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How the push to unionize at Breads Bakery became a debate over Israel/Palestine
When Ellie, a barista for Breads Bakery, learned that some of her coworkers were forming a labor union, she was interested. The 24-year-old, Brooklyn-based artist who has worked at the Israeli-owned bakery for less than a year, thought it could lead to increased pay and benefits. And she believed her employers could afford it; they regularly sell out of their $18 babkas at their seven different New York locations.
“It started out about wages and conditions,” said Ellie, who, like many of the people I spoke with, asked to be quoted anonymously or with a pseudonym, “but it’s turned into Israel/Palestine.”
At the start of the new year, 30% of the 275 employees had signed union authorization cards for the United Auto Workers Local 2179, the percentage necessary to petition the National Labor Relations Board for a union election. Calling itself “Breaking Breads,” the group put out a press release, stating, “Workers are demanding a living wage, safe workplace, and basic respect.”
But beyond discussing cost-of-living issues and what was portrayed as management’s discriminatory practices, the press release included a demand “to cease Breads’ support for the genocide in Gaza.”
New Yorkers are generally supportive of workers’ campaigns. But in this case, after news of the demands was published in the press, there were lines outside of Breads’ locations to purchase babkas and challahs in support of management. The workers’ refusal to “participate in Zionist projects” like painting Israeli flags on cookies, was interpreted by many as demanding the Israeli bakery stop being Israeli.
Louis Putman, a 62-year-old delivery driver who has worked for Breads for six years, was surprised by his coworkers’ demands. “I’m not political like that,” said the Brooklyn native after he had parked his truck outside the bakery’s Union Square flagship. Putman told me he supports unionization — in the past he was a member of the powerful Service Employees Industry Union — but thinks the campaign shouldn’t focus on the owners’ politics. “They have their views and I have mine,” he said.
Eric Milner, a labor attorney whose firm represents unions in the New York area, said that while unions often support political causes, making political demands of an employer is unusual and unlikely to succeed. “A union can’t legitimately tell the boss what products they can or can’t sell, or who they can sell to,” he said. “That’s a core business decision, not a term or condition of employment.”
But organizers say these issues are linked. “We see our struggles for fair pay, respect, and safety as connected to struggles against genocide and forces of exploitation around the world,” Leah A., a worker whom the union says was illegally fired for organizing, stated in the press release.
This isn’t the first time that Local 2179 has injected Gaza into their organizing. Last winter, members in the midst of negotiating their first contract with the Alamo Drafthouse movie theaters petitioned the cinema to cancel the movie September 5 about the massacre of Israeli athletes at the 1972 Olympics, which they called “Zionist Propaganda.”
Johannah King-Slutzky, an official of a different UAW local and a student leader of Columbia University’s 2024 campus encampments, is acting as a media contact for Breaking Breads. While her name does not appear on the press release, I received it from her personal gmail; she is also listed as the owner of photos linked from Google Drive in the release, and her phone number is the contact.
King-Slutzky and Local 2179 declined to comment or clarify her role in the union drive. The PhD candidate in English and Comparative Literature is a Sergeant-at-Arms for Student Workers of Columbia, a local of UAW, which represents the school’s teaching assistants, instructors and researchers. In 2024, she was arrested at the campus encampment and subsequently suspended. She also acted as a spokesperson for the dozens of students who occupied Hamilton Hall.
Ellie, the barista, identifies as pro-Palestinian but says she regrets that more attention hasn’t been given to the other issues. The company’s recent job listings for both the front and back of the house start at the city’s minimum wage of $17 while the union says the business’ revenue is more than $30 million a year. Employees complain of unpredictable schedules, and the union says a worker was hospitalized after an unsecured locker fell on them. The union also says that management has prohibited workers from playing Spanish language music and speaking in Arabic, which, if true, would be a violation of anti-discrimination law.
Neither Breads’ owners nor their representatives responded to requests for comment on these and other issues.
Both workers and a manager told me that the company told them not to discuss the union while on the clock, something Milner says would most likely be a violation of the National Labor Relations Act and can have a chilling effect. Off the clock, workers were hesitant to discuss the topic with me even anonymously, though several told me they support the union and consider themselves pro-Palestinian.
