If it feels like there’s an overload of news out of Israel — a sea of flags at a Jerusalem protest, police sirens outside of a synagogue — that’s because there is. Israel has been consumed by two escalating crises that both appear to be crescendoing at the same time. And even though they feel separate, they’re intertwined in at least one big way.
Allow us to explain:
Israel is simultaneously contending with two things: a wave of Palestinian terror attacks and Israeli military raids in the West Bank, and massive protests of a government plan to constrain the courts. Each of these two news stories is significant by itself, and would likely command the world’s attention if it were happening alone. But it’s not exactly a coincidence that they’re happening together.
What is happening right now?
The Israeli news that has captured the world’s notice over the past few weeks — and drawn criticism from President Joe Biden — is the ongoing right-wing effort to sap the power of Israel’s courts. The Israeli government that took power in December wants to take control over the appointment of judges and effectively remove the Supreme Court’s ability to strike down laws. Backers of the plan say the courts have essentially become an instrument of the country’s left-wing minority, leaving the right-wing majority unable to pass laws and govern.
But one poll found that just a quarter of Israelis support the plan in its current form, and hundreds of thousands have taken to the streets in protest. Satellite protests have sprung up in cities outside of Israel, organized by people who oppose Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu due to his ongoing trial for corruption.
Observers warn that the court reform will remove a key element of what makes democracies democratic — the separation of powers between the executive and judicial branches. Entrepreneurs in Israel’s tech sector are pulling their business out of the country in protest of the decision.
Nevertheless, in the face of a 100,000-person protest in Jerusalem on Monday, the government pushed the plan forward — though it has also signaled that it’s open to negotiations over the proposal.
Alongside the social unrest, a series of violent attacks have shaken the West Bank and eastern Jerusalem. Two Friday attacks by Palestinians in Israeli eastern Jerusalem neighborhoods — one in late January and one on Feb. 10 — killed 10 civilians, including three children.
The homes of the perpetrators will likely be demolished, and in response to the attacks, Israel authorized nine settlement outposts it had previously considered illegal. The United States condemned the decision.
On Monday, an Israeli border police officer died after being stabbed by a 13-year-old Palestinian and then being hit with friendly fire from a security guard. It’s the latest in a string of attacks by teenagers.
Those attacks have taken place against the backdrop of Israeli military raids in the West Bank that have killed dozens of Palestinians. According to Israel and its supporters, the dead are almost entirely militants. But last month, two civilians were killed in an Israeli raid on the northern West Bank City of Jenin that saw 10 total fatalities. Several teenagers have also been among the Palestinians killed. On Saturday, an Israeli settler shot and killed a Palestinian man following an altercation.
On one hand, one of these stories is legislative and the other concerns the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The street protesters are, by and large, not coming out in opposition to Israel’s policies in the West Bank — and the Palestinian attackers almost definitely aren’t motivated by an opposition to judicial reform.
But on the other hand, both the judicial reform and the escalation are taking place under the watch of Netanyahu’s new government, the most right-wing in the country’s history. The same right-wing factions that are trumpeting the judicial reform are pushing for a harsher and more widespread crackdown on the Palestinian attacks — and looser rules of engagement for soldiers. Meanwhile, the same Supreme Court that the government wishes to restrain also rules on the legality of certain counterterrorism measures — including the demolition of attackers’ homes.
Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich, whose Religious Zionism party is leading the charge on constraining the courts, also tweeted on Monday that teenage Palestinian attackers “blossom in a violent and inciting society that brainwashes them with hatred of Israel.” He called on Israel to “exact a heavy price” for such incitement. His ally, far-right National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir, protested the military’s decision to punish the soldier who beat the Palestinian activist.
“I support the soldier who didn’t stay quiet with all my strength,” Ben-Gvir tweeted. “Soldiers need to receive support, not jail time.”
Is there going to be another intifada?
The second intifada — in which a series of Palestinian terror attacks in cafes, buses and other public spaces in the early 2000s killed approximately 1,000 Israelis — traumatized a generation of Israelis. Israeli retaliatory measures during that time killed thousands of Palestinians, and since then, hopes for peace have faded.
There have been waves of terrorism in the intervening decades, though none as intense as the intifada 20 years ago. It is too soon to tell whether attacks will rise to that level, though the violence does not appear to be ending anytime soon. According to Israeli reports, Palestinian terror groups are encouraging teenagers to carry out attacks on Israelis.
And members of Israel’s government are agitating for an escalation of counterterror measures in ways that recall Israeli actions during the intifada. In 2002, in response to the terror attacks, Israel launched Operation Defensive Shield, which saw Israeli soldiers enter Palestinian population centers in the West Bank to root out terror groups. Following Friday’s terror attack in Jerusalem, Ben Gvir proposed “Defensive Shield 2.”
