Maccabi Tel Aviv midfielder Sagiv Jehezkel and AFC Ajax Amsterdam defender Anton Gaaei play during the Ajax vs Maccabi Tel Aviv match at the Johan Cruijff ArenA for the UEFA Europa League in Amsterdam, Netherlands, on November 7, 2024. Photo: Stefan Koops – EYE4images via Reuters Connect

Street thugs across Europe are making Israeli athletes and their supporters unsafe. At the same time, bureaucrats are attempting to make Israelis unwelcome at international competitions.

Earlier this month, police in England, citing the potential for violence, barred Maccabi Tel Aviv supporters from attending a key match against Birmingham’s Aston Villa on November 6.

As British Culture Minister Lisa Nandy pointed out in a parliamentary speech against the ban, it was the first time in 25 years that visiting fans have been barred from attending a game in the United Kingdom.

The British government — embarrassed by the effective exclusion of Jewish attendees on the heels of an attack by a radical Islamist on a Manchester synagogue that claimed two lives — attempted to reverse the decision, but Maccabi’s management opted to refuse their ticket allocation, regardless.

“The wellbeing and safety of our fans is paramount,” Maccabi Tel Aviv said in a statement, “and from hard lessons learned, we have taken the decision to decline any allocation offered on behalf of away fans.”

Violence between opposing fan bases is all too common in soccer. But fans of Italian sides Genoa and Sampdoria aren’t barred from watching games their teams play in England, nor are supporters of Spanish clubs Barcelona and Real Madrid. That’s despite the fact that all of these fanbases have participated in bloodcurdling brawls in the last year.

Israel, however, is held to a different standard.

In this case, Maccabi’s traumatic night in the Netherlands last year was cited as a reason to fear violence. In Amsterdam, local Islamist vigilantes, not fans of Ajax, whom Maccabi were playing, launched a “Jew hunt” against the traveling Israelis on various messaging apps, using the raucous behavior of a tiny minority of Israeli supporters — behavior familiar to all soccer clubs — as cover for what Yad Vashem, Israel’s national memorial to the Holocaust, called a “pogrom.”

Maccabi correctly grasped that a repeat experience might await their fans in Birmingham, where radical Islamism among the city’s large Muslim population has proliferated over the last decade.

Four Islamist members of the House of Commons who were recently elected as independents standing on a Gaza solidarity platform helped instigate the Aston Villa ban.

Their campaign rested on claims that Maccabi fans had sparked the violence in Amsterdam. This overlooked the Dutch authorities’ conclusion that the Israelis were not responsible for the violence despite the bellicose chants of some of them. The police also “ignored” the advice of the British government’s advisor on antisemitism, Lord John Mann, who said that responsibility for the violence did not lie with the Maccabi fans.

Indeed, Nandy pointed out that the ban “was a decision not taken [because of] the risk posed by Maccabi Tel Aviv fans; it was a decision taken because of the risk posed to them, because they support an Israeli team and because they are Jewish.”

In reaching their decision, local police are also said to have used a report by the extreme anti-Zionist Hind Rajab Foundation — run by Dyab Abou Jahjah, a Belgian-based Islamist with ties to Hezbollah — which predictably blamed all the trouble on the Tel Aviv fans. The foundation’s purpose is to hunt down Israelis traveling overseas to have them arrested on allegations of war crimes.

By banning Israelis from a public event, British authorities placated virulent anti-Israel activists rather than confronting them. This kind of response is hardly limited to soccer and is not unique to the United Kingdom.

Following the circus of demonstrators harassing the Israeli cycling team in a Spanish tournament in September 2025, a major Italian cycling tournament banned the Israeli team for “public security” reasons.

In 2024, Israeli competitors were similarly excluded from a climbing competition in the Netherlands and a hockey tournament in Bulgaria — though pressure from the NHL reversed the hockey ban. Even if officially presented as concern for their safety, sports organizers are punishing Israelis for receiving death threats rather than standing up to violent agitators.

If not for the ceasefire in Gaza, UEFA, European soccer’s top governing body, likely would have ejected Israel. The proposed move rested on activists falsely depicting Israel’s war against the terrorist group Hamas as genocide. The exclusionary move was the boardroom version of the Amsterdam Jew hunt — a tyranny of the majority that holds anti-Israel views. Both the bureaucrats and the street brawlers justify their discrimination and harassment as responses to perceived Israeli crimes.

But the reality is that the Maccabi ban is an extension of the so-called “Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions” (BDS) campaign that solely targets Israeli individuals and associations — and which is itself the outgrowth of an Arab League boycott of Israel instituted three years before the Jewish State came into being.

Cloaked in the language of human rights, BDS seeks to eradicate the Jewish State and harass its supporters.

