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How a once-cautious Benjamin Netanyahu came to lead the most radical coalition in Israel’s history
(JTA) — Twenty-seven years have passed since Benjamin Netanyahu was first elected as Israel’s prime minister. Since 1996, he has headed six governments over a period of more than 15 years, more than any other prime minister. Unfortunately, his current coalition is one of the most radical-populist governments in Israel’s history. This government seeks to rapidly undermine Israel’s democracy by granting unlimited political power to the executive branch of government at the expense of the judiciary.
How can Netanyahu — a U.S.-educated and respected world leader who was cautious in his approach to building previous coalitions, and was once respectful of Israeli democratic institutions — support such a dangerous plan? Was the “writing on the wall” earlier on in his lengthy tenure?
A glimpse into Netanyahu’s years in office reveals that, indeed, signs of his being a populist leader — specializing in attacks against the so-called elite — could be detected long ago. As Likud leader in 1993, Netanyahu was blamed for ignoring the incitement by extremists that preceded the assignation of Yitzhak Rabin (a charge he vociferously denies). As early as 1997, during his first term as prime minister, he said that “the left has forgotten what it means to be Jewish.” Two years later, during an election campaign, he mocked the “leftist” press by saying “they are scared” (by the possibility of a right-wing victory). On Election Day in 2015, he posted a video urging Likud supporters to go out and vote by warning, “the Arabs are heading in droves to the polls.” That message led to accusations that the candidate was using racial dog whistles to motivate his followers.
However, Netanyahu’s populist discourse and his natural divide-and-conquer leadership style were balanced out, at least until 2015, by several factors. First, Netanyahu always sought to include centrist and even left-of-center parties in his coalition governments. Even when he could build a “pure” right-wing coalition (following the 2009 elections, for example), he preferred to invite partners from the opposing political side. His intention, he once said, was to provide a “wide and stable government that unites the people.”
Second, despite his hawkish image and his hardline discourse on security issues, Netanyahu wa considered to be an exceedingly cautious leader in that arena. Risk-averse, he tended to avoid involving Israel in major wars and was wary of acting in ways that would spark violence between Israelis and Palestinians.
Third, over his many years in office, he had demonstrated respect for the rules of the game — and towards Israel’s Supreme Court. He even blocked earlier initiatives that sought to undermine the power of the judicial branch. “I believe that in a democracy, a strong and independent Court is what enables the existence of all other democratic institutions,” he said in 2012. “Every time a law comes across my desk that threatens to impair the independence of the courts, we will take it down.”
The 2015 elections should probably be regarded as the turning point, after which these balancing factors quickly gave way to unabashed populism. The unexpected resounding victory in that year’s elections brought out the hubris in Netanyahu. He formed a right-wing coalition government (only slightly moderated by Moshe Kahlon’s centrist Kulanu party), personally held four ministerial positions in addition to the prime ministership, and gave his blessing to the hugely controversial Nation-State Bill. This legislation, which anchored in law Israel’s status as the “national home of the Jewish people,” strengthened the Jewish component of Israel’s dual “Jewish and democratic” identity without in turn strengthening its democratic component — explicitly and implicitly downgrading minority rights.
Furthermore, Netanyahu’s longtime obsession with controlling press coverage reached a new level. His insistence on personally heading the Ministry of Communications and his excessive involvement in media — for example, installing a close ally as director-general of the ministry, and targeting and strong-arming ostensibly “unfriendly” newspapers and broadcasters — served as the background for two of the three indictments for which he is currently on trial.
The investigations on corruption charges, and his subsequent trial, further pushed Netanyahu toward populist extremes. Following three rounds of elections between 2019 and 2020, which threw Israel into an unprecedented political crisis, Netanyahu was forced to form a unity government with former Gen. Benny Gantz’s centrist Blue & White party. Coincidentally, just a few hours after the government’s first meeting, Netanyahu’s trial began in the Jerusalem District Court. The prime minister arrived at the court on May 24, 2020, accompanied by several Likud Knesset members, and launched a fierce attack:
What is on trial today is an effort to frustrate the will of the people — the attempt to bring down me and the right-wing camp. For more than a decade, the left has failed to do this at the ballot box. So over the last few years, they have discovered a new method: some segments in the police and the prosecution have joined forces with the leftist media… to manufacture baseless and absurd charges against me.
