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The part of the Hanukkah story we ignore — and why it matters to converts like me
Converts to Judaism are often treated as rare exceptions — surprised looks, intrusive questions, comments like “who’s the lucky girl.” Yet conversion is no anomaly. It is now more common than at any point in the last 2,000 years. You see it in synagogue pews. You see it in rabbinical leadership.
As Hanukkah approaches, with its call to make Jewish identity visible, I keep returning to what happens when people choose Judaism — and to the parts of our tradition that do not fit the story we usually tell.
We often repeat that Judaism doesn’t seek converts. But clearly, people are seeking Judaism. Hanukkah forces us to ask what kind of Judaism they are finding by looking at the holiday’s own complicated history with power and conversion.
We usually tell Hanukkah as a straightforward story of good and evil: a small band of Jews defends their faith against an empire, and a miracle in the Temple affirms that steadfastness can overcome adversity. The holiday’s defining commandment, pirsum ha-nes — publicly proclaiming the miracle — seems equally simple. We put the menorah in the window for all to see. Judaism doesn’t hide.
But if you look more closely at the history behind that beloved story, Hanukkah is also about force, conversion and the question of what kind of Judaism we choose to embody when we’re no longer powerless.
John Hyrcanus, a later Hasmonean ruler and direct descendant of the Maccabees, is rarely mentioned in Hanukkah celebrations. Yet his legacy haunts the holiday. A generation after the revolt, Hyrcanus used the political power of the Hasmonean kingdom to forcibly convert the neighboring Idumeans to Judaism. A movement that began as resistance to assimilation ended in the coerced assimilation of others. The people whose story we tell as a fight for religious freedom became, in time, the ones taking that freedom away.
It’s an uncomfortable truth, especially for those of us who, like me, chose Judaism. I didn’t convert to marry in or reclaim distant ancestry. I converted because I saw in Judaism a faith worth choosing: a tradition grounded in human dignity and a God who seeks relationship. For years I was told Judaism was always a non-proselytizing, purely voluntary faith, the opposite of traditions that sought converts — including Jews — through coercion.
But our own texts complicate that narrative. Near the end of the Book of Esther, in a verse most Purim spiels rush past, we read: “And many of the people of the land professed to be Jews, for the fear of the Jews had fallen upon them.” That is not a story of seekers drawn by theology, but of people compelled to join the Jews out of fear.
When Judaism welcomed seekers
Those coercive moments sit alongside a very different strand of Jewish history — one in which Judaism didn’t force, but attracted. In the late Hellenistic and early Roman era, Christian and Jewish sources describe synagogues filled not only with those born Jewish but with converts and “God-fearers,” people drawn to Jewish ethics, study and monotheism. As a convert drawn to Judaism by faith alone, I came to see myself not as an anomaly, but as part of that long line.
Centuries later, a similar universalist voice resurfaced in 19th-century America, especially in the early Reform movement. Rabbis such as Isaac Mayer Wise preached Judaism’s mission not as an inward inheritance but as a message about human dignity meant for the world.
In 1870, laying the cornerstone of Columbus, Ohio’s first synagogue, Wise told a largely non-Jewish crowd that Judaism’s purpose was to remind humanity that “God hath made man upright,” A direct rejection of the Christian doctrine of Original Sin. Synagogues etched Isaiah’s verse — “For My house shall be a house of prayer for all peoples” — onto their facades and welcomed neighbors of every faith inside. Converts were welcomed as a natural extension of that conviction.
That confidence, too, was battered by history. Mass immigration of Eastern European Jews, the Holocaust, and the urgent work of supporting refugees and the new State of Israel all pushed the universalist voice to the background. Yet, more people are converting to Judaism than at any point since Roman times.
Meanwhile, religious identity in North America has become unusually fluid. Many people describe themselves as spiritually seeking but institutionally unaffiliated, brushing against Jewish life through family, friendships or personal study.
And yet, the gatekeeping persists. Converts are asked to defend their legitimacy. Jews-by-choice face skepticism in Israeli bureaucracy and suspicion in American Jewish spaces. I’ve been told I “don’t look Jewish,” and once, at a community film screening, another attendee — a fellow Jew — grabbed my name tag and publicly questioned whether I was really Jewish.
Those moments aren’t just rude; they reveal a deeper anxiety about boundaries: the fear that if Judaism is too open, it will lose itself. It’s a fortress mentality, one that sees every door as a potential breach.
What Judaism we reveal now
Hanukkah offers another possibility. The holiday asks us to present Judaism so that others can see it. It remembers a moment when Jews refused to disappear, and it also reminds us that Jews have sometimes used political power in ways that betrayed our deepest values. To take Hanukkah seriously in our time is to recognize that Jewish history, like the histories of all faiths, holds moments of both coercion and holiness — and that we have a choice about which lineage to lean into now, when seekers are again at the door.
The question is not whether Judaism should send out missionaries. Rather, it is whether we will live as if Isaiah’s verse still says what we claim it does: that our house is meant to be a house of prayer for all peoples, including those who, in every generation, find their way to our door.
