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They traveled to the U.S. as Jewish teens. Here’s how these 4 Israelis see America now.
As the U.S. celebrates the 250th anniversary of its founding, some past participants in the Bronfman Fellowship, which for three decades has brought a cohort of 17-year-old Israelis to the United States for two weeks each summer, looked back on how their visits — and what they learned about the American experiment — shaped their lives. Here are their stories as told to Talya Zax and Sage Lattman, edited and condensed for clarity.
Oz Bin Nun
Oz is a combat veteran of the Egoz Unit, a former Jewish Agency emissary and co-founder of the “Reserve Duty Servants Forum,” leading strategic advocacy for reservists’ rights.
My first time in the U.S. was through Bronfman, and the most honest way to describe it was life changing. I grew up in a very, very Israeli family — all of my grandparents were born in Israel, which is pretty rare, and my parents don’t really speak English, which is not very common in Israel. I didn’t think I’d be in the U.S. in the future even, so Bronfman for me was the first time that I found myself there.
I’m trying to find the U.S. that I met during my Bronfman journey, but I’m not sure it really exists.
Back then I thought the U.S. was a magical place, but it was also the whole Bronfman idea: you’re driving around, you have the best speakers, you speak with the most interesting people, in a very open-minded, curious and friendly way — more than friends, kind of like allies to your journey. All that framework created a pretty magical experience, and when I got back to Israel I was like, ‘Wow, it really changed something inside me.’ But I came back in 2016, which was also the rise of Trump and a lot of things that I didn’t see in 2015, and I guess a lot of Americans didn’t see as well.
When I think about the U.S., the first thing is some specific smell that Americans aren’t really aware of — something wet in the air, and a lot of things are very green. And almost immediately after that is the sense of room. There is enough room. When you’re going there, you don’t feel that someone else is taking your place, or stepping on your toes. In Israel there is a sense that there is no room; everything is so crowded, and not just physically. There is something about just driving until the horizon — it’s a sense of awe and a sense of freedom.
My wife and I lived for two years in Madison, Wisconsin, not in the classic places, not on the coasts, and to some extent we saw the real America — the beautiful things in it and the problematic things in it. Once you’re driving through America, America makes much more sense. You drive for six or eight or 10 hours and around Southern Illinois, St. Louis, Arkansas you see the signs flip, and the best coffee in Mobile, Alabama has a pride flag. I feel like a citizen of two worlds — and it’s rare to be a citizen of two of the biggest Jewish communities in the world, specifically in a time when they’re spreading apart, and it’s harder and harder to find a common ground.
Alex Rif
Alex is an Israeli-Russian social activist and poet, who is currently a candidate on behalf of the ‘Yashar!’ party with Gadi Eisenkot. She is the founder and former CEO of One Million Lobby, the first and only Israeli non-profit that promotes a better social, economic, state-religious and cultural reality for the 1.2 million Israelis from the former Soviet Union states (IFSU).
I went to the U.S. in 2003, more than 20 years ago, when I was in 11th grade — and I want to jump to the end, which is that yesterday I joined a political party, with Gadi Eisenkot, as a candidate. A lot of the things that Bronfman gave me led me to that, specifically the visit to the U.S., because it was the first time I actually met different communities of Jews.
I come from Soviet Jewry — we came after 70 years of our Jewish culture, stories, heritage, religion being erased — and I didn’t feel connected in Israel to the Israeli Orthodox mainstream. Visiting the U.S. was the first time I saw that there are many ways of being Jewish, and they are all beautiful and profound and meaningful and deep. That was an enormous discovery for me. From the other side, I learned the importance of the connection between Israel and outside of Israel.
I made Aliyah when I was 5, from Ukraine, and like a lot of immigrants I tried to be more Israeli than the Israelis. This trip changed my perspective: there’s a big Jewish peoplehood, and Israel is not the only place. It may be the shelter, the biggest center, but it’s not the only place. It shaped my professional path — for the past 10 years I’ve dedicated my life to the Russian-speaking community in Israel, to issues like conversion and the grandchild clause, which we have to guard, because it’s the only law that gives people who intermarried the chance to come back in a time of need, when antisemitism rises, as we see now in New York.