“I am determined to bring about Defensive Shield 2 in Jerusalem,” he tweeted, pledging to “demolish illegal buildings, to arrest more than 150 targets and to spread out across the houses, to stop the incitement in the mosques, to stop those who owe tax money and much more.”
Is Israeli society collapsing?
Fears of a societal break are growing, and even President Isaac Herzog warned of looming disaster. Herzog, whose role is largely ceremonial, gave a landmark speech on Sunday begging for negotiations and compromise over the judicial reforms.
“For a while, we have no longer been in a political debate, but are on the brink of constitutional and social collapse,” Herzog, a former leader of the Labor opposition party who once ran against Netanyahu, said early in the speech. “I feel, we all feel, that we are in the moment before a clash, even a violent clash. The gunpowder barrel is about to explode.”
In response, the government delayed part of the bill’s legislative advance, but it remains to be seen whether there will be meaningful negotiations over its content. In the interim, Israelis are broadcasting fears of civil war. On Tuesday, former Prime Minister Naftali Bennett, an opponent of Netanyahu, shared a video from a Jewish think tank announcing a societal dialogue initiative.
Over the melody of Israel’s national anthem, the video reviews past moments of societal rupture — among them the assassination of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin in 1995, and Israel’s withdrawal from Gaza a decade later — and then says, “February 2023: We did not begin a civil war.”
Netanyahu has responded to the protests by decrying calls for violence, accusing his opponents of fomenting anarchy, and calling for calm. But in a speech on Sunday, he reiterated that his government won a majority and intends to legislate accordingly.
“This government received the trust of the people in democratic elections, and a clear mandate from Israel’s citizens,” he said. “No one here can doubt that.”
It’s hard to say what the future will hold, but it’s clear that this moment has the potential to transform into something more dangerous than what has already taken place.
A little‑remembered Gilded Age millionaire helped make milk safe for American kids through his ‘retail giving’
The 1844 edition of the widely used schoolbook written by William H. McGuffey, “Newly Revised Eclectic Fourth Reader,” includes a dialogue about the difference between “true and false philanthropy”:
Mr. Fantom: I despise a narrow field. O for the reign of universal benevolence! I want to make all mankind good and happy.
Mr. Goodman: Dear me! Sure, that must be a wholesale sort of a job: had you not better try your hand at a town or neighborhood first?
As the discussion continues, the lesson becomes clear. Mr. Fantom’s approach is too ambitious to accomplish much, while Mr. Goodman’s, if narrower in scope, was likely to be more useful in practice.
Nathan Straus made his mark in philanthropy after a successful career running the Macy’s department store. Library of Congress Image by
Many of Straus’ contemporary philanthropists were setting lofty goals for their giving. In oil magnate John D. Rockefeller’s case, it was promoting “the welfare of humanity throughout the world.” For steel tycoon Andrew Carnegie, it was “to promote the advancement and diffusion of knowledge and understanding.”
Straus pursued more mundane objectives that included championing milk pasteurization. Although his efforts are not as well known today as those of his more ambitious – and wealthier – counterparts, they accomplished a lot and showed that what might be called “retail giving” can have far-reaching effects.
Successful immigration story
The Straus family came to the United States from Germany in the 1850s during the first big wave of Jewish immigration. Lazarus Straus, Nathan’s father, followed a familiar path for Jewish immigrants at the time, beginning as a peddler and eventually establishing his own store in the small town of Talbotton, Georgia, where the members of his family were the only Jews.
He prospered, became a respected citizen and saw that his children received good educations, including in their religion.
Then the Civil War upended the family’s life, first by reviving antisemitic prejudices and then, eventually, by destroying the family’s business.
Starting anew in New York City, Lazarus and his older sons, Isidor and Nathan, began to sell imported china, glassware and other crockery to retailers in the Northeast and South. One was Rowland H. Macy, who had founded an eponymous store that was on the cutting edge of what Fisher calls a “retailing revolution.”
Macy’s innovations included stocking large inventories of many kinds of merchandise, competitive pricing, extensive advertising and providing a variety of services like public restrooms and a cafeteria to make shoppers’ experiences more pleasurable.
Aided by the rapid urban and economic growth of the late 19th century, the model flourished. Department stores displaced smaller, specialty shops. Other retail powerhouses, such as Bloomingdale’s and Lord & Taylor, soon competed with Macy’s.
