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How an ‘unlikely rabbi’ went from Korea to Colbert
Calling herself an “unlikely rabbi,” Angela Buchdahl has been a staple on numerous lists of notable American Jews, including the Forward 50. Born in South Korea in 1972 and raised by a Korean Buddhist mother and an Ashkenazi Jewish father in Tacoma, Washington, she went on to become the first Asian American ordained as a rabbi and first as a cantor. Today, she leads Central Synagogue in New York City, one of the largest and most influential congregations in the country.
Her new memoir, Heart of a Stranger: An Unlikely Rabbi’s Story of Faith, Identity, and Belonging, traces that journey, from the embracing Jewish community she grew up in to finding herself the answer to a Jeopardy question (“What is rabbi?”) — and, even more bizarrely, picking up the phone one day to hear a hostage-taking gunman make demands of her as the “chief rabbi of the United States.” In advance of the book’s release and a launch event hosted by Stephen Colbert, I spoke with her about claiming her place in Jewish life and the responsibility of Jews to always think of the stranger as themselves.
This interview has been edited for clarity and brevity.
How did you nab Stephen Colbert for your book launch event — or did he nab you?
His son and my son were college roommates, and I got to know him and his wife, Evie. I learned quickly that this was not only a very funny man and a very good interviewer, but someone who was deeply faithful. He teaches in his church and thinks a lot about faith. I’m very grateful that he said yes.
Your title is Heart of a Stranger. I want to challenge you on that: Haven’t you and I worked for years on representing Jews of color as normative? Are you still feeling like a stranger?
I guess I would argue that you never fully let it go. It’s like someone who says they were chubby as a kid. They’re not chubby anymore, but there’s some way in which they always see themselves as the chubby kid. You carry certain formative identity markers from childhood into your adulthood.
Heart of a Stranger is not an original title. I took it from Torah, which says, “Do not oppress the stranger. You know the heart of a stranger. You were strangers in Egypt.” This is the existential state that Jews are supposed to understand and know. The danger is when we get too comfortable, too powerful, too complacent.
Along those lines, you write about undergoing a conversion, even though your family was Reform, which by the time you were growing up had recognized patrilineal descent. That brought to mind Julius Lester’s conversion, which actually was something of a reversion because his great-grandfather was a German Jew. Lester said that he wasn’t converting to be accepted; he was converting for himself, saying, “I would do it even if no Jew ever accepted me.”
I had a very similar experience. I rejected the idea of converting when it was first suggested to me at age 16. Growing up in Tacoma in a Reform synagogue in my little Jewish bubble, I was accepted without a lot of questions. But I had a lot of existential identity questions: “Was I Jewish enough? Was I authentic enough? Was I learned enough?” And some of the answers were not yes.
I termed it a reaffirmation ceremony rather than conversion, because conversion sounds like turning into something that you weren’t before. I recognized that with a Beit Din of three Reform rabbis, it wasn’t going to change my status one whit for an Orthodox Jew. But it wasn’t for them. It was really a way to ritually mark the journey that I had been on and the acceptance of my identity in a way that felt important to me.
One reason I live in Duluth is I’ve called our little Temple Israel here the warmest shul that I’ve ever found in one of the coldest places on earth. Do you find it true that smaller Jewish communities are more embracing than large ones?
I grew up in a small community that was incredibly embracing of my family, including my mother, and that made a huge difference. I now work at a very large synagogue. I think the big difference is when you’re in a community where not everybody knows each other and they’re encountering people who are strangers. That’s when the inevitable questions come up.
It was disappointing for me after many years of being the senior rabbi of Central to hear from Jews of color who said Central wasn’t as welcoming of them as I thought. It hadn’t solved every problem just by having me as the senior rabbi. That was a painful realization that started a conversation that has shifted the culture at Central.
You write about the synagogue takeover in Colleyville, Texas, in 2022. The perpetrator who held the rabbi and congregants hostage called you while it was going on. He seemed to think that you were the “chief rabbi of the United States.” On the one hand, you’re balancing this misperception of your influence and power. On the other, this was a real situation of life and death.
That was one of the most surreal and destabilizing experiences I’ve ever had as a rabbi. They don’t train you for hostage negotiation in rabbinical school.
