But we’re not talking about pizza today! We’re talking about olive oil, and not just any olive oil, but Sindyanna’s olive oil.

A few months ago, the Park Slope Food Coop (which bothers me that it’s not spelled “Co-op” - their first transgression!) in Brooklyn voted to stop selling a few Israeli products like Bamba (their loss), frozen herbs, tahini, bell peppers.

The vote passed with 67% participating members voting in favor, and took effect the next day.

This was part of the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS) Movement, which uses economic pressure to protest the Israeli government’s actions and end oppression for Palestinians.

This all sounds morally compelling and impactful, and like it genuinely cares about peace and social justice, until you learn that the movement and its co-founder support replacing a Jewish-majority state with a Palestinian-majority state, instead of supporting a two-state solution.

Not to mention how easily BDS can cross into discrimination and antisemitism, alienating many Jews who buy Israeli products and making them feel unsafe, as we saw in 2024 Park Slope drama, and more recently here.

Never mind that the movement has had little actual impact. On their website, for example, they cite Israel’s current debt as proof of their impact, as if Israel’s economy wasn’t recently impacted by the tens of billions of dollars it spent on the Israel-Hamas war. Nice try.

But wait - there’s more! BDS’s actions usually backfire and negatively impact the very people it claims to serve by boycotting businesses that employ Palestinian workers.

Which brings us to Sindyanna of Galilee, whose olive oil is no longer sold at the Park Slope Food Co-op. Yep, I used the dash. My Substack, my rules.

I virtually sat down with Hadas Lahav, CEO of Sindyanna, to hear about how her organization brings Jewish and Arab women together to sell Fair Trade products from Arab producers and reinvests the profits into education for Arab women.

Our conversation was a reminder that real peace work is happening on the ground, making the world a better place by choosing compassion, unity, and hard work. I hope it inspires you as much as it inspired me, and that more people wake up to the hypocrisy of BDS.

So, what is Sindyanna, and why did you start it?

Sindyanna (سنديانة الجليل, named after the most common tree in the Galilee, the Palestine oak, renowned for its rootedness to the land, longevity, and endurance) is a nonprofit Fair Trade organization led by a team of Arab and Jewish women.

We established Sindyanna in 1996 as an official NGO. The idea didn’t come out of the blue. It was a culmination of longtime activities among the Arab population inside Israel. It is very important to understand that inside Israel, more than 20% of the citizens are of Palestinian origin. This minority suffers from discrimination and racist attitudes, especially now when we have such a right-wing extreme government.

What we noticed is that the weaker part of Arab society in Israel is the women, because of geographical and traditional factors. The majority of the Arab women at that time (about 80%) did not have any opportunity to work outside their homes. This means that they were dependent economically on the men in the family, and could not be independent.

We saw that if we want to build trust between Arab and Jewish citizens in Israel, which seemed to us at that time the most important thing for building a healthier and more just society, we have to find a way to empower the Arab women. There is a saying in Arabic that the women are the school of the children. The children grow under the supervision of the women because they are the ones who are responsible to educate and feed them. So if the women are stronger, the next generation will be stronger. And if we build trust between Arab and Jewish communities, we can build together what neither community can build separately.

How has your work evolved over the years?

We started by collaborating with the Arab farmers in the Galilee to buy their olive oil and sell it in the Israeli market. And surprisingly enough, it was well received by the Israeli society. This was the ‘90s. Then, in 2000 during the Second Intifada, it became difficult to market a product from the Arabic community in the Israeli market. This was when we turned to exporting.

After some years, we grew enough to build a factory in Kafr Kanna. We’re still there and since then have added a visitors center, where we host groups of visitors - both young and old - from all over the world. We’ve organized workshops and seminars for Arab and Jewish women. Student groups come and hear the women’s personal stories, and have asked them questions, like “How do you view Israeli society? What happened to your family in 1948? How does it affect your feelings towards the Jewish people?” Everything is open.

In 2003, we joined the World Fair Trade Organization, which is a huge network of Fair Trade organizations from all over the world. We started to export, and were well received by our global Fair Trade partners. Sindyanna grew mainly through connections with Fair Trade organizations, and through many friends around the world that believed in our mission.

I want to jump to 2019, because that year, we were invited by the Park Slope Food Co-op to present Sindyanna’s olive oil in their Brooklyn store. Their buyer invited us and said that his community would be interested to meet the women behind the olive oil. At that time, the co-op was proud of our partnership, and they were proud that they held olive oil from Israel that represented a collaboration between Arab and Jewish women.

How did October 7th affect business?

Every year, the harvest begins around the middle of October. Everything in the process had already been arranged that year, and we built positive relationships with agricultural cooperatives in the West Bank.

After October 7, I was terrified. I kept wondering: What will happen? How will we get the olive oil? What would our Palestinian partners say? Would they continue with our collaboration? Or, now that Israel is attacking Gaza, would they not want any connection with the Israelis?

But what happened was the opposite. And this is something that the boycott movement doesn’t want people to know: For the Palestinians in the West Bank, there is no option for boycott. They don’t boycott Israel. They are happy when they have good connections with good people in Israel. For them, it is like oxygen of hope. They’re living under occupation. The workers cannot come to Israel to work, so they haven’t had access to the work market for almost three years. And settlers attack their houses and their fields. And when they have the chance to make good connections with Israel, they are happy about it. They will not give up those connections easily.

So, when I called the farmers, they said, “Don’t worry. You will receive your olive oil in time. We are happy with our collaboration. We will stick to it for as long as possible.”

Then, we faced a new challenge. Our annual olive harvest was in jeopardy. Many of our volunteers had been called up for reserve duty, and Palestinian workers, who arrive every year during the harvest to pick the olives, couldn’t reach the grove.

We reached out to a women’s organization called Building Alternatives (Bonot Alternativa) and asked if they could help. Just two weeks after the war began, more than 300 women came to our olive grove to harvest olives alongside Arab and Jewish women. It was powerful. Even in the darkest moments, people are willing to come together and build something better.

Wow. And where do the profits go?

This collaboration is not just a commercial collaboration. We are Fair Trade. For every kilo of olive oil we buy from the Palestinian farmers, we donate a Fair Trade premium for the cooperative to create social projects in the village every year.

For example, last year they used our donation to build a solar panel on the olive oil mill in the village, to renovate the play yards in two primary schools, and to buy new equipment for the members of the cooperative.

We not only promote relations between Palestinians and Israelis, but also empower the Palestinians, and help develop Palestinian society, both in the occupied territories and in Israel.

Let’s get into the Park Slope Food Co-op boycott.

What can I say about such a one-sided and wrong decision?

What was your first reaction when you learned that your product was going to be boycotted?

First of all, it was not very clear, because the olive oil is not sold by Sindyanna to the co-op. It is sold by our partner, a Fair Trade cooperative, and they import our olive oil and sell it with a private label. On the bottle, the label says “A project of Arab and Jewish women in Israel.” This doesn’t matter to them; complexity is a thing they cannot digest.

Since October 2023, we have been suffering from a kind of boycott, but it is an undeclared boycott. Nobody has said they cannot order our olive oil because we are Israeli. Some big customers stopped buying our products, but they didn’t say why. They just said they cannot sell it. It is too expensive, too small, too big. Many excuses. Nobody said it is because we are Israeli. The first time someone said, “No, we won’t sell your olive oil because you are Israeli” was the Park Slope Food Co-op boycott. This is why we decided to not stay silent anymore. Because you cannot keep silent when someone is trying to eliminate you.

If there was one thing that you could say to the people in favor of BDS, particularly at the co-op, what would it be?

I don’t argue with BDS. I think it is useless. If you don’t want me, that is your problem. Because what I’m doing helps the Palestinians much more than what any boycott can do.

Because here you are, on the ground, actually making the connections, and promoting peace through dialogue, collaboration, and education.

If I were an American, or Brit, or German, etc. and I looked at Israel, I would say, “Israel has a very bad government.” By the way, it is not the only country in the world that has bad government, and not even the worst government. But nevertheless, this is our problem. It is very right-wing, very extremist. But if I were a person who sits outside Israel, I would see that in Israel there are more or less two camps: one is extremist, even fascist. And the other one is calling for equality and a just society, for collaboration with the Arab population. There is a big camp that calls for democracy.

If I were an unbiased person, I would support this democratic camp. I would support those people. I would say, “Let’s give them the strength to change the situation in their country.” If you have a democratic system, everyone - Palestinians, Israelis, Jews, Arabs, Christians, Muslims - can benefit from it.

But people who support BDS do the opposite. They say, “Israel is bad, and everyone in Israel is bad. Until the last Israeli becomes anti-Zionist, we don’t want to recognize Israel.” I believe this is an unbalanced approach that does not help advance peace or justice. There is no instant peace. It is a process. You have to build it step by step.

Do you have a story that you would like to share about one of the women that inspires you?

We have one woman from Kafr Kanna, the village where our factory is located. When she came to Sindyanna, she was a housewife. She came because she heard we were opening a weaving center, where we teach women how to weave baskets from all kinds of natural material. She came and was a devoted student. She learned the skill of basket weaving very well, and then became a teacher leading basket weaving shops in our visitor center. She’s invited by local municipalities to organize basket weaving for other communities. Before she joined us, she didn’t speak Hebrew. Now she speaks Hebrew. She didn’t know how to use a computer. Now she can work on the computer. She’s a living example of the term “empowering women.” In the last 30 years, we’ve met thousands of women. Every one of them has a special story. Every one of them benefited from interacting with Sindyanna.