These statements made it clear that Netanyahu had crossed the Rubicon, setting the tone for his behavior ever since. He dispensed with the partnership with Gantz, sacrificing Israel’s economic and political interests along with it. In the build-up to the next elections, he legitimized extremist, racist politicians such as Bezalel Smotrich and Itamar Ben-Gvir, who are today members of his governing coalition. After failing to form a government in 2021 (having been ousted from power after more than 12 consecutive years), he violated fundamental parliamentary conventions and norms. For instance, he instructed his right-wing allies to boycott Knesset committees and refused to attend the customary “update meeting” the parliamentary opposition leader holds with the prime minister. His previous respect for the rules of the game and democratic institutions was a thing of the past.
In that sense, it is no wonder that the current government he has formed, following his victory in the 2022 elections, is relentlessly pushing the overhaul of the judicial system, with little regard to the dangers the legislation poses to Israel’s democracy. This is due to a combination of Netanyahu’s own self-interest regarding his trial and the interests and worldviews of his political partners — politicians who hold extreme views (Ben-Gvir, Smotrich) as well as those who have previous corruption charges hanging over their heads (Aryeh Deri, leader of the haredi Orthodox Shas party).
The “old Bibi” would have never coalesced with such radical forces and would have never so bluntly disregarded democratic norms. But hubris, an instinct for self-preservation and his high self-regard as the “indispensable man” of Israeli politics created a new Bibi – and a crisis unlike anything Israel has ever seen.
Ironically, Netanyahu finds himself in an unexpected position — as the moderating force in the most radical coalition in Israel’s history. He could tap the instincts that he once had and be the voice of reason, the one who plugs the dike with his finger. He has the chance to lead Israel to a major constitutional moment. Will he rise to this historical challenge?
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A radical idea to bridge Chicago’s Black and Jewish communities
I have strong Southern roots. Both sets of my grandparents, with the exception of my Philadelphia-born maternal grandmother, were descendants of enslaved people who later became sharecroppers. I visited the South often as a child, and being different in a place like that could be difficult. There was no Black Jewish community there at the time. I was usually its sole representative.
Or so I thought.
I was a teenager when I first learned about Julius Rosenwald‘s philanthropic efforts that helped build thousands of schools for Black children throughout the rural South, including many of the places I grew up visiting. After that, I began looking for Rosenwald schools whenever I traveled. I was always happy to find them. They were old and mostly dilapidated, but somehow still seemed to quietly defy time and the elements.
This was the first time I remember understanding how Black people and Jews could do meaningful work together. Those faded clapboard buildings, once whitewashed and full of possibility, had housed the education system that helped generations of Black children and laid part of the groundwork for the civil rights movement that would follow.
I was born in the late 1970s. I have no memory of the storied alliance between Blacks and Jews during the civil rights era. By the time I came along, much of that coalition had faded, and people were already asking how those bridges might be rebuilt.
I never experienced the Black-Jewish relationship that the teachers and staff at my Jewish day school recalled so fondly. But whenever I traveled through the South, I saw those schools. They stood as proof that the two communities I come from had once worked together to accomplish something extraordinary. They filled me with hope and pride, and with the certainty that if it happened once, it could happen again.
That is why, at a time when antisemitism and racism are once again on the rise, I find myself returning to the example set by earlier generations of Jewish philanthropists and community leaders. They understood that investing in Black communities was not simply an act of charity. It was an act of solidarity. They recognized that prejudice thrives when people remain strangers to one another, and that real change requires shared investment in a common future.
Today, we find ourselves confronting many of the same challenges. Distrust is growing. Division is growing. Fear is growing.
Which is why I want to build a Jewish Community Center on the south side of Chicago.
Not in a neighborhood where many Jews already live, but in a neighborhood where they can come to build new relationships, and new solidarity. A neighborhood where children from the two communities I hold in my heart can grow up seeing one another as neighbors instead of strangers.
The groundwork for this kind of bold community building is already in place. More than a decade ago, I started Mothers and Men Against Senseless Killing on the south side, as a response to violence, hopelessness and despair. From the beginning, that work was shaped by Jewish values, and Jews from across the Chicagoland area have stood alongside me in that work.
What began as an effort to keep children safe, based on the corner of 75th Street and Stewart Avenue, has evolved into an open air community center where children receive hot meals after school, where they can play safely throughout the summer, and where parents can find diapers, formula and other necessities for their families.
