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With goblins, spellcasters and delis, board game makers are imagining new Jewish worlds
(JTA) — Running a not-so-Zagat-rated deli, dropping into a Chinese restaurant for Christmas Eve dinner and acting out a bat mitzvah that involves a vampire — for contemporary board game fans, those can be all in an evening’s play.
That’s because a crop of new games aims to merge Jewish ideas and experiences with the aesthetics and language of games such as Dungeons & Dragons. Dream Apart places players in a fantastical reimagining of a 19th-century shtetl, for example, while J.R. Goldberg’s God of Vengeance draws inspiration from the Yiddish play of the same name. In the games in Doikayt, a collection released in 2020, players can literally wrestle with God.
Known as tabletop role-playing games because they ask players to take on a character, these games and their creators imagine exciting new worlds, subvert classic tropes in fun and irreverent ways, and reinterpret Jewish history and identity.
Tabletop role-playing games like Dungeons & Dragons and Call of Cthulhu have exploded in popularity over the past several years, with many — including at least one group of rabbis — picking up the Zoom-friendly hobby during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. But the new Jewish games aim to do more than just provide a diversion or even an escape.
“Depending on your family, depending on your synagogue, depending on your community, you may have gotten more or fewer options of what Jewishness could mean in your imagination,” said Lucian Kahn, who created a trilogy of humorous Jewish role-playing games.
“What some of these games are doing is opening that up and pointing to alternate possibilities of imagining Jewishness, not as a way of converting anyone to anything else, but just as a way of showing the tradition is enormous,” he added.
Kahn is the creator of If I Were a Lich, Man, a trilogy of humorous games whose name is a mashup between a “Fiddler on the Roof” song and an undead character, the lich, that frequently appears in fantasy fiction and games. In the title game, players are Jewish liches — spellcasters whose souls, in the lore of Dungeons & Dragons, are stored in phylacteries, the Greek word for tefillin used by Jews in prayer. Representing the four children of the Passover seder, they debate how their community should address the threat of encroaching holy knights.
In some cases, the association of Jews with monsters has given rise to charges of antisemitism — the goblins of “Harry Potter” offer a prime example. But Kahn said he sees Jewish-coded monsters, and queer-coded villains, as figures of resistance.
“There’s a long tradition of looking at the monster and seeing that the reason why these are monsters is because the people who have oppressive power have decided that these are going to be the enemies of the ‘good’ oppressive powers,” Kahn explained. “But if you don’t agree with their ideology, if you’re seeing yourself as being a member of a marginalized community and being in opposition to these oppressive powers, then you can look at the qualities assigned to these monsters and some of them are qualities that are good.”
For Kahn, Jewish-coded monster characters also provide more of an inspiration than the archetypes of more traditional games.
“Maybe somebody thinks they’re insulting me or insulting Jews,” he said. “My response is: I like vampires and liches and trolls and goblins and think they’re much more interesting than bland white muscular humans running through the fields with a cross on their chest hacking at the same things with a sword over and over again.”
Kahn’s outlook has resonated in the tabletop role-playing game community. In February, he and Hit Point Press launched a Kickstarter to fund production of If I Were a Lich, Man. The campaign smashed its $5,000 goal, raising $84,590, enough to hit one of the campaign’s stretch goals of funding a grant to support independent zines about tabletop role-playing games.
The successful campaign means that Kahn’s three games will go into production. In addition to the game about liches, the trilogy includes Same Bat Time, Same Bat Mitzvah, in which players act out a bat mitzvah where one guest has been turned into a vampire, and Grandma’s Drinking Song, inspired by how Kahn’s Jewish great-great grandmother and her children survived in 1920s New York City by working as bootleggers during Prohibition.
In Grandma’s Drinking Song, players write a drinking song together as they act out scenes. Kahn, the former singer/songwriter and guitarist for Brooklyn Jewish queercore folk-punk band Schmekel, wanted to carry over elements of music into this game.
A throughline in all three games is the power of creative resistance to authority — a narrative that Kahn said strikes him as particularly Jewish.
