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American Jews created historic summer camps. Or did summer camps create American Jews?
(JTA) — Among Sandra Fox’s most memorable finds during her years mining American archives for materials about Jewish summer camps was a series of letters about the hours before lights-out.
The letters were by counselors who were documenting an unusual window in the day when they stopped supervising campers, leaving the teens instead to their own devices, which sometimes included romance and sexual exploration.
“It was each division talking about how they dealt with that free time before bed in ‘age-appropriate ways,’” Fox recalled about the letters written by counselors at Camp Ramah in Wisconsin, the original iteration of the Conservative movement’s network of summer camps.
“I’ve spoken to Christian people who work at Christian camps and have researched Christian camps. There is no free time before bed,” Fox told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “That’s not a thing if you don’t want kids to hook up. So it was just amazing to find these documents of Camp Ramah leaders really having the conversation explicitly. Most of the romance and sexuality stuff is implicit in the archives.”
The letters are quoted extensively in Fox’s new book, “The Jews of Summer: Summer Camp and Jewish Culture in Postwar America.” Fox, who earned a PhD in history from New York University in 2018 and now teaches and directs the Archive of the American Jewish Left there, tells the story of American Judaism’s most immersive laboratory for constructing identity and contesting values.
Next week, Fox is launching the book with an event at Congregation Beth Elohim in Park Slope, Brooklyn. (Tickets for the Feb. 23 event are available here.) Attendees will be able to tour adult versions of some of the most durable elements of Jewish summer camps, from Israeli dance to Yiddish and Hebrew instruction to Color Wars to Tisha B’Av, the mournful holiday that always falls over the summer.
“I never considered doing a normal book party,” Fox said. “It was always really obvious to me that a book about experiential Jewish education and role play should be celebrated and launched out into the world through experiential education and role play.”
Sandra Fox’s 2023 book “The Jews of Summer,” looks at the history of American Jewish summer camps. (Courtesy of Fox)
We spoke to Fox about her party plans, how Jewish summer camps have changed over time and how they’ve stayed the same, and the cultural history of that before-bed free time.
This interview has been condensed and lightly edited for clarity. We’ll be continuing the conversation in a virtual chat through the YIVO Institute for Jewish Research Feb. 27 at 1 p.m.; register here.
Jewish Telegraphic Agency: Given how much Jews like to talk about camp, were you surprised that this book hadn’t already been written?
Sandra Fox: There’s been a lot of fruitful research on the history of various camps, but it’s usually been focused on one camping movement or one camp type. So there are articles about Zionist camps. There are certainly articles out there about the Ramah camps. A lot of camps have produced books — either their alumni associations or a scholar who went to let’s say, Reform movement camps have created essay collections about those camps. And there are also books about Habonim and other Zionist youth movements.
I don’t really know why this is the first stab at this kind of cross-comparison. It might be that people didn’t think there would be so much to compare. I think the overwhelming feeling I get from readers so far, people who preordered and gotten their books early, is that they’re very surprised to hear how similar these camps are. So perhaps it’s that scholars weren’t thinking about Jewish summer camps that came from such diverse standpoints as having something enough in common to write about them all at once.
Also distance from the time period really helps. You can write a book about — and people do write a book about — the ’60s and ’70s and have been for decades, but there’s a certain amount of distance from the period that has allowed me to do this, I think, and maybe it also helps that I’m generationally removed. A lot of the scholars who’ve worked on camps in the postwar period went to camps in the postwar period. It makes a lot of sense that it would be harder to write this sort of sweeping thing perhaps. The fact that I’m a millennial meant that I could write about the postwar period — and also write kind of an epilogue-style chapter that catches us up to the present.
What’s clear is that there’s something amazing about studying summer camp, a completely immersive 24/7 experience that parents send children away for. There’s no better setting for thinking about how adults project their anxieties and desires about the future onto children. There’s also no place better to think about power dynamics and age and generational tension.
I was definitely struck by the “sameyness” of Jewish camps in your accounting. What do you think we can learn from that, either about camps or about us as Jews?
