In 1986, saying no was not part of the plan. I was 26, newly signed to Island Records, and for the first time in my life, the machinery of the music business had begun to move in my favor. My songs “Waning Moon,” “I Feel Young Today,” and “1000 Years,” from my second album Gematria, were on the radio and MTV. There was talk of tours, of opening slots with artists like Sting, Joe Cocker and Greg Allman. My job, as everyone understood it, was simple: Say yes. Yes to every opportunity, yes to every kind of exposure, yes to everything that could possibly give my career momentum.

Lou Maglia, the president of Island Records, was an old-school Italian record guy — street-smart, direct and deeply invested in the artists he believed in. I was among his first signings. He had taken me on largely because of an independent record I had made called This Father’s Day, written and recorded as tribute to my dad, who died at 54, just a day after I’d turned 24. He was my mentor and my hero. Those who say his death had much to do with my sudden turn toward observant Judaism are partly right.

The other part is that in seeking a record deal since I was 13, and then finally getting one, I discovered it wasn’t the answer to what I’d actually been searching for, which was a loving family, a clearer understanding of what my life’s purpose might be, and a deeper sense of belonging in my tribe — the Jewish people.

That’s why, one afternoon, when I walked into Lou’s office and closed the door behind me, what I said to him must have sounded incomprehensible.

“Lou, I’m starting to keep this Jewish thing called Shabbos, and I won’t be available to perform on Friday nights anymore.”

He stared at me for a moment, then burst out laughing.

“Ha! Fucking Shabbos. Ok, that’s a good one, I get it. But can we talk about these opening slots?”

It wasn’t a cruel laugh. It was the laugh of a man encountering something he had no category for. In Lou’s world, artists did all kinds of self-destructive things and made radically poor decisions. But remove themselves from the single most important performance night of the week? Never. Ever.

I was, in effect, telling him I had decided to become unavailable for my own ascent.

At the time, I couldn’t have explained my decision in any coherent way. I didn’t have the vocabulary or even the conceptual framework. All I knew was that after my dad’s death something had begun to feel hollow. Not the music. The music was real. It was everything around it. The sense that if I just kept moving forward fast enough, saying yes often enough, I’d arrive at some point where things would finally make sense. They didn’t. (I can state for the record, 40 years later, they still don’t.)

But around that same time, through a chain of introductions, I met the record producer and singer Kenny Vance, of Jay and the Americans fame. Kenny, now my dear friend, had worked with everyone, and he wasn’t shy about mentioning it.

“I used to date Diane Keaton,” he told me. “I know Woody Allen. I was the music director for Saturday Night Live. But tonight, I’m gonna take you to my main connection, a religious Jew in Brooklyn.”

I suspect he thought I’d roll my eyes at the prospect. I did nothing of the sort. I was excited.

Before long, we were crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, the lights of lower Manhattan burning behind us. We arrived at an apartment in Crown Heights where Rabbi Simon Jacobson greeted us. I connected with Simon right off the bat. His eyes reflected a paradox, an awareness that being alive was both a source of great humor and great sadness. Simon told me about his work reconstructing the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s talks from memory, highly complex talks that lasted for hours and drew on thousands of Jewish sources. The scale of it was incomprehensible to me. It belonged to a world governed by entirely different assumptions than my own.

Later that night, after Kenny, who seemed very old — I think he was 40 — got tired and left for his home in Far Rockaway, I asked Simon about the paintings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe hanging on the wall.

“What’s the deal with those pictures?” I said. “They seem sort of cultish to me.”

Simon wasn’t offended. “I enjoy them,” he said. “To me, the Rebbe is like a very inspiring grandfather.”

Makes sense, I thought.

He grew quiet, then continued. “There are people called tzadikim,” he said. “They have no sense of self. They live only to serve others. And they can do anything they wish.”

I knew enough to know he wasn’t using the colloquial tzadik, as in “What a tzadik, that Herb Shapiro. Got me such a deal on my new Firestones.”

“Really?” I asked. “Can they fly?”

Simon looked at me. He became serious.

“I’ve never seen anyone fly. But for a tzadik, flying is no greater miracle than walking.”

The remark just about toppled me. Not because it sounded weird and mystical, but because it cohered with something I had always felt, but had never heard expressed so simply: that walking itself was a miracle. That breathing, eating pancakes, taking a piss, that just being alive, was a miracle.