Our corner has also become a place where we can have open and sometimes difficult conversations about race, and life in America. Those conversations are often also about Judaism. We host Yom Kippur services, Passover seders, and an annual Christmahanukkwanzukah toy giveaway.
This corner has become an oasis that welcomes both Black people and Jews, and of course Black Jews, and invites them to spend time together.
I grew up watching my friends go to the JCC, even though my family could never afford it. It was important to me that my own children had that experience. At a JCC far from the neighborhood where we live, they deepened their Jewish identities, learned to get along with people different from themselves, got exercise, and made lifelong friends.
It’s time to bring that opportunity to the area where we live, and where MASK has already begun to serve some of the purposes that JCCs often fill — primarily that of giving children a safe place to learn and play.
It’s time to take things to the next level. We need a place where Black and Jewish families can gather with intention to build more communal services that help us all. Yes, we need bridges between our communities.But those bridges also need to lead somewhere. And I cannot think of a better destination than a place where Black and Jewish children can learn, grow, and build a future together.
The post A radical idea to bridge Chicago’s Black and Jewish communities appeared first on The Forward.
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Fight wildfires and other climate crises with this spiritual guide to catastrophe
As smoke from Canadian wildfires blankets much of the Northeast and Midwest in a hazy fog, some Jews are observing this Tisha B’av by mourning a different kind of destruction: that of a planet in crisis.
Tisha B’av, the saddest day on the Jewish calendar that commemorates the destruction of the First and Second Temples, deals with themes of grief and resilience relevant to today’s climate crisis, said Rabbi Laura Bellows, director of spiritual activism and education at Dayenu: A Jewish Call to Climate Action.
In advance of Tisha Ba’av, Dayenu this week released a spiritual guide for the aftermath of extreme weather — including floods, storms, heatwaves and fires. It was a grim coincidence, Bellows said, that the guide’s publication coincided with a time when those prayers would be of particular use.
“The grief is real,” Bellows said. “Jewish tradition is really good at encouraging us not to ignore it, but actually to make space and time to be with that grief.”
The guide includes an adapted version of Mi Shebeirach, the prayer for healing, written by Rabbi Daniel Scher at Kehillat Israel in the Palisades. Scher wrote the prayer for his congregation after wildfires caused significant smoke damage to the synagogue’s building, leading it to close for several months. Roughly 250 synagogue members — and all three clergy — lost their homes.
“The fire has seared through our homes and hopes, yet we stand together in our pain, trusting that new life can blossom in our midst,” the prayer reads.
Other texts in the guidebook offer hope for rebuilding. Rabbi Zoe Klein of Temple Isaiah in Los Angeles adapted the daily prayer, “May it be your will that the Temple be speedily rebuilt in our own time,” into a plea for wildfire survivors: “May it be Thy will that homes be rebuilt in our own time.”
Another ritual offers a hand-washing ceremony for survivors of water-related natural disasters. Participants wash their hands and recite the Birkat HaGomel, a prayer traditionally said after surviving a life-threatening event.
It’s not the first year rabbis have linked the climate crisis to Tisha Ba’av. More than a decade ago, Rabbi Tamara Cohen, chief of program and strategy at the Jewish youth group Moving Traditions, co-wrote “Eikha for the Earth,” which adapts the Book of Lamentations traditionally read on Tisha Ba’av as a “lament for the Earth.”
“Checkerspot butterflies flee their homes; polar bears can find no rest. Because our greed has heated Earth,” the text reads.
The adapted text aims to “welcome in Jews who are not so connected to the idea of mourning for the ancient temple, which doesn’t necessarily move lots of people today,” Cohen told the Forward.
But the timing of this year’s Tisha B’av makes the text feel eerily relevant, she said, pointing to the line “forest fires reach down and spread like fury.”
Jakir Manela, CEO of the nonprofit Adamah, which leads immersive Jewish experiences grounded in nature, said he’s also feeling particular grief for the earth this Tisha B’av. Manela lives in Baltimore, where he and his kids have been unable to go outside due to the unhealthy air.
“This is destruction in front of our very eyes, and affecting the largest population centers on the planet,” Manela said. “If folks have trouble connecting with Tisha B’av and the grief and mourning that it calls us to do, maybe this year is the time when it will hit home.”
