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The war in Gaza is over. The battle to stop Israel from becoming Sparta is just beginning.
Now that the war in Gaza appears to have come to an end and Hamas has returned the remaining 20 living hostages to their families, we can fully expect Israel’s enemies and other critics across the globe to turn their attention to the declared intention of some of the extremist members of the Israeli government to formally make the West Bank part of a greater Israel that stretches from the Jordan River to the Mediterranean.
Except, of course, that President Donald Trump seems to have preemptively put the kibosh on any such scenario. “I will not allow Israel to annex the West Bank,” Trump told reporters two weeks ago. “It’s not going to happen.”
Trump realizes and has said out loud the simple truth that Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his acolytes stubbornly ignore: Israel cannot endure in the long run by permanently subjugating the Palestinian population of the territories it has held since the June 1967 Six-Day War. More importantly, as Trump told Netanyahu in a telephone conversation this past week, “Israel can’t fight the world.” Or as he told Netanyahu during his speech to the Knesset on Monday, “Be a little bit nicer, Bibi, because you’re not at war anymore. … You don’t want to have to go through this again.”
An Israeli – or Jewish – hegemony over what was once the biblical land of Judea and in due course morphed into pre-1948 British Mandatory Palestine is not and has never been the goal of mainstream Zionism as conceived and understood by the likes of Theodor Herzl, Chaim Weizmann, David Ben-Gurion and Louis D. Brandeis. But with the concept and essence of Zionism widely misunderstood or deliberately mischaracterized, it is more critical than ever to place the broad and multifaceted nature of this ethnocultural ideology in its accurate historical context.
We know whereof we speak. We are both unabashed Zionists who unequivocally identify with the State of Israel even though we radically disagree with the extremist ideology and many of the policies of its present government. One of us is a former national president of the Labor Zionist Alliance and past member of the Zionist General Council which oversees the work and activities of the World Zionist Organization. The other has been a visiting professor at both the Hebrew University in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv University, and maintains ongoing relations with both. We are long-time supporters of the Israeli-Palestinian peace process. One of us met with Yasser Arafat and senior leaders of the Palestine Liberation Organization together with four other American Jews in Stockholm in December 1988, resulting in the PLO’s first public acceptance of Israel as a state in the Middle East. The other is presently writing a book on the early socialist founders of modern Israel.
Trump’s above-quoted comments regarding the West Bank came against the backdrop of an earlier pronouncement by Netanyahu in which he resurrected the old meme of Israel as latter-day Sparta. Acknowledging Israel’s ever-increasing political and economic isolation in consequence of what then still seemed as his government’s seemingly interminable war in Gaza, Netanyahu declared that his country “will increasingly need to adapt to an economy with autarkic characteristics” and become a “super-Sparta.”
Had Netanyahu’s reference been to Plutarch’s account of the ancient Greek polity — a society highly unified, disciplined, and militarily formidable when existentially threatened – then perhaps, fair enough. The problem with his analogy, however, is what it leaves out: First, that Sparta’s hegemonic dominance was decisively and permanently ended by its catastrophic defeat at the hands of a far superior Theban army at the Battle of Leuctra in 371 BCE. And, more importantly, second, that Israel was meant by its socialist founders to emulate Athens more than Sparta, and that most of its population longs to return to this “Athenian normal” even as its current leaders try to force it into a Sparta-only straight-jacket.
There are, in short, two conflicting contemporary visions of Israel that can, when taken in “absolutist” fashion, distort understandings of both the Athenian and the Spartan aspects of today’s Israel. Peace, progress and prosperity await both refinement and synthesis of both visions.
The first vision, part of which was at the core of the Labor-Zionist-guided establishment of Israel under U.N. auspices in 1948, is of a democratic polity rooted in not only the quintessentially Jewish values of justice and social solidarity but also, equally important, a Jeffersonian-republican model of social democracy pursuant to which religiously and ethnically diverse groups coexist and co-govern as a matter of course.