After two years of Israel’s aggressive response to the Hamas attack, for the first time a majority of Americans have an unfavorable view of Israel. Many of Breads’ workers are in their 20s, a cohort far more likely to view Israel’s military campaign as a genocide. A New York Times/Siena poll found adults under 30 are three times more likely to sympathize with Palestinians than Israelis. For young workers at businesses that have publicly supported Israel, that creates an uncomfortable position.
One counter worker, who also asked not to be named, said her differences with the bosses over Israel didn’t affect her work, until pro-Israel customers began confronting employees after the news of the union drive broke. “One woman came in and ordered a cappuccino,” she said. “I asked if I could get her anything else and she said, ‘Yeah, I’d like that with a side of Zionism.’”
Breads is a spin-off of the popular Tel Aviv bakery, Lehanim, and is operated by Israeli-Americans — Chief Executive Yonatan Floman and the owner Gadi Peleg. After its opening in 2013, the bakery set off a babka boom and has since become known for its festive challahs, rugelach, and Hanukkah sufganiyot. After the Hamas Oct. 7 attack, locations sold heart-shaped challahs as a fundraiser for Magen David Adom, the Israeli equivalent of the Red Cross. Otherwise, while the bakery is identifiably Jewish and Israeli, it does not regularly display flags or political messages.
“We make babka, we don’t engage in politics,” the bakery said in a statement on Jan. 14. “We celebrate peace and embrace people of all cultures and beliefs. We’ve always been a workplace where people of all backgrounds and viewpoints can come together around a shared purpose, the joy found at a bakery, and we find it troubling that divisive political issues are being introduced into our workplace.”
But some may find the philanthropy of the bakery’s leadership difficult to separate from supporting Israel’s actions in Gaza. Floman and Breads Bakery are listed as sponsors of an October 2024 fundraising gala on the Facebook page of American Friends of Unit 669, which supports the elite Israeli Air Force’s combat search and rescue unit that extracts downed pilots and other soldiers in distress behind enemy lines. Peleg actively supports and previously served as a committee chair for American Friends of Rabin Medical Center, which raises funds for an Israeli hospital that, in addition to civilian care, treats soldiers wounded in combat. Neither cause is unusual among pro-Israel Jewish Americans, but for some who view the Gaza campaign as a genocide, even well-intended support of Israel is unacceptable.
The Breaking Breads campaign reflects a split within the UAW. Graduate students now account for a quarter of the union’s membership, and Region 9a, which includes Local 2179 and represents workers at Columbia, Harvard and other elite universities, has become a base for pro-Palestinian activists. In 2023, members from the northeast formed UAW Labor for Palestine, pushing the union to cut ties with Israeli unions and divest over $400,000 in Israeli bonds. The national leadership has resisted. When the UAW endorsed President Biden in 2024, King-Slutzky and other activists disrupted his UAW convention speech with chants of “Ceasefire Now!” and were dragged off the floor.
Not every Breads worker is galvanized by Gaza. Two Ecuadorian workers who don’t speak English told me that other Latin American coworkers had talked with them about the union, but the Middle East conflict was never mentioned. Ellie doesn’t think it’s a union issue. “I’ve worked for evil corporations,” she said, “You never know where the money goes.” In her months on the job, she hasn’t been asked to do anything that may directly support Israel.
“Once you start bringing in politics that divide people, you’re taking away from what you’re actually trying to do, which is to unify the workforce and get better wages,” said Milner. He believes it will also make it harder to gain the support of customers.
Still, for some workers, even if a union contract can’t change their bosses’ politics, they think it’s worth taking a stand and making a statement.
“I support the Union efforts and I support Palestine,” the counter worker I spoke to about tensions between staff and customers texted me. “I also know that the owners’ support of Israel is deeply rooted and pretty unlikely to budge.”
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A Jewish farmer broke ground on a synagogue in an Illinois cornfield. His neighbors showed up to help.
STERLING, ILLINOIS — On Wednesday, Nik Jakobs was planting corn. On Thursday, the 41-year-old Illinois cattle farmer stood in a two-acre cornfield preparing to plant something else: a synagogue.
Around 75 people gathered on the edge of the field this week in Sterling, Illinois, a two-hour drive west of Chicago, where Jakobs and his family broke ground on a new home for Temple Sholom, the small congregation that has anchored Jewish life here for more than a century, and where his family has prayed since the 1950s.