What gives you hope?

You. Solidarity. What can be better than to be able to talk about our message, our vision, and to have people listening? And not only you, but also the 10,000 people who pressed ‘like’ on our last post. And also the democratic forces inside Israel. We see new parties that are absorbing the activists of the democratic movement and gaining political power. Hopefully we will get many seats in the next election. This gives me a lot of optimism. I didn’t have this. If you asked me one month ago, I don’t know if I would have been so optimistic. But now I see that more than 100,000 new people registered as members in this new Democratic party. They’re going to turn Israel into something better. Come visit us, and you’ll get some optimism too.

Any Shabbat plans?

On Friday evening, I plan to visit my 97-year-old mother, who lives on a kibbutz near Lake Tiberias, where my three siblings and I were born. I’ll spend Shabbat with her, catching her up on the latest news, listening to her stories, and enjoying her famous homemade salty cheese cookies.

My mother, who was born in Tel Aviv and has always considered herself a committed Zionist, says to me almost every day: “We made a mistake in 1967 when we did not withdraw from the occupied territories.”

You can buy Sindyanna’s products on their website.

Shabbat Shalom. Dreaming of those salty cheese cookies,

💧 If you like coexistence, check out this Drop:

💧 If you like Israeli politics, check out this Drop:

I was delighted to find a recording of the Moomin theme song in Hebrew. From that translation, I learned the word for wonderful/marvelous, which is mufla (מופלא). How marvelous!

Weird transition: This week was Tisha B’Av, the saddest day on the Jewish calendar.

For those who have been here a while, you know how fickle my relationship with this holiday has been.

I’ve written about Tisha B’Av from multiple angles, from arguing we should be celebrating life instead of mourning our past (which I feel differently about today), to writing about how October 7th changed my view of TBA (which inspired someone to start observing it!).

And this year, I had a completely different idea for TBA content, until I had an interaction that’s been sitting with me. It was one of those moments I’ve written about that could have been educational had I spoken up.

I was in a Jewish setting that was discussing Tisha B’Av and sinat chinam, which is a big theme of the holiday.

The rabbis who developed the Babylonian Talmud in the 6th century CE suggested this moral explanation for the fall of the Second Temple:

"However, considering that the people during the Second Temple period were engaged in Torah study, observance of mitzvot, and acts of kindness, and that they did not perform the sinful acts that were performed in the First Temple, why was the Second Temple destroyed? It was destroyed due to the fact that there was wanton hatred during that period. This comes to teach you that the sin of wanton hatred is equivalent to the three severe transgressions: Idol worship, forbidden sexual relations and bloodshed.” -Yoma 9b

Referring to the idea that sinat chinam brought about the destruction of our spiritual home, someone in the group discussion said, “It’s so full of Jewish guilt. The rabbis always do this! They did this with the Holocaust and now you’re telling me they did this for Tisha B’Av.”

Okay, I am the last person to defend the rabbis, but I immediately and silently took issue with this seemingly baseless dismissal of baseless hatred.

My mental wheels were turning as I laid it out in my head: Yes, a small number of Orthodox rabbis have made the ridiculous and disgusting claim that six million Jews died in the Holocaust because they weren’t observant. In their eyes, the Holocaust was divine punishment for being tempted by the Enlightenment, socialism, and Zionism.1

Pretty awful thing to say. But is that the same as the rabbis’ belief about sinat chinam? No.

One major difference between these two ideas is who was spreading them. The Holocaust-as-punishment claim was made by a few fringe rabbis, whereas the idea that sinat chinam (SC from here on out!) led to the destruction of the Temple became a part of the foundational texts of rabbinic Judaism.

But there’s an even more important difference: historical context. The idea of SC didn’t come out of thin air.

By the 1st century CE, Judea was deeply divided among several factions steeped in baseless hatred. Some of the major groups included:

• Pharisees – prioritized tradition, emphasizing Torah study and Oral Law. Comes from the Hebrew word for “separatists,” since they separated themselves from those who didn’t strictly observe.

• Sadducees – the priests who controlled the Temple and rejected the Oral Law. They were often rich and befriended the Romans.

• Essenes – mystics (possibly connected to the Dead Sea Scrolls) who believed the Temple leadership was corrupt.

• Zealots – nationalists committed to armed resistance against Rome who broke away from the Pharisees because they wanted to fight the Romans at all costs, while the Pharisees hesitated.

• Sicarii – an extremist group against any form of government, known for assassinating Romans and fellow Jews they considered collaborators, often with small daggers (their name means “dagger-men”).2

Clearly, there was a lot of disagreement, extremism, and violence at this point in Jewish history.

But it wasn’t only the rabbis who noticed this. Historians saw it too.

Josephus, the famous Jewish historian from this time period, documented the infighting, and how the different factions burned each other’s food supplies.3

Historians also blame the Hasmonean Civil War circa 67 BCE for the demise of Jewish sovereignty in the Land of Israel. This involved two royal brothers - Jonathan Hyrcanus and Aristobulus - fighting over who would rule Judaea after their mother died.

Things got ugly and the brothers just haaad to bring the Roman general, Pompey the Great, into it to see which brother he’d side with. Instead, Pompey laid siege to Jerusalem, bringing the last sovereign Jewish kingdom under Roman rule.4

Returning to the rabbis, they were saying more than, “We’re doing hateful things to our fellow Jews.” They were pointing out that a fractured society is a danger to itself, making it more vulnerable. And sure, the Jews of Jerusalem had real disagreements that were not always baseless. But the rabbis argued that their disagreement became destructive hatred.

They even used the story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza to show how petty hatred can have catastrophic consequences.

The real lesson here is to keep your Partifuls private and double check your guest list!

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Hatred, division, polarization… we’ve seen this theme play out in recent history. Israel was still politically divided in 2023 because of the previous year’s judicial reform. Military analysts and political commentators believe Hamas took advantage of a fractured Israeli society, leading to the brutal attack on October 7th.

But Hamas is not the Roman Empire. And Jews, after 2,000 years of exile, have regained sovereignty in their ancestral land. But maybe the rabbis were onto something about baseless hatred being a cause of societal collapse and suffering.

And again - it’s not just the rabbis! The more I observe Tisha B’Av (this is my fourth year) and attend classes, the more I realize that part of our tradition is to look inward on this day. Not cast full blame on the enemies that persecuted us and drove us to exile throughout history, but to also ask ourselves what part we played in it this and how we can do better. It’s the lead-up to the High Holidays.

Rachel Goldberg-Polin said it best on the recent Tisha B’Av episode of “Call Me Back with Dan Senor”:

So these were the thoughts bouncing around in my head during the group discussion after someone dismissed the rabbis. I was too busy recounting Jewish history with myself when the window for an educational moment passed.

Here’s said educational moment. And, not to sound like a hippie, but the only way forward is through ahavat chinam, baseless or unconditional love. The decision to choose love, generosity, and compassion for your fellow Jews, even when it’s hard. Or, at least, don't let your hatred be baseless. Make sure your hatred always has a reason! ;)

Thankfully, six days after the saddest day of the year comes Tu B’Av, the day of love. It gives us a chance to practice loving without a reason.

Shabbat Shalom! May your hatred have a base,

💦 If you like Jewish growth, check out these Drops:

Last week’s Drop explored the Jewish themes of the hit romantic TV and book series, Outlander, a very non-Jewish franchise. We talked rebellion, preserving identity, and hunky Scottish men.

This week’s exploration has more of a direct Jewish connection, because we’re discussing the Jewish characters in Outlander! And not just the Jewish characters, but how they’re portrayed.

Even if you don’t care about Outlander, we’ll discuss very real 18th-century Jewish history. Plus, it’s interesting to see how Jewish characters are portrayed in literature, like Fagin in Oliver Twist, or Shylock in The Merchant of Venice.

The good news is that Outlander’s Jewish personalities are depicted as less villainous and more complex. And since the author, Diana Gabaldon, uses accurate research to recreate 18th-century Scotland, she considers not just their traits, but also the historical context in which these characters are perceived.

For a refresher on the basic plot of the show, read last week’s Drop!

This is personally one of my favorite Drops! So get comfy, pour yourself a dram of Scotch, and say sláinte! 🥃

Outlander’s Jewish characters

For those of you who watched the show, you’re probably thinking, “I don’t remember any Jewish characters.”

You’re right! There are five minor Jewish characters in the books only, four of them alive.

A Rothschild realization

Let’s start with Book 3. The year is 1766. Without giving too much away, Claire and Jamie obtain a mysterious chest of ancient coins, and are trying to figure out where it came from.

To find answers, they seek out a young coin dealer from Frankfort (the 18th-century spelling) who is an expert in ancient coins. The young man introduces himself as Mayer, and is described as such, in Claire’s voice:

“Since virtually no one in Le Havre other than a few seamen wore a beard, it hardly needed the small shiny black skullcap on the newcomer’s head to tell me he was a Jew.”

Mayer is also described as appearing dusty and reserved, with an intensely curious expression. While Jamie compares the coins he has seen to the coins in Mayer’s collection, the Jewish merchant takes out his ledger of dealings, which are written in a “Hebraic writing, inked small and precise.”

After their dealings, Claire asks the man if Mayer is really his only name. He explains that the Jews of Frankfort are not allowed to use family names1. For the sake of convenience, their neighbors call their family after an old red shield that was painted on their house years ago.

