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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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Pakistan, Indonesia Closing in on Jets and Drones Defense Deal, Sources Say
A JF-17 Thunder fighter jet of the Pakistan Air Force takes off from Mushaf base in Sargodha, north Pakistan, June 7, 2013. Photo: REUTERS/Zohra Bensemra
Indonesia‘s defense minister met Pakistan‘s air force chief in Islamabad to discuss a potential deal that includes the sale of combat jets and killer drones to Jakarta, three security officials with knowledge of the meeting on Monday said.
The talks come as Pakistan‘s defense industry moves forward with a series of defense procurement negotiations, including deals with Libya’s National Army and Sudan’s army, and looks to establish itself as a sizable regional player.
One source said the talks revolved around the sale of JF-17 jets, a multi-role combat aircraft jointly developed by Pakistan and China, and drones designed for surveillance and striking targets. The other two sources said the talks were in an advanced stage and involved more than 40 JF-17 jets. One of them said Indonesia was also interested in Pakistan‘s Shahpar drones.
The sources did not share any discussions about delivery timelines and the number of years a proposed deal would span.
Both Indonesia‘s Defense Ministry and Pakistan‘s military confirmed the meeting between Indonesian Defense Minister Sjafrie Sjamsoeddin and Pakistan‘s Air Chief Marshal Zaheer Ahmed Baber Sidhu.
“The meeting focused on discussing general defense cooperation relations, including strategic dialogue, strengthening communication between defense institutions, and opportunities for mutually beneficial cooperation in various fields in the long term,” defense ministry spokesperson Brigadier General Rico Ricardo Sirait told Reuters, adding the talks had not yet led to concrete decisions.
The Pakistani military confirmed the meeting in a statement and also said the defense minister met army chief Field Marshal Asim Munir for talks that “focused on matters of mutual interest, evolving regional and global security dynamics, and exploration of avenues for enhancing bilateral defense cooperation.”
INDONESIA REPLACING AGEING AIR FORCE FLEET
One additional security source with knowledge of military procurement talks said Pakistan was discussing the sale of JF-17 Thunder jets, air defense systems, training for junior, mid-level, and senior Indonesian air force officials, and engineering staff.
“The Indonesia deal is in the pipeline,” retired Air Marshal Asim Suleiman, who remains briefed on air force deals, told Reuters, adding that the number of JF-17 jets involved was close to 40.
Indonesia‘s President Prabowo Subianto was in Pakistan last month for a two-day visit for talks on improving bilateral ties, including defense.
Indonesia has put in a slew of orders for jets in the past few years, including 42 French Rafale jets worth $8.1 billion in 2022 and 48 KAAN fighter jets from Turkey last year to strengthen its air force and replace its ageing air force fleet.
Jakarta has also considered buying China’s J-10 fighter jets and is in talks to purchase US-made F-15EX jets.
PAKISTAN‘S RISING DEFENCE INDUSTRY
Interest in the Pakistani military’s weapons development program has surged since its jets were deployed in a short conflict with India last year.
The JF-17s have been at the center of that growing attention, figuring in a deal with Azerbaijan and the $4 billion weapons pact with the Libyan National Army.
Pakistan is also eyeing a defense pact with Bangladesh that could include the Super Mushshak training jets and JF-17s, as ties improve with Dhaka.
Reuters has also reported that Islamabad was in talks with Riyadh for a defense deal that could be worth between $2 billion and $4 billion and involves the conversion of Saudi loans into military supplies.
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When a Synagogue Burns in Mississippi, the Jewish Community Is on Trial
Illustrative: The remains of the Adas Israel synagogue in Duluth Minnesota after it was destroyed by fire, September 9, 2019. Photo: screenshot.
It happened again.
On January 10, 2026, the Beth Israel Congregation in Jackson, Mississippi — the only synagogue in the state capital — was deliberately set ablaze. Torah scrolls were destroyed. Offices and sacred spaces were gutted. Services were suspended indefinitely. This was not an accident. This was antisemitism in action. This was an attack on our people, our heritage, and our community.
Beth Israel has stood for more than 160 years as a pillar of Jewish life in Mississippi. Founded in 1860, it became the first synagogue in the state, and the spiritual home of generations of Jewish families in Jackson.
In 1967, during a period of intense resistance to civil rights, members of the Ku Klux Klan bombed the synagogue’s offices and damaged part of its library because its rabbi, Perry Nussbaum, spoke out against racism and stood in solidarity with the broader struggle for justice. Two months later, the same white supremacists bombed Rabbi Nussbaum’s home. The congregation rebuilt, continued its mission of social engagement, and became an enduring symbol of resilience and moral courage. And yet, decades later, Beth Israel faces another deliberate attack — a reminder that anti-Jewish hatred, while once carried out by the KKK, has found a new, resurgent justification in today’s surge of antisemitism.
