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Why God Is Offering Us an Olive Branch Today
A Torah scroll. Photo: RabbiSacks.org.
In “Anthem,” a song from his 1992 album The Future, Leonard Cohen sang: “There is a crack, a crack in everything — that’s how the light gets in.” Beautiful words, if somewhat haunting.
They echo the words uttered decades earlier by another Cohen — the first Chief Rabbi of modern Eretz Yisrael, Rav Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook: “Out of the wreckage of destruction, the light of redemption will shine forth.” Never in recent history has this sentiment felt more piercingly true.
Rom Breslavski, who was on duty as a security guard at the Nova music festival on October 7th and was kidnapped into Gaza by terrorists, spent two years in solitary confinement under Islamic Jihad. He never saw daylight. He was starved, beaten, and terrorized. The guards forced him to sleep beside the bodies of murdered hostages. They tried to force him to convert to Islam. They taunted him with lies — that Israel had been destroyed, that his family was dead, that the war with Iran had wiped out everything he loved.
They tried to break him, body and soul, and came close to succeeding. Now Rom is home. He stands for hours every day by the window, just looking at the sky. His sad eyes betray the broken spirit of someone who has been to hell and back. He doesn’t say much.
His freedom is real, yes – but it doesn’t yet feel like freedom. For now, there is a crack — and we can only hope that through it, the light is beginning to get in. That out of this wreckage of destruction, the light of redemption will, at last, shine forth.
The look in Rom’s eyes is the same exact look you see in those haunting photographs of Holocaust survivors taken in early 1945 – men and women stepping through the gates of Auschwitz or Bergen-Belsen, technically free but hollow-eyed and gaunt, their spirits shattered.
They are alive, but not yet living. One nightmare has ended, but another is only beginning – the long, slow struggle to feel human again.
Liberation is never a single moment. It’s a process – slow, uneven, and often painfully drawn out. The first breath of freedom is always jagged and uncertain. Trauma doesn’t evaporate when the door opens – it lingers in the air for a long time after, and truthfully, it never entirely disappears. As Viktor Frankl, the psychiatrist and Auschwitz survivor, later wrote, liberation was not the euphoric experience he and his fellow prisoners imagined it would be.
When the camp gates finally opened, many felt strangely numb, unable to rejoice. They walked out, Frankl said, “like sleepwalkers,” their souls lagging behind their bodies.
In Man’s Search for Meaning, Frankl describes how the sudden transition from horror to safety left survivors bewildered, and even depressed. Their horrific experiences under the Nazis had stripped them of their ability to feel. They were conditioned to expect pain or betrayal at every turn. Which meant that freedom was not the end of their suffering — it was the beginning of their healing.
And it’s in exactly this fragile space — the uneasy aftermath of catastrophe — that the Torah offers one of its most poignant symbols. Towards the end of the story of Noah’s flood, after months sealed inside the ark while the world drowned beneath torrential waters, the storms finally subsided. Hoping their ordeal was over, Noah sent out a dove to see whether the earth had begun to dry. The bird returned with something small and unexpected — “an olive leaf torn off in her mouth” (Gen. 8:11).
It was the first sign that the world outside the ark was beginning to heal, that life after the flood might once again be possible. But, as the commentaries note, the olive leaf was hardly a symbol of complete restoration.
The Ramban sees the olive leaf as proof that the world was only beginning to heal, but was not yet fully ready. Some land had reemerged, and hardy trees like the olive had started to sprout leaves – but the earth was still soggy and unstable, not yet ready for cultivation. The message was not “It’s over,” but rather, “It’s time to begin again.”
The Kli Yakar makes a striking observation: Adam and Eve covered themselves with fig leaves after their sin – symbols of shame. But the dove brought Noah an olive leaf, a symbol of light and atonement; olive oil would one day fuel the pure flame of the sacred Menorah. Here was the light shining through the crack – a hopeful beginning, even if the world wasn’t quite ready to be whole.
The Zohar, sourcebook of Jewish mysticism, adds another layer: an olive yields its oil only when it is crushed. So it is with humanity, which often produces its greatest illumination only after being broken. The olive leaf was not meant to be a token of comfort or triumph, but a reminder that most often, it is from brokenness that light will emerge.
Noah’s emergence from the ark wasn’t the end of the story — it was the start of a long, difficult climb. The flood may have symbolically washed the world clean, but it hadn’t cured the human heart. Within the next few chapters, we encounter the Tower of Babel, Sodom and Gomorrah, jealousies and betrayals within families, and eventually Egypt’s enslavement of Jacob’s descendants. The story of humanity after the flood was a catalogue of all kinds of failure and failings, one generation after another.