The Straus family sold their wares at Macy’s. After Rowland H. Macy died, the Straus family became partners with its new owners. By 1896, the Strauses owned the store outright. And Macy’s was expanding: It bought another department store in Brooklyn and created a flagship building on Manhattan’s Herald Square, which Macy’s still occupies.
The landmark Macy’s department store in New York’s Herald Square opened in 1902 while Nathan and Isidor Straus ran the retailer. Library of Congress Image by
His philanthropy journey begins
While Isidor Straus oversaw the store’s internal operations, Nathan focused on the company’s external activities, such as purchasing, marketing and dealing with government and business leaders.
A third brother, Oscar, pursued a career as a politician and diplomat, eventually becoming secretary of commerce and labor under President Theodore Roosevelt and the first Jewish member of a presidential cabinet. Perhaps inevitably, this led to a series of public appointments for Nathan Straus.
However, as they became wealthier, Nathan and his wife, Lina, increasingly devoted their attention to a series of philanthropic projects.
In 1893, the U.S. entered a four-year economic depression, its worst until the 1930s. As unemployment in New York City rose, Nathan Straus used his merchandising skills to address the needs of the jobless and poor.
He created a number of “depots” near tenements and boarding houses that sold coal, food and fuel at discount prices. Fisher, Straus’ biographer, rightly calls these early examples of what is now known as “social entrepreneurship”: the application of business principles to solving social problems.
Making milk less deadly
As these efforts were getting away, Straus also launched what would become his major preoccupation: promoting pasteurized milk.
In New York City in the early 1890s, Fisher writes, “the annual mortality rate among children under five was about 15 percent,” or 18,000 infants and toddlers per year. A main cause was consuming raw milk, which, unless certified by inspectors, was likely not only to contain a variety of pathogens, such as tuberculosis bacteria, but spoil easily going from farm to table.
Although scientists had long known that heating could make milk safer, doctors and public health officials worried that sterilizing milk might also destroy its valuable nutrients.
Straus, who had lost one of his own children to what he believed was a milk-borne infection, built on his projects for the unemployed by working with New York social service agencies to develop pasteurization plants and infant-milk stations near low-income neighborhoods.
They sold sterilized and refrigerated milk at below-wholesale prices, or donated it to those who could not afford to pay. Businesslike efficiency kept costs low, as did donations. Multilingual ads publicized the product’s availability, doctors and nurses advised parents on child-rearing, and careful recordkeeping aimed at assessing the program’s health benefits.
Straus and his wife devoted much of their time and money to this work. In addition to establishing 297 milk stations in 36 cities, they also spoke and wrote widely about the merits of pasteurization.
By 1908, their efforts paid off when the U.S. Public Health Service endorsed pasteurization and state and local governments began requiring that milk sold in their jurisdictions be pasteurized. Raw milk remained available in many states, and debates over its safety continue to this day.
As a result of this and other Progressive Era measures, New York City’s health commissioner estimated that infant deaths dropped by two-thirds
during the first two decades of the 20th century, with similar declines elsewhere in the country.
The coastal Israeli city of Netanya was named after philanthropist Nathan Straus. Jack Guez/AFP via Getty Images Image by
Other causes
While most of Nathan Straus’ efforts occurred in the U.S., he used his trips to Europe for Macy’s to promote pasteurization on the continent.
During a 1904 visit, he toured the Mediterranean and stopped in Palestine, then part of the Ottoman Empire. Impressed by the early Jewish settlements and holy sites he saw, Straus became an ardent advocate for creating a Jewish homeland in the Middle East, an unusual position for a Jewish businessman of that era, according to Fisher.
On a subsequent trip, a broken leg kept Straus from returning to New York on the maiden voyage of the Titanic; his brother Isidor and sister-in-law Ida were not so fortunate.
In the U.S., Nathan Straus led Zionist organizations, while in Palestine, his chief contributions involved supporting a variety of health care and economic development activities, including Hadassah, the women’s health and community development organization founded by Henrietta Szold.
Nathan Straus’ achievements as a philanthropist are not widely known today because he did not create a grantmaking foundation that outlasted him, as Rockefeller and Carnegie did.
Instead, by the time of his death in 1931, Straus had donated much of his fortune. Fisher writes that Straus used to invoke an old Hebrew proverb: “Money given in health is gold. Money given in sickness is silver. Money given after death is lead.”
He also didn’t donate heavily to the burgeoning network of communal organizations set up to assist the growing population of Jewish immigrants, as did the financiers Jacob Schiff and Felix Warburg, who were also affluent Jewish immigrants from Germany.
