philadelphia looked at what the Protestants were doing and they saw that Protestant Sunday schools were providing very accessible places where kids could go and get a basic primer in their religious tradition.
The approach was to teach Judaism as a religion, as opposed to Judaism as a people or culture, to demonstrate that being Jewish was as compatible as Protestantism with being wholly American.
That is certainly part of it. It’s a demonstration that Judaism is compatible with American public life. But I think there’s actually a much bigger claim that the Sunday schools are making. The claim is not only that Judaism is as good as Protestantism, but that Judaism does religion better than Protestantism. These rabbis who were writing catechisms and teaching confirmation classes were saying that Judaism does liberal religion better than liberal Protestants, liberal Catholics and other kinds of liberal denominations. You see the same sentiment in the Pittsburgh Platform as well, which is the foundational platform of the Reform movement written in the 1880s. Sunday schools take that idea and bring it down to a grassroots level.
There are many, many fewer Jews in America in much of the 19th century, before the waves of Eastern European immigrants arrived beginning in the 1880s They didn’t really have strength in numbers, or the kind of self-confidence to have a system of day schools, yeshivas or heders, the elementary schools for all-day or every day Jewish instruction.
And this is also a community that has grown up at the same time as the birth of public education in America, independent of churches. That really emerged beginning on the East Coast in the 1840s.This generation of Americans really believes in the power of public education to craft an American public. It’s a project that 19th-century American Jews believe in and want to sustain. So Sunday schools don’t just become the preferred Jewish model because of lack of resources, but because American Jews really believe in the idea of public education.
What happens at the beginning of the 20th century, with the arrival of Eastern Europeans with different models for Jewish education?
A new generation tries to reform Jewish education, led by a young educator from Palestine named Samson Benderly, who leads the new New York Bureau of Jewish Education. He tries to change American Jewish education to make it more professionalized, but to bring more traditionally inclined Jews on board he has to convince them that he doesn’t want to make more Sunday schools, because Sunday schools by the end of the 20th century had become very much associated with the Reform movement in a way that they weren’t when they were founded and for much of the 19th century.
A painting of Philadelphia philanthropist and Jewish education activist Rebecca Gratz by Thomas Sully. (The Rosenbach of the Free Library of Philadelphia)
Benderly is surveying the scene of recent immigrants living in New York City [tenements] and other kinds of downtown environments, and his proposal is to create these community institutions for these dense communities, where children can be taught Hebrew in Hebrew. His disciples also created Jewish camps as a way to get children out of the inner cities and develop the muscular Zionist ideal of healthy bodies and a robust sense of Jewish collectivity.
You write that Benderly’s vision is a sort of masculine response to the “feminizing” perception of the Sunday schools.
These women teachers are recognizing that they’re being criticized for the kind of thinness of the Jewish education that they’re teaching in comparison to other models, but in periodicals like The American Jewess women are writing back and saying, “But you didn’t teach us Hebrew! I didn’t get that opportunity as a woman, so what do you expect?” It’s really important to note that the women did the best that they could in the time that they had available, and that they were the product of opportunities that were denied to them.
What lessons did you learn about Sunday school and Hebrew school education in the 20th century that relate to your research into the 19th century?
The move that is so decisive for shaping American Jewish education is suburbanization. Rather than having a large immigrant generation who are living in these tight ethnic enclaves, you have American Jewish children who are predominantly growing up in the suburbs, and socializing with children from all sorts of different backgrounds who are attending public schools. The place that you go to get your Jewish education is the synagogue supplemental school, which becomes the dominant model for American Jewish education up until today. Benderly might reflect that it looks a lot more like the Sunday school movement of the 19th century than his vision.
Today’s model is really a religious model. And by that I mean that students go to Hebrew school primarily to kind of check a religious box, to learn about the thing that makes them distinctive religiously, and to achieve a religious coming-of-age marker, which is the bar, bat or b mitzvah. Certainly the curriculum today is more diverse, embracing more aspects of traditional Judaism then you would have seen in a 19th-century Sunday school: more Hebrew, more of a sense of Jewish peoplehood, ethnic identity and Zionism of course. But the question that American Jews are increasingly asking themselves is, is this a model that they still want? So you may have seen that the Jewish Education Project published a report recently on supplemental schools, which saw that enrollment has really, really declined.