Jamie then refers to him as “Mayer Red-Shield.” That’s when Claire realizes who Mayer is (remember, she’s a time traveler from the 1940s) - Mayer Amschel Rothschild - and the banking legacy his family will one day represent2. You can read it for yourself:

The real Mayer Rothschild, founder of the prominent Jewish banking family, established his business in 17693.

Author Diana Gabaldon uses incredibly accurate research to get every detail right in her 1,000+ page books. She’s even written books about her writing and research process, explained in fat books called The Outlandish Companions, of which there are two!

Throughout the series, there are a few famous historical figures Claire meets on her adventures. Meeting them, like Mayer Amschel Rothschild, is a literary delight for us modern readers.

Lawrence Stern, the helpful naturalist

Not long after meeting Mayer, a lot of exciting things happen that involve a ship and Claire and Jamie getting separated. Without major spoilers, Claire ends up on the island of Hispaniola (modern-day Haiti)4.

There, she meets a Jewish German naturalist named Lawrence Stern, whose appearance is described as weathered and burly, with “black hair that curled back from his brow, thick and ungrizzled.”

Lawrence offers Claire water, and brings her to his friend’s house (who happens to be a priest) to take shelter. There, the priest’s mother-in-law refers to Lawrence as a “Christ-killer.”

But the Jewish representation here proves to be positive. Over sangria, Lawrence tells Claire about the fauna and topography of the land, which foreshadows the book’s climax. He continues to help Claire, and even says “Oy!” at one point.

Those who have seen the show will recognize this as the Father Fogden scene. Only… there’s no Jewish character in this scene at all. Just a disgraced priest, a disgruntled mother-in-law, and a coconut that doesn’t talk back.

I don’t think the TV adaptation omitted Mayer and Lawrence because they’re Jewish. The books are simply too detailed to include all the minor characters on screen. Having said that, it would have been meaningful to see Lawrence included, to depict a learned Jewish man helping Claire, while also highlighting the antisemitism he faces.

The corpse with the circumcision

Here’s where things get mysterious. And educational!

In Book 9, Go Tell the Bees That I Am Gone, Claire and Jamie become involved in the investigation of an unknown dead man. When a local constable asks Jamie if he thinks the man was a Jew, Jamie says:

“How would I ken that? And why would ye think so? Oh—did ye look at his prick?”

Horrified, the constable asks why he would do such a thing. Jamie replies, “D’ye not ken Jews are circumcised, then?” as though the constable should know (Jamie’s character is not only known for his good looks, but is also educated and worldly). Jamie then explains the practice.

The constable replies, “Jesus Christ! What the devil do they do that for?” Jamie says with a shrug, “God told them to.”

It turns out the constable thinks the dead man was Jewish because his body was found with a paper inscribed in Hebrew.

But it was an interesting choice on Diana’s part to include this minor detail and educational moment.

This led me to search the non-Jewish perception of circumcisions in 18th-century. While most non-Jews knew of circumcision thanks to the Bible, they didn’t have much knowledge of the actual procedure, since the ritual was performed by Jews in insular communities.

There were also widespread misconceptions about the practice and of the sexuality of Jewish men in general due to antisemitism and societal fear of venereal disease.

In 1753 London, the Jewish Naturalization Act, known as the Jew Bill, passed to grant citizenship to foreign-born Jews. But many opposed the act due to a widespread fear of “universal circumcision.”

In classic antisemitic fashion, it was believed that Jewish men were both sexually deviant and impotent, and that their circumcisions protected them from venereal disease while also causing venereal disease.5

This false belief was sometimes depicted in satire that American colonists read, so the Penis Panic (I just came up with that) spread to the colonies. Oy!

Circumcision would not become familiar to Americans as a medical procedure until 1870, when Dr. Lewis Sayre, a prominent New York orthopedist, popularized it.6

All this is to say: some 18th-century Christians were weirded out by brit milah, and it was accurate to portray the constable as such.

I get it. I imagine it’s how I feel when I think about the opposite: uncut gems, so to speak.

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Rebekah bat-Leah Hauberger, bandit informant

There are a ton of prequel novellas (the Outlander universe is huge and thankfully never ending).

In one titled Virgins, a story of young Jamie as a soldier in France, he meets Rebekah bat-Leah Hauberger, a young Jewish woman who’s involved with Jewish bandits, informing them on which wagons to rob.

Rebekah falls in love with a French nobleman who promises to convert to Judaism. However, her grandfather, a physician named Dr. Hasdi, doubts the man’s promise to convert, since he would lose his title and property if he did so. Dr. Hasdi hires Jamie to protect his granddaughter and a valuable Torah scroll in her care.

Yes, you read that right: our highland warrior Jamie who can recognize Hebrew and knows about circumcision ALSO protects a Torah scroll. Is he a secret Jew like AI Jamie says he is?!

Incoming spoiler: Later, it’s revealed that Rebekah’s only involved with the bandits so that she could make up for the wealth that her lover would lose when he converts to Judaism.

Jamie convinces her to return the Torah to her grandfather, forcing her to confront her love for the goy while confronting her faith.

Bet you didn’t see THAT one coming!

Historical context: I couldn’t find much on 18th-century Jewish crime in France. However, I found a translated excerpt from a Jewish journal7, saying that French Jewish crime was low compared to non-Jewish crime, and involved smuggling and robbery. This doesn’t surprise me since Jewish piracy was a thing in the 17th century. The crime in France was likely due to being marginalized and the police being suspicious of Jews.

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Diana Gabaldon’s Jewish connection

Why would the author depict these Jewish characters, anyway? What’s the point?

A Roman Catholic herself, Diana has shared on social media many times (always acknowledging the Jewish holidays!) that she believes her father’s ancestor was likely a Sephardic Jew who arrived to the New World through Mexico City.

Her curiosity and passion for research and religion leads her to weave these fascinating plotlines and minor characters into the Outlander universe, for which we Jewish fans are grateful!

Shabbat Shalom! Stay curious,

💦 If you like circumcision, check out these Drops:

Think of your favorite franchise, or whatever you’re a fan of that you’ve been following for a long time.

Now, imagine it ending.

The final episode of The Office. Derek Jeter’s last game. The Grateful Dead’s last show with Jerry Garcia. Your last meal at your favorite restaurant before it closes for good.

That dreadful, sorrowful feeling in your chest is what I felt in the spring, when my favorite series, Outlander, ended.

Outlander is a romance TV series based on a book series from the 90s by Diana Gabaldon. It’s not Jewish at all. Or is it?

This is what we do here on the Drop: we investigate, we learn, and we convince you to watch Outlander. Pour yourself a dram of Scotch and say sláinte!

The plot of Outlander follows Claire Randall, a British former World War II nurse who, while on her honeymoon in 1945, touches ancient standing stones and accidentally travels to 1743 Scotland! Though she tries to return to her previous life (and husband), she can’t help but fall in love with a Highland warrior named Jamie Fraser.

Before you roll your eyes, I like to tell people that Outlander (named after Claire’s status as an outsider in the Scottish Highlands) is so much more than romance (and “soft-core p@rn” as people like to tell me). Sure, there’s spicy scenes, but it also has:

• adventure

• history (I learned so much more Scottish and American history from the show than I ever did in school!)

• philosophy

• religion

9 seasons (technically 8, but season 7 is split in two) and 10 books (9 out right now, the last is in the works) that take you all over the world. Dozens of characters you fall in love with. Many tears. Now that the show is over after 12 years, let’s explore what’s so Jewish about a very Catholic show.

FYI this piece ended up being so long, I split it into two. Be on the lookout for Part II next week!

Parallels to Jewish history

There are many similar themes in Outlander that we see in Judaism: exile and yearning for home, assimilation, the importance of family, and debates around morality, to name a few. But there’s one that stands out to me I’d like to focus on.

Fighting to preserve one’s identity & culture

If Claire were to time travel to, say, the 2nd century BCE instead of the 18th century CE (I’d totally watch that show!), she might have empathized with the Jews.

That’s because she would see a people rise up against a powerful empire to preserve their customs, identity, and traditions on their ancestral land.

I’m referring to the Seleucid Empire’s rule over Judaea under King Antiochus IV, and the suppression of Jewish customs like circumcision, Shabbat, and Torah study, and desecrating the Temple with pagan worship.

These examples are known today as “Chanukah antisemitism” because the Seleucids weren’t trying to kill the Jews (until the Jews rose up and fought back, of course); they were trying to “kill Judaism” by banning Jewish customs. And it’s when the story of Chanukah takes place!

In Outlander, Claire travels to 1743, at a time when some Highland Scots did not recognize the authority of the British government and remained loyal to the House of Stuart, despite being a part of Great Britain.

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This was a conflict dating back to 1688, when King James II (of the House of Stuart), the last Catholic monarch to reign over England, Scotland, and Ireland, was overthrown by Protestant William III & Mary II.

There had been a few Jacobite uprisings1, as King James’s followers were called, and this tension culminated in the famous Battle of Culloden against the British in 1746, depicted in Season 2.

After the Jacobite defeat (not a spoiler, this is history), the British government imposed restrictions on Highland culture, like banning weapons and Highland dress2 (goodbye, kilts), and weakening their clan system that they’ve had for centuries.

Though not a perfect analogy (the biggest difference was that the Maccabees fought for religious autonomy from the get-go, while the Jacobites didn’t lose many of their cultural and religious freedoms until after they lost the Battle of Culloden3), the ‘Bees and the ‘Bites both fought fiercely to preserve what they believed was worth fighting for.