This vision requires updating in one subtle respect to stay true to the Israel-as-Athens picture: namely, by supplementing the largely pastoral-agricultural imaginary of Israel’s primarily kibbutznik Labor-Zionist founders (not to mention of Jefferson himself) with a now-fuller and more productively-diversified picture of the Israel now widely called, among tech visionaries and others, the “Startup Nation.” This we must do if we are to understand both the motivations and, indeed, the promise of the Abraham Accords with their vision of a vibrantly revived Mediterranean-Levantine civilization the likes of which hasn’t been seen since the days of the ancient Phoenicians.
The second, borderline-apocalyptic vision of Israel now dominant in today’s Netanyahu-led Israel government is that of a fundamentalist Jewish hegemony over the entire biblical territory that encompasses not only Israel but the West Bank as well – “From the River to the Sea for Jews and Jews Only,” as it were. This is the pseudo-messianic model that Netanyahu and the shots-calling extremist far right members of his government are working feverishly and openly to bring about at the expense of Israel’s Jewish and non-Jewish citizens alike — not to mention its neighbors, its standing in the international community, and even the interests of Jews across the globe.
This vision requires far more radical revision to do justice to a plausible — and indeed desirable — Spartan comparison than does the original Labor-Zionist vision to do justice to a plausible Athenian comparison. Indeed, an accurate Spartan vision would have to be as Jeffersonian as the Athenian model: It would be that of a republic of citizen-soldiers able to mobilize on short notice, “Minute Man” style, when threatened, but otherwise going about the business of producing, inventing, arguing (these are Israelis, after all), and governing under the rule of law just as the ancient Israelite leaders were anointed only on condition that they rule under then-Hebrew law.
Happily, there are hundreds of thousands of Israelis who not only reject the Netanyahu government and its (distorted) “Super-Sparta” policies, but also have consistently taken to the streets against it since long before Hamas’ terrorist savagery on Oct. 7, 2023. These Israelis have sought to block Netanyahu’s attempt to eviscerate their country’s independent judicial system. They are the ones who called consistently for the ceasefire in Gaza that has now been reached and that will hopefully result in a pathway to a viable Israeli-Palestinian coexistence. And they are among those whom, alas, the likes of Hollywood actors Javier Bardem, Emma Stone,and Hannah Einbinder seek to boycott.
Israel’s aforesaid enemies, for whom a putative “anti-Zionism” they do not begin to comprehend or deliberately distort is an article of blind and blinded faith, seem either cognitively unable or perversely unwilling to distinguish between anything-but-Athenian neo-fascists like Israeli Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich and Internal Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir who want to destroy Israel’s democracy on the one hand, and the likes of Israeli President Isaac Herzog and opposition leader (and former prime minister) Yair Lapid, among others — who work to preserve that democracy — on the other hand. And in his heart of hearts, we fear, Netanyahu desperately wants the world to see only the former and never the latter.
Nahum Goldmann, then president of both the World Zionist Organization and the World Jewish Congress, pointedly observed, in the wake of Israel’s June 1967 “Six-Day War,” that Israel cannot prevail exclusively as “the Sparta of the Middle East.” He was right. Israel must be both Athens and Sparta — and it must be the actual, not the children’s book, version of both. Netanyahu does not seem to “get” this. Nor, sadly, do some of those who support New York City mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani, who in endorsing a “global intifada” are, wittingly or otherwise, effectively calling for the elimination of Israel altogether and thereby perpetuating Netanyahu’s comic-book Sparta government with all the apocalyptic horrors that this entails.
The road ahead will not be easy even after the Gaza war is in the rearview mirror and it will not be short, but if there is to be any hope for the future, the leaders of both sides of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict must embark on it by recognizing each other’s humanity and seeking to emulate Athens more and Sparta less.
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Tu B’Shvat, Conscious Eating, and the Jewish Call to Return
Orange trees in Israel’s northern Galilee region. Photo: פואד מועדי / Wikimedia Commons
Tu B’Shvat, the Jewish New Year for the Trees, is often celebrated simply: fruit on the table, blessings over figs and dates, and a nod to nature in the middle of winter. For those who do things a bit more lavishly, a ceremony or seder is conducted.