I do want to say that while there’s a lot of sameyness, whenever you do a comparative study, there’s a risk of kind of collapsing all these things and making them seem too similar. What I’m trying to convey is that the camp leaders from a variety of movements took the basic structure of the summer camp as we know it — its daily schedule, its environment, its activities — and it did look similar from camp to camp, at least on that surface level.
If you look at the daily schedules in comparison, they might have a lot of the same features but they’ll be called slightly different things depending on if the camp leans more heavily towards Hebrew, or Yiddish, or English. But the content within those schedules would be rather different. It’s more that the skeletal structure of camp life has a lot of similarities across the board and then the details within each section of the day or the month had a lot of differences.
But I think what it says is that in the postwar period, the anxieties that Jewish leaders had about the future of Judaism are really, really similar and the solution that they found within the summer camp, they were pretty unanimous about. They just then took the model and inserted within it their particular nationalistic, linguistic or religious perspectives. So I think more so than saying anything about American Jewry, it shows kind of how flexible camping is. And that’s not just the Jewish story. Lots of different Americans have embraced summer camping in different ways.
So many people who have gone to camp have a fixed memory of what camp is like, where it’s caught in time, but you argue that camps have actually undergone lots of change. What are the most striking changes you documented, perhaps ones that might have been hard for even insiders to discern as they happened?
First of all, the Israel-centeredness of American Jewish education as we know it today didn’t happen overnight in 1948, for instance. It was a slower process, beyond the Zionist movements where that was already going on, for decades before 1948. Ramah and the Reform camps for instance took their time towards getting to the heavily Zionist-imbued curricula that we know.
There was considerable confusion and ambivalence at first about what to do with Israel: whether to raise an Israeli flag, not because they were anti-Zionist, but because American Jews had been thinking about proving their loyalty to America for many generations. There were some sources that would talk about — what kind of right do American Jews have to raise the Israeli flag when they’re not Israeli? So that kind of Israel-centeredness that is really a feature of camp life today was a slower process than we might think.
It fit camp life really well because broader American camps used Native American symbols, in some ways that are problematic today, to create what we know of as an iconography of camp life. So for Jews, Israel and its iconography, or Palestine and iconography before ’48, provided an alternative set of options that were read as Jewish, but it still took some time to get to where we are now in terms of the Israel focus.
One of the reasons I place emphasis on the Yiddish summer camps is to show that in the early 20th century and the mid-20th century there was more ideological diversity in the Jewish camping sphere, including various forms of Yiddishist groups and socialist groups and communist groups that operated summer camps. Most of them have closed, and their decline is obviously a change that tells a story of how American Jewry changed over the course of the postwar period. Their legacy is important, too: I have made the argument that these camps in a lot of ways modeled the idea of Yiddish as having a future in America.
What about hookup culture? Contemporary discourse about Jewish camps have focused on sex and sexuality there. What did you observe about this in the archives?
I think people think of the hookup culture of Jewish camps today and certainly in my time in the ’90s and 2000s as a permanent feature, and in some ways I found through my research and oral history interviews that that was the case, but it was really interesting to zoom out a little bit and think about how Jewish summer camps changed in terms of sexual romantic culture, in relationship to how America changed with the sexual revolution and the youth culture.
It’s not it’s not useful to think about Jewish hookup culture in a vacuum. It’s happening within America more broadly. And so of course, it’s changed dramatically over time. And one of the things I learned that was so fascinating is that Jewish summer camps were actually their leaders were less concerned in a lot of ways about sexuality at camp in the ’40s and ’50s, than they were in the late ’60s and ’70s. Because earlier premarital sex was pretty rare, at least in the teenage years, so they were not that concerned about what happened after lights out because they kind of assumed whatever was going on was fairly innocent.
In the late 1960s and 1970s, that’s when camps have to actually think about how to balance allowance and control. They want to allow campers to have these relationships, to have their first sexual experiences, and part of that is related to rising rates of intermarriage and wanting to encourage love between Jews, but they also want to control it because there’s a broader societal moment in which the sexuality of teenagers is problematized and their and their sexual culture is more public.