The planned 4,000-square-foot building will also house a Holocaust museum inspired by the story of Jakobs’ grandparents, Edith and Norbert, who survived the war after Christian families in the Netherlands hid them in their homes for years. Jakobs described the future museum as a place devoted not only to Jewish history, but to teaching the dangers of hatred and division. “If you have the choice to be right or kind,” he said, repeating advice from his grandmother, “choose kind.”
A 60-foot blue ribbon — chosen by Jakobs’ wife, Katie, to match the color of the Israeli flag — stretched across the future building site. His four daughters held it alongside his parents, brothers and friends. Then Jakobs lifted oversized gold scissors and cut the ribbon as pastors, farmers, city officials and members of neighboring churches applauded.
I’m writing a book about a young Jewish farmer who is building a synagogue in a two-acre cornfield in rural Illinois using sacred objects (ark, Torah, stained glass windows) donated by closing congregations across America. Today, they held the groundbreaking. 🧑🌾 🌽🕍 pic.twitter.com/90TynBMWHC
— Benyamin Cohen (@benyamincohen) May 8, 2026
The synagogue rising from this Illinois cornfield will house pieces of the past.
A nearby storage area holds Jewish objects Jakobs rescued from shuttered synagogues across the country: stained-glass windows, Torah arks, rabbi’s chairs, memorial plaques and wooden tablets engraved with the tribes of Israel. Many came from Temple B’nai Israel, a 113-year-old synagogue that closed down in 2025. It served generations of Jews in McKeesport, Pennsylvania, now a ghost town since the steel mills closed. Its remaining congregants donated sacred objects to Jakobs so their story could live on rather than disappear.
The day before the groundbreaking, the Jakobs family began opening some of the crates for the first time since they were packed away nearly a year ago. Nik’s father, Dave Jakobs, pried open one box with a hammer and crowbar while Nik loosened screws with an electric drill, the family gathered around like archaeologists opening a tomb.
Inside was a stained-glass window with images of a tallit and shofar bursting in jewel tones of blue, yellow and red. Jakobs’ mother, Margo, lifted Annie, the youngest of Nik’s daughters, so the 4-year-old could peer inside. The bright red glass matched the bow in her hair.
Nearby sat the massive wooden ark salvaged from Pennsylvania, topped with twin Lions of Judah whose carved paws once overlooked generations of worshippers.
Faith on the farmland
Temple Sholom — founded in 1910 — was once the center of Jewish life in Sterling, a town of 14,500 surrounded by flat farmland and tall grain silos. Its Jewish community once included a pharmacist, the manager of Kline’s department store and the owner of a local McDonald’s franchise.
Over time, membership dwindled. The roof sagged. The pews emptied.
Last year, the congregation sold its aging building and relocated High Holiday services to a tent on the Jakobs’ farm, where prayers mingled with the smell of manure and cattle lowing nearby.
At a moment when many small-town synagogues are closing, Temple Sholom is doing something increasingly rare: building a bigger new sanctuary from scratch. The synagogue will sit prominently along one of Sterling’s main roads — a highly visible expression of Jewish life in a region where Jews are few.
Thursday’s groundbreaking took place on the National Day of Prayer, the annual observance formalized under President Ronald Reagan, who grew up a few miles away in Dixon, Illinois. Earlier that morning, attendees gathered inside New Life Lutheran Church for a breakfast sponsored by Temple Sholom.
“I was so happy to see bagels, lox and cream cheese,” said Rev. James Keenan, a Catholic priest originally from Brooklyn. “It reminded me of home.”
Inside the church sanctuary, a large wooden cross glowed amber and blue above the dais while two giant screens displayed the National Day of Prayer logo. Jakobs, wearing cowboy boots, jeans and a powder-blue blazer, addressed the crowd.
“Tolerance is not weakness,” he said. “It is strength.”
The new synagogue will sit beside New Life Lutheran Church on land sold to Temple Sholom by farmer Dan Koster, 71, who has known the Jakobs family for three generations.
“We need more religious presence in the community,” Koster said.
For Drew Williams, New Life’s 38-year-old lead pastor, the synagogue and museum represent more than neighboring buildings. His church already hosts food-packing drives, summer meal programs and community events. He imagines future partnerships with Temple Sholom.
