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Friday March 13, 2026 – כ״ד אֲדָר תשפ”ו

Dear World,

Please stop shooting at synagogues and taking your anger out on the Jews. Thank you.

In the past week alone, five synagogues have been targeted in attacks, including yesterday’s assault on Temple Israel in West Bloomfield, outside Detroit. Jewish communities across the country are shaken, frightened, and exhausted. Once again, we find ourselves repeating a basic plea that should not have to be said in the twenty-first century: Jewish houses of worship are not legitimate targets for anyone’s anger, grievance, or political protest.

If you have an issue with the Israeli government, that is legitimate—depending on what your issue is (as in critiquing Israel’s policies or its existence). Democracies invite debate, criticism, and disagreement. But ramming your car into a synagogue preschool or opening fire near a Jewish community will not bring back relatives lost in Lebanon. It will not change Israeli policy. And it will not be seen as meaningful protest or legitimate policy critique. It is antisemitism, plain and simple.

Temple Israel in West Bloomfield has no sway over what Benjamin Netanyahu and the Israeli government decide to do in prosecuting a war. Nor does it control the decisions of the United States government in the Middle East. The families who pray there, send their children to preschool there, and gather there for holidays and life-cycle moments are simply American Jews living their lives.

When anger at the Israeli government becomes violence directed at Jews in suburban Detroit, the world is not witnessing political protest—it is witnessing antisemitism.

And the Jewish community is tired of having to explain this over and over again.

I recently asked my daughter’s high school principal—an intelligent, thoughtful, and caring educator—how he would react if students of Chinese descent were blamed and ridiculed for the policies of the Chinese government, or if students with Russian-sounding names were harassed because of Vladimir Putin’s war against Ukraine. He was appalled by the thought. Then he paused and said quietly, “Oh, I see.”

Thankfully, he affirmed that no student should ever be singled out because of their religion, ethnicity, or heritage. No one should have to hide who they are because of geopolitical events thousands of miles away.

That principle should apply to Jews as well.

Yet the reality of Jewish life today tells a different story. As an Israeli, I am conditioned to sit in restaurants and cafés, quietly keeping an eye on the door and noticing who enters. As a Jew in America, I sit pray in synagogue on Shabbat aware that we have undergone active shooter training. I know where the exits are. I look around the room, notice the elderly woman with a walker, and wonder how I would help her if something terrible were to happen. I glance at the children and imagine how we would protect them if—God forbid—the unthinkable occurred.

As a parent, I worry that the next shooting could take place at my children’s school. As a member of a Jewish day school board, we spend countless hours each year fundraising not for scholarships, programs, or teachers, but for security. There’s no question that preparation is key to preventing tragedies. Rabbi Marla Hornsten of Temple Israel in West Bloomfield, MI, commented to me, “This is the thing that we had all prepared for and prayed that it would never happen, and then it did, and thank God that security was well prepared and that no one was hurt.”

My own synagogue recently installed a sophisticated metal detection system at the entrance. It is technology that the many churches in our neighborhood simply do not need. I do not resent them for that—in fact, I pray they never will need it. But the reality is that Jewish institutions must now spend enormous resources simply to protect themselves.

Just imagine what Jewish communities—and society as a whole—could accomplish and contribute if those resources, personnel, and hours of vigilance were devoted instead to education, service, and community building.

Israel today spends an enormous share of its national resources on defense—well over five percent of its entire economy, one of the highest defense burdens of any developed country in the world. Much of that spending is necessary to defend its citizens from real threats posed by Iran and the network of armed groups it supports across the region. But every shekel devoted to missiles, interceptors, and fortifications is a shekel that cannot be invested in schools, housing, healthcare, or the social fabric of Israeli society. Imagine what Israel—and the entire region—could build if those resources were not consumed by the constant need for defense.

The truth is that antisemitism is not new. The modern Zionist movement emerged in part as a response to what was once called the “Jewish Question.” Theodor Herzl believed that the creation of a Jewish state would normalize Jewish existence. If Jews had a nation like every other nation, he believed, we would finally be accepted among the family of nations.

Others were less optimistic. Ze’ev Jabotinsky believed that hatred of Jews would not simply disappear. In his view, Jewish sovereignty was not only about national revival—it was about survival, about ensuring that the Jewish people would have the strength to defend themselves in the face of recurring hostility.

American Jews once believed that the promise of the American dream might offer another answer. In the great melting pot, Jews would assimilate, become fully American, and leave behind the old hatreds of Europe. Jews rose to remarkable levels of success and influence in American life—far beyond what our small numbers might predict.

