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Should Trump get a Nobel Peace Prize for Gaza?
If the Gaza war is winding down, there will be two clear lessons to be remembered. First, United States pressure and leverage are vitally useful; second, the Israelis and Palestinians cannot be left to their own devices without risking catastrophe, so U.S. engagement will be vital going forward.
The deal announced by President Donald Trump Wednesday night is a first-phase agreement in which Hamas consents to release the 47 remaining Oct. 7 hostages — of which 20 are believed alive — and to continue talking about the remainder of Trump’s proposed peace plan. Few expected Hamas to agree to that release, in exchange for Palestinian prisoners, without a full deal to end the war. The assumption, supported by leaks, is that the group has received U.S. guarantees that fighting will indeed not resume.
The expectation, instead, is that in one form or another Hamas will agree to lay down its arms, at least in the Gaza Strip, handing power to a complex governing edifice that will include local Palestinian technocrats, the West Bank-based Palestinian Authority, a multinational Arab force and an international oversight committee chaired by the U.S. If that occurs, it will only have happened because Hamas was under extraordinary pressure from external patrons.
Why did all this happen now? The timing reflects a convergence of domestic, regional and global incentives.
In Israel, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s political calculus has shifted. His governing coalition faces looming crises, including budget conflicts and Haredi demands for formal military exemptions. The exhausted public — and a growing minority of the military — has been demanding a resolution to the war, prioritizing the return of hostages, with increasing fury.
Where prolonging the fighting once served Netanyahu by forestalling an inquiry into his failures leading up to the Hamas attack of Oct. 7, 2023, the approach of elections in 2026 now incentivizes a quick end: It’s difficult to envision any route toward electoral success while advancing a broadly unpopular war. Moreover, Netanyahu cannot refuse Trump, who is lionized in Israel.
Now, he’ll attempt to flip the narrative away from the war’s cost to focus on its successes: The ultimate return of the hostages — aside from the dozens killed during the war — the weakening of Iran and its militias, and, hopefully, the freeing of Gaza from Hamas.
Across the Arab world, the pressure was building too. Outrage over Gaza’s devastation made passivity by other Middle Eastern nations politically dangerous.
Egypt faced massive economic damage from the Yemeni Houthis’ Gaza-related disruptions of Red Sea shipping, which emptied Suez Canal revenues. And Israel’s thrashing of the Lebanese militia Hezbollah, the subsequent fall of the Hezbollah-backed dictator Bashar al-Assad in Syria, and the weakening of Iran in the June war with Israel, all emboldened Arab leaders to turn against the militias — like Hamas — that Iran funded around the region.
In July, a historic turning point occurred when key Arab governments, including Qatar, publicly called on Hamas to disarm — a Rubicon in regional politics.
Potentially decisive was the recent addition of Turkey to the array of Muslim countries pressuring Hamas. Turkey had sometimes helped to prop up Hamas, allowing funding channels to the group and occasionally hosting its exiled leaders. But with his economy reeling, President Recep Tayyip Erdogan is seeking defense markets and access to American F-35s, and in Trump he has a U.S. leader indifferent to his authoritarian ways. Signing onto Trump’s effort gave Erdogan an opportunity to work toward those goals, and help shove aside a huge distraction.
Washington used this landscape to orchestrate overwhelming regional pressure on Hamas, with carrots and sticks incentivizing every relevant actor. The most clear-cut case was Qatar receiving, last week, a NATO-style security agreement from the U.S., clearly a down payment to get it to bring Hamas to heel. With the president’s son-in-law Jared Kushner again involved in the talks, it should surprise no one to see conversations about Israeli-Saudi normalization, and similar U.S. security guarantees to Riyadh, soon reentering the discourse.
Trump’s political and personal motivations are, as always, a factor, with public opinion in the U.S. turning against Israel. Just as the war created politically damaging splits in the Democratic Party headed into the 2024 election, it is now creating fissures in Trump’s MAGA movement, with the isolationist branch abandoning Israel and bashing Trump over his alliance with Netanyahu. Resolving the Gaza crisis allows him to demonstrate effectiveness on the international stage, burnish credibility, and even, who knows, be in the running for a Nobel Peace Prize.