Jews getting chased in the streets and forced into hiding in the same city where Anne Frank and her family hid from the Nazis is obviously abhorrent. But the anti-Israel discrimination presented as safety concerns or human rights protection is more complicated to outside observers. Among Jews, as well as all those who understand the trajectory of antisemitism, both carry an unmistakable echo of the past: Jews are not wanted here.

Ben Cohen is a senior analyst and the rapid response director at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies (FDD), where David May is a senior research analyst and research manager. For more analysis from the authors and FDD, please subscribe HERE. Follow Ben and David on X @BenCohenOpinion and @DavidSamuelMay. Follow FDD on X @FDD. FDD is a Washington, DC-based, nonpartisan research institute focusing on national security and foreign policy.

Ari’el Stachel in “Other.” Photo: provided.

Theatre has always been one of the most powerful spaces for self-reflection. It is intimate and raw, placing us in the dark together while a performer unfolds a story that demands our attention. Unlike film or television, there is no screen to hide behind, no pause button, no escape. We share the same room, the same air, and we can’t look away.

Ari’el Stachel’s new solo play — originally staged as Out of Character and now retitled Other — leans fully into that vulnerability. Stachel, who grew up with a Yemeni-Jewish father and a European Ashkenazi mother, has lived his life moving between worlds. His Jewish story is the entry point, but the performance quickly expands outward. He is able to pass as Jewish, Arab, Middle Eastern, and even Black, depending on context. At times, this mobility is liberating, opening doors to multiple communities. At others it is alienating, leaving him with the disorienting sense of belonging everywhere and nowhere at once. Other is about carrying multiple voices within a single body and still searching for one authentic voice.

The backdrop of 9/11 looms large in Stachel’s account. As a boy in California, he watched his father — darker-skinned, bearded, recognizably Middle Eastern — suddenly become a figure of suspicion. Overnight, his family’s presence was filtered through the fear and mistrust that saturated America after the attacks. For Stachel, it was a formative trauma. He recounts how he began distancing himself from his father’s appearance and heritage, denying or reshaping parts of his identity in order to escape the judgments of others. What might have been a simple story of a mixed-heritage Jewish boyhood became a painful initiation into the politics of race, religion, and suspicion in post-9/11 America.

The performance is brutally honest. Stachel doesn’t just tell stories; he embodies dozens of characters — parents, teachers, classmates, inner demons — giving voice to the forces that shaped him. Critics who saw the earlier Out of Character noted how he performed more than 40 roles over the course of the evening, slipping between them with humor and intensity. At the center of it all is his anxiety, personified on stage as a relentless voice; a tormentor who exposes his insecurities and self-doubt. Even the physicality of the performance matters: at times, Stachel literally sweats under the strain, his body underscoring the emotional labor of wrestling with self-hood in public.

What makes Other so compelling is how it resists flattening. Stachel could have chosen to present a neat identity that pleased everyone. He could have leaned into his Ashkenazi heritage in Jewish spaces, downplayed his father’s Arab and Yemeni roots in the broader culture, or passed as Black when it fit. Instead, he embraces contradiction. He admits to the pain of passing, to the shame of dissembling, to the exhaustion of being welcomed everywhere but rooted nowhere. His honesty is not tidy, but it is deeply human and it is precisely what gives the play its moral force.

For Jews, Other carries special resonance. Too often, American Jewish life is imagined narrowly, as if it were monochrome and monolithic. In reality, it encompasses Ashkenazi, Sephardi, and Mizrahi heritages, as well as countless blends created by Diaspora and intermarriage. Stachel’s story insists that Jewish identity is wide, textured, and complex. By putting a Yemeni-Ashkenazi household on stage, he gives voice to Jews of color and Jews of mixed heritage who have too often felt peripheral in communal narratives. Other says clearly: you belong.

But Other is not just a Jewish story. It is also an Arab story, a Middle Eastern story, a Black story, and an American story. It is about what it means to be welcomed conditionally, mistrusted reflexively, and asked to define yourself in ways that never quite fit. For Arabs and Middle Eastern Americans, it is rare representation that does not reduce or stereotype. For Black Americans, it echoes the struggle of reconciling self-knowledge with the perceptions imposed by others. And for every young American navigating multiple expectations — between family and school, tradition and modernity, online and offline — it is a reminder that identity is not a slogan but a journey.

The play also speaks to our cultural moment. Cancel culture and digital performance have created an environment where young people feel pressure to present a polished, singular self for approval. Nuance is suspect. Ambiguity is punished. Doubt is treated as weakness. Other resists that world. It demonstrates that wholeness comes not from clarity but from wrestling — not from erasing contradictions, but from inhabiting them.

That is why Other deserves more than applause from Jewish audiences. It deserves to be seen as a work that speaks to all Americans, and especially to the rising generation. It shows that identity is not fixed but fluid, that belonging is never simple, and that authenticity often comes through tension rather than resolution. These are lessons our fractured culture badly needs.