And yet, here we are.

Today antisemitism is again rising from multiple directions. It appears on the far right and on the far left. It manifests as conspiracy theories about Jewish power, and as ideological rejection of Jewish nationalism. It appears in vandalism, harassment, and increasingly, in violence.

Part of the tragedy is that hatred of Jews has always been fueled by the same dangerous myths—that Jews are uniquely powerful, disloyal, or responsible for the world’s problems—and today those ancient conspiracies often merge with modern political anger at Israel. The Iranian regime has elevated this hatred into state ideology, openly denying Israel’s right to exist and repeatedly declaring that the “Zionist regime” must be eliminated, a position rooted in the revolutionary ideology that emerged after Iran’s 1979 Islamic Revolution and continues to shape its regional strategy today.

None of this is new to Jewish history.

On Purim we read how Haman described the Jewish people to the Persian king:

יֶשְׁנוֹ עַם־אֶחָד מְפֻזָּר וּמְפֹרָד בֵּין הָעַמִּים… וְדָתֵיהֶם שֹׁנוֹת מִכָּל עָם
“There is a certain people scattered and dispersed among the nations… whose laws are different from those of every other people.” (Esther 3:8)

Difference itself became the accusation.

And on Passover we sing the haunting words of the Haggadah:

שֶׁלֹּא אֶחָד בִּלְבָד עָמַד עָלֵינוּ לְכַלּוֹתֵנוּ, אֶלָּא שֶׁבְּכָל דּוֹר וָדוֹר עוֹמְדִים עָלֵינוּ לְכַלּוֹתֵנוּ
“Not only one has risen against us to destroy us, but in every generation there are those who rise against us.”

These words are not meant to instill despair. They are meant to remind us that hatred of Jews has appeared in many forms throughout history—and that Jewish survival has required resilience, solidarity, and moral clarity.

But when anger at the Israeli government turns into violence against Jews in Detroit, Pittsburgh, Los Angeles, or anywhere else, it ceases to be a political protest. It becomes antisemitism.

Criticize Israel where warranted. I do, all the time. Debate its policies. Protest its government.

Democracies invite that.   But know that your words and slogans are not just words or catchy chants. They are being taken to heart and translated into action. So choose them carefully.

Targeting Jews—our synagogues, our schools, our children—is not activism. It is hatred.

And it must stop.

Because a synagogue is not a battlefield. A preschool is not a proxy for geopolitics. And Jews—wherever we live—are not responsible for the decisions of a government thousands of miles away. In fact, targeting Jews only diverts attention away from the actual issues, unifies us, and prevents further empathy for the cause you claim to promote.

The world must finally learn this basic truth: attacking Jews will not bring justice to anyone. It will only repeat one of humanity’s oldest and most shameful patterns.

Enough.

Friday March 13, 2026 –  כ״ד אֲדָר תשפ”ו

When the sirens sound in Israel, everything stops. Parents grab their children and run for shelter. Schools close. Streets empty. In these days of war with Iran, Israelis are living with the daily reality of danger and uncertainty. For Jews in the Diaspora, the experience can feel far away and filtered through headlines, politics, and social media debates. But Reform Zionism insists on something different. It calls us into relationship with Israel in its most vulnerable moments. It asks us not to watch from a distance, but to share in the responsibility of building and protecting the Jewish state.

The Torah offers a powerful metaphor for this work in Parashat Vayakhel-Pekudei. After the trauma of the Golden Calf, Moses gathers the people—וַיַּקְהֵל מֹשֶׁה אֶת כָּל עֲדַת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל (Exodus 35:1). The entire community comes together with a shared purpose: to build the Mishkan, a sacred dwelling place. But the Mishkan is not imposed from above. It is built through the contributions of the people themselves—those whose hearts move them (כָּל נְדִיב לֵב Exodus 35:5). Some bring precious metals, others textiles, others craftsmanship and skill. Together, they create something holy.

In many ways, the Zionist project echoes this biblical moment. The rebirth of Jewish sovereignty was not a single political act but a collective endeavor. Pioneers drained swamps and planted fields. Teachers built schools. Soldiers defended a fragile new state. Jews around the world contributed resources, advocacy, and political support. Israel, like the Mishkan, has always been a collective act of Jewish creativity and responsibility.