One of our meetings during the fellowship was with candidates for Congress and people who worked in government — the first time I met high-ranked elected people, and I saw how much good they can do and how much power they have in their hands. It felt like it was in the touch of my hand: if I can meet them, I can be them. It was really empowering, even before I met Israeli officials. I have a picture of myself standing in a meeting room with a U.S. flag, in a very warm coat, at the speaking point, proud and excited — it opened something in my mind.
For me the U.S. is a sister country. Part of my heart is being ripped apart and lives in the U.S. now, with friends who’ve left. The U.S. is the best friend we ever had, and probably ever will have, and we have to do everything we can to save this friendship and this alliance.
Lior Soroka
Lior is a freelance journalist and screenwriter based in Tel Aviv. He reports for The Washington Post, covering the conflict in the Middle East. He is currently writing a play for the Haifa Theatre and co-writing a television series.
It was pretty long ago — back in 1999. I was a teenager then, in 11th grade, and it was a very unique experience going to meet the Jewish communities in the States. In Israel the boundaries of Judaism are very clear: there is a clear boundary whether you’re secular, or religious, or ultra-Orthodox. It felt like in the States there are more possibilities to experience your Jewishness. Part of it, I think, is because in Israel, Judaism and the state are intertwined. You feel that in recent years, even the tension between the different denominations is growing, and I felt it less while I visited the States.
As a Jewish person who lives in Israel, I always felt this deep connection between Israel and the diaspora. It always felt like Israel can be a safe place for Jews, and the Jewish community abroad is also there to support Israel from afar. But recently, since the war broke out, I think a lot of things have changed. Many Jews abroad and in Israel are asking about the path that Israel is taking in the last years, and how it influenced this unique relationship between Israel and the diaspora. Israel needs to remember it, so it won’t lose this strong ally we have with the Jews who live in the States — because some of them are saying they don’t want anything to do with Israel now. It’s becoming harder to identify yourself as a Zionist or pro-Israeli. We don’t need to take this relationship as granted, because we can really lose it.
As a journalist, the main thing is to be curious, and my visit taught me a lot about how things work in the States — it was a first glimpse into American politics and the connection between Jews and the United States. We visited D.C. and met some Congress people, we went to the Holocaust Museum, we met different denominations in New York. It’s better when you see things with your own eyes.
The most meaningful part was a meeting at Congregation Beit Simchat Torah, the LGBTQ+ community in New York. As a teenager in the closet at 17, to see how Judaism and being gay can go together was very meaningful. A couple of years afterward I came back by myself for a huge Yom Kippur service, thousands of LGBTQ Jews gathering together. In Israel you hear people like Bezalel Smotrich saying these things cannot go together — and in the States, you see how it can work, and does work.”
Hadas Semo
Hadas, 20, studied at Ulpana Tzvia Afula. After national service at Amal High School in Ashdod, she began working in the field of education as a youth counselor.
It was about January 2023, and it was just a wonderful experience. I’d never been abroad before. Everything about the program made it more special, because it was all about our identity as Jews. At the meetings with the people who were from America and were Jews — I was mesmerized most of the time. That’s what stood out to me the most.
Before, I didn’t really think about what the U.S. meant to me; I felt like it was something not connected to me in any way. But when I came there, I felt connected, because I saw the Jews there — it’s not only Israel that has this special energy and this special history. That was the first time I felt like this and saw it with my own eyes, and I feel the connection now. I saw New York as this big city from the movies, so I was very excited, and everything just felt magical.
In my experience as an Israeli Ethiopian, a Black Israeli, I had some thoughts and conflicts being in the program. It’s one thing to be Black in the world and another to be Black in Israel itself, because of all the difficulties we have with racism and fitting into society. When I came to Bronfman I was myself, I sometimes felt a little unconnected to the people, because everyone was a specific type of energy, the way they grew up, and a little white. It was always in my head: I’m a Black Ethiopian in this group. I was the only one — you can tell just by looking. I started wondering who I would be in the U.S., whether I’d just be seen as a Black person there — what they see is what they see, nobody knows I’m a Jew.
In the U.S., the manager of the fellowship arranged a meeting for me with a former fellow who’s biracial, and she told me about her experience as a half-Black Jew in America — the conflicts, the things that come with it. I felt like I needed someone who was like me, who understood me. We had so much fun, and something clicked. It helped me accept who I am and where I am, and understand that no matter what and who and how I am, I’m good as I am — it doesn’t matter the color, or where I came from, or what happened to me before.