There’s been a real wave of sustained criticism by former campers about the cultures that they experienced, arguing that the camps created an inappropriately sexualized and unsafe space. There’s been a lot of reaction to that and the broader #MeToo moment. I’m curious about what you can speculate about a future where that space is cleaned up, based on your historical research — what is gained and what, potentially, could be lost?
Without being involved in camping today — and I want to really make that disclaimer because I know a lot of change is happening and lot of organizations are involved to talk about this issue better, to train camps and camp leaders and their counselors to not create a pressured environment for camper — I think what the history shows is that this hookup culture did not come about out of nowhere. It was partly related to the broader changes in America and the sexual revolution.
But it was also partly created because camps really needed to have campers’ buy-in, in order to be “successful.” A huge argument of my book is that we think about the power of camps as if camp directors have campers as, like, puppets on strings, and that what they do is what happens in camp life. But actually, campers have changed the everyday texture of life at camp over the course of the decades in so many different ways by resisting various ideas or just not being interested.
So hookup culture is also part of making campers feel like they have freedom at camp and that’s essential. That’s not a side project — that is essential to their ability to get campers to come back. It’s a financial need, and it’s an ideological need. If you make campers feel like they have freedom, then they will feel like they freely took on the ideologies your camp is promoting in a really natural way.
The last part of it is rising rates of intermarriage. As rates of intermarriage rose in the second half of the 20th century, there’s no doubt in my mind from doing the research that the preexisting culture around sexuality at camp and romance at camp got turbo-boosted [to facilitate relationships that could potentially lead to marriage between two Jews]. At that point, the allowance and control that camp leaders were trying to create for many decades leans maybe more heavily towards allowance.
There are positives to camp environments being a place where campers can explore their sexualities. There’s definitely a lot of conversation about the negative effects and those are all very, very real. I know people who went through horrible things at a camp and I also know people who experienced it as a very sex-positive atmosphere. I know people in my age range who were able to discover that they were gay or lesbian at camp in safety in comparison to home, so it’s not black and white at all. I hope that my chapter on romance and sexuality can maybe add some historical nuance to the conversation and give people a sense of how this actually happened. Because it happened for a whole bunch of reasons.
I think there’s a consensus view that camp is one of the most “successful” things the Jews do. But it’s hard to see where lessons from camp or camp culture are being imported to the rest of Jewish life. I’m curious what you see as kind of the lessons that Jewish institutions or Jewish communities have taken from camp — or have they not done that?
Every single public engagement I do about my work has boiled down to the question of, well, does it work? Does camp work? Is it successful? And that’s been a question that a lot of social scientists have been interested in. I don’t want to oversimplify that research, but a lot of the ways that they’ve measured success have been things that are not necessarily a given to all Jews as obviously the right way to be a Jew. So, for instance, in the ’90s and early 2000s, at the very least, a lot of research was about how, you know, “XYZ” camp and youth movement were successfully curbing intermarriage. A lot of them also asked campers and former campers how they feel about Israel, and it’s always if they are supportive of Israel in very normative ways, right, giving money visiting, supporting Israel or lobbying for its behalf — then camps have been successful.
I’m not interested in whether camps were successful by those metrics. I’m interested in how we got to the idea that camp should be successful in those ways in the first place. How did we get to those kinds of normative assumptions of like, this is a good Jew; a good Jew marries a Jew; a good Jew supports Israel, no matter what. So what I wanted to do is zoom out from that question of success and show how camp actually functions.
And then the question of “does it work” is really up to the reader. To people who believe that curbing intermarriage is the most important thing, then camps have been somewhat successful in the sense that people who go to these heavily educational camps are less likely to marry out of the faith.