Sunday schools are based on a vision of Judaism as a set of a religious commitments that American Jews actualize through belonging to a synagogue and sending their children to a synagogue or a religious school, where they will learn primarily a set of religious skills: the ability to read from the Torah, the ability to decode Hebrew, the ability to navigate the siddur.
Is that still the vision that most American Jews have for what Judaism means to them? I think increasingly the answer seems to be no.
How else did experience in a Hebrew school classroom influence you? Did you access anything else when you were writing the book?
I think about the number of college kids and graduate students and empty nesters who are either volunteering or earning minimum wage, working at Hebrew schools, all over the country. That’s the labor force of American Judaism. These people also bring so much to the table. There are a lot of skills, dispositions and knowledge that don’t tend to get taken very seriously because this is a workforce that just gets kind of put into the category of “oh, they’re part time.” That made me look really closely in the historical archives to see if I could find anything out about the women who are volunteering to teach in Sunday schools. And what I found out was that [many] were public school teachers. And they brought a lot to the table. It was women in fact who were really pushing to make the Sunday school curriculum more experiential and to move away from rote memorization.
As a historian formed by feminist methods, I find it really important to recognize that these women were giving over what they had, as opposed to critiquing them for not teaching in a more traditional way. I think we need to pay attention when women are being scapegoated for problems that are described as problems of Jewish continuity. It blinds us to the role that women’s volunteerism has played in American Jewish life. This whole Sunday school movement was possible only because these women volunteered their time and largely were not paid.
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From Fatwa to Conspiracy: Joe Kent’s Iran Case Falls Apart
Smoke billows from Jebel Ali port after an Iranian attack, following United States and Israel strikes on Iran, United Arab Emirates, March 1, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Amr Alfik
Joe Kent chose a revealing place to begin his claim that Iran posed no imminent threat to the United States.
Sitting across from Tucker Carlson, Kent pointed to the Islamic Republic’s supposed “fatwa” against nuclear weapons — offering it as proof that Iran could be trusted to stop short of the bomb.
That argument collapses on contact with reality.
Setting aside that this so-called fatwa is unwritten and, by Iran’s own officials’ admission, not legally binding, no country builds deeply buried, hardened nuclear facilities under mountains — for civilian energy. No country enriches uranium to 60% for peaceful use. And once enrichment reaches that level, the remaining step to weapons-grade is short — measured at most in weeks, and in some scenarios just a few days. That is the baseline assessment across the nonproliferation community.
Iran has not hidden this trajectory. It has advanced it.
By early 2026, Iran had accumulated significant quantities of uranium enriched to near weapons-grade while making clear — publicly and in negotiations — that it would neither dismantle that stockpile nor include its ballistic missile program in any agreement. That is not restraint. It is leverage.
Kent’s claim of no “imminent” threat depends on a definition no serious military or intelligence body uses. Imminence is not measured by whether a missile has been launched, but how quickly one can be.
A regime able to move from threshold capability to a nuclear weapon on short notice — and already building delivery systems — is not a distant concern.
And Iran’s missile program was central to that threat.
Before late February 2026, Iran fielded the largest ballistic missile arsenal in the Middle East, and was expanding it. Missiles are relatively fast and inexpensive to produce. Interceptors are not. Systems like Arrow, David’s Sling, and Patriot require time, precision manufacturing, and far greater cost. Over time, the imbalance becomes structural.
That is how defenses are overwhelmed — through volume.
The implications extend far beyond Israel.
A nuclear-threshold Iran positioned along the Strait of Hormuz would sit at one of the world’s most critical chokepoints, through which roughly 20% of global oil flows. Combined with nuclear latency, a large missile force, and an entrenched proxy network, an Iranian regime aligned squarely with Russia and China would gain the ability to threaten energy markets, impose itself on neighboring states, and distort the global economy without firing a shot.
Any serious “America First” analysis would start there. Kent’s does not.
Instead, to argue the US is acting “for Israel,” he defaults to a familiar trope: that Israel “duped” the United States into the 2003 Iraq war.
This is not serious history. It is a recycled narrative common to both the antisemitic far-right and far-left, serving the same purpose: removing American agency and replacing it with manipulation by Israel or “the Jews.”
The record is clear.
Before 2003, Israeli leadership warned that Iran — not Iraq — posed the greater long-term threat. The intelligence cited by the Bush administration to support attacking Iraq came primarily from American and British sources. Colin Powell’s UN presentation relied on Western intelligence, not Israeli briefings.
Reducing that war to Israeli influence is not analysis. It is conspiracy theory.