In Europe, the war was also becoming a massive political problem, riling up large Muslim minorities in the United Kingdom, France, Germany, Holland, Sweden and elsewhere. Center-left governments like those of British Prime Minister Keir Starmer and French President Emmanuel Macron have watched the backlash strengthen the anti-migrant populist right. Facing these shifts, Europe can be expected to do what it must, diplomatically and financially, to pacify the Middle East.
And there will be much to be done, especially financially. Rebuilding Gaza will require tens of billions of dollars. Mainly, however, Israelis and Palestinians will need close supervision. With all due respect to local agency and principles of sovereignty, the two sides’ failure in managing their century-old conflict is too monumental, and too globally disruptive, to be ignored.
The Palestinians have produced weak, corrupt governance in the Palestinian Authority on one hand, and on the other a truly diabolical array of jihadist groups headlined by Hamas. And Israel has saddled itself with a right-wing government that seems to not understand the imperative of separating the Zionist enterprise from the masses of Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza.
What should happen going forward is politically difficult but clear. Israel must be prevented by the U.S. from expanding its settlements in the West Bank, which undermine any credible path toward Palestinian statehood. Palestinians must be pressured to reform their governance: ending payments to the families of terrorists, banning all militias, reforming their education system to preach peace, and accepting realistic parameters for eventual statehood.
In the wider region, Arab states must not tolerate militias. Hezbollah must be disarmed in Lebanon. Iranian-backed Shia militias in Iraq must be neutralized or integrated under state authority. The Houthis must be decisively defeated to restore security to the Red Sea.
To follow through on all of this, U.S. involvement remains critical. U.S. pressure cannot always work — for example, it lacks the leverage on Moscow to end the Ukraine war — but in the Middle East, the stars are aligning. Conditional financial support, diplomatic backing, and military guarantees must accompany every step.
The final step, which would be truly worthy of a Nobel Prize, should be the two-state solution ending a century of conflict in the Holy Land.
The post Should Trump get a Nobel Peace Prize for Gaza? appeared first on The Forward.
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The rabbinic backlash against Zohran Mamdani isn’t about Mamdani at all
The sheer number of letters by rabbis circulating about Zohran Mamdani’s New York City mayoral campaign is “mind numbing,” a rabbi friend texted me earlier this week.
There’s the public letter decrying Mamdani, the Democratic candidate, sponsored by The Jewish Majority, which as of this writing has 1,138 signatures from rabbis, cantors and rabbinical students. But two or three other letters are also making their way through her circles. (One affirms a belief that Mamdani’s support for Palestinian rights comes from “deep moral convictions”; the others have not yet been made public.) “Make it stop,” she wrote.
The last two years have been unbelievably difficult for American Jews, and particularly so for rabbis. Rabbis have been tasked with counseling congregants deeply affected by the trauma caused by Oct. 7 and the rise in antisemitism, as well as the global outcry against Israel’s brutal bombardment of Gaza. Not to mention navigating efforts by certain political actors to weaponize Jewish pain in order to silence pro-Palestinian activists, remake higher education and accelerate an aggressive deportation agenda.
Now, the ceasefire between Israel and Hamas has created something of a vacuum, leaving rabbis to channel the complexity of the last two years into an unrelenting, disproportionate and often negative focus on Mamdani.
The old joke goes “two Jews, three opinions.” It’s rare to find Jewish consensus on where to get the best bagels, let alone a political issue. Yet rabbis from states as distant as Nevada, Illinois, Georgia, Indiana, New Mexico and Tennessee have signed the Jewish Majority letter, which calls out “rising anti-Zionism and its political normalization,” publicly affirming their opposition to a potential Mayor Mamdani. While the letter boasts 1,138 signatures, only around 100 of them actually live in New York City and would be directly affected by a Mamdani administration.
Isn’t it a bit strange that no cause has apparently rallied more American rabbis — not a devastating humanitarian crisis in Gaza; not an antisemitic AI chatbot developed by the richest man on Earth; not the Department of Homeland Security sharing antisemitic dogwhistles; not Immigrations and Customs Enforcement kidnapping people off the street — than opposition to a Muslim, Democratic socialist mayoral candidate who is not pro-Israel?