Internal disagreements

Another noteworthy comparison is that not everyone in either group wanted to revolt. Some Jews, mostly upper class, embraced Hellenistic culture, like speaking Greek, hanging out nude at the bath houses and the gymnasium, and surgically reversing their circumcisions4.

Not all Scottish Highlanders were Jacobites5. In fact, most weren’t. In Season 1, we see tension between Jamie’s uncles, Colum and Dougal MacKenzie. Dougal is passionate about restoring the Stuart throne through military victory, while Colum, laird of the MacKenzie clan, understands the dangers of rebellion and prefers diplomacy.

This plot line is reminiscent of the many disagreements within the Jewish community that have led to division and fracturing. Reminds me of an upcoming holiday.

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Preserving identity in the diaspora

This theme of preserving identity carries into the diaspora experience of both peoples as well. In Season 4 of Outlander (incoming spoiler!), Claire and Jamie rebuild their life in America, bringing Scottish settlers with them (an actual example of settler colonialism, but you don’t see anyone calling that out).

In the show, the Scottish community abroad maintains their traditions like lighting the fiery cross6 before a battle, and speaking Scottish Gaelic (pronounced gal-ic, not gay-lic). They also frequent trips back to their ancestral homeland.

Meanwhile, the Jewish diaspora maintains a connection to its roots through language, ritual, and memory. By speaking the Hebrew language, reciting prayers that long for Zion (where Jews come from), and praying in a way that resembles the ancient rituals of the Temple, Jewish communities all over the world have maintained a connection to Israel by preserving these traditions.

Sure, Outlander has love, gorgeous gowns, and lots of drama, but maybe this franchise has resonated with me so deeply for another reason: that its themes of memory, resilience, and preserving identity across generations remind me of themes Jews have known for thousands of years.

Next week, we get even more Jewish, as we discuss the Jewish characters of Outlander, and compare them to real 18th-century Jews!

Shabbat Shalom!

Further Reading: When Scotland Was Jewish

This book argues that much of Scotland's history and culture from 1100 CE forward is Jewish. The authors provide research and evidence using census records, archaeology, castle carvings, cemetery inscriptions, and more to prove that many of Scotland’s national heroes, rulers, nobles, traders, merchants, bishops, and more were of Jewish descent, their ancestors originating in France and Spain.

💦 If you like Outlander or AI, check out this Drop:

📅 Shabbat Drop-In

Thank you to everyone who has been attending Picking Up Stones, a one-woman play about multiple perspectives on the Israel-Palestine conflict. At the Sunday post-show hang, we discussed antizionism, the delusion of hope, Scott Weiner, and how good those margaritas were.

The play is still running tonight and tomorrow, with talkbacks to debrief and discuss. Get your tickets here!

Visiting North America’s First Congregation

Last month, my colleagues and I toured Manhattan’s Congregation Shearith Israel, also known as the Spanish & Portuguese Synagogue!

This Upper West Side Orthodox shul is is the oldest continuous Jewish congregation in the U.S., as opposed to Touro Synagogue in Newport, Rhode Island, whose building is the oldest standing synagogue in the country. I like to clear up that confusion!

Shearith Israel was founded in 1654 by 23 Sephardic Jews who arrived in New Amsterdam from Brazil. For more than 170 years, it was the only Jewish congregation in New York City. It has stunning architecture and preserves Sephardic traditions, like specific Torah reading order and pronunciations.

👉 Read about its famous congregants, like Supreme Court Justice Benjamin Cardozo and poet Emma Lazarus. Just be sure to come back here for a d’var Torah!

Parashat Pinchas: Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Land

We're nearing the end of the Israelites' 40 years in the wilderness. Moses learns he can’t enter the Promised Land. Instead of challenging G-d, he works with G-d to appoint a successor.

There’s lots of wisdom in this Torah portion, but I want to focus on something specific that happens with Zelophehad's daughters.

Zelophehad (winner of the best biblical baby name award) was an Israelite from the tribe of Manasseh who died during the Israelites' journey.

He had five daughters: Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah, which are other great names - I would call Milcah “Milky”! Zelo bore no sons.

When their father dies, the daughters challenge the existing inheritance law, which would deny them their father’s allotted land in Israel simply because they’re not men. Instead, the land would pass to his sons, and if there’s no sons, to another male relative, like his brother or nephew. Only… Zelo didn’t have another close male relative, so his land would effectively disappear from their lineage.

"Let not our father's name be lost to his clan because he had no son! Give us a holding among our father's kinsmen." -Numbers 27:4

G-d hears their plea, and the law changes.

Pretty extraordinary when you think about it: five women point out an injustice, Moses brings their case before G-d, who agrees to amend the law around land inheritance. Yes, I’ll repeat that for the people who say Judaism oppresses women, or that Judaism is just about obeying G-d blindly.

Before the Israelites even arrive to their destination, the people challenge leadership, and end up shaping the society that they want. Sure, after one’s father dies, sons still get first dibs to the land, but the daughters made progress in a patriarchal society.

Much like Americans right after the Declaration of Independence was signed, the Jewish people didn't arrive in the Promised Land and immediately have a perfect society. They had to build it together, deciding what kind of nation they wanted to become, what values would shape it, and who would be impacted by imperfect laws. In order to do this, they needed to call out injustice wherever they saw it.

This is what I’m reflecting on this Independence Day, among other things: the transition from escaping oppression to building a society. What comes next after the parting of the Red Sea and the wandering, or after the signing of the Declaration of Independence. The importance of fighting for freedom and democratic values. How to continue the work long after the founding leaders are gone.

The work is never done. And it all starts with people saying, “Hey, this isn’t fair.”

This week, Zelophehad’s daughters teach us that.

Good Shabbos and enjoy your fireworks and BBQ,

💦 If you like badass Jewish women and/or history, check out these Drops:

Hi friends,

I’ve been feeling nostalgic lately.

As I said in a recent Drop, one year ago I was in Tel Aviv during the 12-Day War.

Actually, my journey looked more like:
Tel Aviv ➡️ an army base in the Negev ➡️ Tel Aviv (when the war started) ➡️ Ariel ➡️ back to Tel Aviv ➡️ a kibbutz in the Negev ➡️ Tel Aviv ➡️ Athens ➡️ Home!

Why do I feel nostalgic for a time when I was running to bomb shelters and schlepping all over the country?

Because I miss what it represents.

I miss volunteering on an IDF base just before the war started. I miss the friends I made there, and sipping cocktails on the beach with them waiting for Iran to retaliate.

I miss practicing Hebrew in an environment where everyone speaks it.

While I don’t miss getting up 3-4 times in the middle of the night to go to bomb shelters, I miss practicing resilience. And being surrounded by people who just get it. The “it” being the fight Israel’s up against and what’s at stake if it loses.

One year later, I miss my friends I met there (though I’m working on a friend’s play about 10/7 that starts in NYC TONIGHT! Get tickets here.)

I yearn to be back. I got accepted to a trip for content creators, but it fell through.

When friends tell me they’re going there for the summer, my soul cracks with envy.

All of this is to say I am missing Israel. Until I can go again, here are some things I've been doing to stay connected, and to bring a little bit of Israel into my everyday life.

Learning About Israeli Politics

The next Israeli election is October 27th (the same day the next A Court of Thorns and Roses book comes out… big day!).

My colleague held a lunch and learn to teach Israeli politics through campaign videos.

So you could imagine how petty and entertaining they were, or just downright odd, like this 2019 video from the New Right featuring Ayelet Shaked responding to criticism of her policies being fascist in a perfume ad. Tongue-in-cheek or anti-feminist? You decide.

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Anything but Bibi

So far, for this upcoming election, there’s a couple of videos out. One is Likud’s, Netanyahu’s party.

It’s a bizarre video of a family sitting around their Shabbat table, and the son “comes out” as a Bibi supporter, or a Bibist. Chaos ensues.

The father: “How is that possible? You work in hi-tech!”

The mother nosedives into her cake. You should just see the meshugas for yourself:

The point of the video is to deflect and play victim, to send a message to the real Bibists: “We know you face discrimination for your political beliefs. We see you. We hear you.” (I’m not supporting him in any way by sharing this video, by the way.)

Likud seems confident they’ll win if this is what their election video focuses on. Not on issues or policies, but on identity politics.

Yashar 2026

The other 2026 election video came as a stark response to Likud’s, and it’s by the relatively new Yashar party, led by former IDF Chief of Staff Gadi Eisenkot.

This video also features a family sitting around the Shabbat table, having the exact same conversation. The only difference? You can’t see the actors; you can only hear their voices as they speak in a kitchen riddled with bullet holes and destroyed property.

The end text reads: Search on Google. October 7th.

The underlying message: Bibi is to blame for security failure on October 7th.

It’s short and powerful. They have my vote! Not that it counts for anything.

Learning about Yaacov Agam

This week, I read the news that a renowned Israeli artist died.

Yaacov Agam was born in Rishon Lezion in 1928 and became one of the founders of the kinetic art movement, which experiments with movement and light.

I learned he created the colorful, modern fountain sculpture in Dizengoff Square!

In 2026, he received the Israel Prize for Visual Arts. Read more about his life here.

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Watching Israeli Film

Another way I’m getting my Israel culture fix is by watching Israeli movies!

I saw two films at the Israel Film Center Festival at the JCC. I liked one much more than other so I’ll just talk about that.

It was called The Big League, starring Israel Attias, who plays Meir in my favorite Israeli show, Shababnikim!

This movie is like the Israeli Ted Lasso, and by that I mean it features a guy who is forced to coach a ragtag soccer team full of misfit teens.