This Hanukkah, as we place our menorahs in doorways, balconies and windows, the question beneath pirsum ha-nes is sharp: What kind of Jewish confidence are we proclaiming — a brittle confidence that closes in on itself, or a steadier confidence that welcomes those moved by the stories and ethics we are illuminating?
The miracle is not only that the Jewish people have survived. It is that Judaism continues to draw people in. The doors we open — or keep shut — will determine who gets to stand in that glow with us.
The post The part of the Hanukkah story we ignore — and why it matters to converts like me appeared first on The Forward.
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Ran Gvili, last remaining Israeli hostage in Gaza, featured on 2 Times Square digital billboards
(JTA) — Commuters in Times Square were confronted this week with a new digital billboard demanding the release of the final remaining hostage in Gaza, Ran Gvili.
“Hamas must release him now,” the billboard reads next to a photo of Gvili. “The last Israeli hostage held in Gaza.”
Gvili, a 24-year-old police officer who was killed defending Kibbutz Alumim during Hamas’ Oct. 7, 2023 attacks, was one of roughly 250 hostages taken into Gaza.
The billboard, which is part of an effort led by the Israeli Consulate in New York and Israeli Foreign Minister Gideon Sa’ar, comes nearly two months after all 20 living hostages were returned to Israel as part of a U.S.-brokered ceasefire deal between Israel and Hamas.
Since then, the remaining deceased hostages in Gaza have been returned intermittently, including the remains of Thai agricultural worker Sudthisak Rinthalak last week, in a slow process that has extended tensions between Israel and Hamas.
Last month, the American Jewish Committee launched its own billboard campaign in Times Square that featured a montage of the remaining hostages in Gaza. Today, the display only features Gvili.
“The nightmare isn’t over,” the AJC’s billboard reads, according to a video the group posted on Youtube Tuesday, followed by a photo of Gvili’s mother holding a hostage poster of him with the caption, “A family incomplete.”
Later in the slideshow, the screen displays a photo of Gvili with the caption, “Over two years later, Hamas still holds Ran hostage in Gaza,” before ending with the message, “Bring Ran home now.”
As the number of hostages has dwindled and the weekly hostage rallies have come to a close, Gvili’s parents have become the only hostage family members in the public eye.
“We’re at the last stretch and we have to be strong, for Rani, for us, and for Israel. Without Rani, our country can’t heal,” Gvili’s mother, Talik, told Reuters on Monday.
Once Gvili is returned, the ceasefire plan is supposed to move into its second phase as laid out in a plan devised by President Donald Trump this fall.
Trump has said phase two is imminent. But while Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu told reporters Sunday he expects the plan to move into its second phase “very shortly,” Hamas political bureau member Husam Badran said on Tuesday that Israel had not yet honored its part of the deal, pointing to the continued closure of the Rafah crossing with Egypt. (Israel has said the crossing will open soon to allow Palestinians to exit Gaza.)
Both Israel and Hamas would lose authority in Gaza during the next phase of Trump’s plan, which would establish a “Board of Peace” helmed by Trump to make decisions about Gaza’s future. It is expected that the Palestinian Authority will play a role in the board, which Israeli officials have said they oppose, and Hamas will face renewed pressure to disarm, which it does not want to do.
Some have speculated that Hamas knows the location of Gvili’s remains but has not released them to avoid bringing the hostage-release phase of the ceasefire to an end. That leaves him and his story of Oct. 7 heroism in the public eye for longer.
“We will not forget for a single moment Ran Gvili, an Israeli hero. Even with an injured shoulder, Ran went out to defend and repel the Hamas monsters who invaded Israel on October 7, 2023,” said Ofir Akunis, the consul general of Israel in New York, in a statement about the Times Square billboard. “Israel demands that Hamas fully complete Phase A before we proceed to the beginning of Phase B of President Trump’s plan.”
The post Ran Gvili, last remaining Israeli hostage in Gaza, featured on 2 Times Square digital billboards appeared first on The Forward.
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Qatar’s Sudden Moral Outrage on Gaza Reconstruction Rings Hollow
Qatar’s Prime Minister and Minister for Foreign Affairs Sheikh Mohammed bin Abdulrahman bin Jassim Al-Thani speaks on the first day of the 23rd edition of the annual Doha Forum, in Doha, Qatar, December 6, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Ibraheem Abu Mustafa
Qatar delivered one of the most revealing geopolitical moments of the year when its prime minister, Mohammed Abdulrahman Al Thani, announced that Doha will not pay to rebuild Gaza.
The irony is extraordinary. Qatar, the same state that hosted Hamas’ top leadership for more than a decade, financed Gaza’s bureaucracy, and positioned itself as Hamas’ indispensable diplomatic back channel, now insists it bears no responsibility for the consequences of the very organization it nurtured.
The sudden rediscovery of fiscal restraint would be amusing if the implications weren’t so revealing.
What Doha is attempting is not moral clarity. It is narrative control. By refusing to participate in reconstruction, Qatar avoids the unavoidable admission that its financial, political, and media patronage strengthened the organization that triggered the current war.