I find it hard to believe that New York City’s next mayor is truly the most vital issue facing American Jews outside this specific city. So why this level of focused condemnation?
I think there’s an answer in the striking timing of these letters. Mamdani won the Democratic primary overwhelmingly in June. Where were the letters then? If anything, his victory seems less assured than it did a month or two ago — recent polls suggest that former Gov. Andrew Cuomo, running as an Independent, has cut Mamdani’s lead in half following Mayor Eric Adams’ withdrawal from the race.
So what changed? With the ceasefire and the return of the last living hostages, I think that diaspora Jewry is suddenly unsure about our political role. Now that the living hostages — the one issue most of us agreed on in the last two years — are home safe, whom do we advocate for? What are we supposed to talk about now?
The flurry of these rabbinic anti-Mamdani letters less than a month before the mayoral election in November has been framed by some as an extraordinary expression of rabbinic unity in the face of a dangerous candidate. “Look at how many American rabbis have ever signed a letter,” one commenter on r/Jewish wrote on Reddit. “This is one of the largest rabbinic sign-on letters in history.”
But I worry this proliferation is a sign of insecurity in our community, not health.
In a time when it has felt so impossible to express nuance and to allow for a multiplicity of truths, Mamdani represents, for many, an easy opportunity to align against a figure whose position on Israel departs from the long-accepted political norm of vocal support.
A recent poll conducted by The Washington Post shows that nearly 40 percent of American Jews believe Israel has committed genocide. That number jumps to 50 percent between the ages of 18 and 34. Synagogue leaders, who are always trying to grow their community with new, younger members, must appease older, more pro-Israel congregants while remaining in touch with the changing views of the new generations — a balancing act that is increasingly untenable.
For a rabbi who is attempting to negotiate the tensions of differing political beliefs within their congregation, it is far easier to sign a letter than it is to reckon, both personally and communally, with the profound generational divide on Israel.
Mamdani’s campaign is not the only time that rabbinic leaders have spoken out since the Hamas attack of Oct. 7, 2023 — or this year. On Feb. 13, 350 American rabbis took out a full-page ad in The New York Times to oppose President Donald Trump’s plan to remove all Palestinians from Gaza. “Jewish people say NO to ethnic cleansing!” it read in bold letters. In July, 1,200 rabbis and Jewish leaders from around the world signed a letter urging Israel to open Gaza to humanitarian aid, followed by a letter in August from over 80 Orthodox rabbis, led by the former mashgiach ruchani of Yeshiva University, Rabbi Yosef Blau.
But the Jewish Majority letter has made by far the biggest impact. And I wonder at the usefulness of its signatories expending limited political capital against a candidate who, by all accounts, is likely to become mayor. When historians write about this charged era of American Jewish life, when authoritarian power is aggressively taking hold, I doubt that this letter will be regarded as a worthy use of their considerable communal power.
In the end, the anti-Mamdani letters say very little about Mamdani and everything about American Jewry. Instead of coming together based on a shared commitment to Jewish values, American rabbis are choosing an enemy to ally against. Instead of drawing “a line in the sand,” as one commentator framed the letter, I fear it is simply a line that will further divide us.
Since Oct. 7, American Jews have been buffeted by anti-war protests, antisemitic attacks and institutional strife. The Hamas attacks and Israel’s war in Gaza have unleashed a profound internal and external reckoning about the previously sacrosanct relationship between the U.S. and Israel. With the tenuous ceasefire coming soon after the start of a new Jewish year, and the traditional pro-Israel consensus irrevocably cracking under the strain of war and religious extremism, American Jews have an important opportunity, now, to look inward.
What have we learned over these painful years? How can we heal, while also taking responsibility for the ways in which we did not use our power for good? How do we want to use our communal power, period? If the party line on Israel has changed, how do American Jews want to change with it?
The conversations within the Jewish community are just beginning, and will last long past the New York City mayoral election on Nov. 4. I pray that our rabbinic leaders will have the courage to help us have them.