But I am more interested in what actually happened at camp. And in terms of their legacies, I wanted to show how they changed various aspects of American Jewish life, and religion and politics. So I was really able to find how camping was essential in making kind of an Israel-centered Jewish education the norm. I was also able to draw a line between these Yiddish camps over the ’60s and ’70s that closed in the ’80s and contemporary Yiddish. The question of success is a real tricky and political one in a way that a lot of people have not talked about.
And is camp also fun? Because you’re creating a camp experience for your book launch next week.
Camp is fun — for a lot of people. Camp was not fun for everyone. And so I do want to play with that ambivalence at the party, and acknowledge that and also acknowledge that some people loved camp when they were younger and have mixed feelings about it now.
The party is not really a celebration of Jewish summer camp. People will be drinking and having fun and dancing — but I want them to be thinking while also about what is going on and why. How is Tisha B’Av [the fast day that commemorates the destruction of the ancient Jewish temple in Jerusalem that falls at the height of summer] commemorated at camp, for example?
Or what songs are we singing and what do they mean? I think a lot of people when they’re little kids, they learn songs in these Jewish summer camps that they can’t understand and later they maybe learn Hebrew and go, whoa, we were singing what?! My example from Zionist summer camp is singing “Ein Li Eretz Acheret,” or “I Have No Other Country.” We were in America and we obviously have another country! I don’t think anyone in my youth movement actually believes the words “Ein Li Eretz Acheret” because we live in America and people tend to kind of like living in America and most of them do not move to Israel.
So at the party we’ll be working through the fun of it, and at the same time the confusion of it and the ambivalence of it. I want it to be fun, and I also want it to be something that causes people to think.
—
The post American Jews created historic summer camps. Or did summer camps create American Jews? appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Israel’s First Olympic Bobsled Team on ‘Nearly Impossible Task’ of Reaching Milan Games, Overcoming Adversity
The members of Israel’s Olympic bobsled team: (from left, clockwise) Omer Katz, Ward Fawarseh, Uri Zisman, AJ Edelman, Menachem Chen, Itamar Shprinz. With the team’s mascot Lulu. Photo: Provided
Israel is competing for the first time ever in Olympic bobsledding next week, and its team captain spoke with The Algemeiner about the many obstacles the athletes faced even before racing in the Milan Cortina Winter Games — including having to create a new team after Hamas’s Oct. 7, 2023, attack in Israel and being robbed.
“Making the Olympics in bobsled as a team that hasn’t made it before is nearly unheard of,” Adam “AJ” Edelman, captain of the Israeli bobsled team, told The Algemeiner over the phone from Italy. “It just doesn’t happen unless you have an ‘Olympics credit card,’ like China for the Beijing Games, where they have guaranteed spots because they hosted. It is just nearly impossible to do … It is a massive accomplishment.”
The 31-year-old added that Israel’s bobsled team is the only one in this year’s Olympics whose members have not competed in the prior games.
“By making it into the [Winter] Games, Israel has done basically the impossible task of being within Olympic level, which is top 28,” he noted. “We’re very, very proud and content with knowing that in the four-man event especially we’re top 20, which is Olympic finals-worthy.”
On Saturday, Edelman revealed on X that the apartment where his teammates were staying during their final training for the 2026 Winter Games was robbed. Passports and “thousands of dollars” worth of personal belongings were stolen.
The team was training in the Czech Republic before heading to Italy when the incident took place, Edelman told The Algemeiner. He was in Italy at the time of the robbery and said his teammates have since replaced their passports but not their other belongings. The team has changed locations to continue training until their first Olympic competition on Feb. 16, which is a two-man event.
The team remains resilient despite the robbery and they are “just such a fine example of how we push forward in difficult circumstances,” Edelman, who is former Olympian in skeleton, wrote in a post on X.
“Such a gross violation — suitcases, shoes, equipment, passports stolen, and the boys headed right back to training today. I really believe this team exemplifies the Israeli Spirit [sic],” he added. He said in a separate post following the incident: “We are victors, never victims. Our journey is defined by moving forward, always. That’s the Israeli Spirit.”