But at its core, the holiday of Tu B’Shvat is far more than a seasonal celebration. It is a day that offers a profound Jewish teaching about food, responsibility, and the possibility of return.
To understand that teaching, we have to go back to the very first act of eating in the Torah.
In the Garden of Eden, God gives Adam and Eve permission to eat freely from nearly everything around them. Only one boundary is set: there is one tree that is off limits. When Adam and Eve cross that boundary, the result is a rupture of faith between humans and God, which results in a series of other ruptures between humans and the earth — and humans and themselves.
One of the great Chassidic masters, Rabbi Tzadok HaKohen (1823-1900), suggested that the problem was not simply what they ate, but how they ate: without awareness, without restraint, and without consciousness. They consumed, rather than received.
Five hundred years ago, the kabbalists of Tzfat transformed Tu B’Shvat from a technical agricultural date into a spiritual opportunity. They taught that the world is filled with sparks of holiness, and that our everyday actions, especially eating, can either elevate those sparks or bury them further. This lesson has recently been discussed by the Jerusalem-based educator Sarah Yehuit Schneider.
Eating, in Jewish thought, is never neutral.
When we eat with intention and gratitude, we participate in tikkun olam, repairing the world. When we eat mindlessly, we reenact the mistake of Eve and Adam from the Garden of Eden.
The holiday of Tu B’Shvat invites us to try again.
There is another detail worth noting. The Torah’s first description of the human diet is explicitly plant-based: “I have given you every seed-bearing plant and every fruit-bearing tree; it shall be yours for food.” That diet, which was given in Eden, does not end with humanity’s exile from paradise. For generations to come, until after the great flood in the time of Noah, that diet continued in a world already marked by moral compromise.
On Tu B’Shvat, when Jews sit down to a table of fruit, we are quietly returning to that original vision of eating plant-based food that sustains life without taking it, nourishment that reflects restraint rather than domination.
That idea feels especially urgent today.
Our food choices now affect far more than our own bodies. They shape the treatment of animals, the health of the planet, and the sustainability of our food systems. Eating “without knowing” is something that carries grave consequences, which are all too visible in our society.
To observe conscious eating today means asking hard questions: Who is harmed by this choice? What systems does it support? What kind of world does it help create?
In my work as a rabbi and educator with Jewish Vegan Life, I encounter many Jews grappling with these questions, most of whom possess a desire to align their daily choices with enduring Jewish values of compassion, responsibility, and reverence for life.
Tu B’Shvat reminds us that Judaism does not demand perfection, but it does demand awareness. It teaches that repair is possible, not only through grand gestures, but through daily choices repeated with intention.
Redemption begins when a person makes a choice to eat their meal consciously. This is what the seder on Passover is for and what it reminds us of, and the same holds true for the seder on Tu B’Shvat.
The custom to eat fruits on Tu B’Shvat, the choice to have a seder or ceremony, reminds us of the consciousness that we must approach all of our meals with. On Tu B’Shvat, we are being asked to reconsider how we eat, how we live, and how we might take one small step closer to the world as it was meant to be. It is, after all, according to the Mishna in tractate Rosh Hashanah, one of the four New Years of the Jewish calendar.
Rabbi Akiva Gersh, originally from New York, has been working in the field of Jewish and Israel education for more than 20 years. He lives with his wife, Tamar, and their four kids in Pardes Hanna. He is the Senior Rabbinic Educator at Jewish Vegan Life. https://jewishveganlife.
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Jewish Survival Depends on the Existence of a Jewish State
People with Israeli flags attend the International March of the Living at the former Auschwitz Nazi German death camp, in Brzezinka near Oswiecim, Poland, May 6, 2024. Photo: REUTERS/Kuba Stezycki
“The past is never dead, it is not even past,” a quotation from William Faulkner’s novel, Requiem for a Nun, is frighteningly apt today in relation to antisemitism.
Many of us are wondering if the antisemitism we are witnessing now is comparable to the antisemitism our parents or grandparents experienced during the 1930s, almost 100 years ago.