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Talarico blames Netanyahu, not the Israeli people, for devastation in Gaza
(JTA) — James Talarico, Texas’ Democratic nominee for the U.S. Senate, said he holds Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, rather than the Israeli people, responsible for civilian devastation in Gaza.
Talarico, a Texas state representative, is running neck and neck against Republican Attorney General Ken Paxton, in a race whose results could affect which party controls the Senate this November. Israel has been one of many sources of disagreement among the candidates, who have sparred on issues ranging from affordability to immigration to reproductive rights.
“I believe that Israel, like any nation, has a right to defend its people,” the candidate said while fielding questions on Wednesday at a CNN town hall. “But I don’t believe that Benjamin Netanyahu has a right to wage war against civilians or use collective punishment or restrict aid to civilians.”
A Texas Politics Project poll, issued by the University of Texas this week, showed Paxton trailing Talarico by 3 percentage points, with 47% to the Democrat’s 50% and a margin of error of 3.34 percentage points.
Talarico said in August that he supported stopping arms sales to the Netanyahu government and conditioning military aid “on ending the death and the destruction in Gaza and the West Bank.” He declined to call the crisis “genocide,” noting that the term is being litigated in the International Court of Justice. But he said he’d “use every bit of our nation’s diplomatic and financial leverage to protect the lives of Palestinians.”
When he was pressed further by Rabbi Holly Levin Cohn of Congregation Beth El Binah in Dallas during the town hall, Talarico stressed the importance of directing his criticisms “toward Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and not the Israeli people.”
Addressing Israelis’ trauma, Talarico acknowledged that the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas attack on Israel “was the deadliest day for the Jewish people since the Holocaust.”
Cohn pushed back on his comments regarding aid restrictions, noting Israeli support of humanitarian efforts and arguing that there’s much more going on in the country than the media may be projecting.
Talarico told the rabbi he recognized that his “words carry weight” and gave her his word that he’s “going to continue to listen to all sides of this conflict.” He also expressed hope that “we can all come together to fight for a two-state solution where we have security for Israel and we have freedom and self-determination for Palestinians.”
Talarico also gave a “shoutout” to a local rabbi, Neil Blumofe at Congregation Agudas Achim in Austin. “I spent my first year of my seminary studies learning the Hebrew scriptures from a local rabbi,” he said. “Shout out Rabbi Neil Blumofe!” Cohn grinned.
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Irish Jewish leader ‘shocked’ after hotel cancels over 70 rooms for antisemitism conference
(JTA) — DUBLIN — An Irish Jewish leader said a Dublin hotel canceled rooms reserved for European delegates after learning that they were visiting for an antisemitism conference.
Maurice Cohen, the president of the Jewish Representative Council of Ireland, said he booked over 70 rooms at the Herbert Park Hotel for people attending a meeting of the Special Envoys and Coordinators Combating Antisemitism (SECCA).
The envoys, who included Jewish community leaders, diplomats and government ministers from across Europe, were invited to the conference this week organized by the World Jewish Congress and the European Commission. The event was tied to Ireland’s Presidency of the Council of the European Union, which rotates between EU member states, and included delegates meeting with Irish Prime Minister Micheál Martin. Most of the government-appointed special envoys are not themselves Jewish.
Cohen said he met with Herbert Park Hotel’s general manager in May to inspect its conference rooms and explained the purpose of the event. According to Cohen, the manager responded by asking, “Will the IDF be involved?”
That question “shocked” Cohen, he told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
“I said, this is about antisemitism. It’s not about Israelis, it’s not about Israel, it’s not about the IDF,” he said.
Cohen said the manager told him she had to consult with the hotel owners to determine if his booking could be accepted. The next day, he learned that the rooms were canceled without explanation. The Herbert Park Hotel did not respond to JTA requests for comment.
Cohen booked rooms for the delegates and the conference at different hotels. He described the cancellation in a speech at the SECCA meeting on Tuesday, calling it an example of “contemporary antisemitism.”
“How quickly does the word ‘Jewish’ change a conversation?” he said to the attendees. “How easily does a gathering about antisemitism become associated with the Israeli army? And how quickly can people who were welcome when they were simply 70 hotel guests become something rather different once they are known to be attending a Jewish conference?”