The Israeli bobsled team is making history at the Olympics. Aside from Israel qualifying for the first time for Olympic bobsledding, Edelman is Israel’s first multi-sport Olympian, after competing previously in skeleton and now in bobsled. He said he is also the first Jewish bobsled pilot in the Olympic Games and one of his bobsled team members, 25-year-old Ward Fawarseh, is the first Druze Olympian.
Edelman — an American-Israeli from Brookline, Massachusetts — is the most decorated observant Jewish Olympian and is believed to be the first Orthodox Jew to ever compete in the Winter Games. The other members of his bobsled team are Menachem Chen, 25; Uri Zisman, 30; and Omer Katz, 25; with Itamar Shprinz as their coach. Their journey to the 2026 Winter Olympics — which has been dubbed “Shul Runnings,” a reference to the movie “Cool Runnings” that tells the story of the Jamaican national bobsled team making the 1988 Winter Olympics — faced obstacles from the start.
Edelman had handpicked members for a different bobsled team several years prior and in 2021 he talked to The Algemeiner about them hoping to secure a spot to compete in the 2022 Winter Olympics. But after the Hamas-led terrorist attack in Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, members of the team were called up to serve in the Israel Defense Forces as reservists and the team fell apart. Edelman was forced to create a new team and it was several years in the making.
“I just flew in different random people from Israel,” he explained. “People who were athletes who I thought, ‘Maybe let’s give them a try in the sled and if they’re good enough, they might come back.’ And I would tell them, ‘Hold the sled like a shopping cart and imagine that you’re running with a shopping cart.’ And they would do one race at a time and then fly back home. We kind of just pieced the seasons together in a pretty amazing fashion … It was a constant search for years of finding the right people to get into the sled. It was a six-year search.”
The team consists of a pole-vaulter, sprinter, shot-putter, and rugby player. Edelman said they bonded very quickly, despite their different sporting backgrounds.
“It’s been a long journey. It’s probably the most unique bobsled story ever,” Edelman said. “This is the sort of s–t that can only happen in Israel. I think that for Israel, making the [Olympic] Games for Israel in bobsled is far harder than for any other country because none of the things are set up that would give you any sort of help in bobsled. Bobsled requires such a complex infrastructure of logistic support, fundraising, publicity so people know that you exist, mechanics, coaches, hundreds of thousands of dollars a year, a prior legacy with sleds and equipment and knowledge that could go down. All of that goes into making a bobsled program successful, and all of that just didn’t exist in the way that you want it to exist prior to now [in Israel].”
Edelman spoke to The Algemeiner during the team’s final training period in Europe before they make their Olympic debut. Aside from handpicking each member of the bobsled team, he also designed their bobsled. The theme for the design is “fire and ice,” and it is meant to represent “Israel is a hot country going down an icy track,” he told The Algemeiner.
He said he views himself as a “shliach” (messenger) for Israel, and that his efforts to help the Jewish state reach the Olympics in bobsled was always more for the country than for any personal gain for himself.
“For the longest period of time, I didn’t care much about being an Olympian or the Olympics itself. It was just about what I could accomplish for the country,” Edelman said. “The journey has always been so centered on what it can do for Israel and so there’s no pressure to represent Israel because that’s what it’s been since day one. And without representing Israel the journey means nothing.”
“There was a lot of pressure that I had post-10/7 to switch to the US team,” he revealed. “It would have been so much simpler and easier to make it on the US team … But there was only one reason to ever do this and it was to get Israel to the games in bobsled. And Israel truly deserves this.”
“I’m doing my part to do something that I think will be good for the people and the country,” Edelman explained. “I’ve always had a dream that the team would make it [to the Olympics] and it would necessitate or catalyze a change in the perception of how Israel and Jews perceive their place in sports in general and what we can accomplish. I just always believe that four-man bobsled being the premier event in the Winter Games … and Israel doing what is just essentially impossible for a country like Israel to do, to make it into the games in bobsled, is just such a phenomenal accomplishment … I truly believe that this is something that could have a hugely positive impact.”