“There are all these stories in Jewish folklore that are really overtly about finding trickster-y or creative ways of fighting back against oppressive and unjust governmental regimes, evil kings, bad advisors,” Kahn said. “One of the first stories I ever heard in my life was the Purim story, so it’s very embedded in my mind as a part of Jewish consciousness, when evil rulers come to power and try to kill us all, we’re supposed to find these outside-the-box ways of preventing that from happening.”
For some Jewish creators, Jewish holidays are an explicit inspiration. Like many Jewish kids of the ‘80s and ‘90s, Max Fefer, a civil engineer by day and game designer by night, grew up loving the picture book “Herschel and the Hanukkah Goblins,” which remains a popular festive text. But as Fefer notes, goblins are often associated with antisemitic stereotypes. Fefer’s first Jewish game, Hanukkah Goblins, turns the story on its head — players interact as the jovial goblins, who are here not to destroy but to spread the spirit of Hanukkah to their goblin neighbors.
Last year, Fefer launched a successful Kickstarter for another Jewish holiday-inspired tabletop role-playing game, Esther and the Queens, where players assume the roles of Esther and her handmaidens from the Purim story, who join together to defeat Haman by infiltrating a masquerade party as queens from a far-off land.
Esther and the Queens channels Fefer’s Purim memories and includes carnival activities, including Skee-Ball; a calm, relaxing Mishloach Manot basket-making; and a fast-paced racing game.
“All of our holidays, they’re opportunities for us to gather as a community in different ways,” Fefer said. “Watching this satirical, comedic retelling of the story of Purim and the Esther Megillah and coming together into a theater, in a synagogue, to watch these spiels and laugh together and spin the graggers when we hear Haman’s name — all of those things help us build identity and community, and I think games in particular surrounding identity, that’s a great way for a Jewish person themselves to feel seen in a game and reinforce their identity, and share their background with friends.”
Another pair of Jewish game creators, Gabrielle Rabinowitz and her cousin, Ben Bisogno, were inspired by Passover.
“The seder is kind of like an RPG in that it’s a structured storytelling experience where everyone takes turns reading and telling, and there’s rituals and things you do at a certain time,” Rabinowitz said. “It’s halfway to an RPG.”
The game became a pandemic project for the two of them, and alongside artist Katrin Dirim and a host of other collaborators, they created Ma Nishtana: Why Is This Night Different? — a story game modeled on their family’s seder. The game follows the main beats of the Exodus story, and in every game, there will be a call to action from God, a moment of resistance, a departure and a final barrier — but different characters and moments resonate depending on the players’ choices.
As an educator at the Museum of Natural History, Rabinowitz said she is often thinking about how to foster participation and confidence, and she wanted to create a game-play mechanic to encourage players to be “as brazen as her family is.” The result was an in-game action called “Wait! Wait! Wait!” — if players wish to ask a question, make a suggestion, disagree with a course of action or share a new perspective, they can call out “Wait! Wait! Wait!” to do so.
The game also includes a series of scenes that are actively roleplayed or narrated, and each includes a ritual — one that can be done in-person or an alternate remote-friendly version. For example, at one point each player must come up with a plague inspired by the new story they’re telling together, and in the remote version, players go camera-off after reciting theirs.
“The fact that it was created during the pandemic and a way for us to connect and other people to connect with each other is really the soul of the game,” Rabinowitz said. “After each person tells a plague, by the end, all the cameras are off and everyone stays silent for another minute. It’s a hugely impactful moment when you’re playing remotely. The design is interwoven in the game itself.”
Rabinowitz said by playing a story of a family undergoing these trials, the themes of family and identity deepen every time she plays the game.
“A lot of people say, ‘Wow, I’ve never felt more connected to this story,’” she said. “Embodying these characters gave me a feeling of relevance and that makes it feel important as a Jewish precept.”
For other creators, that deep connection comes in more lighthearted scenarios. Nora Katz, a theatremaker, game designer and public historian working at the Goldring/Woldenberg Institute of Southern Jewish Life (ISJL) by day, created the Jewish deli-centered game Lunch Rush, which was included in the Doikayt anthology.
“There’s also types of institutions that come up a lot in [tabletop role-playing games], especially sort of high fantasy,” she said. “Everyone meets in a tavern, there’s an inn, things like that. So the idea of a deli as a central gathering place in a world like that felt fun to me.”
