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New York Synagogues Speak of Courage — But Then Retreat in Fear in New York Mayoral Race
Zohran Mamdani. Photo: Ron Adar / SOPA Images via Reuters Connect
Rabbi Angela Buchdahl’s recent message to members of Central Synagogue in New York City struck a nerve. She affirmed her commitment to Israel and condemned antisemitism in heartfelt, eloquent terms. Then, in the next breath, she insisted that Central would remain “neutral” in New York’s mayoral election.
It’s a familiar move from American Jewish institutions: speak of courage, then retreat behind the language of neutrality. But neutrality is not virtue when Jewish security, dignity, and self-determination are under attack. It is moral negligence.
I understand the impulse. A synagogue should not be campaign headquarters. Communities must be open to those who disagree politically. Yet there is a difference between partisan engagement and moral abdication. When a candidate tolerates anti-Zionist rhetoric, minimizes antisemitic harassment, or treats Jewish self-determination as debatable, refusing to speak clearly is not an act of pluralism — it is an evasion of responsibility.
This is not an abstract question.
Since October 7, Jewish institutions in New York have been defaced, Jewish students have been harassed, and Jewish events have been shouted down by mobs invoking “anti-Zionism” as cover for bigotry. The city that once symbolized Jewish belonging is again a place where Jews think twice before showing their identity.
Walk past almost any synagogue or day school in Manhattan and you’ll see the cost of silence: armed guards, security barriers, and parents who wonder whether their children are safe walking home in a kippah.
In moments like these, Jewish leaders cannot hide behind process. We don’t need moral neutrality. We need moral leadership.
The First Amendment’s separation of church and state was never designed to muzzle faith communities. It was designed to protect their freedom of conscience. For centuries, American Jews have exercised that freedom: organizing for civil rights, fighting for Soviet Jewry, and defending the rights of others to live without fear. Our civic engagement was never about partisan politics. It was about moral responsibility.
To suggest that synagogues must be silent in the face of threats to Jewish life or the Jewish State is a distortion of that heritage. A synagogue that cannot speak to the moral character of public life is not protecting pluralism; it is hollowing it out.
In my recent essay for the American Enterprise Institute, “Solidarity Requires Self-Respect,” I argued that genuine solidarity begins with a clear sense of self. You cannot build coalitions by erasing your identity or apologizing for it. A people that hides its convictions for the sake of belonging will ultimately lose both its dignity and its allies. True solidarity grows out of self-respect and self-respect requires clarity.
For Jews today, that means speaking plainly: Israel is not a “foreign issue.” It is part of who we are historically, spiritually, and existentially. A candidate who traffics in anti-Zionist rhetoric is not simply taking a policy position; they are questioning the moral legitimacy of Jewish belonging. To remain neutral in the face of that is to tell Jews that their identity is conditional.
Jewish tradition rejects that posture.
Jeremiah commands us to “seek the peace of the city,” and Hillel warns, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me?” Those are not polite suggestions. They are calls to moral and civic engagement.
Judaism commands not silence but tochacha — the duty to offer moral rebuke when wrongs threaten the community. To be for ourselves means to defend Jewish life without apology. To seek the peace of the city means to do so publicly as Jews, as citizens, and as moral agents.
I do not believe rabbis should generally tell their congregants how to vote. But I do believe they must tell them what is at stake — and in New York, the stakes are high, even existential. Political clarity is not optional; it is a moral duty. When one candidate flirts with ideologies that deny Jewish legitimacy, while another defends Jewish safety and inclusion, pretending the two positions are equally valid is not fairness. It is confusion.
Central Synagogue is one of the most visible Jewish institutions in America. Its history is a proud one: a congregation that has embodied confidence, civic engagement, and faith in both Judaism and America. That legacy deserves to be carried forward not through silence, but through conviction.
The rabbi is right to fear the politicization of religion. But there is a far greater danger in the depoliticization of morality — in the idea that religious institutions can opt out of public life at precisely the moment their voices are needed most.
We can cherish diversity without dissolving our identity. We can respect pluralism without surrendering our principles. Pluralism doesn’t survive through avoidance; it survives through citizens and communities willing to name truth and stand for it in public.
Our community needs leaders willing to say, without hesitation, that some truths are non-negotiable: that Israel’s legitimacy is not up for debate; that Jewish safety is not contingent on political fashion; and that being a Jew in public life means standing, visibly and unapologetically, for our people and our future.