Israel’s participation in the Olympics is taking place amid efforts to boycott or ban its presence in international sports, because of its military actions in the Gaza Strip during the Israel-Hamas war. Edelman was asked what he thought about the boycott efforts.
“I view Israeli athletes as ambassadors of the state; we carry the hopes and dreams of the state forward,” he replied. “As for other people who want to kick us out … I just don’t pay much attention to it. Who has time to go through all the haters?”
“I do hope and know that this is just going to continue to move [Israel] forward,” he added, referring to the Israeli bobsled team’s presence at the Winter Games. “Someone is going to take over from me, who is better than I was, and in the future Israel is going to be a force in the sport … The [bobsled] team stands for breaking ceilings, and when we break ceilings, we want to be the first but not the last. And I really hope that’s what we take from it; that’s what everyone takes from it.”
The Milan Cortina Winter Games kicked off on Friday night with an opening ceremony at San Siro Stadium. Israel’s delegation was booed during the procession. International Olympic Committee (IOC) spokesperson Mark Adams said during a press conference on Saturday that he does not “like to see booing,” regardless of “whatever background” or “whatever country” an athlete or team represents.
“We want to see sportsperson-like behavior from everyone. It’s important that we support our athletes,” he added. “The whole idea, or one of the ideas of the Olympic movement, is that the athletes shouldn’t be punished for whatever their governments have done, and I think that’s really important, that we see the athletes and athletic performance for what that says about humanity.”
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Why do so many Jews support Israel — but reject ‘Zionism’?
A new Jewish Federations of North America survey contained a shocking and confusing statistic: While just one-third of American Jews call themselves Zionists, almost 90% say they believe in Israel’s right to exist as a democratic Jewish state.
How could that be?
That finding has been widely read as evidence of a generational collapse in Jewish attachment to Israel. It is nothing of the sort. What it reveals instead is the collapse of confidence in a specific political ideal that, to many, no longer means what it once did.
For much of the 20th century, the term “Zionism” referred to a fairly straightforward and surprisingly normal proposition: that Jews constituted a people, not merely a religion, and therefore had a plausible claim to national self-determination.
The arguments around Zionism were not uniquely Jewish. They echoed similar ideas advanced about Poles, Greeks and Czechs. If Romania could be a Romanian country, the thinking went, Israel could be a Jewish one. Whether Israel should exist was not a particularly hard question. Where its borders should lie, how minorities within those borers should be treated, and how Palestinians displaced by war and state-building should be compensated were.
Even the word itself began modestly. It is widely believed to have been coined in 1890 by Nathan Birnbaum, a Jewish intellectual and activist, to give a name to an emerging political current associated with the Hovevei Zion movement: Jews who believed emancipation would be achieved through collective action.
The idea of a return to Zion was ancient, embedded in Jewish liturgy and longing. The term “Zionism,” by contrast, was new, and political.
That practical spirit carried into the work of Theodor Herzl, who used the term sparingly and without reverence. In his vision, Zionism was not an identity to be worn or a moral credential to be displayed. It was a solution to a political problem: the chronic vulnerability of a stateless people.
“I consider the Jewish question neither a social nor a religious one, even though it sometimes takes these and other forms. It is a national question,“ he wrote in Der Judenstaat, his foundational text. “We are a people — one people.” Herzl laid out certain principles for answering that national question: international legitimacy mattered, minority rights within a future Jewish state were essential, and sovereignty imposed obligations rather than erased them. Zionism, he believed, could coexist with liberal norms and civic equality.
Today, that framework has eroded.
The moral mire of occupation
The occupation of the West Bank beginning after the 1967 Six-Day War fundamentally altered the moral landscape in which Zionism is understood.
Settler violence, seemingly permanent military rule over another people without the rights of citizens, a system of legal inequality and terrible violence resulted. What was once a movement for national self-determination increasingly came, in the public eye, to signify territorial entitlement and moral indifference.
For many Jews, especially younger ones, the word “Zionism” began to feel less like a description of a political belief like any other than a demand for complicity in a reality they never chose.