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How a curator and a rabbi joined forces to keep a piece of Boston’s Jewish history alive
The most striking artifact in the Judaica collection at Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts isn’t from Yemen or Galicia, or any other far-flung Jewish community that’s long since dispersed; it’s from Chelsea, Massachusetts.
The magnificent wooden Torah ark is just shy of 12 feet tall, and until 1999 it was the centerpiece of the Orange Street Synagogue, in Chelsea, a suburb that once teemed with so much Jewish life it earned the nickname ‘Little Jerusalem.’
But with American synagogues now closing at a record pace, the arks and facades and stained glass windows that testified to American Jewry’s dynamism face an unsettled future.
Indeed, to make the short hop from Chelsea to northeast Boston, the MFA’s ark took a rather scenic — even biblical — route. There’s a last-gasp reprieve as destruction looms; an extended stint in a wilderness of sorts (Texas); and a healthy sprinkling of rabbinic wisdom.
All the same, it illuminates an often forgotten chapter in Boston’s Jewish story.
A thriving Jewish enclave
Around the turn of the 20th century, tens of thousands of mostly eastern European Jewish immigrants arrived in Chelsea, transforming a provincial Protestant outpost into a chiefly working-class center of Jewish cultural, religious and economic life. By 1920, it had between 15 and 20 synagogues; a Hebrew School that graduated over 400 people a year; and dozens of clubs and organizations that held their meetings in Yiddish.
One of its more well-known inhabitants was Sam Katz, a Galician immigrant who was, for a time, Massachusetts’ pre-eminent woodcarver. Katz was born in 1884 in Veshnevets, modern Ukraine, and emigrated to the US in 1910. He lived briefly in New York before settling in Greater Boston, where, even though he lacked formal training, he built an estimated 24 synagogue arks during the 1920s and 30s. “These immigrant wood carvers, in general, learned from their father and their grandfather,” said Simona Di Nepi, curator of the MFA’s Judaica collection.
Still, Katz found his own style. “When I see vine leaves and grates and these kinds of lions,” Di Nepi told me, pointing to a pair of gilded lions affixed to either side of the MFA’s ark, “I know that it’s Sam Katz.” Perched on top of the ark is a bald eagle, jostling for position with a Torah crown. Taken together, said Di Nepi, the sculptures are a kind of shorthand for the burgeoning Jewish-American culture Chelsea represented. Indeed, this is one of the gallery’s abiding themes: the various ways artists have combined age-old Jewish iconography with time- and place-specific motifs.

The ark needs a hero
By 1950, Jewish Chelsea had entered a terminal decline. Many of its inhabitants had moved to tonier Boston suburbs like Brookline or Newton, propelled by improving socio-economic mobility, though the construction of the Tobin Bridge between 1947 and 1950 also pushed out some 250 families and effectively split the Jewish community in two. In early 1999, the Orange Street Katz Torah ark closed for a final time, its fate uncertain.
That’s when rabbi David Whiman, a congregational rabbi in nearby Newton, and an avid Judaica collector, stepped in.
Whiman salvaged the ark alongside a small crew of friends. A small screen in the gallery plays grainy footage of Whiman in an oversized white T-shirt, smiling broadly. Though the Orange Street shul pews are empty, and the work laborious, Whiman and his group appear noticeably upbeat. The opportunity to preserve such an invaluable link to Chelsea’s Jewish past is, clearly, a happy one. (Whiman, rabbi emeritus at North Shore Synagogue, did not respond to an inquiry.)
Whiman kept the ark with him as his rabbinical career took him first to Houston, where he stayed for the better part of decade, and, later, to Syosset, Long Island. And then, at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, he emailed Di Nepi. He had heard the MFA was establishing a permanent Judaica collection. “He initially said, ‘I’m a collector, and you can have anything you want,’” Di Nepi recalled. In 2022, she went to Syosset, and was immediately taken with the ark. “There were other things that I might have been interested in,” she said, “but this was so much a Boston story — a local story.”