It’s cute, it’s laugh-out-loud funny, and its cast and crew are made up of both Israelis and Palestinians. Despite this, the film was boycotted from showing in European film festivals.

If a charming soccer movie can’t bring about peace, what will?

Learning Hebrew through Israeli videos

I’ve been watching videos on the YouTube channel, Piece of Hebrew, by a cute Israeli couple named Doron & Elsa!

They make videos on everything from Elsa’s morning routine and exploring the Golan, to an Israeli celebrity guessing game between the two of them.

Living the Jewish Calendar

I attended my first Rosh Chodesh circle in YEARS to welcome Tammuz with some girlfriends.

There was fresh pasta salad, homemade chocolate challah, and a guided meditation on our personal sieges. Which brings me to a Shabbat prompt for YOU:

✍️ Shabbat Prompt

What are you protecting right now?

In addition, I’ve been eating at a lot of Israeli restaurants (just dined at Malka for the first time, wow that schnitzel). I’ve also been hearing about friends’ recent trips there. I’ll be back someday.

Fund My Next Trip to Israel

Shabbat Shalom. Stay passionate,

💦 If you like feeling connected, check out these Drops:

If you’re new here, or haven’t read my Great Jewish Journey (which I just updated for the first time in four years), you might not know that I’m a Jewish professional. Been in the game for eight years and what a whirlwind it’s been, especially the last three.

There’s a lot to discuss about working in the Jewish nonprofit sector: the culture that greatly varies by organization, salary, philanthropic allocation, the saturation of nonprofits and the overlap in their work, learning and travel opportunities, um… all the holidays we get off?!

But this piece isn’t about working. It’s about not working.

A few weeks ago, I attended a day of camp for Jewish professionals run by Trybal Gatherings!

220 Jewish professionals representing 40 organizations learned and played together at Camp Ramah Nyack, and it was the embodiment of Jewish joy (who else is excited Substack now has colored text?!).

The goal was to provide a space for adults to laugh, play, and recharge after working tirelessly to make the world a more joyous, safe, and educated one for Jews.

… okay, and to see who can make the longest snake out of toilet paper in the shortest amount of time. 🧻🐍

Instead of meetings, we had electives. Instead of an office or a conference center, our backdrop was the lush rolling hills of the Hudson Valley.

The day served as a reminder that this field is so steeped in play and creativity. I don’t even need the current state of global antisemitism to tell me this is where I belong.

Here’s what I experienced!

Blessings in Nature

There were all sorts of electives to choose from: pickleball, Mahjong, yoga, Shrinky Drinks bracelet making (a 90s flashback!), Moroccan lemon preserves, Torah in the Tarot, and more.

My first elective was nature bathing led by Adamah, a Jewish environmental organization (to read about their retreat I went on, read this Drop!).

No, this session wasn’t sun bathing. It was a meditative stroll in nature while learning about different brachot, blessings, related to nature.

There are many brachot for wondrous sights you may come across in nature, like thunder, lightning, and a rainbow.

Fun fact: The blessing for seeing a rainbow refers to G-d keeping the covenant and keeping a promise, because it’s a throwback to Genesis 9:12-17, when a rainbow appears after the flood, and G-d promises to never again destroy the world with water.

One blessing I enjoyed learning about on this nature walk was the blessing you say upon seeing an unusual and beautiful creature, like an elephant, peacock, or an ostrich.

It sparked an interesting conversation on what makes a creature strange as well as beautiful. We came to the conclusion that beauty’s in the eye of the beholder.

It reminded me of the time I was hiking in Alaska and a porcupine crossed my path. I was dumbfounded. If only I had this blessing to recite!

👉 See a full list of Jewish nature blessings here.

Judaism: The Game We’re All Playing

Next, I attended a workshop on ice breakers.

Ah, the ever-polarizing ice breaker. Some love ‘em, some dread ‘em.

I love them when they’re creative and engaging. I think it’s a fun way to get to know people, especially at a Shabbat meal where not everyone knows each other.

Our group went around and answered the following ice breaker: “Go around, introduce yourself, and say the answer to your favorite ice breaker.”

Ex. “Hi, my name is Carol. Potato chips.” “I’m Josh. Purple dragon.”

I said, “Miranda. Last week when I was feeling bad about something.” My favorite ice breaker is: “When was the last time you cried and why?” I like to get personal.

What’s your favorite ice breaker? Let me know in the comments!

This discussion, led by Foundation for Jewish Camp, also touched on games in Jewish education, and games you can play with your team at work.

One of the participants made an astute observation, which was that Judaism is like a game: Everyone has the same set of rules, and how we choose to play within those rules is up to us.

Which prompted the question: What does it look like to win in Judaism?

No one really answered it (it was more rhetorical), but it got me thinking of all the different ways how winning in Judaism might look:

• Keeping up with the weekly Parsha

• Keeping up with the Jewish calendar

• Following the Ten Commandments (ahem, not stealing)

• Keeping Shabbat, even just lighting weekly candles

For me, it’s that I am constantly learning, growing, and having fun. After this day of adult camp, I think I nailed it.

The rest of the day involved Japanese tie-dyeing, color war, and deliciously fluffy cookies. Thank you so much to Trybal for a day of play. After Shabbos, it’s back to work.

Shabbat Shalom and Happy Juneteenth,

💦 Like Jewish camp? Check out this Drop:

📅 Shabbat Drop-In

My friend, Sandra Laub, is bringing her powerful one-woman play, Picking Up Stones: An American Jew Wakes Up to a Nightmare, to NYC late June/early July. Come see it with us at the American Theatre for Actors as part of the Midtown International Theatre Festival.

After the performance, we’ll gather to discuss the play’s themes of grief, identity, and the fragile possibility of peace after October 7th. It’s running multiple dates, but we’re seeing it together on 6/28! Get your tickets here!

I received copies of these books from the publisher (thank you, Soncata Press!) in exchange for an honest review. The thoughts below are entirely my own.

Dog, a portrayal of wartime trauma

In between romantasy and literary nonfiction, I’ve been reading more Jewish/Israeli books than ever! One recent read that has stuck with me is Dog by Yishay Ishi Ron.

I first saw Dog floating around on the Jewish literary scene last year when it came out. I assumed the story was about a soldier’s experience in the elite Oketz unit of the Israel Defense Forces, which made me excited because that’s the unit my brother served in.

When I finally started recently reading it, however, I was surprised to find it was inspired by the author’s true story of wartime trauma in a different unit.

The story centers on a former Golani brigade soldier known as “Geller” (named after magician Uri Geller, whose mental spoon-bending tricks he becomes obsessed with, and is used as a metaphor for hope and a sense of control) as he struggles with heroin addiction after his military service in an elite combat unit. To the diasporic ear, the term “elite combat unit” elicits awe, pride, and, dare I say, a bit of sexiness. But in this story, it carries the weight of pain, trauma, and the messiness and moral complexity of war.

This isn’t the Israel many American Jews know, and that’s why it’s such an important read. In between heroin highs and begging for change outside his local coffee shop on the streets of Tel Aviv, he mentally slips back into warn-torn Gaza, using such vivid language I had to pause and re-read lines at times.

Take this descriptive paragraph from one of his flashbacks, for example. Content warning: death, violence, war, grief.

“Yehoram’s brain began to leak out through the cracks like red shakshuka with specks of egg white, and he fell right on top of me and I picked him up and his eyes looked at mine and in spite of the darkness I could see what one can only see in the wide-open eyes of someone who has taken a bullet to the head—a great, black, endless astonishment. So I picked him up and the radio got tangled between my legs and the bullets started whistling and I carried Yehoram’s body like a bucket with a hole in it through which life was draining out. I carried him just like I’m carrying Dog now, and the whole time I thought about his mother and how she had no idea that her life was over, she was probably still sleeping, enjoying the last good night she’d ever have. In a few hours, the casualty notification officers would show up, and she’d scream and Yehoram’s father would say nothing and would never speak again, because all of his words were connected to his eldest son’s heartbeat, and Yehoram’s brothers and sisters would lament their brother who died in Gaza, but no one would really pay much attention to their pain.”

Kudos to translator Yardenne Greenspan.

Every sentence of Ron’s seems like it was crafted with intention, and has commentary on everything from addicts never being able to return to their former selves, to how the IDF shoots dogs in Gaza. Throughout the war, people shared posts of soldiers rescuing dogs, but you never read about soldiers shooting dogs. Until now.

The personal narrative feels so real, because it’s based on Ron’s own PTSD, which he battled for two decades after serving in Lebanon. You can feel the rawness of his own personal journey throughout his book.

There’s also a tender plot involving a stray dog and the kindness of a stranger, reminding the reader that even in the midst of suffering, one can find compassion and humanity, and everyone is deserving of it.

Dog received this year’s Jewish Book Council Book Club Award, and now I understand why. It doesn’t stray (pun intended) from tough subjects, one that is so prevalent in Israeli society today. There are more than 30,000 cases filed of Israeli soldiers suffering from PTSD.

The novel is short - 180 pages - and makes for meaningful reading over Shabbos.

The Girl Who Rode the White Lion, a Holocaust mystery

Yishay Ishi Ron’s second novel is coming out next Tuesday, and this story revolves around yet another animal!

The Girl Who Rode the White Lion follows Sarah Frank, a young Jewish girl in 1939 Germany as she escapes Nazi Germany with the help of a traveling circus.