Great theatre does not just entertain; it enlarges our sympathies. It forces us to see ourselves in another’s story and to carry that recognition out of the theatre and back into the world. Stachel’s Other does exactly that. It challenges Jews to expand our sense of who belongs. It challenges Americans to reconsider the categories we use to define one another. And it challenges young people to resist the temptations of performance and to find their authentic voice in the midst of contradiction.

In Jewish tradition, we often return to the story of Jacob wrestling with the angel. It is a story of struggle without resolution, of wounds that endure, but also of blessings that come only through the fight. Stachel’s play is a modern wrestling. It is a man confronting his many “others,” refusing easy answers, and choosing to tell the truth of his fractured self. That is why it is Jewish. That is why it is universal. And that is why every young American should see it.

Samuel J. Abrams is a professor of politics at Sarah Lawrence College and a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.

Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney speaks as he and US President Donald Trump (not pictured) meet in the Oval Office at the White House in Washington, DC, US, Oct. 7, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Evelyn Hockstein

For Jewish Canadians, the period after October 7 has been a lonely time.

The Biblical phrase from the Book of Numbers, describing the Israelites as “a people that dwells alone; not reckoned among the nations,” seems particularly apt today.

Fred Maroun, a Canadian of Lebanese origin, compares the lack of support for the Jewish people after October 7 to their abandonment during the Holocaust. Maroun also remarks on a truth rarely seen in Western media: Hamas’ use of Palestinian civilians and Israeli hostages as human shields has resulted in the demonization of Israel around the world.

But not by everyone. A number of Indigenous Canadian activists have been outspoken in their support for Israel and the Jewish people. They have rejected the attempt to establish a point of intersection between their own efforts to assert their identities and cultures, and the aims and practices employed by Hamas and its supporters.

On October 16, 2023, just eight days after the Hamas attack on Israel, Meaghie Champion, an Indigenous Canadian from British Columbia, criticized the use of the term “decolonization” as a fig leaf for supporting Hamas.

“Decolonization is not about rape, kidnapping, hostage taking, mass violence and child-murder,” Champion said. Indigenous struggles in North America have been predominantly peaceful.

Six months later, Harry Laforme and Karen Restoule, prominent Indigenous Canadians, made the same point in the National Post. Describing themselves as Anishinaabe Zionists (Anishinaabe are Indigenous peoples from the Great Lakes region of North America), they emphasize that Jews are indigenous to the Middle East. According to them, accusations related to colonization and decolonization do not justify terror, violence, kidnapping and rape.

I live in Waterloo, a small city in Ontario that is home to two universities. Both of them are located on traditional territory of Indigenous peoples, a point acknowledged at all university functions and special events. Laforme and Restoule note the irony of pro-Palestinian university demonstrations and encampments taking place on Indigenous land for purposes of exclusion, antisemitism, lawlessness, and hate.

This past May, Laforme, the first Indigenous appellate court judge in Canadian history, gave a talk at Tel Aviv University’s Democracy Forum, in which he described how Indigenous history is weaponized to promote antisemitism. In effect, pro-Palestinian activists in Canada use Israel as a stand-in for colonial guilt as “a way to absolve and redirect collective shame over Indigenous suffering.”

Indigenous groups in other parts of the world have also voiced strong support for Israel, particularly those in New Zealand and Australia. The Indigenous Embassy Jerusalem, founded in 2024 by Sheree Trotter and Alfred Nagaro, both of New Zealand, is a platform for Indigenous nations to express their solidarity with Israel and the Jewish people. Indeed, Sheree Trotter and other Embassy representatives participated in Toronto’s impressive March for Israel last May.

Why this sense of kinship? Knowing what it is like to be targeted for extermination must have a lot to do with it. Indeed, the violent language used by pro-Palestinian protestors, the use of terms such as “by any means necessary” and “there is only one solution, intifada revolution,” are offensive and genocidal, and suggest the intent of extinction.

Indigenous Canadians know about genocide. Laforme and Restoule note that when questioned about the high death rate among Indigenous children in Residential Schools, one senior Canadian bureaucrat said, in 1910, “this alone does not justify a change in the policy of this Department, which is geared to the final solution of our Indian problem.” Yes, another final solution.

When it comes to advocacy on behalf of Israel and the Jewish people, perhaps Ryan Bellerose, a Métis activist from northern Manitoba, takes the prize. For more than a decade, Bellerose has been writing articles, giving addresses, and appearing on social media as an unwavering supporter of the indigenous claim of the Jewish people to the Land of Israel.

To Ryan Bellerose and Harry Laforme, Israel is an example, possibly the only one, of a people that achieved self-determination in their ancestral homeland. Bellerose also points out that indigenous rights are about respecting the rights of those who came before you.

A narrative based on the denial of Jewish history — and the lie that Zionists are merely European settler-colonialists — will never lead to peace between Israelis and Palestinians.

Jacob Sivak, a Fellow of the Royal Society of Canada, is a retired professor, University of Waterloo.