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Dave Chappelle isn’t the first to suggest that Jews run Hollywood. Here are the origins of the trope.
(JTA) – On “Saturday Night Live” last weekend, Dave Chappelle really wanted his audience to know there are a lot of Jews in Hollywood.
“I’ve been to Hollywood, this is just what I saw,” he said during his widely dissected monologue. “It’s a lot of Jews. Like, a lot.”
While suggesting that it might not be fair to say Jews run the industry, the comedian said that coming to that conclusion is “not a crazy thing to think.” Chappelle’s “SNL” episode drew a season-high 4.8 million viewers when it aired on NBC (eclipsing Jewish comedian Amy Schumer’s own hosting stint the week before), and his monologue had more than 8.1 million views on YouTube as of Wednesday.
The Anti-Defamation League was quick to denounce Chappelle’s act, calling it antisemitic. Other prominent Jews have followed suit.
“I was very disturbed to see him speaking, to millions of people, a lot of antisemitic tropes,” Pamela Nadell, a professor at American University who researches antisemitism, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
But Chappelle, who was himself riffing on recent antisemitism controversies involving Kanye West and Kyrie Irving, wasn’t exactly breaking new ground by insinuating that Jews run Hollywood. The trope has been a part of show business since its earliest days — when, in a literal sense, Jews did run Hollywood. Or the studios, anyway.
Nearly every major movie studio was founded in the early 20th century by a group of first-generation secular Jews who immigrated to the United States from Eastern Europe. Carl Laemmle (Universal), Adolph Zukor (Paramount), William Fox (Fox), Louis B. Mayer (MGM), and Benjamin Warner (Warner) were all Jewish silver-screen pioneers, laying the groundwork for the size and scale of the industry to follow.
But the industry has diversified greatly in the century since, with studios largely swallowed up by corporate behemoths. And while individual Jews may be overrepresented in an industry that has long welcomed and rewarded them, the rhetorical danger, Nadell said, comes in conflating a large Jewish presence in an industry with ownership and control of that industry.
“Jews remain active in Hollywood in a variety of roles, but it would be impossible to say that they run Hollywood, that they own Hollywood,” she said.
“Whenever the Jews enter into any kind of position where they might have influence over people who are not Jewish, then all of a sudden it’s seen as some kind of conspiracy.”
Conspiracy theories dogged Jews in Hollywood from the industry’s beginning. Because so many Jews were in control in Hollywood in its early years, Joseph Breen, who for decades ran the industry’s Production Code office and tried to make movies palatable to Catholic morality groups, blamed “the Jews” for sneaking sex, violence and moral depravity into the movies.
But their rise to the top of the still-young motion picture industry wasn’t because they were a part of some secretive cabal; it’s because, historians say, Hollywood provided a low barrier to entry for enterprising businessmen, and was lacking the antisemitic guardrails of more established industries.
“There were no social barriers in a business as new and faintly disreputable as the movies were in the early years of [the 20th] century,” historian Neal Gabler writes in his landmark 1988 book “An Empire Of Their Own: How The Jews Invented Hollywood.”
In the book, Gabler notes that the movie business, which evolved out of other professions like vaudeville and the garment industry where Jews had already found a toehold, lacked “the impediments imposed by loftier professions and more firmly entrenched businesses to keep Jews and other undesirables out.”
As such, Jews (particularly recent immigrants) were able to thrive in show business in a way they couldn’t in most other industries. Once they were in, family ties or the general phenomenon of affinity groups often led to them elevating other Jews in the industry: For example, prolific Jewish producer David O. Selznick, whose credits include “Gone With The Wind,” “Rebecca” and a huge string of other hits in the 1930s and ’40s, spent many years at MGM, run by his father-in-law, Louis B. Mayer.
Areas like the film, garment and publishing industries were attractive to Jews, Nadell said, “because there were so many other sectors of the economy where they were barred from.”