Kent did not stop there.
In his resignation letter, he blamed Israel for the death of his first wife.
But Shannon Kent was killed in Syria while serving as a US intelligence officer. The war she died in was the Syrian Civil War — triggered by Assad’s mass violence, fueled by ISIS, and sustained in large part by Iran through the IRGC and Hezbollah. Iran helped keep that war going.
Blaming Israel for that is not a misreading. It is counterfactual scapegoating.
And it follows a pattern.
Kent has been elevated in a media ecosystem built on distrust of institutions and hostility to alliances, increasingly drifting into the claim that American policy is not the product of American decisions, but of outside (Jewish) forces pulling the strings. During his Carlson interview, Kent nodded toward the worst conspiracies circulating in that space — including claims popularized by Candace Owens about Charlie Kirk and Israel — while Carlson played his familiar role of laundering them through “just asking questions.”
That ecosystem runs on repetition, not evidence.
Kent’s description to Carlson of Ali Larijani as a moderate reflects a similar disregard for facts. Larijani spent decades at the center of the Islamic Republic — serving as nuclear negotiator, parliament speaker, and senior regime figure — in a system that imprisons, tortures, and mass-murders its own citizens. There is nothing moderate about that record.
Then there is the timing of Kent’s resignation, which followed reports that he was under investigation for leaking classified information. That context matters. It makes the letter read less like principle and more like preemption.
It also exposes a deeper inconsistency.
Kent and his cohorts argue that confronting Iran plainly serves Israel’s interests more than America’s — as if that ends the analysis. The same argument was made before World War II: that aiding Britain served British, not American, interests. And Britain was certainly more immediately threatened by Nazi Germany. That did not make defeating Nazi Germany any less an American interest.
An action benefiting an ally more than it does America can still be plainly in America’s interest.
Yet in the same media space elevating Kent, figures once widely condemned — including Marjorie Taylor Greene — find new audiences when their conspiratorial instincts align with the moment. The consistency is not ideological. It is to support a narrative: America as manipulated, its institutions as compromised, and its citizens as spectators.
That has consequences.
A self-governing society depends on the belief that its policies reflect its own decisions. Convince people that unseen forces are always in control, and participation begins to erode.
If the United States can be “duped” into war by a far smaller ally, then voting, deliberation, and leadership become performative. The system is hollow.
That is not a side effect. It is the destination.
And it is why the facts about Iran matter. Iran’s nuclear program, its proximity to breakout, its expanding missile arsenal, its declared “death to America” hostility toward the United States, its role in the deaths of hundreds of American service members, and its alignment with Russia and China are not speculative. They are established facts.
Dismissing that record requires more than disagreement. It requires dismissing facts.
At that point, the argument is no longer about Iran.
It is about whether facts still matter — and whether a society that decides they do not can continue to govern itself at all.
That is the direction parts of the “woke right” and the far-left are now pushing — different rhetoric, same conclusion: America is not acting, it is being controlled; its people are not deciding, they are being managed or “duped.” Tucker Carlson says it one way. Cenk Uygur says it another. The message lands the same.
A country that internalizes that message does not remain self-governing. It hollows out from within.
And when that happens, the beneficiaries are clear: Beijing, Moscow, and Tehran — regimes that do not need to defeat the United States if Americans can be convinced to lose faith in their own capacity to govern.
Micha Danzig is an attorney, former IDF soldier, and former NYPD officer. He writes widely on Israel, Zionism, antisemitism, and Jewish history. He serves on the board of Herut North America.
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Why Did the US Just Lift Sanctions on Iranian Oil?
The Liberian-flagged oil tanker Ice Energy transfers crude oil from the Iranian-flagged oil tanker Lana (former Pegas), off the shore of Karystos, on the Island of Evia, Greece, May 26, 2022. REUTERS/Costas Baltas
According to estimates, on the eve of the current war, some 140 million barrels of Iranian oil were floating at sea. This oil had already been produced and loaded onto tankers, and the vast bulk of it had already passed through the Strait of Hormuz before the war broke out. The Chinese had bought most of this oil, but chose to leave it at sea because their strategic reserves were full of the medium-sour oil that Iran produces, and US sanctions on the Iranian banking system made it difficult to resell the oil to other customers. Iranian oil tankers were thus left waiting for months near China’s shore.
On March 20, 2026, the US announced a temporary 30-day lifting of sanctions on the sale and delivery of Iranian oil. The permit applies only to oil that was already loaded onto tankers by that day, and the oil in question must be unloaded by April 19.