Reform Zionism grows directly out of this tradition. It is not about slogans or symbolic gestures – and not about platforms or statements. It is about participating in the building of Israel in ways that reflect our deepest Jewish values—security alongside justice, sovereignty alongside moral responsibility, and a society that reflects the ethical vision of the prophets of Israel.

That commitment requires honesty about the challenges Israel faces. In recent days – while missiles are falling from Iran, Settler attacks in the West Bank have killed Palestinians and displaced families. Such violence threatens the rule of law and undermines the moral and democratic foundations of the Jewish State, not to mention tarnishing Israel’s image abroad. Reform Zionism demands that we confront these realities clearly. A commitment to Israel’s security cannot be used to justify civilian violence or lawlessness. Upholding Israel as both Jewish and democratic means rejecting settler violence, insisting on accountability, and affirming the dignity and humanity of Palestinians.

But Reform Zionism is not defined only by critique. It is defined by active engagement and contribution.

Reform Zionism at its best means advocating for the protection of Bedouin and Arab-Israeli communities facing the indiscriminate threat of Iranian rockets. It means fighting for equality for women in Israeli society at a time when gender segregation and disparities are increasing. It means resisting attempts by ultra-Orthodox political factions to pillage public resources while avoiding the shared civic responsibilities of Israeli society. And it means continuing to build broad coalitions with partners across liberal and progressive communities—both in Israel and around the world—who share a vision of Zionism that is democratic, pluralistic, and rooted in justice.

The current war with Iran highlights the complexity of the relationship between Israel and Diaspora Jewry. Israelis often experience Iran’s threat as existential, while Jews in the Diaspora encounter it through the lens of politics, media narratives, and rising antisemitism. These different perspectives can create tension. But Reform Zionism insists that partnership matters. Our solidarity, our engagement, and our commitment to shared values are essential to Israel’s future.

Like the Mishkan, the building of Israel is not a completed project. It is an ongoing endeavor that requires participation from Jews everywhere. For the Reform Movement, that means bringing young Jews to Israel so they can build real relationships with the land and its people. It means encouraging honest conversations about Israel’s achievements and its struggles. It means investing in Israeli Reform communities and supporting those who are working every day to make Israel more pluralistic, democratic, and inclusive.

When Moses inspected the completed Mishkan, he blessed the people—not only for the structure they had built, but for the spirit of collective purpose that made it possible. The blessing recognized that something sacred had emerged because a community chose to build it together.

Israel today is still under construction—politically, morally, spiritually, and physically. Reform Zionism answers the question of our role with a clear and unwavering commitment: we will be part of the building. Not from afar, and not only in words, but through deep relationship, shared responsibility, and active contribution to the ongoing project of Jewish sovereignty.

That is what it means to be a Reform Zionist today.

Friday, March 6, 2026 – י״ז אֲדָר תשפ”ו

In this week’s episode of The Pluralist Podcast, my friend, colleague, and co-host, Orly Erez Likhovski, starts out by stating what should be obvious, but often is not: This. Is. Not. Normal.  The now seemingly routine act of running back and forth to shelters, sleeping in public shelters – in parking garages and train stations – is not normal. It is not normal to live under constant threat, under sporadic volleys of missiles.  As today is Day 7 of this military engagement, I would like to offer five reflections to help understand and think about this moment:

Five Reflections for North American Reform Jews in a Time of War

At this fraught and uncertain moment, as the United States and Israel are engaged in open conflict with Iran, American Reform Jews—like Jews everywhere—are experiencing a swirl of emotions: fear for loved ones, concern for the future of Israel and the region, and deep questions about what lies ahead. Jewish tradition does not ask us to suspend our moral reasoning in moments of crisis, but it does teach us to begin with solidarity and responsibility. Our response must therefore hold together two commitments: standing with Israel and with those in harm’s way, while also asking the serious questions that this moment demands.

Below are five reflections that may help frame how we approach this moment as American Reform Jews.

1. Solidarity

Our first instinct in a moment of war must be solidarity with those whose lives are immediately at risk. Israelis across the country are once again living under the shadow of missile fire and uncertainty. American service members have also been placed in harm’s way, deployed far from home into a dangerous and volatile conflict.

For Diaspora Jews, Israel should not be an abstraction. It is family. It is friends, colleagues, and loved ones. When Israel is under threat, we feel that vulnerability personally. Our tradition commands us not to stand idly by when lives are endangered, and so we begin by standing with the Israeli people, with American troops, and with allies and innocent civilians throughout the region who face the terrifying consequences of war.