But in exchange, Hollywood’s prominent Jews had to effectively extinguish their Jewishness.
Yearning to assimilate into American society, the Jews who ran these studios were beset on all sides by antisemitic invective — first from Christian groups like the Legion of Decency, then by anti-Communist groups, both of whom accused Hollywood’s Jews of conspiring to undermine American society with their loose morals.
As such, the Jewish studio heads largely refrained from making any movies about Jewish themes, or snuffing out antisemitic content even within their own films, or otherwise exerting their influence in any obviously Jewish way, even as many of the Golden Era of Hollywood’s most acclaimed writers and directors (Herman Mankiewicz, Ernst Lubitsch, George Cukor, Billy Wilder) were also Jewish. “Gentleman’s Agreement,” the landmark 1947 film about antisemitism, didn’t have any Jewish producers, directors or major stars (though some of its credited writers were Jewish).
Famously, Hollywood’s Jews also went out of their way to avoid offending Hitler during the Nazi era, continuing to do business with Germany and largely avoiding featuring Nazis as villains in the prewar years.
Director Steven Spielberg speaks at the Academy Awards in Hollywood, Feb. 9, 2020. (Kevin Winter/Getty Images)
With the demise of the studio system in the 1960s, Jewish creatives ranging from Mel Brooks to Steven Spielberg to Natalie Portman no longer had to hide their identity from audiences, but instead made it an essential part of their public personas. Earlier this week, in a New York Times interview, Spielberg acknowledged that Hollywood was a welcoming place for Jews when he arrived as a young filmmaker.
“Being Jewish in America is not the same as being Jewish in Hollywood,” he said while promoting “The Fabelmans,” a loose retelling of his own Jewish upbringing. “Being Jewish in Hollywood is like wanting to be in the popular circle and immediately being accepted as I have been in that circle, by a lot of diversity but also by a lot of people who in fact are Jewish.”
Still, such ethnic affinity has often been deemed conspiratorial. “Hollywood is run by Jews” and “owned by Jews,” Marlon Brando declared in a 1996 interview with Larry King, further claiming that Jewish studio executives prevented antisemitic stereotypes from being depicted on screen while allowing stereotypes of every other minority group “because that’s where you circle the wagons around.”
(Despite this outburst, which prompted intense backlash from Jewish groups, Brando was known for having close relationships with Jews and demonstrating a strong understanding of Jewish theology and culture throughout his life, and apparently spoke Yiddish quite well.)
This general air of suspicion around Jews in show business has continued into the modern day, as evidenced by Chappelle and West’s comments. In the tweets that precipitated the collapse of his businesses, West singled out Jewish producers and managers in the entertainment industry he had affiliations with, echoing how believers in antisemitic conspiracy theories about Jewish control tend to fixate on Jews in leadership positions outside of the public eye.
Attorney Allen Grubman, left, and rocker John Mellencamp speak onstage during the 37th Annual Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony in Los Angeles, Nov. 5, 2022. (Amy Sussman/WireImage)
Ignoring the many industry leaders who are not Jewish, such conspiracy theorists tend to focus on the successful managers and lawyers in Hollywood who are, including Jeremy Zimmer, Ari Emanuel, Allen Grubman — and Harvey Weinstein, whose decades of sexual abuse, scorched-earth targeting of his accusers and eventual downfall are the subject of the new movie “She Said.”
And in a similar fashion to Brando, Chappelle suggested that there is a double standard in talking about ethnic groups, with jokes about Jews being seen as taboo in a way that jokes about Black people and other groups are not: “If they’re Black, then it’s a gang. If they’re Italian, it’s a mob. If they’re Jewish, it’s a coincidence and you should never speak about it.”
At the same time as Jews in and out of the industry are fighting such perceptions, they are also pushing for greater visibility. The unveiling of the new Academy Museum of Motion Pictures in Los Angeles last year almost entirely omitted Jews from Hollywood’s founding narrative, leading to backlash from Jews in the industry and, ultimately, the guarantee of a new permanent exhibition space focusing on Jews.