The next mayor will shape whether Jewish life in New York remains vibrant or fearful. Neutrality will not safeguard that future. Conviction will.
If our institutions cannot summon the courage to say what is true, they risk becoming sanctuaries of comfort rather than centers of conscience. Jewish life has never thrived in silence. It thrives in clarity, confidence, and 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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New U2 album includes Israeli poem and a song about slain Palestinian activist
(JTA) — U2 frontman Bono delivered sharp criticism of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and lavish praise on Jewish tradition in an interview released Wednesday alongside the band’s new EP, titled “Days of Ash.”
The album — the first from U2 since 2017 — includes a song memorializing Palestinian activist Awdah Hathaleen, who was killed by an Israeli settler in the West Bank in July as well as a recitation of the anti-war poem “Wildpeace” by Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai.
“As with Islamophobia, antisemitism must be countered every time we witness it. The rape, murder and abduction of Israelis on Oct. 7 was evil,” Bono said. “But self-defense is not defense for the sweeping brutality of Netanyahu’s response, measured but the deaths of tens of thousands of Palestinians.”
Bono’s criticism of Netanyahu alongside the EP’s release comes months after the Irish artist broke his silence on the war in Gaza in August, writing at the time on social media that “the government of Israel led by Benjamin Netanyahu today deserves a categorical and unequivocal condemnation.”
In the immediate aftermath of Oct. 7, Bono had struck a different tone, standing out among other artists for paying tribute to the hundreds of “beautiful kids” murdered at the Nova music festival during a performance.
The new politically charged EP comprises six songs that address a series of high-profile deaths in recent years, including the killing of Sarina Esmailzadeh by Iranian security forces in 2022 and the fatal shooting of Renee Good by a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent last month.
The Amichai recitation comes immediately before the song memorializing the death of Hathaleen, titled “One Life at a Time.”
In a wide-ranging interview about the band’s latest EP that accompanied its release, Bono lamented that Judaism was “being slandered by far-right fundamentalists from within its own community.”
He added, “While I’m someone who is a student of, and certainly reveres, the teachings in many of the great faiths, I come from the Judeo-Christian tradition and so I feel on safe ground when I suggest: There has never been a moment where we needed the moral force of Judaism more than right now, and yet, it has rarely in modern times been under such siege.”
Bono noted that another song on the EP, titled “The Tears of Things,” takes inspiration from a book of the same title by Richard Rohr, which Bono said made the case that “the greatest of the Jewish prophets found a way to push through their rage and anger at the injustices of the day … until they ended up in tears.”
Critiquing Netanyahu’s prosecution of the war in Gaza, Bono then cited the words of prominent Israeli historian Yuval Noah Harari, who has described the war in Gaza as a “spiritual catastrophe for Judaism itself.”
“As if all Jews are to blame for the actions of Netanyahu, Smotrich and Ben Gvir. … It’s insane, but the waters get even muddier when anyone criticizing the lunacy of the far right in Israel is accused of antisemitism themselves,” continued Bono.
The post New U2 album includes Israeli poem and a song about slain Palestinian activist appeared first on The Forward.
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HaKarot HaTov: Artificial Intelligence Can Never Replace Human Love and Wonder
Illustrative: Fourth grade students from Kibbutz Parod with certificates they received from the Israel Antiquities Authority for finding and turning in an ancient oil lamp. Photo: IAA.
One of the things that primary teachers regularly encounter is children calling them “mom” or “dad.” This is usually followed by serious embarrassment on behalf of the child, and possibly nervous laughter from their classmates.
Most teachers will just smooth incidents like this over, but the good ones will perhaps reflect on its underlying meaning — how in a very real sense for the child, they can temporarily become the child’s mother or father. It’s an expression of the incredibly important role teachers play in the lives of children, acting as the adult presence that bridges across from their family existence to their encounters with the larger world. This is what, unconsciously, children are tapping into when they mix up “mom” and “miss.”
Teachers are really important to kids — and the emotional investment that teachers make in children, and that children make in teachers, is enormous. Sometimes teachers can even provide the love and care that a child’s parents cannot. Teachers matter. Or at least they did.
What it seems the future holds, as AI models improve exponentially, is children each having their own AI-powered tutor responding in real time to their learning needs. AI’s ability to gauge the progress, challenges, and requirements of each child are likely far beyond anything a human teacher could ever hope to achieve. I don’t doubt that this is coming soon, and that many parents, and many governments, will be thinking of the undeniable benefits that these AI tutors will bring.