The post Fight wildfires and other climate crises with this spiritual guide to catastrophe appeared first on The Forward.
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Why am I the only one troubled by an Anne Frank House shot glass?
Readers, how many of you have ever looked at the Anne Frank House and thought: “Wow, I wish I had a miniature version I could drink alcohol from” ?
Probably very few of you. And yet a ceramic replica of the historic house filled with approximately 1.7ozs of Bols Dutch gin is available from KLM Dutch Airways as part of a gift series for business class passengers on international flights.
The airline first launched the Delft Blue miniature house line in 1952 as gifts for business class passengers on intercontinental flights. I first discovered them last month, when I was flying with my dad to Maputo, Mozambique, to cover the centenary celebration of a local synagogue. My dad and I initially thought these would make good Christmas gifts for my cousin’s kids until we heard the liquid sloshing inside. We ended up keeping these recreations — which included the house of aviator Anthony Fokker and one of the last wooden houses left in Amsterdam — for ourselves.
While researching these unique souvenirs, I quickly discovered that one of the historic recreations is the Anne Frank House, aka “KLM miniature number 47,” which the Dutch airline added to the collection in 1975. My initial reaction was shock: How could the airline take a place that represents such a tremendous tragedy and turn it into a shot glass?
I reached out to KLM and asked if they had ever received a complaint about the item. A representative wrote back to say that, from what he knew, there had only ever been one critical Instagram comment: that KLM tried to make money off of everything. Collectors shared the souvenir online, but nobody I could find on the internet expressed the surprise and revulsion I felt.
My request to chat on the phone for further comments on why KLM included the Anne Frank House in their collection didn’t garner the response I expected. The representative responded via email that the house is historic and if I wanted to know more about it, I could just Google it. The subtext of my question — that it feels like a strange and possibly inappropriate choice to turn a solemn landmark into a cutesy flask — didn’t seem obvious to him.
So why did it feel so obvious to me?
For so many, Anne Frank is the symbol of how horrendous the Holocaust was. The fact that she is an innocent child exposes the depraved nature of the Nazis. Most Americans are first introduced to the Holocaust through the story of her confinement in that house in Amsterdam.
Even though it is not where Frank died (that was Bergen-Belsen, at the age of 16), it feels like the place where her fate was sealed. It is not just a landmark included in a famous book; it was her prison and the last stop on the way to her death. Although some may associate it with Frank’s enduring spirit of hope, filling it with alcohol still feels obscene.
Frank’s image has been co-opted over and over again. Two years ago, a Norwegian artist used an image of Frank in a keffiyeh to bring attention to children being killed in Gaza. More recently, Frank has become a symbol for anti-ICE protesters of the dangers of letting law enforcement target people based on their ethnic background. Then there’s the viral satirical comedy musical Slam Frank, which reimagines Anne Frank as a queer Latinx girl with a Black mom and gay, neurodivergent dad in order to poke fun at woke culture.The KLM house feels like a less charged appropriation of Anne Frank’s legacy; it’s not pushing any sort of political agenda.
The ceramic house is also part of a larger kitsch culture that blurs the fine line between commemoration and trivialization. So many tragedies have been commodified in this way that there’s a term for it: “dark tourism.” There are plenty of 9/11 related objects out there — a Twin Towers Christmas tree ornament, stuffed search and rescue dogs — that feel like they border on exploitation.
But what makes the KLM Anne Frank house stand out is its contents. To use a house of such suffering as the container for gin feels minimizing. (It is worth mentioning that a New York winery did at one point produce a 9/11 commemorative wine, although some of the proceeds were donated to the National September 11 Memorial and Museum.) Once the Anne Frank flask is emptied of its contents, it will just be a ceramic trinket that could help keep the memory of the landmark alive. Does the fact that it was originally made to carry alcohol negate that power?
I asked a similar question nearly one year ago in my very first Looking Forward column when I wrote about a recording of Nazi marching songs and speeches made by a Jewish producer. Since that piece was published, I haven’t found a satisfying answer to when memorialization becomes inappropriate, but I have become more comfortable acknowledging how complex this issue is.
This will be my last Looking Forward, as my last day as an employee of the Forward (at least for now, as I embark on a new pursuit) will be July 31. It feels fitting that my time with this newsletter will end similarly to the way in which it started: scratching my head about Holocaust kitsch. But having to grapple with such a topic in my writing is just another day at the Forward.
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