This terrorist clearly had done a lot of research. He researched the synagogue, which was the closest synagogue to the federal prison from which he wanted a prisoner released. The FBI went through his computer and saw that he was searching for what he thought was the equivalent of a chief rabbi because he was from England, where there is a chief rabbi. Of course, that doesn’t exist in America. He also mentioned that he saw pictures of me with President Obama at the White House. I think given Central’s name, and the fact that I had been the answer to a Jeopardy question not long before, may have put me higher up on the search algorithm.
It was terrifying because I felt that he very explicitly put the lives of these four people on me. And yet, I felt powerless to do anything. This is a case where I realized the danger of the antisemitic trope that he had imbibed since childhood, that Jews control the government and can make a few phone calls and get anything done. When I said to him, “I don’t think I have as much power as you think I do,” he was like, “Of course you do.” So, yeah, it was a terrifying day. I continue to give thanks that the four who were being held hostage survived.
Another weird note is that he seemed to think it normative that a Jew of color would be the chief rabbi of the United States. Does this mean our efforts for a more inclusive representation of Judaism are paying off?
It is funny because when I was named senior rabbi of Central, there was an Orthodox publication that had a headline like, “It’s official: Non-Jews can be rabbis” — literally calling me a non-Jew. And here was this deranged gunman who seemed to think I was the chief rabbi. I can laugh about it in some ways now that it’s over, but it is ironic.
The post How an ‘unlikely rabbi’ went from Korea to Colbert appeared first on The Forward.
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Donald Trump’s Promises to Qatar Could Get Him — and the US — Into Trouble
Qatar’s Prime Minister and Minister for Foreign Affairs Sheikh Mohammed bin Abdulrahman bin Jassim Al-Thani attends an emergency meeting of the United Nations Security Council, following an Israeli attack on Hamas leaders in Doha, Qatar, at UN headquarters in New York City, US, Sept. 11, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Eduardo Munoz
President Trump made sure to thank Qatar for helping get his Gaza ceasefire. Yet amid the negotiations leading up to this deal, and even if it completely ends the war, his decision to give Doha a formal security guarantee will undermine his broader efforts to assert diplomatic leadership and ultimately secure his Nobel Peace Prize.
Trump’s promise — the first-ever official public US commitment to defend a Middle East country militarily — the security guarantee for Qatar departs entirely from the mutual defense treaties that underpin American deterrence and the global stability it brings. As “mutual” suggests, our pacts with 53 countries across five continents embody the principle that allies must contribute their fair share to defending each other.
This includes NATO’s “Article 5” commitments to treat an attack on one member of an alliance as an attack on all. For example, NATO invoked Article 5 after September 11, 2001. It also includes “Article 3” clauses that all parties maintain capable armed forces. Recent NATO additions Sweden and Finland — with their well-trained and motivated militaries — are shining examples of what we look for in allies. With a small handful of exceptions like Turkey, all our treaty partners also share democratic values.
Qatar stands apart. It is an absolute monarchy that has poisoned generations of Middle Eastern minds with state-sponsored anti-American misinformation on par with that of Russia. It has supported Muslim Brotherhood-style extremism across the region, including well before hosting Hamas leaders. Perversely, Qatar leverages these destabilizing policies to portray itself as an indispensable intermediator for American efforts, and thus ostensibly deserving of protection, to help undo them.
In these contexts, extending a security umbrella over Doha is a giveaway. The deal asks nothing new of Qatar. Instead of helping Qatar ensure it can help protect itself and support America’s freedom of action, the deal requires advance US contingency planning to do all the heavy lifting, and ties our hands operationally. Our alliance with South Korea, by comparison, joins our two countries’ forces under combined command in wartime.
Nor will Qatar reciprocate by allowing US forces to use al-Udeid Airbase for operations against Iran’s threat network. Notably, in World War II, we gave security guarantees to Australia and Brazil in exchange for, among other things, using their bases to project power against the Axis.
The Qatar freebie promises the opposite, both regionally and globally. Because of this deal, our partners in Jerusalem, Riyadh, Abu Dhabi, Amman, and elsewhere — all of whom shoulder burdens for US-led collective defense — will look askance at American leadership and question the value of deeper partnership, precisely when we need them to take on more of those burdens.
And how can Washington credibly demand its NATO allies do likewise in Europe, if problematic and freeloading Qatar is gifted such an unmerited handout? Similar questions naturally arise for Taiwan, Singapore, and certain Southwest Pacific nations that do what America asks of its partners, despite having no Article 5-type backstop.