Nearly twenty years later, the discovery of an SS officer’s ring inside the body of an elderly lion at NYC’s Central Park Zoo kicks off a transatlantic investigation that uncovers Sarah’s hidden past. The fast-paced novel blends mystery and action with themes of survival, loss, courage, and love.

In full transparency, I didn’t love the novel. There was something off to me about framing an exciting mystery against the backdrop of the Holocaust, like repackaging real suffering as shiny entertainment. I also felt that the writing and scene transitions were rushed. However, I made some startling discoveries of my own while reading it that made me appreciate it more.

First, in the latest issue of Hadassah Magazine, I was tickled to read about a white lion kept at a zoo in Be’ersheva. The article was written by Miriam Green, an olah (immigrant) who found solace in volunteering at Midbarium during the war with Iran.

She writes about zoo life untouched by geopolitics, the preparation of rats for carnivorous animals, and examples from the Torah that emphasize compassion for animals.

What jumped out at me in the piece, though, was the pair of white lion siblings at the zoo! They have a rare genetic condition called leucism, which is like albinism, where their bodies can’t produce pigmentation, but their eyes remain their natural color (whereas in albinism the eyes are usually red). They couldn’t survive in the wild at night due to their light color, so Midbarium rescued them.

In The Girl Who Rode the White Lion, this rare beautiful creature represents resilience and confronting your past.

Both Ron’s book and Miriam’s article made it seem like white lions are extremely rare, and I’m sure they are, but it’s like they’re en vogue or something!

The more captivating discovery: throughout the book, I kept thinking, “This story is ridiculous. There’s no way it’s true.”

While an SS officer’s ring didn’t actually end up in the stomach of a lion, imagine my surprise when I researched the story and found out that some Jews actually did flee Nazi Germany with the circus.

Adolf Althoff’s family owned a German circus dating back to the 17th century. He and his wife, Maria, hid another circus family full of Jews, created false papers for them, and helped them escape. Ron’s second book was inspired by this remarkable story.

In 1995, the Althoffs were recognized by Yad Vashem as Righteous Among the Nations.

“We circus people see no difference between races or religions,” said Althoff when he received the honor.

While the plot of The Girl Who Rode the White Lion may sound over the top, just know that real history took place under the big top. 🎪

Good Shabbos! Go read something,

💦 If you like Jewish books, check out these Drops:

Who was at the Israel Day Parade on Sunday? 🙋🏻‍♀️ One Israeli commented that it felt like Israel’s Independence Day. Because that’s what it was celebrating! No politics1, no agendas, no mayor2… just joy, pride, and strength!

Speaking of Israel, I can’t believe it’s been a year since I was “stuck” in Tel Aviv during the 12-Day War with Iran.

That trip had such a lasting impact on me. I mostly stopped eating shellfish and pork (a big deal for me!). I pray more. My Hebrew has vastly improved because I was inspired to keep studying. And I met the most amazing, passionate people.

One of them was Sandra Laub, who I met between sirens at the Maxim Hotel. Sandy is a playwright from Connecticut. Her one-woman play, Picking Up Stones: An American Jew Wakes Up to a Nightmare (produced by Jerry Fischer), is showing at the Midtown International Theatre Festival here in NYC at the end of this month and early July. This is my attempt at convincing you to see it!

The Premise

Just as the title depicts, Picking Up Stones features an American Jewish woman waking up on October 7th to find herself unable to make sense of the world she thought she understood.

Throughout the play, Sandra plays 21 characters, some real and some composites. They include her real Israeli cousins, Palestinian mothers, Golda Meir, a peace activist burned alive in her own home on Kibbutz Be’eri, and a college student called a ZioNazi by her progressive friends.

But most of all, she plays herself, wrestling with a complex reality on stage. The conversations of multiple truths thread together without being neatly resolved.

Its onstage debate-like style reminds me of Itamar Moses’s The Ally starring Josh Radnor, about a Jewish college professor who initially agrees to sign a student's manifesto addressing police brutality, until he sees language in the document criticizing Israel that unsettles him, forcing him to question his identity and faith. The professor has charged conversations with all sorts of diverse characters. During these conversations, he becomes more of a “receiver,” reflecting everyone else’s views and beliefs.

But in Picking Up Stones, the audience is the receiver, as viewers grapple with voices of the angry, the hurt, and the grieving, all skillfully played by Sandy. Even the stones play a role; sometimes they build and support, and other times they weigh heavy on a tombstone.

In just 80 minutes, the play covers a range of topics, like the assumption that all Palestinians want Israelis killed, the blockade of Gaza, the question of how the West can wish for Palestinian statehood when some Palestinians don’t even want it… unless all the Jews are gone, how Arab neighbors don’t want to take in Palestinian refugees, young Israeli men dying for a state, and how peace should not be such a radical idea.

“I wrote Picking Up Stones because October 7 shattered assumptions I had carried most of my life as an American Jew. I found myself struggling to wake up from a nightmare that seemed chaotic and tangled beyond any rational solution or knee-jerk position. I felt trapped in a web of grief, fear, love for Israel, concern for innocent Palestinians, and a growing sense that the conversations I needed to have weren't happening. I saw a lack of empathy on 'each' side.

Theater thrives on conflict, so I wrote dialogue for the humans involved in this, what seems like a watershed historical moment. Theater became a place where I could wrestle publicly with those questions. The play is my attempt to make sense of a moral and emotional earthquake, and to invite audiences into a deeper, more human conversation across division. My play isn't like listening to a podcast or reading a book or an article or op-ed. It's a real-time journey of grappling, of awakening - a personal, Jewish, moral and emotional reckoning that happens in public and that eschews easy or one-sided answers to the questions haunting me, and perhaps the audiences coming to see my play. The talkback after every performance offers that opportunity.” -Sandy

To Be a Better Zionist

Like any country, Israel is far from perfect. Its hawkish right-wing government is corrupt and needs reform. Settlers in the West Bank are terrorizing Palestinians. The exemption of Haredi men from military service remains a significant and contentious issue.

While I understand the discomfort of publicly naming these issues in non-Jewish spaces, too many of us are in denial about what is going on even in Jewish spaces because we think Israel can do no wrong. But naming these issues makes us better Zionists, better Jews, and better humans. And not only naming, but wrestling with. Like Jacob and the Angel, it’s just what Jews do.

Throughout the war, I supported Israel’s goals of rescuing hostages in Gaza and dismantling Hamas. A war was waged against her on October 7th, after all. But like any war, it came at a cost in civilian lives, and destroyed homes and livelihoods.

I also disagreed with some of Israel’s actions, like withholding aid to pressure Hamas, and shooting civilians trying to get food once it arrived.

And I know some of you are shouting behind your screen at me, “But Hamas was stealing aid!” and “It was proven there was no famine in Gaza!” or “Soldiers shot at people because a mob was forming and it was getting dangerous.”

Believe me, as an educated Zionist I get the instinct to doubt what you see in the media. To justify and provide facts and statistics. During those intense and difficult two and a half years, it was all I was doing.

But that's not the conversation this play is having.

Picking Up Stones leaves no room for whataboutism, statistics, or competing narratives. It carves space for us to sit and acknowledge pain, and to think about how we can learn to love our neighbor as ourselves, even in complicated times.

Loaded Lines

There are lines in the play I downright disagree with. At one point, an American high school teacher says: “I am wrestling with how to stay Jewish since Israeli policies have become so extremist, racist, fascist, corrupt.”

While I agree about the Israeli government statement, I disagree with the idea of doubting your Jewish identity as a reaction to Israel.

Does that line also strike a nerve? Do you agree with it? Do you find yourself somewhere in the middle, thinking, “I have no problem being Jewish, but it’s Zionism that I’m questioning”?

Even a single line like this can open up so much for a conversation, like discussing the different types of Zionism, Jewish values (like tikkun olam and prioritizing Jewish defense), and what people mean when they use these terms. Picking Up Stones favors nuance and dialogue rather than tearing down hostage posters or generalizing an entire people.

One of my favorite lines is during a conversation with Vivian Silver, the peace activist killed on October 7th, and Golda Meir, Israel’s first female prime minister who was criticized for her leadership during the Yom Kippur War.

Vivian says idolizing the state over the lives of our neighbors is a sin we can't atone for, that it's a burning bush that will consume us. Golda fires back: "By the way, when's the inquiry? I had an inquiry for my war."

Oof! Sassy Golda. As these two women speak across decades, history comes alive, making the present feel even heavier.

If you care about these conversations, please join us on one of the dates below. I’m also organizing a group discussion after the June 28th performance. Group ticket discounts are available, so bring your friends or your congregation!

Get tickets here

And if none of this makes you want to see the play, then maybe this will: There’s a line in it inspired by something I wrote in my 12-Day War Drop! Can you guess what it is?

Shabbat Shalom. Here’s to peace,

💦 If you want peace, check out these Drops:

Shabbat Drop-In

My friend, Sandra Laub, is bringing her powerful one-woman play, Picking Up Stones: An American Jew Wakes Up to a Nightmare, to NYC late June/early July. Come see it with us at the American Theatre for Actors as part of the Midtown International Theatre Festival.

After the performance, we’ll gather to discuss the play’s themes of grief, identity, and the fragile possibility of peace after October 7th. It’s running multiple dates, but we’re seeing it together on 6/28! Get your tickets here! And let me know if you’re coming!

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Shavuot is my favorite Jewish holiday. I’ll shout it to the mountaintops if I have to. ;)

I love learning something I otherwise wouldn’t have learned anywhere else while enjoying a dairy meal. There’s something magical about the all-night chaos: the several sessions happening every hour, the rush of racing to a room before the class fills up, and hanging out in the lobby over coffee and a catch-up with a Jew you haven’t seen in a while.