“I don’t think there’s any community that is immune to hate,” Williams said. “That just means it’s on us” to be on the other side “spreading peace.”
Sterling Mayor Diana Merdian, who is 41 and grew up in town with Jakobs, said the project reflects a broader desire among younger generations to preserve local history and identity. “If we don’t carry those stories, we lose them,” she said. “Once you lose that, you can’t get it back.”
During the ceremony in the cornfield, Temple Sholom’s longtime cantor, Lori Schwaber, asked those gathered to remember the congregation’s founding members and recite the Mourner’s Kaddish together. Jews and Christians stood side by side in the prairie wind as Hebrew prayers drifted across the open farmland.
Lester Weinstine, a 90-year-old congregant who was the first bar mitzvah at Temple Sholom when the shul was still housed out of a Pepsi bottling plant, looked out across the field in disbelief. “I never thought I would see this,” he said.
For Jakobs, the synagogue project has become inseparable from the lessons his grandparents’ survival taught him. “You sometimes feel on an island as a Jew, especially in rural America,” he said. “But this community — that’s not what I’ve experienced here.”
If construction stays on schedule, the synagogue will open in fall 2027. Its first major service will not be a dedication ceremony, but the bat mitzvah of Jakobs’ oldest daughter, Taylor.
Members of the Pennsylvania congregation are planning a bus trip to Illinois for the occasion, after donating many of their sacred objects to help build Jakob’s synagogue. Their former rabbi has offered to officiate.
“If a farmer can build a synagogue in a cornfield,” Jakobs said, “anybody can do it anywhere.”
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Is this Apple TV thriller hasbara — or societal critique?
AppleTV+’s new thriller Unconditional has the trappings of so much streaming content.
A young woman disappears into hostile territory. Her mother, already juggling a family health crisis, does her own sleuthing to get her daughter back. People die, twisty alliances emerge. It’s all part of the suspense boiler plate, and it sizzles just enough to keep your interest. What makes the show, airing May 8, different from every other show is the early response.
Sight almost entirely unseen, the internet was in an uproar. The show is Israeli, and the announcement trailer showed the character Gali (Ronn Talia Lynne) in her IDF uniform. Pro-Palestine accounts were quick to shout “hasbara” or “overt ziopropaganda” for a show whose premise is ostensibly a sympathetic story of an Israeli taken prisoner by the evil, Putin-era Russian state. (The trailer makes no mention of Palestinians or a war in Gaza. The show doesn’t either.)
The online response alone proves the challenging optics for anything Israeli, but the show actually has quite a bit to say about the Jewish state’s propaganda apparatus — within the country and without.
On a layover in the Moscow Airport, Gali and her mother, Orna (Liraz Chamami), are taken in for questioning. Security claims to have found drugs in Gali’s backpack — an echo of the Naama Issacher affair from 2019 — and she’s summarily sentenced to seven years in a Russian jail.
Orna returns to Israel and hires a PR handler to plead Gali’s case. Together they curate a specific image to sell to the state media.
Gali is a “happy, good-hearted girl. She served in the army, like everyone” and even extended her service, Orna says in radio and television interviews. The file photo for news segments is exactly what so many outside of Israel would object to: Gali in uniform. In Israel it tugs heart strings. Abroad, it makes the abductee a war criminal who had it coming.
It’s probably not giving much away, given that the hands behind this show are the creators of Hatufim, which became a hit in the U.S. as the antihero-forward War on Terror commentary Homeland, that Gali is not a perfect victim. This is a strange sort of hasbara, if one Israel often produces, the kind that’s peopled by problematic characters operating in the society’s gray zones. (See streaming hit Fauda, following a morally-dubious undercover unit made up of trigger-happy adulterers exploiting their Palestinian contacts.)
What’s surprising, given the premise, is how much time the show spends not in Russia or Israel, but in India, where Gali and Orna were touring before their fateful missed connection in Moscow. It’s here we’re given entree into the Ugly Israeli abroad, a stereotype that is growing increasingly common thanks to reports of poor behavior — stealing money from temples, creating chaos in hospitals and restaurants — in the global East. (On the flip side, many Israelis, like a couple at a noodle shop in Vietnam, are being harassed by other tourists for no reason other than their country of origin and some feel the need to hide their identity while traveling.)