One could accurately say that I was the fastest person ever to join the “cult.” I went out and bought tzitzit the next day. I began keeping kosher. “One less shrimp,” was how I thought of it. Then came Shabbat observance in my dumpy railroad apartment on 47th and Eighth Avenue in Hell’s Kitchen.

Shabbat, like music, was the space between notes. A kind of purposeful interruption. For one day each week, I stopped. I stopped producing. I stopped striving. Most importantly, I stopped trying to turn success into proof of my worth. It wasn’t only about stopping work. That’s too simple. It was about remembering that I was more than my work. It felt like an authentic subversion of shallow cultural norms, something that instinctively appealed to me. It was the more truthful version of the so-called subversion that rock and roll had always only imitated.

This is why I told Lou Maglia no.

Not because I was certain, but because I had begun to understand that if I lost this, I might lose something far more essential than a career.

My friend, the late Lou Maglia, lapsed Catholic, soulful man that he was, stopped laughing. He saw that I was serious. He didn’t drop me. Far from it. He became my biggest champion. When it would have been only logical for us to play cities like Cleveland and Chicago in support of one of my recordings, Lou even helped finance my tour of the Caucasus in what was then the USSR. (Another story for another time.) He knew that my music wasn’t a posture, but a reflection of my deeply held values.

Hey Lou, if you’re up there listening, thank you. You were a beautiful man with a beautiful spirit.

People sometimes ask me if the cost to my career was worth it. There are two issues I have with the question. First, it assumes the career was the central measure of my life. Second, few ask what I received in return. I have, thank God, been blessed with a beautiful marriage, a tight-knit, loving family, grandchildren, a body of work that I could never have imagined at age 26, and time. I have been able to see the value of time and secure it as my own.

As for music, Shabbat didn’t take any of it away from me. It taught me to hear it better, write it better, and perform it better.

I have never struck a better bargain.

The post I had a shot and rock ‘n’ roll fame — I chose a lifetime of Shabbat instead appeared first on The Forward.

(JTA) — MADRID — Spain has permanently withdrawn its ambassador to Israel in a symbolic rebuke of the U.S.-Israeli strikes on Iran.

Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez has emerged as an unequivocal and lonely voice in Europe against the Iran war, widening Spain’s rift with Israel and making an enemy of President Donald Trump.

Ambassador Ana María Salomón Pérez was removed from her post on Tuesday, according to an announcement issued Wednesday by the Spanish government. Israel recalled its ambassador to Spain, Rodica Radian-Gordon, shortly after Spain said it would recognize a Palestinian state in May 2024.

Spain’s move marks an escalation in the countries’ strained relations, which have severely deteriorated since the start of the war in Gaza in 2023.

Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez became one of Europe’s most vocal critics of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s prosecution of that war. Over the last three years, he rallied support for Palestinian statehood, accused Israel of genocide in Gaza and imposed a total arms embargo on Israel.

Pérez was summoned to Madrid in September, following a diplomatic row over Spain’s ban on aircrafts and ships carrying weapons to Israel. Israel’s foreign minister Gideon Saar called the measure antisemitic and barred two members of Sánchez’s Cabinet from entering Israel, saying they supported “terrorism and violence against Israelis.”

Spain and Israel are now both represented in each other’s embassies by their respective chargés d’affaires, lower-ranking officials who reflect their downgraded relations. It is the same status that Israel maintained with South Africa before the two countries ejected even the lower-level envoys earlier this year.

Sánchez has been one of few major European leaders to emphatically reject the U.S.-Israeli attacks on Iran, calling them “an unjustified and dangerous military intervention” that he says violates international law.

As the leaders of Germany, France and Italy have taken more conciliatory tones, Trump has lashed back at Sánchez. After Spain refused to allow the United States permission to use two jointly operated bases in its territory for strikes on Iran, Trump threatened to sever trade.

“Spain has been terrible,” Trump said during a press conference with German Chancellor Friedrich Merz on March 3. He added, “We’re going to cut off all trade with Spain. We don’t want anything to do with Spain.”

Sánchez, in response, has revived the “No to war” slogan that galvanized Spaniards in 2003. At the time, millions took to the streets to reject then-Prime Minister José María Aznar’s support for the Iraq war, contributing to his center-right party’s collapse in 2004. The war was also seen as a driver behind a deadly terrorist attack in Madrid whose 22nd anniversary Spain marked on Wednesday.

Sánchez said the slogan summed up the Spanish government’s position in a televised address on March 4. In a pointed line, he said leaders who have not improved their people’s lives “make use of war to hide their failure whilst filling the pockets of a few — the usual ones, the only ones who win when the world stops building hospitals in order to build missiles.”