The parallels are obvious — the hatred and demonization of Jews/Israelis (especially on social media), boycotts of Jewish and Israeli businesses and products, and the aggressive public protests that include genocidal language and target Jewish neighborhoods and houses of worship.
There are also the increasingly common violent physical attacks on Jews, including murder, often carried out to coincide with Jewish festivals and religious observances.
There are also differences, of course.
Nothing like the 1935 Nuremberg Laws stripping German Jews of their rights, and designed to separate Jews from German society, have been enacted anywhere. But this point may not be as comforting as it sounds, because today, the most antisemitic countries in the world are not in Europe. They are in North Africa and the Middle East and, with the exception of a few thousand Jews remaining in Iran, these countries have virtually no Jews left to threaten. A majority of those Jews who once resided in that part of the world, and their descendants, are safe in Israel.
The existence of a Jewish State is the primary difference between the Jewish predicament today, and the situation that existed in the 1930s.
An episode such as that of the S.S. St. Louis, when 937 Jews fleeing Europe before the outbreak of World War II were denied sanctuary and sent back to almost certain death, would never happen today.
The Évian Conference is another example of Jewish powerlessness during the 1930s. Held from July 6 to July 15, 1938, representatives of 32 countries met in the French spa town of Évian-les-Bains to search for a solution to the Jewish refugee crisis precipitated by the intense antisemitism unleashed by the Nazis.
The conference achieved very little, and today the Évian conference is widely believed to have been a cynical ploy to deflect attention away from the refusal to raise US immigration quotas, or even fill existing quotas, to save Jews.
With the exception of the Dominican Republic (in the end, only a little more than 700 Jewish refugees found sanctuary there), no country agreed to accept Jewish refugees.
In a shocking example of indifference to Jewish concerns, representatives of a number of non-governmental organizations, including several Jewish ones, could observe but not participate in the proceedings. Golda Meir, an observer representing the Jewish Agency in Palestine at the Évian Conference is quoted as saying, “I don’t think anyone who didn’t live through it, can understand what I felt at Evian — a mixture of sorrow, rage, frustration and horror.”
In April 1943, American and British representatives met in Bermuda to discuss what to do with the Jewish refugees, both those liberated by the Allies as the war progressed, and those who might still be alive in Nazi-occupied Europe. The venue, Bermuda, a remote location in the midst of World War II, was chosen to minimize press coverage.
As in the case of Évian, no Jewish organization was allowed to participate. At the time the conference was held, there was no doubt about the full extent of the Nazi effort to exterminate the Jews of Europe. Yet, once again, nothing was achieved. As in the case of the Évian Conference, the Bermuda Conference was a public relations event, and not an actual effort to protect Jewish lives.
All of these events — and hundreds more throughout history — emphasize the importance of a sovereign Jewish state for Jewish safety and survival. But what really makes this point stand out is a history that is often overlooked; the role that Mandatory Palestine played in saving Jews from the Holocaust.
Aliyah numbers show that despite restrictions limiting Jewish immigration imposed by British officials, and widespread opposition to Jewish immigration by Palestinian Arabs, approximately 200,000 to 250,000 Jews, mainly from Germany and Eastern Europe, were able to find sanctuary in the Mandate during the 1930s. How many more would have been saved had there been an independent Jewish state?
Jacob Sivak, a Fellow of the Royal Society of Canada, is a retired professor, University of Waterloo.
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Did the Bondi Attack Actually Change Australia?
Grandparents of 10-year-old Matilda, who was killed during a mass shooting targeting a Hanukkah celebration on Sunday, grieve at the floral memorial to honor the victims of the mass shooting at Bondi Beach, in Sydney, Australia, Dec. 16, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Jeremy Piper
The Bondi terrorist attack on December 14, 2025, changed Australia.
But in many ways, it also didn’t.
The shock of watching a murderous rampage unfold at one of our most iconic sites, in what Australians long believed was a safe, peaceful country, shook the nation to its core.
Fifteen innocent people being murdered at a peaceful Hanukkah event is something so foreign to the experience of Australians, that it shattered the country’s sense of security overnight. Most Australians believed this kind of hatred was something that occurred elsewhere, not here.