The US is attempting to quickly calm the market by allowing countries to buy these millions of barrels of oil. As a significant portion of this oil had already been sold to China, Washington is effectively allowing Beijing, if it so wishes, to release the cargo to be sold in Japan, India, South Korea, and other Asian countries interested in Iranian medium-sour oil.
Even if the Chinese opt to keep all the oil for themselves, the result will still relieve the market, because similar types of oil — primarily Russian medium-sour — can then flow to other customers in Asia. According to the US Secretary of Energy, these tankers could begin arriving at Asian ports within three to four days.
The type of oil is very important here, because it determines who can benefit from the American sanctions relief on Iran’s oil. Oil grades are defined by two main indicators: density (“light” vs. “heavy”) and sulfur content (“sweet” vs. “sour”). The oil’s grade affects the costs of transportation and refining, as well as the types of distillates that can be produced from it. Light and sweet oil can produce more gasoline, diesel fuel, and jet fuel. Heavy oil is more suitable for bunker oil for ships or bitumen for asphalt. Refineries are usually built to operate most efficiently with a specific grade of crude oil. They can process other oil grades if necessary, but not at the same level of profitability or efficiency.
Iranian oil is mostly medium-sour. Not every refinery can produce the same distillates from it with the same efficiency, and not all countries in Asia have the necessary refining capacity in the first place. Countries like India, Japan, South Korea, and Singapore are well-suited for this oil and have more advanced refining capabilities. In contrast, countries that depend more on imported distillates and less on independent refining, such as the Philippines, Sri Lanka, Vietnam, and Australia, are more vulnerable to prolonged disruptions and would benefit from Iranian oil only indirectly.
This is where China comes into the picture. It has a huge domestic refining capacity and significant reserves, and thus has great influence on gasoline and diesel prices throughout Asia. Even without the American relief on Iranian oil, Beijing could have released some of its strategic reserves or distillates into the market and eased prices for its neighbors — but it has no interest in doing so. As early as the first week of the war, China announced restrictions on distillate exports, leading to a dramatic increase in gasoline and diesel prices in Thailand, the Philippines, and Vietnam. China may be using this as a political lever to increase pressure on the US to end the fighting, or it may at the very least be planning to turn energy into a regional bargaining tool and sell distillates to its neighbors in exchange for political benefits.
The main criticism of the American move is that lifting oil sanctions strengthens the Iranian regime and enriches its coffers during the war. US Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent claims that Washington will monitor sales and make it difficult for Iran to access these revenues, emphasizing the continuation of the “maximum pressure” policy on Iran’s ability to use the international financial system. However, he has not explained how the US will prevent Iran from circumventing the restrictions, as it has done so far. In its trading with China, Iran has often used barter transactions, cash, or payments in yuan rather than dollars to circumvent sanctions. It has also used intermediary companies and countries (mainly Oman and Malaysia) to “launder” the source of its oil, and has relied on offshore bank accounts in Qatar, the United Arab Emirates, Mauritius, and elsewhere with the full knowledge of the countries involved.
It can be argued, however, that Iran’s ability to circumvent US restrictions has been reduced since the beginning of the war, now that Iran itself has bombed some of the countries where it holds offshore accounts. The United Arab Emirates, for example, announced on March 5 that it is considering freezing Iranian accounts in the country. This allows the US to say with greater confidence that it has more control over revenue coming from Iranian oil sales, whether or not this is in fact the case.
In the short term, this seems to be a relatively calculated move by the US. According to the administration’s own statements, its goal is not to provide relief to Iran’s economy but to quickly release oil that has already been produced and is now at sea. The move is designed to relieve pressure on the market for about two weeks. From Washington’s perspective, this is a limited price it is willing to pay to buy time, stabilize the energy market, and preserve greater freedom of action in the war, at least until it can greatly reduce Iran’s ability to close the Strait of Hormuz.
Dr. Elai Rettig is an assistant professor in the Department of Political Studies and a senior research fellow at the Begin-Sadat Center for Strategic Studies at Bar-Ilan University. He specializes in energy geopolitics and national security. A version of this article was originally published by The BESA Center.