But this year, I did something a little different. Our friends Adina and Avi organized a Shavuot getaway at a camp in West Milford, New Jersey. 60 of us - and some children - relived our camp days, along with late-night learning and cheesecake.

Our tikkun leil (a “night of spiritual repair,” or a night of learning) was divided into 10-minute segments. Here are some highlights:

• A rowdy 1:00am rendition of “Vos Vet Zayn Az Meshiakh Vet Kumen,” a cumulative Yiddish song of questions and answers about the Great Feast in Heaven after the coming of the Messiah. Spoiler alert: it involves Moses teaching, David playing music, and Miriam dancing. Sounds like the cool kids’ table at lunchtime! I want in.

• A closer look at the most famous line in the Book of Ruth, which we read each year on this holiday: “Where you go, I will go; and where you stay, I will stay; your people shall be my people, and your God my God.” Moabite Ruth says this to her Jewish mother-in-law, Naomi, after Naomi urges her to return to her own land and start anew now that her husband is dead. But Ruth remains steadfast to the Jewish people, choosing loyalty and love over safety and certainty. In the quote, “people” comes before G-d, emphasizing that peoplehood and chosen belonging comes before covenant and faith.

• Speaking of chosenness, Phil taught two classes, one of which I wrote about last year. First, he spoke about how Jews have always struggled with how to explain chosenness in non-Jewish contexts, and in a separate talk, who gets (or doesn’t get) a portion in the world to come.

• I gave a 10-minute talk on The Torah in the Tarot by Stav Appel, which deserves at least a full hour. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, read this! I also gave Tarot readings and maybe turned a few skeptics.

• Fellow Substacker gave an inspiring talk about the Jews’ stiff-neckedness, which originates in Exodus 32:9: “And the Lord said to Moses: I have seen this people, and behold, it is a stiff-necked people.” Throughout history, our stubbornness has caused us to question, argue, hold on too tightly, and refuse to let go of what we believe matters. Empires rose and fell trying to crush us, convince us, erase us, and somehow we are still here in 5786, still singing the same songs, still telling the same stories, still choosing Jewish life.

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Then, Kabbalat Shabbat overflowed with spirit in the best communal, homemade kind of way.

All 60 of us gathered on the porch of the main dining hall, and friends led us to another plane of existence with their guitars and voices.

Halfway through the service, prayers transitioned to jumping, dancing, holding hands, and forming a conga line. It felt like a collective exhale through Hebrew song. We had so much spirit, we were afraid the porch was going to give out from underneath us!

Even my friend who is normally insecure and shy about dancing felt moved to let loose during Lecha Dodi like something shifted in him. Afterwards he said it felt like “angels were smiling down on us.”

The celebratory weekend culminated in a post-chag/Shabbat silent disco, which is my favorite activity ever. What made this one special was that this was my first silent disco where one of the channels played Israeli music! So you bet everyone switched to the green channel once Ofra Haza came on.

Here’s the playlist from the Israeli station, created by one of the participants. It’s a mix of spiritual niggunim and bangers:

Throughout the weekend, my mind kept drifting back to Yoni’s talk about our stiff necks, and the fact that we were all there celebrating a Jewish holiday because our ancestors refused to give up their tradition. They refused to be like anyone else.

What will happen when the Messiah comes? Maybe it will look like this: holding hands and dancing until the wooden slats of the porch give out. Children laughing on a sunny patch of grass. Fists pounding in rhythm on tables full of challah, wine, and delicious food. Silently swishing your hips to Akon’s “I Wanna **** You.”

Alright, maybe not that last one, but I would pay to see a room full of rabbis do that.

Mazel tov to Adina and Avi for creating a holy space for learning, joy, and connection, and to everyone who shared their wisdom with us.

✍️ Shabbat Prompt

What’s something you learned this Shavuot, or recently? Please share in the comments!

Shabbat Shalom (hey!),

💦 Like Shavuot? Check out these Drops:

When you think of Jewish immigrants arriving to America, what do you see?

If you pictured a crowded ship pulling into New York Harbor, the towering Statue of Liberty evoking The Brutalist, and families clutching their luggage at Ellis Island, you’re right. Between 1880 and 1914, over two million Jews from Eastern Europe made that exact journey. That’s the story we know, and one that many of us can trace through our own family histories.

But after I wrote my Jewish Unpacked piece on Jews of the Wild West and talked to people about this topic, I learned that most Jews aren’t familiar with the lesser-known American immigration story of Galveston, Texas.

That’s right! About 10,000 Jewish immigrants came through a different port of entry a liiitle more west. In honor of Jewish American Heritage Month, here’s a Drop I’ve been wanting to write about for quite some time, just ahead of Shavuot. Saddle up!

Why Galveston?

As Jewish immigrants poured into Manhattan’s Lower East Side, German-Jewish banker Jacob Schiff was nervous about the overcrowding of Jewish communities in northeastern cities. He felt they would fuel anger and lead to federal immigration restrictions.

So in 1907, he committed $500,000 of his own money (about $13 million today) to set up the Jewish Immigrants’ Information Bureau (JIIB). The goal was to redirect immigrants away from the East Coast and distribute them across the rest of the country, where they would hopefully find work as merchants or cattle ranchers (jobs they held in Europe before emigrating), and blend into communities rather than cluster in urban ghettos.

To do so, they needed a port. They evaluated three options: Charleston, New Orleans, and Galveston.

Charleston was out immediately; local officials made it clear they only wanted Anglo-Saxon immigrants. New Orleans had recurring yellow fever outbreaks and was too densely populated. Galveston had direct shipping routes from Bremen, Germany (the main departure point for Eastern European Jews), and rail lines heading straight into the Midwest! Galveston it was.

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The Rabbi of the Ellis Island of the West

At the heart of the operation was a man named Rabbi Henry Cohen of Galveston’s Congregation B’nai Israel.

Rabbi Cohen personally met almost every arriving ship. He rode his bicycle to the docks, greeted immigrants in Yiddish, assessed their skills, and coordinated their placement with the JIIB. He had been serving Galveston’s Jewish community since 1888.

Cohen served B'nai Israel for 64 years, becoming an influential civic reformer in Texas. He lobbied the state legislature to raise the age of consent for girls from 12 to 18, rescued sex workers from local brothels, and helped organize the Central Relief Committee after the 1900 hurricane. In 1930, Stephen Wise included Cohen on a list in the New York Times of the ten most prominent religious leaders in the U.S. And that was the last time that paper said anything nice about Jews. Kidding, kidding.

Everything’s bigger (and more difficult) in Texas

About 92% of arriving immigrants moved west of the Mississippi. Families spread out across Texas, in cities like Tyler, Palestine, Marshall, San Antonio, and into Missouri, Iowa, and Minnesota.

But over time, most of them drifted back east. This was actually something I did not know until researching this topic this week!

88-90% of adult men eventually relocated to Chicago or New York, drawn by things the JIIB hadn’t fully accounted for: community, kosher food, Yiddish newspapers, synagogues, family. Employers in smaller towns often refused to accommodate Shabbat observance.

Still, the families who stayed planted roots that are still visible today. Jewish congregations, businesses, and civic institutions across Texas and the Southwest trace their origins back to those 10,000 people who got off a boat in Galveston instead of New York.

The movement officially ended in 1914 when World War I shut down transatlantic travel entirely.

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A personal connection

My colleague’s family immigrated through Galveston! Here’s what Tova told me about it:

“My great-great grandfather, Philip Rich (born Pinchos Ratschkovsky), came to the U.S. from Russia in 1904 when he was 13 years old. He came through Ellis Island, but continued by boat to Galveston. He continued by train to Richmond to stay with his uncle.

Pinchos was so excited to see his family after the long trip, that he left his straw suitcase on the train. As the train pulled out, he started yelling in Yiddish, and the whole crowd yelled so the train backed up and the conductor threw the straw case out to him.

As an adult, he lived in Houston, Texas, and started the Phil Rich Fan Manufacturing Company. The company was managed for decades by his son, Hershel. The iconic mid-century brand operated until it was sold to Sunbeam in 1981. Today, Phil Rich Windmaker fans are highly sought-after collector's items in the vintage and industrial design markets, renowned for their heavy-duty metal construction and massive airflow.”

So there you have it: a look into a lesser-known immigration story that kicked off the era Jewish cowboys. Read my article to learn about that fascinating part of history!

Sources and Further Reading/Watching

• How 10,000 Jews immigrated to the U.S. through Galveston — not Ellis Island

• Unboxing History: The Galveston Movement & Rabbi Henry Cohen

• New Light on the Galveston Movement: Houston Jewish History Archive Acquires Rare Pamphlet

✨ Jewish Joy of the Week

I mean, it doesn’t get more joyous than me posting on Facebook asking if I know anyone whose family immigrated through Galveston and receiving a few replies!

Chag sameach and happy learning,

The Eurovision Grand Final is tomorrow at 3pm ET (you can stream it for free on this page!).

Why am I writing about this on a Jewish blog? Israel has been involved in Eurovision for the past 53 years, give or take. If you want a refresher on Israel’s history in Eurovision, read this ol’ Drop.

Which brings us to 2026, with 28-year-old Noam Bettan representing the Jewish State on the international stage in Vienna, aglow with flashy lights and flames (Eurovision is known not only for its catchy songs, but also for its over-the-top staging).