Even more pointedly, without naming Trump, he said, “We are not going to be complicit in something that is bad for the world and contrary to our values and interests, simply out of fear of reprisals from anyone.”

The post Spain withdraws ambassador to Israel, widening diplomatic rift as Trump threatens to sever trade appeared first on The Forward.

Last summer, a 21-year-old far-left activist named Calla Walsh traveled to Iran for its International Memorial for the Media Martyrs of the Struggle Against the Zionist Regime.

Addressing the crowd in Tehran, Walsh said: “We all have a duty, when we go back to the countries we came from, to share the truth we saw here and to struggle against Zionism and imperialism.”

“Glory to all the martyrs. Glory to the axis of resistance,” she added, also saying “Death to America. Death to Israel.”

Not every leftist American activist is jetting to Tehran to spout propaganda. But the language that Walsh — who supported Sen. Ed Markey’s 2020 campaign, which I worked on — used should be familiar to anyone tracking anti-Israel sentiment in the United States.

What may be less familiar: It’s language that the Islamic Republic of Iran has been key to spreading.

In the current war and in recent years, Israel has proven far more capable in degrading the Islamic Republic as a military actor than in undercutting the influence of the ayatollahs’ ideas, in which anti-Zionism, antisemitism and anti-imperialism are melded into a single ideology. This framework becomes all the more potent when Israel’s government hands its critics ammunition: Settlement expansion, the killing of Palestinian civilians and a rightward lurch have combined to make caricatures of Zionism feel, to many, like a good enough approximation of the truth.

But what the ayatollahs demonstrated better than anyone is that criticism of Israel rooted in anti-imperialism is often just a vehicle for antisemitism.

The bait and switch

Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, the Islamic Republic’s hardline founder, pitched the Iranian revolution as one of social justice.

In 1963, Khomeini declared that the “great aim of Islam” was “to prevent oppression, arbitrary rule, and the violation of the law” — abuses heavily associated with Iran’s repressive government under the Shah. He spoke to the Iranian public in terms with clear parallels to the liberal canon of the American founders, promising citizens a “government that will assure their happiness and allow them to live lives worthy of human beings.”

As Abbas Milani, with whom I studied at Stanford University, recently wrote in The New York Times, this was a bait-and-switch: a liberal mirage used as a tactic to consolidate support for the revolution. Khomeini cast those principles aside the moment he entered power.

But even before the revolution, Khomeini’s pronouncements about Jews foreshadowed the illiberal oppression that was to come.

“We see today that the Jews (may God curse them) have meddled with the text of the Qu’ran,” Khomeini declared in a series of lectures on Islamic governance in 1970. “We must protest and make the people aware that the Jews and their foreign backers are opposed to the very foundations of Islam and wish to establish Jewish domination throughout the world.”

“Since they are a cunning and resourceful group of people, I fear that — God forbid! — they may one day achieve their goal, and the apathy shown by some of us may allow a Jew to rule over us one day.”

Khomeini’s Jew-hatred appeared to be a genuine ideological commitment, rather than just a political maneuver. In 1977, on the eve of the revolution, he said that “The Jews have grasped the world with both hands and still they are not satisfied.”

Anti-Judaism to anti-Zionism

Israel became the central focus of Khomeini’s conspiratorial belief in Jewish subversion. As such, his objections to Israel often emphasized its Jewish nature rather than its policies.

In 1970, Khomeini lambasted the Shah for extending “his recognition to a government of unbelievers — of Jews, at that — thereby affronting Islam, the Qur’an, the Muslim governments, and all the Muslim people.” (The Shah never formally recognized Israel, but did have unofficial representation in Tel Aviv. One Iranian official at the time described it as “relations of love without a marriage contract.”)

In 1971, Khomeini called attention to “Israel, that stubborn enemy of Islam and the Quran, which a few years ago attempted to corrupt the text of the Quran.” Replace “Israel” with “Jews” and that statement is all but identical to his earlier accusation that Jews had altered a holy text.

From theology, Khomeini turned to pathology. Eight years after the revolution, he spoke of Israel as a “prevalent, festering, and cancerous Zionist tumor.” Israel must be destroyed, he said, to keep Muslim countries “safe from the evil of this unclean enemy” and the “unclean presence of the Zionists” — taking issue not with Israeli political actions but with the cleanliness of its people, a classic antisemitic trope.