The rise of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu accelerated this corrosion. Because of his omnipresence in Israeli politics for the last three decades, it is his face many think of now when the term comes up. Over time, the idea of Zionism became rhetorically fused with Netanyahu’s political survival strategy, and, with it, with contempt for liberal institutions, and a narrowing of Jewish identity into a blunt instrument of power.
In the past, one could be a Zionist and still oppose specific Israeli governments, criticize military actions, or argue for far-reaching compromises with the Palestinians. Zionism was not an oath of loyalty to power; it was a framework for arguing about how Jewish sovereignty should be exercised and constrained.
In an era defined by occupation and Netanyahu’s political scheming, the term “Zionism” became welded to a politician known for corruption, cynicism, and conflict. So for liberals — which most American Jews are — it became radioactive.
From specific ideal to vague slur
Then came the Hamas attack of Oct. 7, 2023.
The scale of Israeli suffering on that day might have created sympathy for Israel — but the disastrous war in Gaza that followed put an end to any such compassion. Israeli security officials do not dispute the estimate that the war killed 70,000 people in Gaza, of which half or more are likely to have been civilians. The images coming out of the strip for more than two years showed scenes of utter devastation.
Layered onto this awful reality was an online ecosystem that rewards distortion. In activist spaces and on social media, the word “Zionist” became a slur, deployed with deliberate vagueness. It could mean “supporter of occupation,” “apologist for civilian deaths,” or simply “Jew with opinions about Israel.”
Bots and bad-faith actors amplified the worst definitions and drowned out the rest. In that climate, identifying as a Zionist began to feel like inviting a moral indictment.
The result is an increasingly familiar absurdity. I find myself appearing on leftist podcasts, listening to earnest but ill-informed commentators say they “suspect” I might be a Zionist, as though they were uncovering a hidden vice.
The irony is that I am a complete and total Zionist — under the original definition. Does it still apply?
I believe Jews are a people; that they have a right to a state; and that Israel’s legitimacy does not depend on being liked; only on existing within moral and legal constraints.
What I do not accept is the mutated version of Zionism that equates Jewish self-determination with permanent and non-democratic domination over another people.
Why does this definitional change matter?
When Jews stop identifying as Zionists, they abandon the clear, shared language that explains why Israel exists at all. That vacuum can be quickly filled with definitions supplied by Israel’s most illiberal defenders and most hostile critics. Without “Zionism” as an acceptable term, it becomes easier to portray Israel as illegitimate by definition. And it becomes easier for people who hate Jews to pretend that they hate “Zionists” instead.
Can the term be reclaimed? That would require an Israel that behaves better. Even then, undoing the damage will be an uphill battle. And of course, many of Zionism’s critics will never be pacified. The strange durability of the phenomenon known as antisemitism makes that crystal clear.
The post Why do so many Jews support Israel — but reject ‘Zionism’? appeared first on The Forward.
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Three Jewish Men Threatened With Knife in Paris as Antisemitic Attacks Surge
Sign reading “+1000% of Antisemitic Acts: These Are Not Just Numbers” during a march against antisemitism, in Lyon, France, June 25, 2024. Photo: Romain Costaseca / Hans Lucas via Reuters Connect
Three Jewish men were harassed by a knife-wielding individual in Paris, in the latest antisemitic incident to spark outrage within France’s Jewish community, prompting local authorities to launch a criminal investigation and bolster security amid a rising tide of antisemitism.
On Friday, three Jewish men wearing kippahs were physically threatened with a knife and forced to flee after leaving their Shabbat services near the Trocadéro in southwest Paris’s 16th arrondissement, European Jewish Press reported.
As the victims were leaving a nearby synagogue and walking through the neighborhood, they noticed a man staring at them. The assailant then approached the group and repeatedly asked, “Are you Jews? Are you Israelis?”
When one of them replied “yes,” the man pulled a knife from his pocket and began threatening the group. The victims immediately ran and found police officers nearby. None of the victims were injured.
Local police opened an investigation into acts of violence with a weapon and religiously motivated harassment after all three men filed formal complaints.