As Jews and Zionists, we know this is not an isolated incident. It is part of a national epidemic of Jew-hatred that will not be solved by polite statements or fleeting news coverage.
In 2024, the FBI recorded the highest number of hate crimes ever against Jewish Americans — representing nearly 70 percent of all religion-based hate crimes, despite Jews comprising only 2 percent of the population. The Anti-Defamation League documented 9,354 antisemitic incidents nationwide, averaging more than 25 anti-Jewish acts per day — harassment, vandalism, assault, bomb threats, and terroristic intimidation.
These attacks are not abstract. They are assaults on our schools, synagogues, community centers, and public events. In New York City alone, 57 percent of recorded hate crimes were antisemitic, even though Jews make up only 12 percent of the population. These incidents are warnings, not anomalies. They are a call to action for every Jew, every Zionist, every supporter of Jewish life and democratic society.
Too often, violence against Jews is excused, minimized, or reframed as political debate. Let me be clear: anti-Jewish hatred has no justification — not as political protest, not as critique of government policy, and certainly not as legitimate discourse. Calling for the destruction of Jews, attacking Jewish institutions, or celebrating violence against Jews is not activism. It is bigotry. It is terror. And when these acts are treated as “one-offs” by the media and authorities, society begins to normalize Jew-hatred.
Our safety is our responsibility. We cannot wait for others to defend us. As a community, we must rise visibly, vocally, and strategically: speak out against antisemitism; demand law enforcement rigorously enforce hate crime laws; protect our institutions with security and moral support; and refuse to let incidents fade from memory. This is not optional. Silence now is complicity.
History and current events show us the stakes. From attacks on synagogues in France, Germany, and the US, to bomb threats and vandalism across campuses and community centers, Jew-hatred is often excused or rationalized — sometimes internationally, sometimes domestically. We have seen how quickly tolerance for attacks on Jews can lead to broader attacks on democracy itself. When Jewish life is threatened, American society is threatened.
What begins with Jews does not end with Jews. Attacks on Jews are a symptom of democratic decay. We, the inheritors of a legacy of survival, resilience, and moral courage, must respond with strength, unity, and action.
To Jewish Americans: stand unapologetically and visibly.
To Zionists: turn moral outrage into organized action and communal defense.
To all defenders of democracy: recognize that antisemitism is not an isolated problem; it is a crisis of values — and act accordingly.
The fire in Mississippi is not just a warning flare. We will not let it be a signal of defeat. We will rise. We will resist. We will protect. And we will fight forward — unapologetically, visibly, and together. Jewish life, and the principles we defend, depend on it.
Yuval David is an Emmy Award–winning journalist, filmmaker, and actor. An internationally recognized advocate for Jewish and LGBT rights, he is a strategic advisor to diplomatic missions and NGOs, and a contributor to global news outlets in broadcast and print news. He focuses on combating antisemitism, extremism, and promoting democratic values and human dignity. Learn more at YuvalDavid.com, instagram.com/Yuval_David_, x.com/yuvaldavid, youtube.com/yuvaldavid, and across social media.
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From Kanye, to Nick Fuentes and Megyn Kelly: Why J.D. Vance’s Silence Matters Now
US Vice President JD Vance delivers remarks at the Wilshire Federal Building in Los Angeles, California, U.S., June 20, 2025. Phone: REUTERS/Daniel Cole/File Photo
In moments of political stress, the most revealing test of leadership is not rhetoric but refusal: what a leader will not tolerate, what he or she will not excuse, and what they will not leave unnamed.
That is why Vice President J.D. Vance’s persistent failure to confront antisemitism on the populist right must be treated as a primary concern, not a side issue.
In a recent interview with Tucker Carlson, Megyn Kelly spoke approvingly of Nick Fuentes — an openly antisemitic extremist who has praised Hitler, embraced totalitarianism, and argued that Jews should be excluded from American civic life.
Kelly described Fuentes as “very smart” and suggested his ideas had value for the country. Carlson appeared to agree. Within 24 hours of that exchange, Candace Owens reposted Kanye West’s infamous “Death Con 3 on Jewish people” tweet and called it a “vibe.”
This is not fringe behavior leaking into the mainstream. It is the mainstream.
And it is happening inside the political ecosystem that Vice President Vance now helps lead.