Gali sings the praises of an Indian gastropub that will give you dysentery. “We are so lucky because for the last three months the kitchen has been condemned by the health department,” she smirks. “But yesterday some truck driver hit a wild boar, so they gave them an exemption. So it won’t be a waste.”
In a later episode, one of Gali’s companions wisecrack about the pestilential heat and jibe that prisons in India are particularly atrocious. (This must ring alarm bells for those aware of Israel’s carceral system for Palestinians.)
Russia is equally backward. Unlike in Israel, “not everyone here is happy to work with a woman,” a Russian arms dealer weighs in. If you didn’t get it, these countries are backward. Israel has its problems, but at least it has women in power!
Watching, I was reminded of social media posts by Indians complaining about racism and drug use from IDF veterans on the so-called “Hummus trail.” One post by AJ+ said the soldiers come there to “detox” from “carrying out a genocide in Gaza.”
Unconditional is under no illusions that Israelis can be a disruptive presence. If anything, it pushes the concept to new places. These Sabras ruin mindfulness workshops and start shoot-outs in hotel lobbies. It’s not great for the brand.
But then again, we live in a climate where simply acknowledging the existence of Israelis — as seen in a recent ballyhoo surrounding author R.F. Kuang — can prove controversial or politically-loaded, no matter how neutral the depiction.
Why Apple would give their imprimatur to an Israeli project today, when public opinion of the Jewish state has fallen off a demographic cliff, is a valid question likely explained by the positive reception of another Israeli import on the streamer, the show Tehran, about an IDF hacker stuck in Iran. From within the silos it’s hard to tell if audiences will cancel their subscriptions, as some have threatened.
Maybe, like Gali’s uniform, the show is a Rorschach. BDS types may boycott, yet the show seems to echo many of their talking points about Israel’s overzealous campaign in Gaza after Oct. 7 — at least by way of metaphor.
In a late episode, Orna tells her government companion Rita (Evgenia Dodina) about a time a classmate broke Gali’s arm, and the teacher excused his actions because his mother was in the hospital.
“You’re exactly like the teacher,” Rita tells Orna. “You give me a thousand excuses for Gali. ‘It’s because of me. It’s not her fault. Poor thing.’ It doesn’t matter she didn’t understand what she was getting into, and it doesn’t matter she didn’t mean to.”
Orna says it’s different with Gali — because it’s her daughter. One can overlook a lot when it’s your family, or, for that matter, your country.
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Israeli man indicted in attack on Catholic nun in Jerusalem’s Old City
(JTA) — An Israeli man was indicted on Thursday in connection to the violent assault of a Catholic nun in Jerusalem last month, after prosecutors said he targeted her over her Christian identity.
Yona Schreiber, 36, from the West Bank settlement of Peduel, was arrested last week and has since been indicted on charges of “assault causing actual injury motivated by hostility toward the public on the grounds of religion, as well as simple assault,” the state attorney’s office said in a statement.
According to the indictment, Schreiber, who is Jewish, attacked the nun just outside of the Old City in Jerusalem because he identified her as a Catholic nun. Schreiber allegedly pushed and then kicked the nun as she was lying on the ground and also attacked a passerby who attempted to intervene.
תקיפת הנזירה אתמול באזור קבר דוד בירושלים – שוטרי מרחב דוד איתרו את החשוד (36) ועצרו אותו בחשד לתקיפה ממניע גזעני >>> pic.twitter.com/agRpznR84X
— משטרת ישראל (@IL_police) April 30, 2026
The nun, a researcher at the French School of Biblical and Archeological Research, suffered bruises on her face and leg due to the attack, the state attorney’s office said.
The attack, which drew condemnation from Catholic leaders as well as faculty at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, comes amid mounting concern over hostility toward Christian clergy and holy sites in Israel.
Cases of Jews harassing Christians have risen sharply in recent years. Last month, the IDF punished a soldier who was filmed bludgeoning a statue of Jesus in southern Lebanon. This week, the IDF also announced that it would discipline a different soldier who was seen placing a cigarette into the mouth of a statue of the Virgin Mary in a photo posted on social media.
Israel’s attorney general asked the Jerusalem Magistrate’s Court, where the indictment was filed, to hold Schreiber in detention for the duration of the legal proceeding.
The assault carries a maximum prison sentence of three years, which could increase to six years if prosecutors prove the attack was motivated by religious bias.
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