An important element of Lunch Rush is that players must be eating while playing, so for Katz’s first round with friends, they got together with chocolate chip ice cream and dill pickle potato chips. She said the deli is a shared language, and her fellow players were all bringing in their own favorite things about delis they loved into the fictional place they were building together.
Tabletop role-playing games “at their core are about collaboration and relationships and storytelling and community, and for me, all of those things are also what Jewishness is about, to me they totally go hand in hand,” Katz said.
The games are not meant to be for Jewish players only. Rabinowitz said the guidebook for Ma Nishtana includes essays to encourage people to further engage with the narrative.
“Jewish players, non-Jewish players, priests, non-religious people, all different people have played it and almost all of them have told us it’s given them a new way of thinking of how they relate to religious tradition, and I didn’t really set out to do that,” Rabinowitz said. “I feel really privileged to have helped create that space.”
Rabinowitz and Bisogno also commissioned other creators to build alternate backdrops for their game, so it can be repurposed to telling the story of another oppressed people’s fight for freedom. Players can interact as embattled yaoguai, spirits from Chinese mythology; explore a Janelle Monáe-inspired Afrofuturist world; play as Indigenous land defenders; or unionize as exploited workers at “E-Shypt.”
Fefer, who has been amplifying the work of other Jewish creators in the tabletop role-playing game space, said the harm of stereotyping and reinforcing negative tropes is still present in the industry, and not just for Jewish people. For example, fans recently criticized Dungeons & Dragons publishers Wizards of the Coast for reinforcing anti-Black stereotypes in the descriptions of a fantasy race, the Hadozee.
“I think it’s a process of talking to people who are from these groups and bringing them onto your teams and making sure you’re incorporating their perspectives into, in the example of Dungeons & Dragons, a hundred-million-dollar industry, being intentional about that design and looking at things from lots of different angles,” Fefer said. “How could our branding, our games be reinforcing something we’re not even aware of?”
Fefer hopes people who play Hanukkah Goblins and Esther and the Queens feel seen and have moments of shared joy, and also that they learn something from these games — about the antisemitic tropes in fantasy, or about underrepresented groups within the Jewish community. With Esther and the Queens, Fefer collaborated with a writer and artist, Noraa Kaplan, to retell the Purim story from a queer and feminist lens, drawing on Jewish texts that the pair said shows the long presence of queer and trans people in Jewish tradition.
“We have a lot of richness within Judaism to share our culture and share our upbringing but also just be representation,” Fefer added. “We’re living in a time of heightened antisemitism and the world being a gross place to be at times, and we can really bring the beauty of Judaism into game design and create experiences for people that are both representative of Judaism and also just very Jewish experiences.”
But for all the important conversations and learning experiences that can come from Jewish tabletop role-playing games, Katz said the goofiness and joy is important, too.
“We live in such a horrendous society that is of our own making,” she said. “If you can, for a little while, enjoy an anticapitalist fictional deli that you and your friends live in, I think that’s great.”
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The post With goblins, spellcasters and delis, board game makers are imagining new Jewish worlds appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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‘Iran Says School Massacre’ and the Media Repeats: How a Regime Claim Became a Viral Headline
An Iranian flag flutters, as Israel and the US launched strikes on Iran, in Tehran, Iran, February 28, 2026. Photo: Majid Asgaripour/WANA (West Asia News Agency) via REUTERS
On Saturday, February 28, Israel and the US launched a joint military operation against the Iranian regime, targeting senior leadership, including Supreme Leader Ali Hosseini Khamenei, and military commanders. The operation has also seen a significant targeting of military infrastructure, including air defense systems, missile launchers, and Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) command centers.
The Iranian regime, like its terrorist proxies Hamas and Hezbollah, has embedded its infrastructure within civilian locations. As protests broke out at the beginning of 2026, the movement of weapons and military equipment into protected civilian locations, such as schools and hospitals, was widely observed. This prompted Iranian civilians to take protective measures and warn one another of the dual use of protected spaces.