They don’t need a salary, they don’t need time off, and they can be there at any time of day. On top of that, millions of children are already using AI chat bots for emotional support. AI tutors will soon combine academic and emotional and pastoral support in one package. Unlike human teachers, they will never get tired, or angry, or disappointed, or get distracted from their charges’ needs.
We might wonder why any of this might be a problem. In a near future where robots will care for the elderly, do our shopping, and undertake surgery, and other AI bots will be our lawyers and accountants, as they already are our software engineers, why does it matter if children are taught by AI tutors?
Perhaps it doesn’t. Perhaps children and parents won’t be able to tell the difference, or even care if they can. Having human teachers won’t be important. Maybe we will just need a few humans to check if the AI tutors are on track to ensure that the kids of the future (or the kids of next year) learn enough to read and write, and to count well enough so that they don’t spend their universal basic income all at once.
I had a friend who was a great teacher who taught in Jewish schools in London. He died a decade ago, far too young. He was dyslexic and he told me how he used to share this with his pupils and get them to help him with his spelling on the board. A small thing perhaps, but I just think how much this communicated to those young people — about dealing with adversity, compassion, and empathy. I also remember how, when I was walking with him, we might bump into some of his old pupils. Always, they were so pleased to see him.
He was still “sir,” someone important in their lives, who had helped them navigate the path from their families, out to the world as independent adults. There was also, I would venture, something there that no robot teacher or AI tutor could ever truly have. That thing was love. The love that teachers bring to their work, that drives their professionalism and their commitment and care for the next generation.
Children know that teachers are not parents — that they only come into their lives for a short time and then leave. Yet they also know that just like their parents, teachers can love and care about them — really care about what happens to them. Children also learn how adults apart from their parents can, like my friend, not be perfect, and not know everything, but still set an example through their own behavior, and push them to achieve or keep going, even when it is challenging. They can feel how this connection with adults, with other human beings, molds and creates their adult selves.
Another thing that my friend’s pupils had was gratitude. As Dostoevsky wrote, gratitude is a fundamentally human quality, because someone has to give it, and someone has to receive it. But Judaism recognized this decades before the Russian literary geniuses of the 19th century.
The Jewish concept of HaKarot HaTov or “Recognizing the Good” means gratitude, but it also implies something transcendent — the wonder of just taking the time to stop and reflect on what we have. HaKarot HaTov teaches us that it’s through gratitude to other people that we come closer to G-d. Large language models and algorithms don’t have aims, or desires, or feelings. They can’t love. AI tutors quite literally are incapable of caring whether the children they work with live or die. They can’t receive gratitude from their students, or give it, not really, because there is no “them.” Perhaps we should think more than twice before we sign up to an education system where children have no one to say thank you to.
Joseph Mintz is Professor of Inclusive Education at UCL. Follow him @jmintzuclacuk. His views are his own and do not reflect those of his employers.
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The Palestinian Authority Just Paid ‘Pay-for-Slay’ Salaries to 8,000 Terrorists
The opening of a hall that the Palestinian Authority named for a terrorist who killed 125 people. Photo: Palestinian Media Watch.
The mask is off: The Palestinian Authority (PA) announced that 8,000 terrorist prisoner pensioners would receive their monthly Pay-for-Slay “pension” salary this week — and confirmations of receipt of the deposits are already being observed over social media.
A Palestinian social media post confirming Pay-for-Slay payments have gone out.
The minimum amount for such salaries is 4,000 shekels for terrorists who spent five years in prison. Going by that minimum, the PA just paid these terrorists — which constitute only one third of all Pay-for-Slay recipients — at least 32 million shekels — over US $10 million.
However, in actuality, this most conservative estimate is far lower than the amount that was likely paid out, as some of the more infamous terrorists released in recent hostage deals have spent 30 or more years in prison. Terrorists with such status receive at least 12,000 shekels each month.
A chart detailing Palestinian payments to terrorists.
One year after PA President Mahmoud Abbas promised the US, Canada, UK, Australia, and the EU that he was ending Pay-for-Slay, there is no escaping the fact that this was just another deception and a lie.
The PA remains an unreformed sponsor of terror.
The author is a contributor to Palestinian Media Watch, where a version of this article first appeared.