Vance’s ties to Carlson are not incidental. Carlson is not merely adjacent to Vance’s politics; he is a close ally, and Vance even employs Carlson’s son. Carlson’s reach — tens of millions of people each week across podcasts, clips, and social platforms — is enormous. That influence now includes the normalization of figures and ideas that were once considered politically radioactive.
That is the context in which Vance’s silence must be judged.
A growing cohort of influential right-wing pundits has adopted a conspiratorial style long associated with antisemitic politics. With Candace Owens as a notable exception, most avoid naming “the Jews” directly, relying instead on euphemisms — “globalists,” shadowy elites, cultural engineers, disloyal insiders. The vocabulary is coded; the architecture is unmistakable.
Carlson has popularized this conspiratorial worldview for millions. Owens has given it its most explicit voice — recycling classic antisemitic libels about Jewish control of finance and media, falsely blaming Jews for the slave trade, attacking Jewish identity itself, and even defending Kanye West’s call for violence against Jews.
Kelly has moved from accommodation to outright normalization, publicly praising Fuentes and treating an admirer of Hitler as a legitimate political voice.
Together, these figures reach tens of millions of Americans across television, YouTube, X, podcasts, and livestreams. Fuentes himself commands a large online following through his “Groyper” network. This is not marginal radicalism. It is mass politics.
Yet from the highest levels of Republican leadership — including the vice presidency — there has been no sustained, unequivocal rejection of these figures or the ideology they propagate.
When asked about antisemitism on the right, Vance has insisted that figures like Tucker Carlson are unfairly maligned and that the Republican “big tent” does not have an antisemitism problem. His framing reduces antisemitism to a vague subset of “extremism,” effectively sidestepping the ideology and its consequences.
The only clear break in Vance’s pattern of evasion proves the rule. When Fuentes grotesquely attacked Vance’s wife on racist grounds, Vance responded clearly and immediately.
But when Jews are targeted, when antisemitic narratives are normalized, and when eliminationist rhetoric spreads through the very coalition that sustains him, the response is silence or deflection. That distinction matters.
Silence Is a Choice and Antisemitism Is Not a Side Issue
No serious political actor is unaware of what is happening. This antisemitism is not subtle. It is rhetorically patterned and widely documented.
We have already seen where this pattern leads. Democratic leaders long ignored antisemitism on the progressive left, laundering it as “anti-Zionism” and activism. It produced exclusion, purity tests, and the quiet normalization of treating mainstream Jewish identity as a problem.
The Democratic Party’s antisemitism problem was not an accident. It was the result of leaders who refused to draw lines early. Some notable Republicans have shown that it is possible to confront this threat directly. Vance, however, appears to be repeating the Democrats’ failure from the right.
Antisemitism does not behave like a policy disagreement that can be managed. It behaves like fire. Once given oxygen, it spreads — from insinuation to justification, from justification to action. Once permitted, it does not remain contained.
And the problem doesn’t just concern Jewish Americans. Antisemitism has always been the earliest warning sign of democratic decay.
Societies do not begin by persecuting everyone. They begin by deciding that one group does not fully belong. Jews have been assigned that role with grim consistency across history.
When antisemitism is normalized — explained, contextualized, ignored — violence follows. Moral barriers erode. Victims are abstracted.
American Jews are seeing those patterns again: campus exclusions, ideological tests, street violence explained away as “context,” and political leaders unwilling to draw lines. This is why antisemitism is not just another culture-war issue. It is a stress test for liberal democracy itself.
Leaders draw boundaries. Through what they name, condemn, or ignore, they signal which ideas corrode civic life and which are allowed to spread.
Vance’s refusal to confront antisemitism — while some figures in his political orbit praise Fuentes and his coalition gives space to rhetoric that threatens Jews — sends a clear message: some forms of hatred are acceptable if they arrive wrapped in populist grievance. There is no neutral ground here. To refuse to draw the line is to move it.
A Moment of Decision
This is not a demand for ideological purity. It is a demand for moral clarity.
Criticizing elites is legitimate. Questioning institutions is healthy. Good-faith debate about America’s relationship with Israel is perfectly valid in a democracy. None of that requires trafficking in conspiratorial antisemitism, excusing it, or pretending not to see it when it appears.
History is unforgiving on this point. Leaders who believed they could harness antisemitism without being consumed by it were always wrong.
J.D. Vance is not a spectator in this moment. He is Vice President of the United States, with power and choice.
If antisemitism continues to metastasize inside the political coalition Vance is helping to build, he will not merely have failed to stop it. He will own part of the cost.
Micha Danzig is an attorney, former IDF soldier, and former NYPD officer. He writes widely on Israel, Zionism, antisemitism, and Jewish history. He serves on the board of Herut North America.