And there was one other way in which the Chappelle episode hearkened back to the age-old dynamics of the relationship between Jews and Hollywood: “Saturday Night Live” executive producer Lorne Michaels, who presumably allowed the monologue on the air, is Jewish.
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The post Dave Chappelle isn’t the first to suggest that Jews run Hollywood. Here are the origins of the trope. appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Israeli President Isaac Herzog’s selection as JTS commencement speaker roils graduating class
The selection of Israeli President Isaac Herzog as the Jewish Theological Seminary’s commencement speaker has divided undergraduates at the school, with several seniors and dozens of other current students and alumni signing a letter calling on the school’s chancellor to disinvite Herzog.
The letter accused Herzog of inciting violence against civilians in Gaza — a characterization shared by some human rights groups — and criticized him for not taking action against settler violence in the West Bank.
The students added that Herzog’s involvement in the schoolwide May 19 ceremony — when he will also receive an honorary degree from the seminary — would leave them “morally conflicted about attending.”
“There are many places for members of the JTS community to engage with difficult ideas in nuanced conversation,” they wrote, “but we believe the commencement stage is not the place to engage with such a particularly divisive figure.”
The letter leaked to Chancellor Shuly Rubin Schwartz before it was finalized, according to two of the six seniors who signed it, leading to a meeting during which Rubin Schwartz took issue with the group’s approach and held firm on the decision.
Meanwhile, other JTS seniors affirming the speaker choice wrote a letter of their own that has gathered 24 signatures, representing roughly half of the senior class.
The controversy unfolded amid ongoing tensions around Israel in Conservative Jewish spaces and at Columbia University, which has a joint undergraduate program with JTS. The flagship academic institution of the Conservative movement, JTS includes in its mission deepening students’ connection to Israel, and requires its rabbinical students to spend a year learning there.
Speaking out
Herzog has faced criticism for comments he made after the Oct. 7 attacks, in which he said that it was “an entire nation” that was responsible. Some said the remark carried an implication that there were no innocent civilians in Gaza. (Herzog later said it had been taken out of context and that he did believe there were innocent Palestinians there.)
The Forward has reached out to Herzog’s office for comment.
In an interview, one of the students who signed the letter, granted anonymity out of concern for professional repercussions, said he had wanted to fight back against a culture of silence around Palestinian suffering in the Jewish world.
“I do feel powerless,” the student said. “I feel like there’s a genocide happening. And the silence is killing all of us.”
Four current JTS rabbinical students signed the letter opposing Herzog, though none was in the class of 2026. JTS rabbinical students walk at the commencement ceremony but are ordained in a smaller gathering the next day.
Rubin Schwartz said in a statement that most of the JTS community was excited about Herzog’s address and honorary degree, but that it welcomed “thoughtful discussion and differing opinions” from students, faculty and staff.
“President Herzog, like all 10 previous presidents of Israel, represents the state and its people, rather than its government,” Rubin Schwartz added. “We look forward to honoring him at this year’s ceremony.”
Gabriel Freedman-Naditch, who signed the second letter, said he had been happy to learn Herzog would be the commencement speaker. He applauded Herzog’s leadership during Israel’s judicial overhaul saga, but said the Israeli presidency was mostly a “figurehead” position anyway. And while he said he was not closely attuned to Herzog’s actions since Oct. 7, he was willing to countenance a speaker he did not perfectly align with.
“We’ve all learned to listen to people we disagree with,” Freedman-Naditch said. “We should be able to listen to people who we find upsetting.”
A messy rollout
The group of six seniors who wrote the anti-Herzog letter drafted and circulated it privately among select students and alumni, planning to share it with Rubin Schwartz in a private meeting only once it was finalized.
