(JTA) — New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani on Thursday night accused the American Israel Public Affairs Committee of spending “millions in dark money” to ensure pro-Israel candidates win seats in tthe November midterms.

Mamdani made his remarks at a rally headlined by Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-VT) at Kings Theater in Brooklyn ahead of Tuesday’s Democratic primaries for progressive congressional candidates. He called on the crowd to help elect Jewish former New York City Comptroller Brad Lander, State Assembly member Claire Valdez and former Columbia encampment organizer Darializa Avila Chevalier. 

In a fiery 30-minute speech, Mamdani took aim not just at AIPAC but also Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his handling of the war in Gaza. He claimed that  “The monsters that we are up against, they take many different forms,” and then singled out AIPAC.

He described the major pro-Israel lobby as an organization “for whom the only thing more frightening than democracy being allowed to run its course is an end to genocide and Netanyahu’s wars.”

Mamdani continued by alleging that AIPAC moves “millions in dark money to accomplish a single goal, to preserve their power so that they can turn us against one another instead of our leaders turning towards the moral change we all know to be necessary.”

AIPAC did not respond to a request for comment about Mamdani’s remarks.

The lobby, whose endorsement was once heavily sought by politicians on both sides of the aisle, has increasingly come under fire for its campaign tactics. Pro-Israel Democrats are particularly struggling to hold onto seats as voters on the left increasingly turn against the Jewish state.

Sanders, for his part, doubled down on criticism of AIPAC when he took the stage. “The American people understand that a large part of our horrific foreign policy is impacted by AIPAC funding,” he said.

Turning to the local races, Mamdani voiced support for Valdez for her opposition to Israel. “When other Democrats chose to look the other way as Netanyahu committed war crimes, Claire didn’t just name the genocide,” he said. “She organized for a ceasefire.”

In a change of tone, Mamdani emphasized unity, including an appeal to Jewish voters.

“Whether you worship at shul, at a mosque, in a church, a gurdwara, a temple, or you don’t worship at all, we share a belief that our city deserves leaders who lead with hope and not fear,” the mayor said.

He added, “No matter where we live, how old we are, what train we take in the morning, or what bagel we order, we are New Yorkers and we want the same things,” including “a city that belongs to all of us.”

Reaction on social media was swift. One self-described mom from New York City posted on X of the rally and the Democratic Socialists of America there: “It’s pretty transparent and vile how Zohran Mamdani and the DSA are using ‘AIPAC’ as a euphemism for Jews, and how Brad Lander is going right along with it.”

Jewish writer Dovi Safier also criticized the comments, writing, “The mayor of the city with the world’s largest Jewish population is pushing conspiracy theories about ‘money men’ who ‘move millions in dark money’ to ‘turn us against one another’ — and calling them ‘monsters.’ Subtle.”

This article originally appeared on JTA.org.

The post Mamdani calls AIPAC ‘monsters’ in rally ahead of NY primaries appeared first on The Forward.

Until recently, former Prime Minister Naftali Bennett appeared to be the opposition figure best positioned to challenge Benjamin Netanyahu in Israel’s election this fall. But a new contender has emerged: Gadi Eisenkot, a former Israel Defense Forces chief of staff, whose newly formed Yashar! (“Straight!”) party is rapidly gaining popularity.

According to Israel’s public broadcaster KAN, Eisenkot’s party currently projects to win 21 Knesset seats, trailing Netanyahu’s Likud at 23. Bennett and Yair Lapid’s joint slate, Together, the duo that managed to win the 2021 elections, is polling at 17 seats. Several other major Israeli polls reflect a similar or even stronger position for Eisenkot. As of this writing, Eisenkot and Netanyahu are neck and neck on Polymarket as the most likely politician to become the next prime minister.

Amid Trump’s Iran deal, which left Netanyahu in the lurch and has been widely unpopular among Israelis, Netanyahu’s appeal as a prime minister who can ensure Israel’s security is beginning to slip. Only 11% of Israelis feel Israel won the war, and 52% feel Netanyahu’s conduct harmed Israel’s interests in the U.S.-Iran deal. A recent Channel 12 survey found that 58% of Israelis believe the country’s next prime minister should not be Netanyahu.

After Bennett and Lapid joined forces to run together this April, their popularity has been steadily decreasing. Since they announced their joint run, Eisenkot has been gaining roughly one seat per week in Israeli polling.

This reflects an important theme in Israeli politics: combining politicians does not necessarily combine their voters. Bennett, a right-wing Orthodox nationalist who has long opposed a Palestinian state, appeals to a different constituency than Lapid, a secular centrist who has expressed support for a two-state solution.

Some right-wing voters who have supported Bennett now may view him as too left-leaning for their tastes because of his alliance with Lapid. For Bennett, who was seen as someone who could take right-wing voters from Netanyahu, this is a real problem.