The olive leaf that the dove carried to Noah as the trauma of the flood drew to a close was not a declaration of victory. It was a divine whisper: the worst of the nightmare is over, but don’t celebrate just yet — there’s still a long way to go. It reminded Noah, and every generation after him, that rebuilding the world is never a single act of survival, but a lifelong process of reconstruction. Every step along the way must be seen for what it is — a platform for growth, a chance to reach higher, and an opportunity to shape a better future.
Rom Breslavski, like those Holocaust survivors before him, knows this truth instinctively. Freedom isn’t a doorway you walk through into sunshine — it’s a staircase you ascend, one painful, uncertain step at a time. The dove’s olive leaf wasn’t telling Noah that the storm was over — Noah already knew that. It was reminding him that the healing had only just begun.
That’s how God redeems the world: not in an instant, but through slow, deliberate rebirth. The cracks remain, but through them — as Leonard Cohen says it — the light gets in.
That’s what the dove offered Noah. It’s what God offered the survivors of the Shoah. And it’s what He is offering us today, after two years of trauma following October 7th — a tiny olive leaf, a call to rebuild, and the promise that even through the cracks, His light still finds a way in.
The author is a rabbi in Beverly Hills, California.
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Can an idyllic dream of Israel ever be reality? She says: ‘Coexistence, My Ass’
“I promise, I’m only staying for seven minutes, not 70 years,” Israeli comedian Noam Shuster Eliassi said at the 2019 Palestine Comedy Festival in East Jerusalem.
The Palestinian crowd exploded in laughter. Shuster Eliassi doubled down.
“By the way, this is Amer’s joke, I stole it.” She gestured to Amer Zahr, the festival’s founder. “It’s mine now, God promised it to me!”
For a Jewish Israeli (and the first Jewish performer to play the Palestine Comedy Festival) to tell this joke to an audience of Palestinians requires an extraordinary level of chutzpah. Fortunately, for all of us, Shuster Eliassi — subject of the new documentary Coexistence, My Ass, in which this scene appears — has that in spades.
Coexistence, My Ass, which follows Shuster Eliassi, a 38-year-old Israeli Jewish comedian and activist, over five tumultuous years — including the Oct. 7 attacks and ensuing war — opens in select theaters next week. The film, directed by Amber Fares, is ostensibly about the shaping of Shuster Eliassi’s one-woman stand-up show as she works to incorporate more of her politics into her comedy, which she performs in Hebrew, Arabic and English. She began performing standup after pivoting away from a United Nations job, newly skeptical of the peace movement in which she was raised.
Because Shuster Eliassi is a product of Wahat al Salaam/Neve Shalom — a name that means “Oasis of Peace,” and belongs to the only intentionally integrated Israeli-Palestinian community in the Middle East. World leaders and celebrities like Hillary Clinton and Jane Fonda have visited her village to witness the admittedly beautiful example of coexistence between Israelis and Palestinians it provides.
But as grateful as Shuster Eliassi is for her home, she’s furious at what she sees as the lack of political co-resistance from liberal Israeli Jews. “I’m mad and not in the mood for dialogue, and I don’t think there are two equal sides,” Ranin, Shuster Eliassi’s Palestinian best friend and fellow resident of Wahat al Salaam, vents at one point. “There’s one strong side that’s fucking over the other side.”
Coexistence, My Ass makes unbearably clear that merely coexisting is not enough. Yet I fear that instead of provoking a deeper self-reflection, the documentary will become a talking point for liberal Zionist Jews seeking to prove that Israel is worth loving and that true coexistence is possible. That takeaway is not inaccurate, but it is incomplete.
As Shuster Eliassi, the daughter of an Iranian Jewish mother and Ashkenazi father, describes it, Wahat al Salaam/Neve Shalom was an idyllic, if immensely unusual, place to grow up. Her parents are devout left-wingers; some of her earliest memories are of being home alone with her mother while her father was in prison for refusing to serve in the military in the occupied West Bank. Early in the film, she recalls him explaining to her as a child that they would not be barbequing on Israeli Independence Day out of respect for their Palestinian neighbors.
Shuster Eliassi’s bilingual education and her deep relationships with Palestinians in her hometown are an enviable sight for many who desire peace in the Holy Land. Wahat al Salaam/Neve Shalom is not perfect, but the documentary shows that there is a very real sense of idyllic optimism in its way of life. Shuster Eliassi’s humor is infectious, and it charms and connects her to people who are very different.
Yet the town — which as of 2023 had a population of 313 — and the children it produces are an extreme minority in Israel.