Then Freedman-Naditch, who had not been aware of the letter, was forwarded the letter by his mother, who had received it from a JTS graduate who had signed it. Freedman-Naditch then shared it with the senior class group chat, asking why they hadn’t all been made aware of it. The organizers replied that they were worried that the letter would be leaked along with their names.
Not long after, Rubin Schwartz requested permission through Google Documents to view the letter. The group then emailed the chancellor proposing a meeting to discuss it.
In her office Tuesday, Rubin Schwartz asked the group why they hadn’t first come to her directly, according to the two students who spoke with the Forward. They replied that the JTS administration doesn’t take seriously what undergraduate students have to say, and that voices that diverge from the pro-Israel consensus tend to be silenced.
“She was basically like, ‘It saddens me to hear you say that there isn’t a culture of dissent here,’” one of the students said. “But at the same time, she’s calling our letter of dissent a hostile act.”
“What I said was that their choice to send a letter, rather than speak directly with me or others, felt aggressive,” Rubin Schwartz said in an email. “My point was that it would have felt more respectful to have had a conversation about their feelings instead of initiating the letter campaign.”
Herzog is not the only figure from the realm of Israeli politics slated to address 2026 graduates. Yeshiva University announced Thursday its own commencement speaker: U.S. Ambassador to Israel Mike Huckabee.
The post Israeli President Isaac Herzog’s selection as JTS commencement speaker roils graduating class appeared first on The Forward.
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Playing with bows and arrows and other Lag BaOmer shtetl customs
עס קומט באַלד דער יום־טובֿ ל״ג־בעומר — דער 33סטער טאָג פֿון ציילן ספֿירה, די טעג צווישן פּסח און שבֿועות.
ל״ג־בעומר איז אַ טאָג פֿון פֿרייד אין מיטן פֿון זיבן וואָכן טרויער און ערנסטקייט. מע דריקט אויס די פֿרייד אויף פֿאַרשיידענע אופֿנים. דאָס ווערטל „אַ ל״ג־בעומר-גענעראַל איז נאָר אויף איין טאָג“ פֿאַררופֿט זיך אויפֿן מינהג, אין וועלכן חדר־ייִנגלעך פֿלעגן גיין אויף אַ שפּאַציר אין וואַלד מיטן מלמד, און שיסן פֿײַל־און־בויגנס (נישט קיין אמתע, נאָר שפּילעכלעך). איין חדר־ייִנגל האָט מען אויסגעקליבן צו זײַן דער גענעראַל איבער די „שלאַכטן“, וואָס האָבן נאָכגעמאַכט בר־כּוכבאס קאַמף קעגן די רוימער מיט צוויי טויזנט יאָר פֿריִער.
דעם בולטן מיליטאַריסטישן מינהג האָט מען אויסגעטײַטשט מיט אַ מער „ייִדישלעכן“ טעם — אַזוי ווי קיין רעגנבויגן האָט זיך נישט באַוויזן בעתן לעבן פֿון רב שמעון בר־יוחאי, אַ תּנא פֿון דער מישנה, דינט דער בויגן פֿונעם פֿײַל־און־בויגן ווי אַ דערמאָנונג נאָך זײַן טויט. ווי עס ווערט געזאָגט אינעם קבלה־ספֿר, דער „זוהר“, וואָס, לויט דער טראַדיציע, האָט בר־יוחאי מחבר געווען, וועט אַ רעגנבויגן מיט כּלערליי קאָלירן זיך באַווײַזן איידער דער משיח וועט קומען. האָט דער בויגן, במילא, אויך אַ טײַטש ווי אַ טייל פֿון אונדזער ייִדישער אמונה אין משיחן.