Solidarity, however, does not mean silence or uncritical acceptance of every policy decision. It means recognizing that before political analysis comes human concern: prayers for safety, support for those defending their countries, and compassion for all civilians whose lives are disrupted and endangered by violence.

2. The Iranian Regime Bears Profound Responsibility for Regional Violence

It is essential to remember the long history that has brought the region to this point. For more than four decades, the Islamic Republic of Iran has been one of the world’s primary state sponsors of terrorism. Under the leadership of Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, the regime has financed, armed, and directed militant proxies across the Middle East and beyond.

Groups such as Hezbollah, Hamas, and other militias operating throughout the region have received Iranian support, contributing to instability and violence that has claimed countless lives—Israeli, Arab, American, and others. The regime’s ideological commitment to Israel’s destruction and its repeated calls for the elimination of the Jewish State have not been rhetorical flourishes; they have been paired with concrete efforts to surround Israel with armed proxies and increasingly sophisticated weaponry. They are responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Sunni Muslims in Syria, and pose a threat to regional stability.

The death of Khamenei in joint U.S.–Israeli strikes marks a dramatic turning point in this long confrontation. For many people, both inside Israel and among the Iranian Diaspora, his removal represents the end of a decades-long era of repression and militant expansionism.

And it is important to acknowledge that within our own community, people are responding to this moment in very different ways. Some feel a sense of relief or even hope that a leader responsible for decades of violence and repression is no longer in power. Some feel pride in Israel’s extraordinary military capabilities. Others feel deep solidarity with the courageous Iranian women, protestors, and university students who have risked their lives for freedom over the past several years. Still others feel gratitude toward the American administration for standing firmly with Israel in a moment of grave danger.

Those emotions are real and legitimate. They reflect the deep moral stakes of this moment.

None of this absolves any other actor of responsibility for the suffering in the region. But it does place the current conflict within a broader context: a decades-long campaign by the Iranian regime to project power through militancy and terror. Any honest conversation about the present war must acknowledge this reality.

3. Serious Questions About Timing and Strategy Remain

Even while acknowledging the malign role of the Iranian regime, it is reasonable—and necessary—for responsible citizens and members of the Jewish community to ask difficult questions.

Why now? What new intelligence or strategic calculation led to this escalation at this particular moment? How imminent was the threat posed by Iran’s nuclear program or other military activities (such as intercontinental ballistic missiles and the activation of regional proxies)? Were all diplomatic avenues exhausted? Were there alternative strategies that might have reduced the likelihood of a full-scale regional conflict?

Jewish tradition values questioning not as an act of faithlessness or betrayal, or even a minimalization of perceived threat, but as an expression of responsibility. The same community that stands firmly with Israel’s security and with the safety of American service members must also insist on clarity and accountability from American and Israeli leaders who make decisions that place millions of lives at risk.

These questions are not asked in order to weaken resolve, but to strengthen it. Democracies rely on thoughtful citizens who are willing to examine both the necessity and the consequences of war.

4. What Comes Next?

Perhaps the most unsettling aspect of this moment and the most troubling question is the apparent absence of a clear and credible plan for what comes after the initial military confrontation.

Military action, even when justified, is rarely a strategy in itself. Wars must ultimately serve a political objective: greater stability, a safer region, and a pathway toward a more sustainable future. At present, however, it remains unclear what such an outcome would look like for Iran.

The Trump administration has not been consistent in articulating the goals of the war. Is the goal to halt Iran’s nuclear ambitions temporarily? To weaken the regime’s regional influence? To encourage internal political/regime change within Iran? Each of these objectives would require very different strategies and carry very different risks.

Many fear that the Iranians will do their best to pull Israel and the U.S. into a long, drawn-out war reminiscent of Iraq/Afghanistan for Americans and Lebanon (the first) for Israel. This would likely have a detrimental political outcome for President Trump, while the current engagement feels like an essential political shot-in-the-arm for Prime Minister Netanyahu.

Without a coherent plan for the day after, even a successful military campaign can lead to prolonged instability, unintended escalation, and new cycles of violence. The North American Jewish community, which cares deeply about both Israel’s security and the long-term stability of the region, must therefore press policymakers to articulate not only how this war is being fought, but what future it is meant to create.

5. A Dangerous Narrative at Home

At the outset, many were legitimately troubled that the President went to war without consultation or approval from Congress, which, under Article 1 of the Constitution, is responsible for war declarations, not the Executive Branch on its own. As the conflict unfolds abroad, it is already reverberating within the United States in troubling ways. Both the far Left and the far Right, are expressing and echoing familiar and deeply harmful narratives are resurfacing—claims that the United States has been dragged into war “for Israel” or “on behalf of the Jews.” Such accusations echo a long history of antisemitic conspiracy theories that portray Jews as secretly manipulating governments and wars for their own purposes.