Despite the fact that 20% of Israel’s citizens are Palestinian — including one quarter of Israel’s doctors, and a whopping 49% of the pharmacists — most Israelis are not raised in a society that teaches them to be mindful that Israeli Independence Day is also Nakba Day. The documentary suggests that even among self-described liberal Israelis—the kinds of citizens who poured into the streets to protest against Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s judicial reform bill, and later, for the return of the hostages — that the concerns of the Palestinians are an afterthought. People like Shuster Eliassi, who continue to consider the occupation as the root cause of Israel’s suffering, are deluded radicals.
Over and over in the film, she is told by fellow Israelis that she is a traitor to her people. Even those who do not outright denounce her tend to feel that her focus on Palestinian rights and self-determination is misguided.
“I agree with you about the occupation,” one woman tells her at a Tel Aviv protest against the judicial reform, “and still, first and foremost, we need to protect our home.” At another judicial reform protest, an older man is enraged by Shuster Eliassi’s speech telling demonstrators that “there’s no such thing as democracy with occupation.” “You’re an enemy of the state!” he screams.
One of the most telling moments of the film is when Shuster Eliassi’s friend Elad, a fellow comedian, tells a story about his childhood growing up in Pisgat Ze’ev, a settlement within East Jerusalem. He describes how on Yom Kippur, still clad in white from services, he and his friends would go stand on the highway overpass and drop stones onto Palestinian cars.
“That was our ‘hang,’” he says dryly.
Shuster Eliassi asks why he thinks they did that. “Because someone instructs them to,” he says. “A fifth grader doesn’t just wake up one morning and decide to go throw stones.”
The point of documentary filmmaking is to get a slice of reality on the record. Shuster Eliassi’s slice is captivating, and I sincerely hope that her story inspires people and gives them a deeper understanding of both the Israeli psyche, and what co-resisting with Palestinians looks like.
Because the whole point of Shuster Eliassi’s comedy and activism is that coexistence is a goal that can’t be achieved without action. Instead of wondering why there is only one Neve Shalom/Wahat as Salaam in all of Israel — “The State of Israel doesn’t support our project,” community spokeswoman Samah Salaime says at one point — I worry that most American Jewish viewers will walk from the film complacent that it exists at all.
After two utterly miserable years, the Jewish community is desperate for stories of hope, which Coexistence, My Ass provides. Yet especially in the aftermath of a fragile ceasefire, when Palestinians in Gaza and the West Bank are confronting utter devastation and violence, the story of a dynamic comedian speaking truth to power is an opportunity to examine our own capacity for solidarity.
The emphasis on co-resistance, not simply coexistence, is laid bare late in the documentary, as Shuster Eliassi and her parents watch the news of violent riots in May 2021 in mixed Jewish and Arab cities. In Bat Yam, an Arab driver is pulled from his car and nearly beaten to death in front of a television camera crew.
“Aba,” Shuster Eliassi says to her father, “in this moment of truth, the Jews are nowhere to be found. They’re not in the struggle.”
Even the village WhatsApp feed, she remarks, during a moment of existential struggle for its Palestinian residents, is full of “love and light” activism from the Jews, versus an expression of true solidarity.
“They want to get back to the coexistence template,” she says, “and that’s not what’s needed now.”
The post Can an idyllic dream of Israel ever be reality? She says: ‘Coexistence, My Ass’ appeared first on The Forward.
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Rep. Seth Moulton Silent on Reported Qatar Funding Amid Outrage Over Returning AIPAC Donations
US Rep. Seth Moulton (D-MA) speaking at a press conference at the US Capitol. Photo: Michael Brochstein/Sipa USA via Reuters Connect
US Rep. Seth Moulton (D-MA) has refused to answer whether he would forgo funding from Qatar days after he announced he would no longer accept financial assistance from the American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC).
Moulton announced last week that he would no longer work with AIPAC, the preeminent pro-Israel lobbying firm in the US, accusing the group of harboring close ties with Israel Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s conservative government. Moulton, who has recently entered the Democratic primary for Senator, added that he would return all funds to AIPAC. However, the representative stressed that he continues to support Israel’s right to self defense and existence.
The representative, however, has accepted financial assistance from the government of Qatar, according to reporting by the Washington Free Beacon. Moulton accepted a lavish trip to the gulf state paid for by the Qatari government and accepted campaign donations from a Qatari-linked lobbying firm, according to documents reviewed by the Free Beacon. During Moulton’s 2020 four day excursion to Qatar, in which the government covered food and housing, he visited the Qatar Foundation. Moulton praised Qatar, predicting that the terror-aligned state has “great potential,” and that he foresees “the friendship between the two countries to grow in the future.” Moulton also accepted roughly $11,500 from Nelson Mullins, a lobbying firm with operatives connected to Qatar, according to documents reviewed by the outlet.