ל״ג־בעומר אינעם דאָרף מירון, נישט ווײַט פֿון צפֿת, פּראַוועט מען דעם יום־טובֿ מיט גרויס פּאַראַד; אַ מינהג, וואָס ציט זיך עטלעכע הונדערט יאָר צוריק און נעמט זיך פֿון דעם, וואָס רבֿ שמעון בר־יוחאיס קבֿר געפֿינט זיך דאָרטן. די געלערנטע האַלטן, אַז דעם „זוהר“ האָט מען ערשט אָנגעשריבן מיט אַ טויזנט יאָר שפּעטער. אין שפּאַניע, אינעם 13טן יאָרהונדערט, האָט זיך צום ערשטן מאָל באַוויזן דאָס ווערק, אַרויסגעגעבן פֿון משה דעלעאָן, אָבער דעלעאָן האָט דאָרטן געשריבן, אַז בר־יוחאי האָט עס געשאַפֿן — יוחאי האָט געקליבן די אַנטפּלעקונגען וואָס משה רבינו האָט באַקומען פֿונעם אייבערשטן און זיי געדרוקט אינעם „זוהר“.
גרשון שלום האָט געהאַלטן, אַז דעלעאָן האָט נישט נאָר אַרויסגעגעבן דעם „זוהר“, נאָר אים אויך אָנגעשריבן. ל״ג־בעומר הייסט אויך „חילולא דרבֿ שמעון בן־יוחאי“ און חילולא מיינט חתונה, מיטן מיין, אַז דער טויט פֿונעם גרויסן רבֿ האָט געבראַכט אַ שלומדיקע האַרמאָניע אין דער וועלט, וואָס מע קען געפֿינען אין זײַן „זוהר“. נישט אַלע רבנים זענען געווען צופֿרידן מיט דעם, וואָס מע הייבט אַרויס דעם „זוהר“ און זײַן מחבר אינעם טאָג פֿון ל״ג־בעומר. אָבער די פּאָפּולערע טראַדיציעס זענען געבליבן, אַזוי ווי צו שפּילן מוזיק בײַ זײַן קבֿר און אָפּשערן צום ערשטן מאָל די האָר פֿונעם קינד (בשעת ספֿירה ציילן טאָר מען נישט שערן די האָר.)
די ספֿרדישע ייִדן רופֿן דעם טאָג „ל״ג־לעומר“, נישט „בעומר“ און האָבן אַנדערע מינהגים ווי די אַשכּנזים. למשל, אין אַשכּנזישע פֿרומע קרײַזן טאָר מען נישט חתונה האָבן בשעת מע ציילט ספֿירה, אַ חוץ ל״ג־בעומר. אָבער בײַ די ספֿרדישע ייִדן מעג מען יאָ האָבן חתונה אין אַלע טעג פֿון ניסן נאָך פּסח; די סירישע ייִדן מעגן חתונה האָבן פֿון ל״ג־בעומר אָן ביז שבֿועות. ווען מע הייבט אָן צו ציילן עומר בײַ די ייִדן פֿון מאַראָקאָ באַקומט יעדער ייִד אין בית־הכּנסת אַ ביסל זאַלץ אין קעשענע, אַ דערמאָנונג צו ציילן ספֿירה, אָבער דאָס זאַלץ איז אויך אַ סגולה קעגן שלעכטס.
פֿון אַ פֿאָלקלאָריסטישן קוקווינקל קען מען באַטראַכטן אַ סך מינהגים מיט זאַלץ ווי אַ מיטל אַוועקצוטרײַבן בייזע רוחות — למשל, דאָס אײַנטונקען די חלה אין זאַלץ פֿרײַטיק־צו־נאַכטס. בײַ די מיזרח־אייראָפּעיִשע ייִדן האָט מען געוואָרפֿן זאַלץ אין די ווינקלען פֿון שטוב פּטור צו ווערן פֿון די נישט־גוטע, און מע האָט געשיט אַ ביסל זאַלץ אין די אַרבע־כּנפֿות פֿונעם קינד. ווען אַ ציגײַנער איז אַרויס פֿון שטוב האָט מען געוואָרפֿן זאַלץ, דאָס מזל זאָל נישט געשטערט ווערן.