The ark bore the scars of nearly 20 years in storage. “All the attached pieces were in a box,” Di Nepi said. “And the wood had marks all over it.” Over six months, the MFA’s Conservation department, led by Christine Storti, restored the ark’s original flourishes: On top, an eagle and a torah crown; just below, two golden lions and three Magen Davids; and, in the middle, two gilded hands of Kohanim clasped together in prayer. Di Nepi then placed the renovated ark on a bimah-esque plinth, where it remains today, resplendent in the dim gallery light.
For every rescued Torah ark, however, are dozens that couldn’t overcome the demographic and cultural changes that have reshaped American Judaism during the past half-century. “There used to be a high demand for Torah arks,” Di Nepi said. “But now, we have the inverse situation, where there is mass demand for finding homes for arks that are closing.”
The Sam Katz ark is therefore a monument to a community that’s largely slipped from view. Yet there’s one fragment of Jewish Chelsea that’s proved remarkably durable. The glass light bulb Katz hung from the ark more than a century ago still works, Di Nepi told me, though she and Storti opted against displaying it, given its obvious fragility, and commissioned a replica. I am nevertheless consoled by the thought that somewhere in the Museum of Fine Arts’ storage there’s a tiny piece of Jewish Chelsea, waiting to shine again.
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A second rabbinic letter, arguing against Jewish rejections of Mamdani, enters the NYC mayor’s race
A second rabbinic letter about the New York City mayor’s race repudiating the first has drawn hundreds of signatures in the day since its launch.
Titled “Jews for a Shared Future,” the new letter rejects the argument that the frontrunner in the race is unacceptable because of his opposition to Israel and contends that Jews should see their safety in New York City and beyond as entwined with that of others.
“In response to Jewish concerns about the New York mayoral race, we recognize that candidate Zohran Mamdani’s support for Palestinian self-determination stems not from hate, but from his deep moral convictions,” the letter says. “Even though there are areas where we may disagree, we affirm that only genuine solidarity and relationship-building can create lasting security. That work has sustained us for generations wherever Jews have lived, and remains our only path forward.”
It also responds to attacks on Mamdani’s Muslim identity, saying, “Jewish safety cannot be built on Muslim vulnerability, nor can we combat hate against our community while turning away from hate against our neighbors.”
In the day since its launch, the letter has been signed by 740 Jews. Of them, 230 are rabbis, 40 located in or near New York City.
Some of the signatories have previously offered their public support for Mamdani, including Sharon Kleinbaum, who spoke at his rally in Queens on Sunday, but others have not. Although some do not work in traditional pulpits, many others do. Some are well known for their own anti-Zionist activism that puts their outlook on Israel in line with Mamdani’s, but others openly identify as Zionists.
In a sign of how complex the current political discourse is for politically liberal Jews, at least one retired rabbi signed both the “Shared Future” letter and the broadside it follows.
The first letter, denouncing Mamdani and the “normalization of anti-Zionism,” began circulating a week ago and has now topped 1,150 signatures, with hundreds of signatories in New York City. It has roiled Jewish communities across the country as congregants look for their rabbis on the list.
The new letter was written by Rabbi Shoshana Leis, a graduate of the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College who helms Pleasantville Community Synagogue in New York City’s northern suburbs. In a post on Facebook, she said she had begun drafting the letter on Sunday after observing the “painful divisiveness” that the first letter was creating and that she had “struggled” to formulate a response that would not run the risk of “further reinforcing the divisions.”
A breakthrough came, she said, after consulting with other rabbis and drawing on the work of Israeli and Palestinian shared-society activist organizations.
“What happens in NYC often resonates throughout the country. While I do not endorse any candidates and do not have a vote in the NYC election, I do endorse a particular way for Jews to show up in America,” she wrote. “Our safety is interconnected with the safety of our neighbors, and the path to friendship is through the difficult but rewarding work of building relationships, one at a time, even across significant and vital differences.”
The dueling letters underscore a pitched divide around politics in the pulpit, exacerbated this year by the Trump administration’s decision to stop enforcing a rule that barred clergy from making political endorsements. Some rabbis have said that they have refrained from signing letters related to the New York City election, even when they may agree with the contents, because they see such direct political advocacy as inappropriate and divisive.
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