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Israel and Canada Both Use American Fighter Jets — But Politics Keeps Them Apart
A US Marines F-35C Lightning II is staged for flight operations on the flight deck of the US Navy Nimitz-class aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln in support of the Operation Epic Fury attack on Iran from an undisclosed location March 3, 2026. Photo: US Navy/Handout via REUTERS
After the attack by the US and Israel on Iran, Canada issued a statement recognizing that Iran is the main source of terror in the Middle East, that it has one of the world’s worst human rights records, and that it can not be allowed to develop nuclear weapons. I was pleased to see that it also recognized Israel’s right to defend itself and provide security to its people.
When it comes to security, Israel and Canada are very different. Israel has had to face the hostility of its neighbors ever since its birth in 1948, whereas Canada has not had to worry for decades. Yet, the two countries are similar in having to rely on US warplanes for their defense.
The seemingly endless arms race between Israel and its enemies has resulted in the development of an increasingly sophisticated Israeli arms industry and a large arms export business.
The title of a recent Economist Magazine article, “Israel may not be popular, but its weapons are,” says it all. Israel’s weapons exports amounted to almost $15 billion in 2024, about 10% of total Israeli exports. But Israel still relies on the US for warplanes.
In 1956, 70 years ago, the situation for Israel was dire. Periodic terrorist incursions from the West Bank, then under Jordanian jurisdiction, and from Egyptian-controlled Gaza, resulted in numerous Israeli casualties. Arms embargoes imposed by the US and Britain in 1948 made it difficult for Israel to defend itself. (The US embargo lasted until 1965, almost two decades after the state’s founding.)
In 1956, the Canadian government, after some debate, approved a request from Israel to buy 24 F86 Sabre jet interceptors, produced under license from the US by Canadair Ltd, Montreal. In justifying the decision, Prime Minister Louis St. Laurent pointed out that Egypt, with airfields only 10 minutes flying time from Tel Aviv, had received 200 MIG-15 jet fighters and 40 to 50 Ilyushin jet bombers from the Soviet Union.
The Canadian Sabre jets never made it to Israel. The outbreak of the Suez Crisis in late 1956, when Israel attacked Egypt in concert with France and Britain, led to the cancellation of the deal. (Lester B. Pearson, then Canada’s Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, and later Prime Minister, helped resolve the crisis through the creation of a UN peacekeeping force. Pearson was awarded the 1957 Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts.)
For the Israelis, it didn’t really matter. The French government had agreed to supply Israel with Mystère jets, and France remained Israel’s main source of jet fighters for the next decade.
In fact, at the time of the Sabre jet discussions with Israel, Canada was developing a state-of-the-art supersonic jet fighter of its own — the Avro Arrow. However, the project was cancelled abruptly in 1959, even though early production models had flown successfully. The cancellation, a disaster for the Canadian aerospace industry, was based on cost. It was cheaper to buy American jets.
Israel went through a very similar experience. During the mid-1980s, Israel developed its own advanced fighter jet, the Lavi (Hebrew for lion). The Lavi was a small, highly maneuverable, supersonic jet with advanced electronic capabilities. In 1987, it too was cancelled, after early models were at the flight testing stage. The reason? Cost. It was cheaper to buy jets from the US.
At the recent World Economic Forum at Davos, Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney spoke of the need for middle powers, such as Canada, to become more autonomous and proactive in world affairs. Coincidentally, Canada is in the midst of having to decide which jet fighter would be best for its future defense needs: the American made F-35, the same plane that is the current mainstay of Israel’s air force, or the Gripen, a fighter jet produced in Sweden.
Sophisticated jet fighters are expensive to design and build, although Sweden, a country with a population and economy about the same size as that of Israel, has managed to do so. (For example, one F-35 fighter jet can cost well over $100 million.) A 2025 article by Udi Etsion in The Jerusalem Post suggests that to lessen the financial burden, Israel should seek a partner for the development of its own stealth fighter jet.
Why not Canada? After all, both Canada and Israel are seeking combat aircraft self-sufficiency. But Canada, once considered by some the best place for Jews, has experienced an exponential increase in antisemitism since October 7, 2023, along with an erosion in support for Israel.
In fact, after initially supporting the strike on Iran, Prime Minister Carney has backtracked and now expresses “regret” for the strike. That Carney recently traveled to China, the UAE, and Qatar to shore up trade relations, but omitted Israel — one of the best performing economies in the world — speaks volumes. When it comes to the Middle East, even a match made in heaven is not a sure thing.
Jacob Sivak, a Fellow of the Royal Society of Canada, is a retired professor, University of Waterloo, Waterloo, Ontario, Canada.