אין אַנדערע מינהגים האָט דאָס זאַלץ אַן אַנדער אויסטײַטש. ס׳איז געווען אַ מינהג, אַז אויב מע וואַרפֿט זאַלץ אין אַ ווינקל, וווּ מע וועט עס נישט אַוועקקערן, וועט מען ווערן אָרעם. אין ענגלאַנד און האָלאַנד (ספֿרדישע ייִדן) האָט מען געגלייבט, אַז אויב מע שיט זאַלץ אויס, וועט דאָס ברענגען אַ שלעכט מזל. אין שודטס בוך פֿון „ייִדישע מערקווירדיקייטן“ [מאָדנע זאַכן] פֿונעם אָנהייב 18טן יאָרהונדערט, שרײַבט ער, אַז אַ ייִדישע פֿרוי פֿון דײַטשלאַנד האָט אים געעצהט אויפֿצוהענגען זאַלץ מיט ברויט אויף די העלדזער פֿון זײַנע קינדער, אַוועקצוטרײַבן דעם עין־הרע.
דער פּראָפֿעסאָר פֿון רעליגיע, טעאָדאָר גאַסטער, דער זון פֿונעם חשובֿן פֿאָלקלאָריסט הרבֿ משה גאַסטער, האָט ליב צו פֿאַרגלײַכן ייִדישע מינהגים מיט נישט־ייִדישע; צי ער טרײַבט איבער די פֿאַרגלײַכונגען מיט אַנדערע קולטורן איז אַ קשיא, אָבער אינטערעסאַנט, פֿון דעסטוועגן, זענען זײַנע שטודיעס. די טעג פֿון עומר פֿאַרגלײַכט ער אָן אַ „להבֿדיל“, צו דעם קריסטלעכן „לענט“ — די זעקס וואָכן פֿאַר פּאַסכע, ווען די קריסטן פֿאַסטן אָדער זענען מוותּר אַנדערע פֿאַרגעניגנס.
לויט גאַסטערן דאַרף מען באַטראַכטן ל״ג־בעומר ווי אַ פֿרילינגדיקן מײַ־פֿעסטיוואַל. ער שרײַבט, אַז דאָס שיסן פֿײַל־און־בויגנס איז געווען פֿאַרשפּרייט אין אייראָפּע דעם 1טן מײַ, ווײַל די נאַכט פֿריִער איז געווען „וואַלפּורגיס־נאַכט“ — „דער שבת פֿון די מכשפֿות“. די פֿײַלן האָבן אַוועקגעטריבן די בייזע רוחות. ל״ג־בעומר פֿלעגן די ייִדישע קינדער אויך גיין אויפֿן בית־עולם, נישט נאָר אין וואַלד, און גאַסטער באַטאָנט, אַז דאָס טאַנצן און פֿרייען זיך אויפֿן בית־עולם איז אויך פֿאָרגעקומען דעם ערשטן מײַ צווישן די פּויערים.
אין אַ זאַמלונג ייִדישע מעשׂיות פֿון אַראַבישע לענדער, רעדאַקטירט פֿון דן בן־עמוס, געפֿינט זיך אַ מעשׂה, דערציילט פֿון יוסף זיוו, וועגן די ייִדן פֿונעם טוניזישן אינדזל דזשערבאַ און די ניסים פֿון ל״ג־בעומר. בײַ זיי איז געווען אַ מינהג אָנצוצינדן אַ גרויסע מנורה און זי טראָגן מיט גרויס שׂימחה פֿון דער ייִדישער געגנט צו דער גרויסער סינאַגאָגע “אַל־גאַריבאַ”. די נאַכט האָט מען אָנגערופֿן „די נאַכט פֿון דער מנורה“, און מע האָט געזונגען, געשפּילט און רעציטירט פּאָעמעס מיט גרויס פֿרייד, גייענדיק אין גאַס.