Iran certainly welcomes these sharpening divides that undermine the incredible regional security integration being driven through US Central Command.
There was a telling absence of urgency to seal this deal earlier this summer, after Iran attacked al-Udeid. Whatever the wisdom of Israel’s decision to target Hamas leadership in Doha, the Israel Defense Forces do not remotely threaten Qatar’s strategic viability or existence, nor its Arab Gulf neighbors. But Iran’s missiles, drones, naval forces, and nuclear ambitions certainly do, hence the longstanding American tripwire at al-Udeid.
It’s all the more concerning, then, that the US-Qatar pact effectively is aimed at a fellow American partner rather than the shared threat from Iran.
America’s first collective defense treaty, the 1947 Rio Pact, cemented the Monroe Doctrine in a hemispheric alliance. President Trump’s similar vision for the Middle East, an alliance that combats extremism and sidelines Iran, China, and Russia, requires doubling down on his successes with the Abraham Accords, Israel’s assignment to CENTCOM, Operation Midnight Hammer against Iran’s nuclear program, and other initiatives that bring our regional partners closer together and enable them to do more.
Rather than a blank check for Qatar, President Trump should pursue mutual defense treaties with our allies, and perhaps even countries such as Saudi Arabia. True partnerships like these can supercharge his diplomatic achievements and promote his overarching vision of a more stable and prosperous Middle East.
Jonathan Ruhe is Fellow for American Strategy at the Jewish Institute for National Security of America.
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The Moulton Moment and the Mamdani Effect: How the Democratic Party Is Abandoning Its Jewish Center
US Rep. Seth Moulton (D-MA) speaking at a press conference at the US Capitol. Photo: Michael Brochstein/Sipa USA via Reuters Connect
When Representative Seth Moulton (D) of Massachusetts recently announced that he was returning donations from AIPAC and refusing future support, the story barely made national headlines. Yet this small act — a single line on an FEC filing — reveals something much larger. It marks the moment when an ambitious, mainstream Democrat concluded that distancing himself from the organized Jewish community is a political asset, not a liability, and when moral cowardice began to masquerade as conscience.
Moulton is no progressive firebrand. A Harvard-educated Marine veteran, he built his brand on national security and bipartisanship. His decision is not about ideology; it is about survival. Over the past two years, the Democratic Party has entered a new phase of moral performance politics, one in which proximity to Jewish or pro-Israel institutions carries reputational risk among the activists who increasingly shape primaries and online discourse.
Not long ago, Moulton faced an online firestorm for something utterly ordinary: defending his young daughters. During a 2024 interview, he said he did not want them “getting run over on a playing field by a male or formerly male athlete.” The remark — hardly radical — provoked furious denunciations from progressive activists, staff resignations, and a public shaming campaign that painted him as transphobic. He had stumbled across a sacred boundary of the new moral order and learned its central rule: dissent is dangerous.
That experience left its mark. Now, as the next purity test forms around Israel, Moulton has taken no chances. By refunding AIPAC donations, he signals compliance with a rising moral code that defines virtue not by conviction, but by disavowal. In today’s Democratic ecosystem, the act of rejecting traditional Jewish institutions has become a badge of progressive credibility.
This transformation can be understood through what might be called the Mamdani Effect: the process by which Democratic Socialists of America (DSA) ideology, once confined to New York City, has begun reshaping the Democratic Party’s moral and political vocabulary. Named for New York State Assembly member Zohran Mamdani, one of the most visible DSA figures in state politics, this effect blends anti-capitalism, anti-Zionism, and performative solidarity into a single moralized aesthetic. It is a politics of accusation and purity: one advances not by building coalitions but by identifying oppressors and cutting ties.
New York City has served as the laboratory. Once the bastion of pragmatic liberalism — of Ed Koch’s centrist governance and the Jewish-Catholic labor coalition — the city’s politics now turn on moral spectacle. Candidates compete to condemn Israel, police “colonial complicity,” and signal distance from Jewish civic life. The new left does not want to coexist with traditional Democratic institutions; it wants to replace them with a moral movement that prizes purity over pluralism.