These claims are not only false; they are dangerous. Decisions about war and peace are made by elected leaders of the United States based on their own assessments of national interest and security. Suggesting that American Jews somehow control those decisions or bear responsibility for them places Jewish communities at risk and fuels hostility against Jews at precisely the moment when tensions are already high. There is extensive discussion of the pressure that PM Netanyahu exerted on President Trump during their last dyad in the Oval Office, including his persuasive power.

However, American Jews must reject these narratives clearly and confidently. We are citizens of this country who care deeply about both the United States and Israel. Our support for Israel’s security does not make us responsible for American foreign policy, nor does it diminish our commitment to the well-being and democratic values of the United States.

Holding Complexity in a Time of Crisis

Moments of war often pressure communities to collapse complexity into slogans or absolutes. Jewish tradition calls us to something more demanding. We can stand firmly with Israel and with American service members while also acknowledging the suffering of innocent civilians across the region. We can recognize the destructive role of the Iranian regime while still asking hard questions about strategy and timing. We can pray for victory over those who threaten destruction while also yearning for a day when war is no longer necessary.

For American Reform Jews, this moment calls for moral clarity combined with moral humility. We pray for the safety of all those in harm’s way. We pray for wisdom among leaders making grave decisions. And we continue to work toward a future in which the people of Israel, the people of Iran, and all the peoples of the Middle East might one day live in dignity, security, and peace.

In the meantime, our task is to remain engaged, thoughtful, and faithful to the Jewish values that guide us—even, and especially, in times of war.

Shabbat Shalom.

Febraury 27. 2026 – י׳ אֲדָר תשפ”ו

The word “Zionism” did not emerge accidentally. It was coined in the late nineteenth century by the Austrian Jewish journalist and nationalist Nathan Birnbaum (1864-1937), years before Herzl convened the First Zionist Congress. Birnbaum was searching for language that could capture the Jewish national awakening unfolding in Europe — a movement not merely of politics, but of identity, destiny, and return. He chose “Zionism” deliberately.

He did not call it simply “Jewish nationalism,” nor “Hebraism.” He reached back into the deepest reservoir of Jewish memory and selected “Zion.”

Why?

Because Zion is not just a geographic reference. It is a symbol layered with longing. Zion appears in the TaNaKh 152 times as a title of Jerusalem. In the Psalms, it appears as the mountain of God; in prophetic literature, it appears as the seat of justice; in medieval poetry, it appears as the object of yearning. For centuries in exile, Jews prayed toward Zion. They wept for Zion. They dreamed of Zion. The word carried spiritual, historical, and emotional resonance that transcended politics.

When Birnbaum adopted “Zionism” as the name of the Jewish national liberation movement, he was signaling something profound: Jewish sovereignty would not simply be about Land; it would be about restoring a civilizational center. Zion symbolized the place from which, in Isaiah’s words, “Ki MiTzion tetze Torah u’dvar Adonai miYerushalayim” — “For out of Zion shall go forth Torah.” It represented moral aspiration as much as political autonomy.

Zionism was meant to be the return of the Jewish people to our spiritual and national core. It was a response to exclusion and humiliation in Europe. It was the insistence that Jews would determine their own destiny in the place that defined their story. Zion symbolized unity across denominations, languages, and lands. It was a word capacious enough to hold the diversity of the Jewish people.

And yet this week, in a painful irony, the very symbols that gave Zionism its name, Zion, the Temple Mount, the Western Wall, are becoming sources of alienation for the vast majority of world Jewry.

The proposed legislation advanced by MK Avi Maoz seeks to criminalize egalitarian prayer at the Kotel. Under such a law, Jews who gather in mixed-gender prayer, women who read from a Torah scroll, wear tallitot, kipot, and tefillin, or communities that pray according to more liberal practice could face criminal sanction in the Jewish state with punishment of up to seven years in prison.

If this isn’t enough, our great concern is that this is a test case, or a microcosm for what could happen in all of Israel, not just the Kotel. This is not a made-up fear. On Thursday, a full-page ad ran in the Yediot Ahronot daily with an image of red graffiti over the stones of the Kotel saying:

“THE KOTEL IS ONLY THE BEGINNING”

Through this piece of propaganda, the ad’s sponsors – Eretz HaKodesh – are attempting to claim that by implementing the Kotel framework (which was approved by the Netanyahu government), the Reform (and Conservative) Movement will then gradually dismantle a number of sacrosanct issues.