איין יאָר האָט אַ גרופּע שׂונאי־ישׂראל באַשלאָסן, אַז מע טאָר נישט דערלאָזן, אַז די ייִדן זאָלן אַזוי זיך משׂמח זײַן. די באַנדע האָט געקליבן געווער — מעסער, העק, שטעקנס — און בדעה געהאַט צו באַפֿאַלן די פֿריילעכע ייִדן און זיי צעטרײַבן. אַלע אין דער גרופּע האָבן מסכּים געווען. אָבער אין דער נאַכט פֿונעם יום־טובֿ האָט מיט אַ מאָל אַ שטראַל ליכט אַ שײַן געטאָן פֿון דער מנורה און זיי פֿאַרבלענדט די אויגן. „דער גאָט פֿון די ייִדן איז געקומען אונדז אומברענגען, אַנטלויפֿט!“ — האָט דער פֿירער אויסגעשריגן, אָבער בלינדערהייט האָבן זיי נישט געזען וווּ צו לויפֿן.
ווען זיי האָבן סוף־כּל־סוף ווידער אָנגעהויבן זען, האָבן זיי זיך געפֿונען אין מיטן פֿון די טאַנצנדיקע, זינגענדיקע ייִדן. קיין ברירה האָבן זיי נישט געהאַט און געמוזט מיטטאַנצן און מיטזינגען ביז דער סינאַגאָגע. „און אין יעדן דור דערציילט מען וועגן דעם נס פֿון דעם ליכט, און וועגן דעם נס פֿון דער מנורה אין דער נאַכט פֿון ל״ג־בעומר. זאָלן אַלע אינטריגעס פֿון אונדזערע שׂונאים אָפּגעשאַפֿן ווערן, און גאָט זאָל אונדז ראַטעווען פֿון אַלע פֿײַנט.“
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‘Don’t give up on us now’: Israel peace summit convenes thousands to aim for elusive progress
TEL AVIV, ISRAEL — On Thursday’s bright, sun-drenched morning during a rare pause in the multi-front war Israel has been locked into for nearly three years, in between the protests, funerals and steady drumbeat of violence and trauma, something decidedly more hopeful was taking place.
In one of the city’s largest conference centers, thousands gathered for the third annual People’s Peace Summit under the banner “It must be. It can be. It will be.” The event was organized by the It’s Time coalition, a partnership of more than 80 grassroots peacebuilding and shared society organizations.
Young activists in T-shirts representing their various causes stood alongside older attendees, some in kippot, others in hijabs. Diplomats in business attire moved through the crowd, as did the handful of Israeli politicians still publicly associated with the peace camp – familiar faces in a political landscape where their ranks have thinned considerably. Outside the main arena, Hebrew mingled with Arabic and English as participants strolled through art installations and an organizational fair showcasing the work of It’s Time’s partners.
While previous events took place at the height of war — while hostages remained in captivity and Gaza endured devastating destruction — this year’s summit unfolded during a fragile lull in fighting, the tenuous ceasefires with Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps allowing, however briefly, for conversations to move beyond issues of immediate survival. Speakers tackled settler violence in the West Bank, looming elections, the immense challenge of rebuilding Gaza and the broader question of how to move Israel and Palestine beyond its default state of perpetual conflict. Inside the packed sessions, the tone was equal parts practical, sober and hopeful.
After a quick coffee break, the thousands of participants came together for an evening of stirring speeches and raucous musical performances. When Israeli pop icon Dana International took the stage with a familiar anthem of peace, the crowd rose to its feet, wrapping their arms around one another and belting out the words.
Despite the joyous atmosphere, the event — and the coalition behind it — is not immune from criticism. Some critiques appear to have been internalized: this year’s programming leaned more heavily into policy, strategy and the hard realities of war than previous gatherings. Other issues remain unresolved. Palestinian participation, while present, was still markedly limited, which organizers attribute largely to government-imposed restrictions on movement rather than a lack of interest. Still, the question of whether a civil society movement like this can translate hope and optimism into concrete political change remains to be seen.