Geolocation/Correction/Additional Info:
1. Confirmed geolocation: The Imam Ali school in Arak, Iran (34.088253, 49.687137) @GeoConfirmed .
2. The photo is from as early as January 8th, 2026 – Per earliest reports it just depicts them as “Security forces”.
3. This school appears… https://t.co/6y7INfX8Fx pic.twitter.com/JWAZJ34bch— Tal Hagin (@talhagin) January 27, 2026
When the IDF targeted an IRGC compound in Minab, southern Iran, Iran’s state broadcaster, the Islamic Republic of Iran Broadcasting (IRIB), immediately claimed that the US had purposefully targeted the Shajareh Tayyebeh school full of young girls.
Al Jazeera soon published the story, blaming Israel for the deaths of children.
The Western media, without questioning the credibility of the source, immediately reported on the strike and followed Al Jazeera’s lead by holding Israel responsible.
In doing so, the media further amplified and legitimized claims from the same regime that has spent the past two months executing its own civilians in the streets protesting for freedom.
The same outlets that included a caveat about their inability to independently verify the number of protesters killed by the regime were the same ones that published and continuously updated alleged casualty figures without any verification other than a regime source.
This is not to say that innocent civilians may not have died in the strike, but they were certainly not the target of Israel or the US. Moreover, a civilian building was purposefully exploited by the Iranian regime, putting civilians in immediate danger.
The school, reportedly intended to be for the children of military personnel, was built directly next to an IRGC naval base, according to anti-regime media.
Independent geolocation analysts further indicated that the Shajareh Tayyebeh school was located in the same premises as the Sayyid al-Shohada barracks of the IRGC Navy’s Asef Brigade. While it remains unclear whether many civilians were present in the area at the time of the strike, witnesses have reported that the school was not targeted but rather the adjacent IRGC buildings, where missiles were reportedly being stored.
This information was, of course, omitted from IRIB’s reporting of the strike. As a result, when Western outlets covered the story, the school’s proximity to — and apparent integration with — an IRGC military complex was missing from the coverage.
The Iranian Embassy in Austria continued with the disinformation campaign on behalf of the regime, sharing a now-viral image on X of a backpack that reportedly belongs to one of the schoolgirls killed in the strike.
However, research analysts have found the photo to be AI-generated, as a Google Gemini watermark was detected hidden in the image.
Adding to the uncertainty surrounding the already disputed casualty figures, basic questions remain unanswered, most notably who exactly was killed in the strike.
As of the time of writing, The Telegraph reported 165 casualties, including 81 pupils, citing Iranian sources. That leaves 84 individuals not identified in the public breakdown. And given that the school was located within an IRGC compound, it is legitimate to ask whether any of the remaining casualties were affiliated with the regime, a distinction that has not been clarified.
The disinformation does not stop at pro-regime sources. A widely-circulated photograph online purported to show a misfired IRGC missile that had fallen inside Iranian territory and struck the school, shifting the blame onto the Iranian regime.
However, independent analysts found that the school was located more than 1,000 kilometers from where the photo was taken. They also show that the structure in the photograph faced a direction inconsistent with the alleged missile trajectory, making it unlikely that the image depicted the Shajareh Tayyebeh school.
The Iranian regime has taken a page out of Hamas’ notebook. For the past two and a half years, Hamas has made exaggerated and false claims, which the media repeatedly amplified before doing their own due diligence. Corrections, when they came, rarely traveled as far as the original headlines. That same cycle of rapid accusation, viral spread, and delayed scrutiny is now playing out in Iran.
The nature of war between Israel and the Iranian regime means that vast amounts of information are released in real time, often before facts can be fully verified. When reporting omits key context or relies heavily on regime-affiliated sources, narratives can solidify before the truth has a chance to catch up, leaving the public with a distorted understanding of events.
In a time of instantaneous reporting and with clear evidence that narratives are being deliberately shaped for strategic purposes, rigorous scrutiny by the media is essential to ensure the truth prevails.
The author is a contributor to HonestReporting, a Jerusalem-based media watchdog with a focus on antisemitism and anti-Israel bias — where a version of this article first appeared.
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History Is Not Over: From Cyrus to Today’s Iran
Protesters gathered on Jan. 24, 2026, at Joachimsthaler Platz in western Berlin, Germany, to rally in support of anti-regime demonstrations in Iran, calling for US military intervention. Photo: Michael Kuenne/PRESSCOV via ZUMA Press Wire via Reuters Connect
In 539 BCE, a Persian king made a decision that changed Jewish history.