Yoni Wieder, Ireland’s chief rabbi, suggested that the hotel could have based its decision on fears of controversy.
“It’s possible that whoever took the decision had no objection to the conference itself,” Wieder told JTA. “They may simply have wanted to avoid the possibility of protests outside the hotel or some other backlash.”
Ireland’s government has been sharply critical of Israel. The country has recognized Palestinian statehood, barred Israeli far-right ministers from entering its borders and in July passed a law that banned imports from Israeli settlements in the Palestinian territories. Martin has said that Israel committed genocide in Gaza, a charge Israel vigorously rejects. He has also condemned rising antisemitism in Ireland, which is home to about 2,200 Jews.
Herbert Park Hotel is “actually quite familiar with Jewish guests,” according to Wieder, who said that he has overseen kosher catering at the hotel.
Cohen, who has lived in Dublin all his life, said he had fond memories of the hotel. For years it was his favored site for meetings, New Year’s Eve celebrations and his mother’s birthdays through her 93rd.
“Over time the hotel became associated in my mind with friendship, celebration and my mother,” he said in his speech. “So it was strange that, many years later, the same hotel would acquire a very different place in my memory.”
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Whatever you think of Ilhan Omar, these threats are unconscionable
The Trump administration is reportedly planning to build a case to strip Congresswoman Ilhan Omar (D-MN) of her citizenship and eventually deport her.
It is my hope that American Jews — even those who do not like Omar and can recite every questionable comment she has made over the past 15 years to illustrate why — will understand this as offensive and outrageous not only because they are Americans, but because they are Jews.
The Trump administration may claim that it is building a case against Omar due to paperwork (reports suggest that they are interested in whether her father listed her age as 17 on her citizenship application when she was really 18). It is similarly filing dozens of lawsuits attempting to denaturalize citizens by trying to prove they lied in the process of gaining citizenship. However, that this is happening now, ahead of the midterm elections against a sitting member of Congress, a high-profile progressive whom the president has said should “go back” to her country of origin, suggests that it is, to put it mildly, politically motivated.
Evidently, the Trump administration sees citizenship not as a right or a responsibility but as a reward, one that can be taken away if that is seen as useful to the president and his adherents. That use could be silencing political opposition or something as simple (and callous) as an opportunity to brag about the sheer number of attempted denaturalizations.
Jews, too, have found themselves on the wrong end of political denaturalization. I do not mean to compare the Trump administration to the Nazis, but the stubborn fact is that Jews were indeed stripped of their citizenship as part of a political project in Germany and elsewhere in Europe in the 1930s and 40s. And in the early 20th century in the United States, it was Jews who politicians claimed were incapable of assimilating, of ever really being a part of the United States. These arguments culminated in legislation that kept out Jews who could have found refuge here. The threat of denaturalization and the experience of perpetual otherness is a grievous part of modern Jewish history; we should be offended by its presence in our political present.
Jewish tradition as well as history encourages us to stand up to authority when that authority is wrong. Mordecai refuses to bow to Haman; Nathan yells at King David for sleeping with Bathsheba and having her husband killed; Moses famously urges Pharoah to change his oppressive ways. Even God is on the receiving end of pushback when Abraham pleads and negotiates to spare Sodom.
I do not think one needs to be Jewish to be outraged by the attempt to denaturalize Ilhan Omar. I think it is also bone-chilling as an American who believes we, including our elected officials, have the right to openly oppose our president, and I am worried as a person who thinks it would be good to continue to live in a democratic republic. And I am sure that there are Jews who will say that Omar deserves to lose her citizenship because she has said things about Israel they do not like.
But the Jewish lens through which I see this is that it is right to challenge power when it is abused, and it is wrong for the powerful to make a show of trying to cast their opponents out of the country.
The point is not whether Trump can make good on the threat to strip Omar of her citizenship and deport her, but that it is obscene to use denaturalization as punishment for being a high-profile political opponent in the first place. If he is trying to make it more dangerous to speak out while being from the “wrong” country, then the rest of us need to say that this is a fundamental misunderstanding of what it means to be an American citizen.
We should do this because we are Americans and we should do this because we are Jews. We should do this because of the ways in which our American and Jewish identities bleed into one another. And, we should do this because we may not know exactly whether it is as Americans or as Jews that we know we have to protect the right to speak truth to power, but we know we need to do it all the same.
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