Enter Eisenkot: a security-focused centrist with an untraditional background. He grew up in Eilat as the son of Moroccan immigrants. If elected, he would be the first ever Mizrahi Prime Minister in Israeli history.

He did not serve in Sayeret Matkal, the elite special reconnaissance unit in the IDF that cultivated many future Israeli politicians, including Bennett and Netanyahu. Rather, he got his start in Golani, the IDF’s oldest unit. He slowly climbed through the ranks, spending his career within the security establishment before eventually becoming the chief of staff of the IDF in 2015.

His political career is relatively new. Eisenkot entered politics in 2022 as part of Benny Gantz’s National Unity party before breaking away to launch Yashar! in 2025. His time in politics, though short, has been free of scandal or feuds — beyond, of course, his frequent disagreements with Netanyahu.

Service for all

For many Israelis, Eisenkot’s public image is inseparable from personal loss. His son, Gal, was killed fighting in Gaza in 2023, and two of his nephews also died during the war. Their deaths have given Eisenkot a unique standing in a country where military service has profoundly affected many Israeli families in the last few years, especially following the Oct. 7 attacks.

This experience also resonates amid one of the most contentious debates in Israeli politics: whether ultra-Orthodox yeshiva students should continue receiving exemptions from military service. As reservists have been called up repeatedly since Oct. 7 and the IDF has faced manpower shortages, many Israelis have argued that the burden of military service is being shared unequally. Roughly 80,000 men aged 18 to 24 who are currently exempt are eligible to serve in the IDF.

According to the Israel Democracy Institute, only 9% of the Israeli public supports exempting the ultra-Orthodox from mandatory military service. Netanyahu’s coalition, which depends on ultra-Orthodox parties, has sought to preserve some form of exemption system.

Eisenkot not only faced profound personal sacrifice for his family’s military service, but he also runs on the platform “service for all,” which hopes to reform broad military exemptions for the ultra-Orthodox.

In May 2025, he shared his thoughts for the first time on a two-state solution, telling Channel 12, “I always speak in favor of a Jewish, democratic, strong, and powerful state, and from that, we should derive our decisions. I think a Palestinian state is not relevant after October 7.” He added, “We need to be very measured, build it from the bottom up, and certainly not talk about a state and a prize after this murderous event,” he said, referring to the Oct. 7 attacks. “Instead, we should make our considerations from a position of strength, take our time, and not decide from one moment to the next, certainly not talk about it now.”

One of the most visible criticisms of Eisenkot has been his lack of command of the English language. Eisenkot speaks English, though certainly not to the level of fluent proficiency of MIT-educated Benjamin Netanyahu or Naftali Bennett. Last week, a top Netanyahu aide, Jonatan Urich, posted a viral video on X splicing clips of Einsenkot speaking heavily accented English with Nethayahu’s major speeches at the UN and Congress.

Eisenkot responded to the video on a popular Israeli podcast, stating, “Where was Netanyahu’s excellent English on October 7?” he asked. “Where is his excellent English in strengthening the relationship between Israel and the United States, which this morning is at rock bottom?”

While Eisenkot’s party continues to soar in the polls, he has a long way to go before he will be able to dethrone Netanyahu, who has won six Israeli elections since 1996.

Israel’s next prime minister will not simply be the person who secures the most votes for their party. To govern, a coalition must command at least 61 of the Knesset’s 120 seats. To do this, political parties – though often ideologically different – must come together in the hopes of securing a majority number of seats in the Knesset.

Eisenkot’s principal rival for leadership of the anti-Netanyahu camp is Bennett. Still, both Bennett and Eisenkot have emphasized that their primary goal is to take down Netanyahu. When asked whether he would step aside for Eisenkot if that were necessary to form a government, Bennett replied: “I will do anything in the world to replace this very bad government. I will not let ego be a factor.”

The post Who is Gadi Eisenkot, the Israeli politician who could dethrone Netanyahu? appeared first on The Forward.

I was 18 when my dad discovered a lump on his neck. He’d been doing sit-ups with my mom in their bedroom.

He was 49 years old.

First, a word about my dad. It’s sad when anyone’s parent dies, more so when they are still young. Tragic when your dad is your hero.

If I had to describe my dad in one word, I’d say he was strong. Not only was he an Eagle Scout, a United States Marine, not only was he once a deputy sheriff at Medicine Lake with his own rifle, and not only did he have huge arms and could rip a phone book in half; my dad was strong enough to be self-effacing and terrifically kind. He was not didactic in the least. He taught his curricula in one way only, by example. The lessons I learned from him about the nature of strength, real strength, are ones I try to carry with me each and every day.

At the conclusion of every marital spat he’d have with my mother I used to hear him say, “Ok, Bevy, you’re right and I’m wrong.”  I never knew what that meant. Was he folding, caving in? Where was his spine? His balls? I was never quite sure if there was just a trace of contempt or anger in that statement of his, or was it, as I’d learned much later, really a pure recognition that he’d seen things her way and that her way was just better?