If Gaza was “destroyed,” as Qatari officials tirelessly proclaim, then a basic question follows: destroyed in response to what? Hamas executed the October 7 massacre, built an underground fortress of tunnels, stockpiled rockets in civilian zones, and systematically transformed Gaza into a militarized enclave. These were not accidental byproducts of governance. They were deliberate investments — and Qatar was Hamas’ most generous financial sponsor.
The record is not a matter of political interpretation. US Treasury designations, UN reports, and major independent investigations have repeatedly documented that Qatar-based donors, charities, and intermediaries supported Hamas, alongside Al-Qaeda affiliates in Syria, Iraq, Yemen, and Mali. Qatari individuals sanctioned by the United States have also raised funds for Jabhat al-Nusra (HTS).
These findings are not Israeli claims; they originate from American counterterrorism authorities and multilateral bodies.
Yet Qatar continues to brand itself as a humanitarian benefactor to Gaza. In practice, its “relief payments” repeatedly functioned as political leverage: money that sustained Hamas’ rule and relieved the organization of basic governing responsibilities, all while allowing Doha to posture as a benevolent mediator.
Meanwhile, other regional powers have made their terms clear regarding Gaza reconstruction. The UAE and Saudi Arabia insist that any reconstruction of Gaza must be tied to a political framework that prevents Hamas from reconstituting itself. Qatar, by contrast, has spent years cultivating an outcome in which Hamas survives as a viable actor, preserving Doha’s influence and its role as a necessary mediator.
If Hamas’ military infrastructure is dismantled, Qatar is left with a failed investment and is now eager to disclaim responsibility for the outcome.
This dynamic is not new. For more than a decade, Qatar and Iran have served as parallel financial engines for Islamist militant groups across the region, using state funds, quasi-state charities, and well-connected private donors to support this activity. Western governments long tolerated the arrangement because Qatar hosts a major US air base, commands immense energy wealth, and uses its media empire to shape regional debate. But the mask is slipping. Doha’s attempt to distance itself from the consequences of its own policy choices exposes a contradiction it can no longer conceal.
This leads to the essential question: who still takes Qatar’s moral lectures seriously?
A state that sheltered Hamas’ leadership now claims neutrality. A state whose sanctioned donors aided extremist networks now positions itself as a humanitarian authority. A state that spent years empowering the group responsible for one of the worst atrocities in modern history now refuses to help rebuild the territory devastated by that group’s actions.
The world should stop pretending not to see the pattern. Qatar’s diplomatic theater cannot hide the facts. The Emirate has influence, resources, and global reach. What it lacks, despite its insistence, is credibility.
Sabine Sterk is CEO of Time To Stand Up For Israel.
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How the Palestinian Authority Encourages Children to Die for Allah
A group of Palestinian children being taught that Israel will be destroyed. Photo: Palestinian Media Watch.
Instead of encouraging children to reach heights in education and contribute something positive in their lives, the Palestinian Authority (PA) Ministry of Education continues to indoctrinate children to see dying for Allah – Shahada (Martyrdom) – as the great ideal.
This child abuse was once again highlighted last week during celebrations of the UN’s “International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People.”
The Tulkarem Directorate of Education proudly posted photos on Facebook — taken at the school events — of children holding signs glorifying Martyrdom.
One sign portrayed Martyrs as smelling sweeter than a jasmine flower:
“How could a jasmine not envy a homeland that smells of Martyrs?” [Tulkarem Directorate of Education, Facebook page, Dec. 2, 2025]
Another sign proclaimed: “We will live like soaring eagles, and we will die like proud lions; we are all for the homeland and we are all for Palestine.”
These slogans encapsulate the PA’s indoctrination that Martyrdom, even for children, is not tragic or regrettable, but something beautiful, fragrant, and desirable. The PA is encouraging violence, and glorifying the murder of Jews.
Other posters held by students featured the PA map of “Palestine,” which erases Israel and displays the entire territory from the Jordan River to the Mediterranean Sea as Palestinian land:
One sign was accompanied by the slogan: “The compass will never deviate from the path and will continue to point towards Palestine.”
Other students carried large symbolic keys, representing the so-called “right of return,” which the PA teaches is an inevitable immigration to all of Israel’s cities and towns of nearly six million Arab descendants of so-called “refugees.”
The message to the children is that Israel has no right to exist and that the national mission, or “the path,” remains the elimination of Israel.
The events were attended by high-level PA officials, including Tulkarem Education Directorate Director-General Mazen Jarrar, Tulkarem District representative Rasha Sabah, and Fatah Movement Tulkarem Branch Secretary Iyad Jarrad.
These official PA education events, which glorify violence, romanticize Martyrdom, erase Israel from the map, and instill lifelong hatred towards Israel, are all part of the ongoing PA campaign to ensure that the next generation denies Israel’s right to exist and is willing to fight and seek death to achieve its goals.
The author is the Founder and Director of Palestinian Media Watch, where a version of this article first appeared.