As Fisher notes, this pattern of philanthropy resembles that of Straus’ friend – and pallbearer – Julius Rosenwald, the longtime head of Sears, Roebuck and Co. Both supported Jewish causes as well as major initiatives aimed at helping others: In Rosenwald’s case, it was schools for African American children in the South, while for Straus, it was milk pasteurization in New York City and beyond.
During and after World War I, they worked together to assist Jewish refugees in Europe. Fisher might have added that neither Straus nor Rosenwald sought much recognition for their work.
His thorough account should help give Straus the credit he deserves for his philanthropy. It should also show that donors do not have to aspire to “make all mankind good and happy” to make an important difference.
In many ways, Nathan Straus was an old-fashioned do-gooder, responding to the needs he saw with innovative solutions. As a result, he wound up accomplishing a lot of good.
“Emma,” a young Jewish woman who we met in 2019, didn’t belong to a synagogue. She didn’t have a Jewish partner. She didn’t observe Jewish rituals regularly. On most surveys about religion, she would not seem very engaged with Judaism.
But as Emma talked about what she did in her free time, a very different picture began to emerge. She visited Jewish websites and enjoyed listening to Jewish music. She read books about Jewish topics and had recently attended a retreat for young Jewish adults to learn Torah while also doing yoga.
She was highly invested in learning about Judaism, but she explored her identity without joining traditional institutions.
Most major surveys about religion ask whether someone belongs to a congregation, how often they attend services, whether they pray regularly and whether belief is important in their lives. Those measures help identify broad shifts, like the growing percentage of Americans who are religiously unaffiliated: the “nones.”
But many Americans’ religious lives, like Emma’s, are not disappearing; they are moving away from membership of traditional institutions. To understand what religion looks like in 21st-century America, researchers may need to ask different questions.
Learning through art
As scholars of Judaismand education, we have been exploring how people learn about religion beyond traditional places like synagogues, Jewish schools and summer camps. Between 2019 and early 2023, we spoke with hundreds of people and explored different leisure time activities to discover what people learn about Judaism and Jewishness through cultural arts.
We interviewed dozens of audience members at Jewish-themed shows on Broadway, such as “Leopoldstadt”and “Parade.” We attended Jewish concerts and asked attendees what they learned. We explored how social media communities offer spaces to talk about different Jewish topics, like what fans learned about ultra-Orthodox Judaism from watching the television show “Shtisel.”
‘Shtisel,’ an Israeli series about an ultra-Orthodox family in Jerusalem, ran for three seasons.
Our research revealed that there is a vibrant ecosystem of people learning about religion in their leisure time. Through the arts, both Jews and non-Jews encounter Jewish history, Jewish religious practices and representations of Jewish communities.
Screen and stage
Most people we spoke with told us that they felt meaningful connections to Judaism during activities that would rarely appear on a standard religion survey.
“Joan,” an unmarried woman in her 50s from Connecticut, told us that she was deeply invested in Judaism, but felt that synagogues and Jewish community centers were not welcoming to single people without families. Instead of joining a Jewish institution, she watched Jewish-themed TV shows and movies on Netflix, and joined social media communities to chat with other fans.
“Luis,” who lived in Boston but was born in Argentina, was a Sephardic Jew, a group that traces their ancestry and traditions to Jewish communities who once lived in Spain and Portugal. His wife was Ashkenazi, meaning her ancestors came from Central and Eastern Europe. She considered herself secular, and so the couple joined the Worker’s Circle, a nonreligious Ashkenazi institution rather than a synagogue.
Yet Luis loved deepening his knowledge of Sephardic culture, and he often attended concerts of music in Ladino, a Sephardic language related to Spanish, with other Sephardic immigrants.
American singer Sarah Aroeste writes and performs in Ladino.
For Joan and Luis, these activities were not peripheral to their Jewish lives. Rather, they were central avenues for learning and community. We interviewed hundreds of Jews who told us that cultural experiences were opportunities to reflect on Jewish practices, explore questions of belonging, connect with family histories and find friends with common interests.
New questions
Some aspects of these patterns were distinctive to Judaism. Historically, many Jews have understood Judaism to be a cultural world, and not only a theological tradition. Learning about cultural dimensions of Judaism has long been part of Jewish education.
The broader phenomenon of informal learning, though, extended far beyond a single tradition. Across America, increasing numbers of people learn about religion through media, cultural productions and digital networks. Christians may study biblical themes through podcasts, online discussion groups or religious influencers. Muslims may participate in online learning communities that connect believers across the world.
The challenge for religion researchers, then, is not simply to determine whether engagement with religion is rising or falling. Rather, it is to develop more nuanced ways of understanding how people explore religious themes and practices, beyond traditional institutions. Only then can we more fully understand how contemporary Americans actually live their religious lives.