Moulton’s announcement comes on the heels of his newly-launched Senate campaign. According to various polls, Israel has plummeted in popularity with Democratic voters, with a majority believing that the Jewish state has committed a so-called “genocide” in Gaza. Some speculate whether Moulton’s refusal to accept AIPAC funding is part of a calculated effort to distance himself with the Jewish state and neutralize potential confrontations with party activists.
Although Moulton has vowed to return funds donated by AIPAC, he has yet to declare that he would no longer accept funds from those connected to the Qatari government. Moulton’s office did not return requests for comment from The Algemeiner on whether the representative would stop taking funds from Qatar.
Qatar, a small Gulf nation in the Middle East, has extensive and well-documented connections to the Hamas terrorist group. The Gulf nation hosts several Hamas political leaders in Doha and has provided hundreds of millions of dollars in aid to Gaza, which critics say has indirectly bolstered the militant group’s control. Israel, along with several Western states, have accused Qatar of serving as a lifeline for the terrorist group.
Moreover, many skeptics argue that Qatar has a growing influence in the United States, pointing to the gulf nation’s expanding footprint in government, higher education, media, and entertainment.
The gulf nation has spent roughly $72 million on US lobbying firms since 2016 with the goal of improving the country’s image, according to a report by the Middle East Forum.
Through multimillion-dollar donations to leading universities, high-profile lobbying efforts in Washington, and partnerships with major media and sports organizations, the Gulf nation has positioned itself as a key player shaping narratives and policy debates.
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Cornell Newspaper Publishes Nazi Symbol in Anti-Israel Essay
Illustrative Cornell University cleaning anti-Zionist graffiti off a statue of the school’s co-founder on January 21, 2025. Photo: Screenshot
Cornell University took center stage in another campus antisemitism outrage on Thursday, as its student newspaper published an anti-Zionist opinion piece which promoted Holocaust inversion by melding a Nazi symbol with the Star of David.
The article, titled “Thousand & One Eyes for an Eye” and written by indigenous studies professor Karim-Aly Assam, argued that Israel’s military strategy for the Gaza war against Hamas prioritized revenge for the Oct. 7 massacre over security “under the pretext of obtaining justice.” The article further accused Israeli officials of describing Palestinians as “animals” to justify “ruthless destruction and killing” — a gross distortion of Israeli Defense Minister Yoav Gallant’s describing the Hamas fighters who murdered, raped, and maimed women, children, and men on Oct. 7 “human animals” two days after the atrocities transpired.
Assam’s article implied an equivalence of Israel’s military objective to eradicate Hamas from Gaza with the Nazi genocide of Jews across Europe during World War II, a trope which anti-Israel activists and antisemites traffic to foster negative public opinion against Israel’s efforts to secure its borders and quell jihadist activity in the Palestinian territories that has sabotaged efforts to reach a two-state solution and achieve peace with Israel’s neighbors.
The tactic — Holocaust inversion — is one part of a triad of Holocaust-skepticism, the other two components of which are “denial” and “distortion” — used to defame Jews and deny that they are and have been victims of hatred. Once reserved to neo-Nazi media, Holocaust inversion, experts say, is being increasingly embraced by other more mainstream segments of society.
Assam’s attempt to erase Jewish suffering during the Holocaust is clear, Cornell University professor William Jacobson said in an interview with the New York Post.
“It reflects the normalization of Holocaust inversion, both on the internet and now on Cornell’s campus,” Jacobson said. “This [SS lightning bolt] graphic is specifically inside a bloody Jewish star. No reflection of it being even related to Israel. And it clearly is pursuing the idea that Jews are the new Nazis. And so I think it’s obviously highly offensive.”
Following the incident, Cornell unpublished and then re-published Assam’s essay. Later, Eric Han, a Daily Sun editor — claiming not to speak for the organization but as an individual — defended publishing the drawing, arguing that it “clearly depicts that the Palestinian subject has been violently (i.e. bloodily) branded with the SS symbol.”
He added, “I would find it very difficult to dispute the claim that that the Israeli government is similar to the Nazi regime” and claimed that criticism of Assam is evidence of rising “threats levied against academic freedom on campus.”
On Thursday, Kassam said that he regrets how “some” people “interpreted” the drawing.
“I am deeply saddened to learn that this portion of the artwork has been interpreted by some as antisemitic,” he told the New York Post. “That was not my intention and I have learned from this experience.”
Cornell University stands with other Ivy League campuses in being plagued by incidents which exhibit a severity of anti-Jewish hatred not seen in the Western world since the rise of the Nazis.
Just last week, a Cornell professor who according to the school violated federal anti-discrimination law when he expelled an Israeli student from class opted to retire rather than serve a two-semester suspension he received as punishment for the incident.
Follow Dion J. Pierre @DionJPierre.