Cyrus conquered Babylon and founded a nation in exile. The Jews had lost their Temple, their sovereignty, and their center. He could have absorbed them into his empire and tightened control. Instead, he allowed them to return to Jerusalem and rebuild. That decision altered the course of Jewish continuity. Our presence in the Land of Israel today traces back to that moment.
Jewish memory holds Cyrus in a rare place of honor. He was not Jewish. He did not belong to our covenant. Yet his choice shaped our destiny. History records his decree. Our tradition preserves it. That act still echoes through our prayers and our national life.
History does not disappear. It accumulates. One decision becomes a foundation for generations.
Today, the Iranian people live under a regime that governs through coercion. Protesters have filled the streets demanding dignity and paid for it with imprisonment and violence. Women have risked everything to challenge laws that strip them of agency. Families live under surveillance and fear. The regime’s ideology has isolated Iran from much of the world and directed hostility outward, including toward Israel.
The Iranian people are not synonymous with the regime that rules them. They carry a civilization older than the Islamic Republic. They carry the legacy of Persia, which once intersected with Jewish survival in a decisive way.
As Jews, we understand exile. We understand what it means when rulers decide the limits of your freedom. We also understand what it means when a ruler makes a different choice.
Jewish values are anchored in memory and responsibility. We are commanded to pursue justice. We are taught that every human being is created in the image of God. We are told to remember our own experience of oppression so that we do not become indifferent.
When I teach self-defense, I speak about responsibility in the present moment. If danger is forming, clarity matters. Early action changes outcomes. Waiting for harm to fully unfold reduces options and increases damage. Self-defense is rooted in awareness and accountability.
History functions in a similar way. Cyrus acted at a critical moment. His choice redirected a people’s future. That decision still shapes Jewish life more than 2,000 years later. A single act of leadership can move through centuries.
The regime in Tehran has chosen a path of repression and confrontation. That choice is shaping the lives of millions of Iranians today and influencing the security of the broader region. Regimes are temporary. The consequences of their choices are not.
Wishing for change in Iran is not an expression of hostility toward its people. It is a recognition that societies thrive when citizens are free to speak, build, and lead without fear of their own government. A different Iran would serve its citizens first. It would reduce instability across the region. It would allow the country’s ancient culture to reemerge from beneath layers of coercion.
Nothing in history stands alone. The decree of a Persian king continues to reverberate in Jewish life. The decisions made in Iran now will shape futures we cannot yet see. Jewish memory teaches that liberation can begin with one moment of moral clarity.
A Persian ruler once enabled Jewish restoration. The Iranian people today seek their own restoration. History is long. Memory is longer. The question for us is how we carry that memory forward and how we allow it to inform our understanding of freedom, responsibility, and the power of timely choices.
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Tsahi Shemesh is an Israeli-American IDF veteran and the founder of Krav Maga Experts in NYC. A father and educator, he writes about Jewish identity, resilience, moral courage, and the ethics of strength in a time of rising antisemitism.
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Big Tents Need Moral Boundaries: The High Cost of Institutional Cowardice
New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani delivers a speech during his inauguration ceremony in New York City, US, Jan. 1, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Kylie Cooper
In the vocabulary of modern leadership, the “big tent” is a sacred cow — the hallmark of pluralism and the supposed proof of a movement’s vitality. But as we navigate the geopolitical shockwaves of early 2026, we are witnessing a fundamental law of institutional physics: a tent without a frame will eventually collapse under the weight of its own contradictions.
The recent joint military operations against Iran have provided fertile ground for a virulent strain of demagoguery. We are seeing a shift from legitimate foreign policy criticism to “vice-signaling” — the intentional, ostentatious breaking of moral taboos to prove one’s “authenticity” to a radicalized base. Equally dangerous is the growing unwillingness to shun those who egregiously violate these taboos.
When an institution stops enforcing its boundaries, it becomes a host for pathogens that eventually kill the original mission.
The Case of the Hollowed Right
Consider the recent trajectory of Tucker Carlson. What began as a debate over “America First” isolationism has curdled into something far more dangerous.