Such trauma can prompt genuine reflection — which in turn may lead to genuine change.
In the aftermath of the attack, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese struck a markedly different tone than he had previously, showing an empathy with Australia’s Jewish community that many of us felt was often sorely missing in the months following October 7, 2023.
On January 22, 2026, Albanese initiated a National Day of Mourning, observed across the country. Fifteen sites were illuminated to commemorate the 15 victims, Australians were encouraged to light candles in their windows, and — strikingly — the government even urged citizens to perform a mitzvah — yes, it used that word — in the victims’ memory, publishing a list of 15 suggested acts of kindness.
In a nationally televised address at the Sydney Opera House — the very site where, on October 9, 2023, crowds had gathered to celebrate the Hamas massacre in Israel — the Prime Minister offered a direct apology to the Jewish community, acknowledging that “we could not protect your loved ones from this evil.”
Five days later, on International Holocaust Remembrance Day, Albanese released a statement commemorating the six million Jews murdered in the Holocaust, describing “the immense multitudes of Jewish lives and futures stolen with a pitiless cruelty that remains scarcely fathomable in its evil.” To be fair, he issued a similar statement on the same day last year.
This moral clarity contrasted starkly with the BBC and US Vice President JD Vance, who both failed to even mention the word “Jew” in their statements marking Holocaust Remembrance Day.
Albanese’s apology for the Bondi massacre was a sharp departure from what had often been a strained and acrimonious relationship between his government and the Jewish community, driven by persistent and often disproportionate criticism of Israel during its war against Hamas and other terrorist groups, alongside a series of concrete policy decisions widely perceived as hostile toward a longstanding democratic ally.
In the weeks following Bondi, the government moved swiftly to legislate, recalling parliament early in order to pass a package of new federal hate and extremism laws, including the Combatting Antisemitism, Hate and Extremism Bill. These measures criminalize participation in designated hate groups, impose penalties of up to 15 years in prison for directing such organizations, expand visa-cancellation powers for individuals promoting hate, and tighten controls on extremist symbols and propaganda. A provision to criminalize extreme racial vilification was dropped in the face of the Opposition’s objections to it.
New South Wales, where the attack occurred, also introduced state-level laws granting police broader powers around protests linked to declared terrorist events.
A Royal Commission has also been commissioned to investigate antisemitism in Australia in the lead-up to the Bondi attack, following pressure from broad sections of the community after Albanese was initially opposed to holding one.
These steps were welcomed by the Jewish community, yet it remains far too early to declare them transformative. After all, hate-speech laws already existed across Australian jurisdictions, but were only rarely used.
History therefore suggests that legislation alone is rarely enough; the true test is whether authorities are willing to enforce the laws consistently, especially when doing so becomes politically uncomfortable.
And that discomfort may arrive very soon.
The upcoming visit of Israeli President Isaac Herzog in early February, at Prime Minister Albanese’s invitation, will serve as a critical test of whether the empathy shown after Bondi represents a lasting shift or a fleeting political moment.
Already, Labor Friends of Palestine have called for President Herzog to be blocked from coming and investigated for alleged incitement and complicity in war crimes. Multiculturalism Minister Dr. Anne Aly initially declined to confirm whether she would welcome the Israeli President on his state visit, before later offering a notably lukewarm endorsement. There are also mass protests planned against his visit by anti-Israel groups. How the government deals with this will be telling.
These are the same kind of groups that supported Hamas after Oct. 7, and appeared on Australia Day, the national celebration of identity and unity, with calls for “intifada.”
Australia is currently at a crossroads in its relationship with Israel and also the Jewish community here. How it navigates that relationship could well determine the future of Jewish life in Australia. Hopefully the solidarity now being shown will be maintained and enhanced. But if it proves to be temporary, and the hostility being drummed up by the local anti-Zionist movement resurges, then the long-term feelings of belonging and security that underpin Australia’s long thriving Jewish community will likely erode further.
That, tragically, could echo the same sad and tragic path of many past Jewish communities throughout history.
Justin Amler is a policy analyst at the Australia/Israel & Jewish Affairs Council (AIJAC).