Khomeini referred to imperialism, too, as a cancer. In a 1972 letter to students in North America, he wrote that “Israel was born out of the collusion and agreement of the imperialist states.” Khomeini had previously referred to Jews as the “servants of imperialism,” and framed Islam as “the school of those who struggle against imperialism.”

Colonialism’s pernicious legacy and antisemitic tropes of Jewish domination made it easy for Khomeini to package opposition to colonial rule with opposition to Israel. Muslims, Khomeini said, needed to “stop colonialism and Zionism” on the basis of “human duty, brotherhood, and rational and Islamic standards.”

Khomeini’s vision was clear: resistance to imperialism, opposition to Israel and hatred of Jews were all the same cause.

Khamenei exports revolution

Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, who succeeded Khomeini as supreme leader in 1989, committed himself to spreading that vision. His English-language account on X amassed more than two million followers, and issued pronouncements such as “the long-lasting virus of Zionism will be uprooted thanks to the determination and faith of the youth.” In 2022, he spoke of “Zionist capitalists” as “a plague for the whole world.”

After the Oct. 7, 2023 Hamas attack on Israel , Khamenei addressed American campus protesters, telling them: “You have now formed a branch of the Resistance Front.” He invoked, in that address, “the global Zionist elite” that “owns most U.S. and European media corporations.” He repeatedly refused to call Israel by its name, referring to it instead as the “Zionist regime” or “Zionist entity.”

That wasn’t the first time he explicitly appealed to Western, left-leaning youth. A 2015 letter he issued after Islamist gunmen attacked the offices of the satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo in Paris explicitly addressed “the youth in Europe and North America.” The letter referenced slavery and colonialism, and encouraged young Westerners to study Islam for themselves rather than let it be defined by the West, who “hypocritically introduce their own recruited terrorists as representatives of Islam.” Khamenei notably did not condemn the act of terror itself.

The letter did not specifically engage with issues surrounding Israel, but it marked a notable moment in Khamenei’s efforts to establish connections with young Westerners. And, alarmingly, the considerable energy he and the Islamic Republic spent in translating their ideology to Western, English-speaking, progressive audiences worked.

The echo chamber

Calla Walsh’s pronouncements in Tehran were extreme. But they still pointed to an escalating tenor of activist discourse that is increasingly shaping the public’s attitudes toward Israel.

Democratic Socialists of America chapters across the country have passed resolutions defining Zionism as “a racist, imperialist, settler-colonial project,” with some insisting on the need to oppose it “by any means necessary.”

On TikTok, video after video uses Khamenei’s framing of Israel as a “Zionist entity,” from a clip saying that “the American public has woken up to the Zionist entity known as Israel” to another decrying “the cowardly Arabs who normalize relations with the Zionist entity.” A coordinator of the sham charity Samidoun, which conducted fundraising for the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine in North America and Europe, stated in October 2022 that “we all have a right and a duty to resist the murderous Zionist entity.”

Most of the echoes between activists and the ayatollahs represent rhetorical alignment, rather than literal coordination. But that alignment has had profound consequences for how the world thinks about Israel, and about Jews.

The road ahead

We do not know how this military campaign ends. But no matter what happens, the ideology of the ayatollahs has already outlasted Khamenei.

Even the reactions to his death prove it: Some leftist organizers have put together vigils for the slain dictator. One coalition of activist groups in New York wrote that “we stand with Ayatollah Khamenei because he stood for us” and lauded him for speaking “about the shared struggle of oppressed people.”

The confluence of anti-imperialism, anti-Zionism, and antisemitism didn’t originate solely with the ayatollahs. Many other forces, including some academic theorists at American institutions such as Edward Said and Judith Butler, played a role.

And many protesters opposing Israel, or the current war, may have no idea that some of the rhetoric they use has ties to the oppressive regime in Tehran. The genuine horror of the war in Gaza, ongoing crackdowns in the West Bank, the sense that the U.S. has enabled these abuses, and a wariness of American adventurism in the Middle East can do a lot to explain public opinion.

But the rhetorical ties are there all the same. And while this war may determine crucial aspects of the future of the Middle East, it will not undo the damage the ayatollahs’ ideas have already wrought.

Khomeini insisted he distinguished between Jews and Zionists, even as he cursed Jews in one breath and condemned Zionists in the next. When today’s activists make that same claim, we should ask whether the distinction they draw is any more meaningful than his was.

The post The one crucial domain in which Iran outwitted Israel appeared first on The Forward.