That tension between aspiration and reality extends well beyond Israel. In the United States, support for Israel, particularly among younger American Jews, is waning. A 2024 Pew survey found that fewer than half of American Jews under 30 say they feel “very attached” to Israel, while a JFNA poll released in February 2026, found that just 37% of all American Jews identify as Zionists. Both numbers represent a sharp decline from older generations.
For Shira Ben Sasson, Israel director of the New Israel Fund, it is precisely the peace camp which could hold the answer to this growing disillusionment. If the state itself no longer reflects the values that once anchored many American Jews’ connection to Israel, she suggests, perhaps their more natural partner is the small but determined coalition of Israelis working to change it.
“I appreciate how difficult it is to be a Jew who cares about Israel right now,” she told the Forward as the conference, which New Israel Fund helped support and coordinate, got underway. “People are struggling with what they are seeing — the way Israel is conducting itself. Its policies. They are watching the value set that once connected them so strongly to the Jewish state disappear.”
Her response is one of both reassurance and redirection.
“Thank you for continuing to care,” she said. “But remember — the Israeli government is not your partner. We are. Pro-democracy civil society is your partner. Those of us who are fighting for equality here, for the rights of non-Israeli Jews and the rights of non-Jewish Israelis are your partners. This is where those shared values still live.”
If that message feels unfamiliar to those in the diaspora, Ben Sasson suggests the reason ultimately comes down to lack of exposure.
“We, the Israeli peace camp, need to be in many more places than we are right now,” she said. “We must get the word out that while we might not be the majority here, we are not only growing in number, we are expanding our diversity as well.”
She pointed to the rising number of Orthodox Jews, like herself, who have joined the movement as one example.
Ben Sasson also emphasized that, as with any strong partnership, the relationship must move in both directions. Israeli peace activists, she said, must make themselves more visible to American Jews. But American Jews also need to be willing to open their eyes.
“The mainstream Jewish community has to challenge itself,” she said. “They have to be able to voice their concern for Israeli democracy, for the violence in the occupied territories. And they have to be willing to engage in an honest discussion about peace.”
She is less worried about reaching individuals whose support for Israel may be wavering — many of whom, she believes, will connect with the movement’s vision — than she is about the institutions that have long shaped American Jewish engagement with Israel. Those institutions, she said, have been slow to open themselves to this kind of messaging.
“I think there’s fear,” Ben Sasson explained. “The word ‘peace’ has come to sound political. And once something is labeled political, these legacy institutions don’t want to touch it.”
But that avoidance, she warned, comes at a cost.
“They cannot afford to just stick with the same old stale perception of Israel,” she argued. “If you aren’t willing to talk about the real-life issues that Israelis are facing, you simply won’t be relevant anymore — particularly for the young people in your community.”
“Do not be afraid of controversy,” she added. “Do not be afraid to invite an Arab and a Jew to your event, where there may be disagreement. That’s okay. Struggling and wrestling is a core part of our identity.”
While Ben Sasson contends there is a critical mass of people who are hungry for an alternative way to relate to Israel, the question of feasibility remains; the same question that follows the peace movement inside Israel: Does its growing visibility reflect real political momentum, or is it simply too late to reverse course?
To those who are ready to walk away altogether, Ben Sasson points out that Israel stands to lose not only their support, but also the values and organizing traditions American Jews have long brought to the relationship.
“You’ve helped us achieve so many things in Israel for decades,” she said. “You helped us get a state. And now we need a different kind of support. The Jewish values that you offer — the concept of tikkun olam, which is not at the heart of Israeli Judaism but is at the heart of American Judaism — this is the support you can offer us right now.”
Her final plea was simple.
“Do not give up on Israel,” Ben Sasson said. “There have been so many times when things felt insurmountable and you did not give up on us. Don’t give up on us now.”
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