Jérémy Redler, mayor of Paris’s 16th arrondissement, publicly condemned the attack, expressing his full support for the victims.
“I will continue to fight relentlessly against antisemitism,” he wrote in a social media post. “Acts of hatred and violence targeting any community have no place in Paris.”
The European Jewish Congress (EJC) also denounced the incident, calling for a swift investigation and stronger action to safeguard Jewish communities amid a surge in antisemitic attacks.
“An attack targeting individuals because of their Jewish identity is unacceptable and incompatible with the values of our democratic societies,” the EJC wrote in a post on X.
“Ensuring that Jews can live, worship and participate fully in public life in safety and dignity must remain a fundamental priority,” the statement said.
The knife threat against three young Jewish men returning from synagogue in Paris is a matter of serious concern.
An attack targeting individuals because of their Jewish identity is unacceptable and incompatible with the values of our democratic societies.
The swift… pic.twitter.com/PsxmP0CeLk
— European Jewish Congress (@eurojewcong) February 9, 2026
Like most countries across Europe and the broader Western world, France has seen a rise in antisemitic incidents over the last two years, in the wake of the Hamas-led invasion of and massacre across southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023.
According to the French Interior Ministry, the first six months of 2025 saw more than 640 antisemitic incidents, a 27.5 percent decline from the same period in 2024, but a 112.5 percent increase compared to the first half of 2023, before the Oct. 7 atrocities.
Last week, a Jewish primary school in eastern Paris was vandalized, with windows smashed and security equipment damaged, prompting a criminal investigation and renewed outrage among local Jewish leaders as targeted antisemitic attacks continued to escalate.
Amid a growing climate of hostility toward Jews and Israelis across the country, the French government is facing mounting criticism as the legal system appears to be falling short in addressing antisemitism.
In one of the most recent and controversial cases, a French court tossed out antisemitic-motivated charges against a 55-year-old man convicted of murdering his 89-year-old Jewish neighbor in 2022.
French authorities in Lyon, in southeastern France, acquitted defendant Rachid Kheniche of aggravated murder charges on antisemitic grounds, rejecting the claim that the killing was committed on account of the victim’s religion.
According to French media, the magistrate of the public prosecutor’s office refused to consider the defendant’s prior antisemitic behavior, including online posts spreading hateful content and promoting conspiracy theories about Jews and Israelis, arguing that it was not directly related to the incident itself.
In May 2022, Kheniche threw his neighbor, René Hadjadj, from the 17th floor of his building, an act to which he later admitted.
At the time, Kheniche and his neighbor were having a discussion when the conflict escalated. He told investigators that he had tried to strangle Hadjadj but did not realize what he was doing, as he was experiencing a paranoid episode caused by prior drug use.
After several psychiatric evaluations, the court concluded that the defendant was mentally impaired at the time of the crime, reducing his criminal responsibility and lowering the maximum sentence for murder to 20 years.
In another case last year, the public prosecutor’s office in Nanterre, just west of Paris, appealed a criminal court ruling that cleared a nanny of antisemitism-aggravated charges after she poisoned the food and drinks of the Jewish family she worked for.
Even though the nanny initially denied the charges against her, she later confessed to police that she had poured a soapy lotion into the family’s food as a warning because “they were disrespecting her.”
“They have money and power, so I should never have worked for a Jewish woman — it only brought me trouble,” the nanny told the police. “I knew I could hurt them, but not enough to kill them.”
The French court declined to uphold any antisemitism charges against the defendant, noting that her incriminating statements were made several weeks after the incident and recorded by a police officer without a lawyer present.
In another shocking case last year, a local court in France dramatically reduced the sentence of one of the two teenagers convicted of the brutal gang rape of a 12-year-old Jewish girl, citing his “need to prepare for future reintegration.”
More than a year after the attack, the Versailles Court of Appeal retried one of the convicted boys — the only one to challenge his sentence — behind closed doors, ultimately reducing his term from nine to seven years and imposing an educational measure.