The fine print reads:

“The Kotel Framework: Masks are off – It’s Not About Prayer, It’s About the State Itself”

• Dismantling of the Chief Rabbinate’s hold on Marriage and Divorce in favor of civil marriage
• The erasure of the holiness of Shabbat:
  (and my personal favorite)
• Changing of the Identity of the State: Erasure of the Jewish Character

The Ad, of course, is a ridiculous farce, but it shows that even those who oppose us understand that we are working to strengthen the Jewish and Zionist character of the State, just not its Orthodox/Haredi identity.

Consider the symbolism of this moment. The movement named for Zion — for a mountain that represented the shared heart of the Jewish people — now risks using state power to exclude and even punish Jews at that very site.

Zion was chosen because it unified the Jewish people worldwide. It transcended factions and politics. It evoked a collective memory of pilgrimage and communal worship. The Temple Mount and its retaining walls were the focal point of Jewish longing precisely because they belonged to all Jews, regardless of custom or interpretation. Zion was never meant to be the exclusive property of only one stream of Judaism.

When world Jewry is told that their prayer is illegitimate at the Kotel, Zion ceases to function as a unifying symbol. When women are prevented from reading Torah at Judaism’s most sacred accessible site, the mountain of moral aspiration becomes a rock of coercion. When Diaspora Jews — who make up the majority of world Jewry — are effectively told that their religious expression has no standing at Zion’s stones, the name “Zionism” itself begins to feel hollow.

This is not merely a dispute about prayer arrangements. It is a crisis of meaning and a cudgel against Jews worldwide.

Zionism sought to end Jewish marginalization. It aimed to normalize Jewish life and restore dignity to the Jewish people. A law that criminalizes Jews for how they pray at the heart of Jewish sovereignty inverts that dream. It transforms Zion from a symbol of liberation into a site of exclusion and division.

For Diaspora Jews, this is not abstract. The vast majority of Jews worldwide identify with non-Orthodox streams of Judaism. Our synagogues are egalitarian. Our daughters chant from Torah. Our children grow up assuming that shared ritual leadership is the Jewish norm. Our rabbis and cantors — women and men — embody a Judaism that is deeply rooted and passionately committed.

If Zion — the very word chosen to represent our collective national rebirth after two millennia of dispersion and exile — becomes a place where our Judaism is deemed criminal, then the symbol that has unified us has been turned against its original purpose.

It is precisely because we are Zionists that we must say this clearly: legislation that narrows the definition of legitimate Jewish practice and threatens to criminalize Jewish prayer is anti-Zionist in spirit. It contradicts the inclusivity embedded in the name itself. It undermines the democratic commitments articulated in the Declaration of the Establishment of the State of Israel. It fractures Jewish peoplehood at the symbolic and geographic center that was meant to unify us.

Zion should draw Jews near, not push them away. It should inspire connection, not alienation. It should embody the prophetic vision of a moral and spiritual beacon to the world, not the enforcement of a single extremist and exclusionary religious authority.

Nathan Birnbaum chose “Zionism” because Zion symbolized the shared inheritance of a dispersed people returning home. If the mountain becomes a gatekeeping mechanism — if the Kotel becomes a courtroom rather than a gathering place for world Jewry — then the movement risks betraying the very name that defines it.

The global Jewish people must raise our collective voice on this pressing issue. Every ambassador, consul general, and other representative tasked with Israel-Diaspora relations must hear that WE WILL NOT tolerate this demonizing and dangerous legislation.

WE NEED YOU TO TAKE ACTION!

I call upon all of us to join our Movement and the global Jewish community to tell the Israeli government to stop promoting this dangerous and divisive bill. The Israeli government hosts representatives in the federal and local capitals of the United States, Canada, and throughout the world. Their responsibility includes maintaining the Israel-Diaspora relationship. Use this letter to voice your concern with your local consulate or embassy.

For examples please refer to these powerful speeches from MK Rabbi Gilad Kariv and MK Merav Ben Ari.

The task before us is not to abandon Zion, but to reclaim it. To insist that Zion once again symbolizes unity across diversity. To ensure that from Zion goes forth a Torah expansive enough to hold the full breadth of the Jewish people.

Zion was meant to gather us. It must not become the reason we are torn apart.

Shabbat Shalom!