It strikes me now that the essence of his strength, his manliness if you will, was a sense of self-effacement and humor that bordered on genius.

At 17, I took the liberty of hosting my girlfriend in my parents’ bed while they were away on a trip to Chicago. They’d come home a day earlier than expected and caught the two of us, just moments… afterwards. My dad was standing behind my mom, trying to bottle up his laughter. It was especially difficult for him to keep from laughing after my mother said in her serious voice, “Peter, I would hope that in the future you’d entertain your guests in your own room.” In my defense, my own room did not have a color TV set.

All of my cousins, even the ones that weren’t my dad’s blood relatives, were crazy about him. They sought his counsel like he was a tribal sheik. I remember many nights where one cousin or another would be huddled around our kitchen table with him. He wasn’t doling out advice. Advice is overrated anyway. Any asshole can give good advice. It’s the way my dad made you feel that made him so special.

At the time, I was playing in a calypso and reggae band with five grown men, and one woman, Cheryl, who played the Hammond organ. She’d come from Jamaica, the others from Trinidad. But that’s for another story.

I was also writing pop songs with my band Sussman Lawrence, supposedly having the time of my life. But I was in deep emotional pain.

My dad discovered a lump in the back of his neck in the autumn of 1979. It took the doctors a week to determine that he had stage-four lymphoma. They figured he had six months, tops. They were wrong by almost three years.

At the time I barely reacted to the news. I told myself it was strength, composure. I understood later it was something else entirely — a tendency to go inside myself, to stay as far away from my feelings as possible. It was as if I’d been playing a sort of double role. In some moments I was hypersensitive and deeply connected to the grief. In others, I was completely divorced from it. Some four years later, toward the end of my dad’s life, those two halves would finally collide.

It was 1983 and our band was in Amery Wisconsin, finishing our last set at a bar called The Country Dam. It was late and the crowd was so drunk they were falling over one another, screaming for one more chorus of “I’m Your Fireman.” At four in the morning I pulled up to my parents’ house behind my dad’s white ’83 Chrysler LeBaron. He’d gone all the way to Mankato with my mother to buy it.

Tired as I was, I couldn’t stop looking at that car, wondering how I’d feel about it when he died.

It was Father’s Day, and my mom had planned a big brunch for him in just a few hours. Cousins, aunts, and uncles — everybody wanted to be there to cheer him up. Even though my dad had outlived the doctors’ dire predictions by four years, we knew that the disease had progressed to the point where this was very likely his last Father’s Day.

I was pretty wound up from the performance the night before and since the sun was coming up anyway, I couldn’t see any reason to try and sleep. I picked up a guitar. It was an old acoustic that hardly played in tune. I started picking through some chords in a half-trance and singing softly to myself, just thinking about that LeBaron and how my dad really liked that car. The words came fast and the melody started to take on a shape. Each new line generated more melody, and the melody inspired more words.

“When no one is forgotten and nothing goes to waste, when sadness turns to laughter, when anger is defaced, you’ll start to know the way I feel about you.”

When a song comes to you like that, it’s best to get out of your own way — to be as detached as possible — and yet I couldn’t help feeling excited that this was a song for my dad. I thought, “At least now I won’t be the only fool at the brunch without a Father’s Day present.”

“And if I could, I’d run out into the world and tell every boy and girl to love before love takes itself away… just like I’m loving you this Father’s Day.”

I made a quick recording of the song, and I was so tired and so emotional that I started crying in the last chorus. I didn’t want to let everyone hear me blubbering on tape, so I reached over to erase it and sing it again, but at the last second I decided to leave it as was, tears and all.

The next morning I brought the cassette upstairs. The brunch was in full swing: The lox and the smoked whitefish had been taken out of the refrigerator and arranged on platters. The scrambled eggs and onions were warming on the stove. The cinnamon rolls and the cartons of Minute Maid were on the table, and the brunch-goers were trying their best to slap on their happiest faces.

I put the cassette in the stereo, and I swear it took no more than ten seconds for everyone to break down in tears and exit the room.

Now it was just my dad and me — both of us staring out the big picture window of our den, listening as the song played.

As it ended, we held each other and cried. Whatever façade of normalcy we’d been putting up over the last few years washed away in the emotion of that song. I’d wanted to say so many things to him, and for so long. Somehow the song expressed everything so well.

From that morning on, my dad carried the cassette around with him in his breast pocket.

He died a few months later on Thanksgiving night. We got a call from the hospital as we were sitting at the table; the turkey had never even been carved.

As tragic and sad as his death was, I’ve never felt remiss for not expressing how I felt.

This, I think, is not only the utility of music (a harsh word, I know), but its spiritual power — to say what cannot otherwise be said, and to leave nothing essential unspoken.

The post My father was my hero and, when he was dying, I wrote this song for him appeared first on The Forward.