The pattern is spreading. Across the country, the activist wing of the Democratic Party has increasingly absorbed the language of the DSA: colonizer, decolonization, abolition. The Democratic Socialists of America formally calls for “the full decolonization of all the occupied lands of the United States” and has established working groups for “police and prison abolition,” and “BDS (Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions).” This rhetoric has migrated from campus protests into the language of progressive representatives — Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-NY) spoke at the 2020 DNC of repairing “the wounds of racial injustice, colonization, misogyny, and homophobia.” What began as fringe rhetoric now increasingly defines the emotional grammar of the party’s activist base.
Polling confirms the shift. Gallup found that in 2016, 53 percent of Democrats sympathized more with Israel than with the Palestinians; by 2025, that number had collapsed to just 21 percent, while sympathy for Palestinians soared to 59 percent — a nearly three-to-one reversal.
The shift represents a complete reversal from a 30-point advantage for Israel to a 38-point advantage for Palestinians among Democrats over nine years. Among younger Americans (Millennials), sympathies are now essentially tied, with 42 percent sympathizing with Palestinians and 40 percent with Israelis. What was once a bipartisan consensus on the legitimacy of the Jewish State has become a generational and partisan fault line.
For centrist politicians like Moulton, the implications are clear. The activists who dominate social media and small-donor networks increasingly treat Israel as shorthand for Western capitalism and “settler power.” In that moral framework, defending the Jewish State, or even maintaining ties to mainstream Jewish institutions, is suspect. So politicians adapt. Moulton’s decision to reject AIPAC funding is not an act of conviction but of fear: fear of the social media mob, fear of being labeled an oppressor’s ally, fear of losing favor with a base that now equates moral virtue with repudiation. What looks like moral clarity is in fact moral conformity.
That fear is corrosive. It does not only alienate Jews; it hollows out the liberal tradition itself. The Democratic Party that once celebrated pluralism now traffics in exclusion. The heirs of Bella Abzug and Daniel Patrick Moynihan are being replaced by the apostles of Zohran Mamdani: a politics that thrives not on solidarity but on sanctimony.
For American Jews, the cost of this transformation is profound. For nearly a century, Jews were among the architects of the Democratic coalition; builders of unions, schools, and civic institutions. They embodied the idea that liberal democracy worked: that minorities could flourish through education, engagement, and shared civic purpose. The synagogues that hosted voter drives, the Jewish Community Centers that welcomed refugees, the federations that funded civil-rights lawyers. These were not instruments of power but of civic faith. Yet as the party moralizes, belonging itself has become conditional. The new progressive creed demands repentance for association with power, success, or Israel.
Jewish institutions — synagogues, federations, philanthropic networks — are recast not as engines of community but as symbols of privilege.
The Moulton moment and the Mamdani Effect together capture the collapse of liberal pluralism into moral puritanism. What began as a movement for equality has hardened into a system of ideological compliance. Its adherents are sincere, but their sincerity is illiberal. They mistake outrage for justice and purification for progress. When mainstream Democrats start treating Jewish civic life as a reputational hazard, they do not merely abandon a community. They abandon the civic model that sustained American liberalism itself. The party that once trusted persuasion now rewards excommunication.
Yet there is still time to recover a better tradition. Courage is contagious. Moulton could have chosen differently; others still can. It is possible to defend women’s sports without fear. It is possible to support Israel’s right to exist without apology. It is possible, even now, to build a Democratic politics rooted not in shame but in shared responsibility.
This is the new political fault line: not left versus right, but Marxism versus capitalism, moral theater versus civic realism, conformity versus courage.
Moulton may think he is protecting his political future, but what he is really revealing is the fragility of a party that now punishes independence and rewards retreat. If Democrats wish to remain a serious moral force, they must rediscover what liberalism once knew: that pluralism is not complicity, and that solidarity requires standing with allies even when it is unfashionable.
As Alexis de Tocqueville warned nearly two centuries ago, “Liberty cannot be established without morality, nor morality without faith.” The Democratic Party’s crisis is not tactical but moral. Liberty cannot endure without the faith that binds citizens together and that faith begins with courage.
Samuel J. Abrams is a professor of politics at Sarah Lawrence College and a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.