In recent weeks, Carlson has platformed “Khazar theory” genetic tropes — suggesting Jews should undergo DNA tests to prove their provenance — and hosted uncritical interviews with Holocaust revisionists under the guise of “just asking questions.”
This is not a policy debate; it is the systematic dismantling of the moral taboos that once kept overt bigotry out of the mainstream. When a leader uses a massive platform to single out the world’s only Jewish state as the sole source of domestic suffering, they aren’t making a fiscal argument; they are constructing a “permission structure” for hate.
By framing this as “skepticism,” Carlson avoids the social consequences that such rhetoric once commanded, even while he uncritically associates with avowed bigots like Nick Fuentes.
It is hard to imagine a pundit cozying up to David Duke without facing immediate social ostracization — a “moral guilt by association.” Yet today, the outrage often lasts only for a news cycle, leaving few lasting consequences for those who sanitize hate.
The Danger of Permission Structures
The real threat, however, isn’t just the demagogue; it’s the silence of the moderate. Since October 7, 2023, the boundaries have been trampled because those inside the tent refuse to act as the “immune system.”
When we fail to hold our own side accountable — whether it is the Left’s refusal to condemn the dehumanization of Israelis in the name of “resistance,” or the Right’s willingness to ignore antisemitic dog-whistles to preserve a voting bloc — we are complicit. This is true not only in political associations but also within religious institutions.
As I have written regarding the responsibility of the Christian faithful to denounce those who espouse bigotry in Christ’s name, all institutions must draw a clear moral boundary and shun those who cross it, while attempting to maintain the benefits of the affiliation. If the local pastor or the Vicar of Christ stays silent as the Cross is used as a bludgeon against the neighbor, the silence becomes permission.
The Democratic Vacuum and the “Mamdani Reversal”
This rot is cross-partisan. On the Left, the refusal to enforce boundaries against an illiberal fringe has led to the “Mamdani reversal.” In New York City and on elite campuses, we see a movement so focused on “intersectional solidarity” that it can no longer condemn the targeting of civilians if the perpetrators fit a certain ideological profile.
When a “human rights” organization cannot unequivocally condemn terror because it might offend a “coalition partner,” it has ceased to be a moral arbiter; it has become a hostage to its own “big tent” philosophy. While groups like the DSA may not fully control the Democratic Party, their hand is firmly on the wheel, steering it toward illiberalism and anti-Americanism, with only a brave few willing to call out these fundamental taboo violations.
A Principled Path Forward
To save our institutions, we must return to a disciplined moral order. This is not a call for the reactionary excesses of “cancel culture,” which often lacks objective standards. Instead, we must solve this in a principled way by restoring universal moral taboos.
As I’ve outlined in my work on the “Lawful but Awful” zone of social behavior, there are four essential principles for this restoration:
- The Red Line: Limit actionable taboos to overt bigotry, dehumanization, and the endorsement of violence.
- The Consensus Test: Distinguish between subjective offense (partisan) and a “Shared Moral Violation” (universal).
- The Private Mechanism: Enforce standards through civil society, never government coercion.
- The Open Door: Ensure the goal of consequence is correction and redemption, not permanent destruction.
Reclaiming the Obligation to Say “No”
True pluralism requires “definitional clarity” — the courage to say that while many are welcome, those who actively undermine the core tenets of the mission cannot be given the keys to the kingdom.
Leaders must stop treating moral boundaries as “divisive” and start seeing them as “protective.” The Left long ago ceded this ground by allowing reverse discrimination to be normalized within social justice “power dynamic” frameworks. Now we see a similar rise of illiberalism on the Right, rooted in distortions of theology or in foreign policy critiques that only hold up if their double standards against the Jewish state are ignored. If this parasitic fringe is not immediately exorcised, it will corrupt and destroy its host.
A positive vision for an organization can be broad, but we must reclaim the right to draw a clear moral boundary. We must say “no” to those who cross it. Only then will our “yes” mean anything at all.
Erez Levin is an advertising technologist trying to effect big pro-social changes in that industry and the world at large, currently focused on restoring society’s essential moral taboos against overt hatred. He writes on this topic at elevin11.substack.com.