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7 Key Takeaways From the Hostage Deal
Released Israeli hostage, Omri Miran, held in Gaza since the deadly Oct. 7, 2023, attack by Hamas, embraces his father, Dani Miran, after his release as part of a ceasefire deal between Israel and Hamas, in Reim, Israel, Oct. 13, 2025. Photo: Israel Defense Forces/Handout via REUTERS
1. President Trump deserves tremendous credit. But he did not do it alone.
Love him or hate him, President Trump had the determination and the moxie to make the deal happen. Many, including me, doubted that Hamas would return the 20 living hostages, as it was their main bargaining chip. Trump’s decision to attack Iran’s nuclear program showed the world he would use force, despite people saying it could cause a World War. It didn’t.
Numerous reports say Trump was able to get Qatar and possibly Turkey to pressure Hamas. Perhaps his famous speech saying America would own Gaza and turn it into a riviera, was a bluff so that a more reasonable approach would be accepted.
2. The Israeli attack on Qatar shook its leaders, who feared the IDF’s capabilities.
Qatar has been playing a double game, trying to appear to be friendly with all groups, while allowing Hamas’ billionaire leaders to stay in the country’s posh hotels as a safe haven.
Israel’s attack, though unsuccessful in killing Hamas’ leaders, was successful in demonstrating that Qatar and perhaps other countries harboring terrorists would not be off-limits.
Trump forced Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to apologize to the Qatari Prime Minister. But Israel, stunned by the huge failure of October 7, was able to restore deterrence through the pager operation against Hezbollah, as well as the assassination of its leader Hassan Nasrallah and other Hamas leaders, which Netanyahu gave the green light for. Nobody should think Qatar can be trusted, and we must keep an eye on the leaders of the country.
3. Israel paid a heavy price, and there was no moral equivalency.
CNN’s Christiane Amanpour absurdly stated that the Israeli hostages were probably treated “better than the average Gazan.” Shame on her. This is categorically false. What a disgusting thing to say, which reminds us of when Rabbi Leo Dee’s wife and daughters were shot and murdered by terrorists, and she said they were killed in the crossfire. Did she not see the starving picture of Evyatar David (while in captivity) photographed with a shovel, looking near death? Thankfully he is okay. Amanpour can’t even hide her bias.
Other reports equated the release of the hostages with the release of Palestinian prisoners. Some said they were serving “life sentences,” but downplayed or did not include that they had blood on their hands and that these were murderers that were being released.
It is not forgotten that the mastermind of the October 7 attacks, Yahya Sinwar, was one of more than 1,000 prisoners released in the Gilad Shalit deal.
4. It is unclear how Hamas can be de-militarized, and this is a major concern.
Trump is not all powerful. Hamas officials said they wanted to commit many more October 7 attacks, and are now killing their opponents in Gaza. They aren’t giving up their weapons.
What forces would oversee a de-militarization of Hamas? Would Turkey, the United Arab Emirates, Egypt, or other countries send troops to do so and could they be trusted? What would happen if they had skirmishes with Israeli soldiers?
The agreement is vague and gives no specifics of how this can happen, and Hamas’ recent executions are not a good sign.
5. Can there be momentum for Saudi Arabia to join the Abraham Accords?
Understandably, Saudi Arabia was in no position to make any deals with Israel during the war in Gaza. Would its leader, Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, be willing to make an agreement with Israel, say in a year from now? What would he demand from Israel? And what might any remnants of Hamas try to do to prevent it?
6. Who will govern Gaza and what happens to Netanyahu?
No one should have illusions that there will be a lasting peace. Many Israelis pushing for a Palestinian state have stopped after October 7. The Palestinian public, which has endured horrors and death in this war with a large amount of buildings being reduced to rubble, will be angry. There is understandable rage.
Who will govern Gaza? The Palestinian Authority? Some other force? Even if Hamas is somehow disbanded, if their ideology simply transfers to a new group, what would prevent more attacks in the future? Is there anything to be done to incentivize peace? In addition, Netanyahu still faces criminal charges and it is unclear what will become of that. Would he resign, perhaps thinking he finally defeated Iran? Could he possibly win another election? It’s not as cut and dry as one might think.
7. Was Trump serious when he said there can be a deal with Iran or was he trolling?
In his speech to the Israeli Knesset, one of the only things that did not result in applause was Trump’s suggestion that a peace deal could be made with Iran. Trump, famously, pulled out of the nuclear deal brokered by President Barack Obama. Iranian leaders have vowed to wipe Israel off the map and it is unlikely that this goal would be pushed aside, simply because its proxies have been weakened or nearly defeated.
The author is a writer based in New York.