Noam’s set doesn’t include flames, but instead features a giant spinning diamond that he comes out of as he sings about a toxic love in French, Hebrew, and English. His song, “Michelle,” was co-written by last year’s Israeli participant, Yuval Raphael.

The song is an earworm, especially with the post-chorus “aye-aye-aye-aye-aye-aye oh-oh, oh-oh.” It’s such a bop, even the haters can’t help but dance along to it. Despite the shiny diamond, I find his performance to be lackluster compared to other acts. But you can really see he gives it his all, and I’m delighted he made it to the final.

Whatever you think of Israel’s performance, it’s always cool to see Jewish pride on international television. However, not everyone agrees. This year, five countries pulled out of the singing contest because Israel was participating. The automatic losers are Ireland, Iceland, the Netherlands, Slovenia, and Spain. So much for being united by music, which is Eurovision’s tagline!

Boy George, who represented San Marino this year and didn’t make it to the final, believes music should unite rather than divide. Not Jewish himself, he has been outspoken on behalf of the Jewish community, and said: “It’s very trendy to hate Israel but I have always said ‘fashion for the fragile, style for the brave.’”

Obviously, he knows about style, just look at him……..

Another group contributing to the hate were our friends at the NY Times, who made a Very Big Serious Investigation (she said facetiously) into how “Israel turns Eurovision’s stage into a soft power tool.” No really. That was the headline. The article/”investigation”, however, revealed that Israel’s government - gasp - placed ads to encourage people in the diaspora to vote, as if any other country wouldn’t do that.

Participating countries make it to the final by getting the most votes. Last year, Israel received the most public votes, and in 2024, received the second most public votes. In recent years, I’m sure more Jews have voted for Israel just to show support and get Israel to the final. But how is that different from a Moldovan living in the U.S. voting for Moldova (which you all should, because Moldova’s song is amazing this year)? Like said on his Substack about the article, “When the Times accuses Israel of using Eurovision as a soft-power tool, it is accusing Israel of participating in Eurovision.”

All of this vote tallying and count obsession reminds me of this week’s parsha, Bamidbar, the first parsha in the book of Numbers. It turns out the Jewish people are just as obsessed with numbers and paying attention to who belongs.

The Israelites are preparing to leave Sinai and head toward the Promised Land, but not before Moses conducts a census of all the families who dwell alongside the Tabernacle, per G-d’s instructions. He counts men over the age of 20 in every tribe except for the Levites, who have their own special tasks in maintaining and carrying out the sacred Mishkan. Everyone counted is eligible for military service, and has the responsibility to defend and protect the group along their journey.

The census in Bamidbar recognizes who is present and willing to do their part in sustaining something sacred. Every person counted has a role in helping carry the community forward.

This is what Eurovision is to me: several countries, much like tribes, putting their differences aside and coming together to share a stage of sequins and song. The stage only works if people agree, even for a few hours, to enter into something larger than themselves, like how the Israelites put aside their complaining for once to enter into a holy transitional phase.

United by music sounds cheesy until you recognize the power of temporary dwelling. Whether that’s on stage or in the desert, community like that takes work.

May we all be united by music, and may “Michelle” finally get out of my head.

✨ Jewish Joy of the Week

I attended a class called “Torah After Dark,” taught by Rabbi Arielle Stein at Central Synagogue. It was a class on how Judaism views sex, pleasure, and longing, filled with a lot of Song of Songs and hiding under the bed. IYKYK.

Good Shabbos and good luck to Noam,

💦 If you like Eurovision or Jewish pride, check out these Drops:

One time when I was hosting Shabbat dinner, I had everyone go around the table and name something they’ve stolen (yeah, I have fun ice breakers). Someone said parking meter spots. Another person said wine glasses from fancy restaurants (okay, that was me). Somebody even said clothes from TJ Maxx. Everyone has stolen something, whether they want to admit it or not. If you’re feeling brave, comment on this post with something you’ve stolen!

This week’s Drop is kind of a follow-up to last week’s, when I mentioned I lived out some Jewish values in April, like praying, learning, and giving tzedakah more.

What I didn’t mention in that piece was my attempt to also observe negative commandments, like refraining from lashon hara (gossip) or murder. I’m happy to report I survived April without murdering anyone.

Out of the 613 commandments in the Torah, there are 248 positive commandments ("do's") and 365 negative commandments ("don'ts").1 Rabbinic tradition teaches that there are 248 “do’s” for each of your limbs and organs. This is because mitzvot engage your whole being. There are 365 “don’ts” just like there are 365 days in a year, since avoiding wrongdoing is a daily practice. These prohibitions provide restraint and encourage a moral life.

One big “don’t” in Judaism — so big that it’s one of the Ten Commandments — is stealing. I don’t steal often, only wine glasses, and before you judge me, judging is another prohibition! Plus, I used to know someone who stole cutlery from The Cheesecake Factory, sooo… but who am I to judge?

During my month of Jewish values, I technically stole something. I was heading uptown from the Upper West Side for a Shabbat service, and I hopped on the back of a bus without swiping my OMNY card to pay the $3 fare.

Our mayor says the buses will be free, but until they officially are, I usually pay. I just chose not to pay this time, and was judged for it by two older men sitting in the back.

“That little girl snuck onto the back of the bus,” one of them said to the other while looking right at me. The other one stared at me and mumbled something inaudible.

Little girl! I was so enraged. First of all, I’m a woman, not a little girl. (I actually wasn’t mad at this comment; it’s good to know my Korean skincare keeps me looking youthful.) I was more annoyed about his judgment. Some people can’t afford to pay for the bus. In less affluent neighborhoods, fare evasion is all too common. While I could afford the fare, he doesn’t know that about me or my financial situation.

I then looked down and remembered I was wearing my new Shabbat Drop t-shirt. It says Shabbat Shalom (hey!) on it, referencing the campy Shabbat song I sing on my Instagram stories every Friday to spark joy.

I was suddenly full of shame. Here I was, hitching a free ride (technically stealing) that wasn’t mine to take, with my Judaism on full display. I may as well have worn a shirt that said, “Here’s a Jew stealing.” (On the back: “And she’s late to shul.”) Busha!

It made me think of chillul Hashem, or desecrating G-d’s name, which was what I was doing by publicly committing a sin. Actions like stealing, embarrassing someone, or delaying a worker’s wages, for instance, make Jews look bad. And making Jews look bad makes G-d look bad. As representatives of G-d’s moral code, Jews should instead sanctify G-d’s name (kiddush Hashem) to bring honor and respect to the Jewish people, and therefore G-d.

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At first, it sounds ridiculous. We should refrain from doing bad things simply because they’re bad, and do good deeds simply because they’re good. We shouldn’t care what people think about us. But maybe by living a life based on values, we can inspire others to live a more ethical life. We can set a good example.

Perhaps by telling you my story, it will encourage you to lead by example. May we all sanctify G-d’s name when we’re out and about in this world!

Want to hear something chilling?

That night, I was flipping through the latest issue of Hadassah Magazine. I always enjoy learning from Joseph Lowin’s “About Hebrew” column on the last page, which explores a different Hebrew root and its related words, usually connected by a theme. This issue’s theme was about, well, stealing. 👀

Good Shabbos. Off to catch a bus,

✨ Jewish Joy of the Week

My colleague made Bamba Rice Krispies Treats from Adeena Sussman’s new cookbook, Zariz, full of quick and easy Israeli recipes. They were dangerously delicious!

Throughout April, I did an experiment on myself. Let me explain.

In the months leading up to this experiment, I have been wondering if I really live my life Jewishly.

I obviously live a Jewish life: I am a Jewish professional, I write a Jewish blog, and I attend Jewish classes and Shabbat dinners weekly.

But do I live Jewish values? Do I not only talk the talk (well, yes, I’m learning Hebrew חחח), but do I walk the walk? And I don’t mean to shul on Shabbos!

So, I chose an upcoming month (which was April, though I now realize should have been a Hebrew month; I’ve failed already!), and selected Jewish values by which to live. There are many more values I could have chosen, but I selected my list based on what felt most important to me as a Jew and on the areas I’m most interested in. I was also was curious to see if this “experiment” would make me any happier/more fulfilled, or more connected to my Judaism. You have to read through to the end to find out!

We’re in the process of counting the Omer, the days leading up to Shavuot and the moment when the Jews received the Torah. This is a period of personal reflection and character development. Any time is an ideal time for growth, but the Omer period feels especially intentional, as we move toward receiving the Torah and trying to become more aligned with its teachings. I hope my experiment of sorts inspires you to tap into one or more Jewish values!

🎁Before we dive in, mazel tov to the winner of the latest giveaway, a signed copy of Out of the Sky by Matti Friedman, Yael from Atlanta!

Prayer

Before experiment: Ever since my transformative stay in Israel during the 12-Day War, I started reading some morning prayers, but I don’t recite them every day. I typically only pray on Shabbat in synagogue. I also have occasional off-the-cuff chats with G-d.

During experiment: During April, I tried to stay consistent in reciting the morning prayers. On days I didn’t have enough time, I recited Modeh Ani, the gratitude prayer. I also got bored reciting the same prayers over and over. I don’t know how people who pray every day don’t get bored! At times, it was challenging to connect to the repetitive theme of how G-d is all powerful. I wanted to recite something that felt more personal.

So, midway through the month, I switched from my traditional ArtScroll siddur to one that my cousin, Jay, got me called the Siddur Eitz Ratzon. This siddur describes itself as “a traditional prayerbook designed for those who seek spirituality and meaning beyond what they have found in conventional prayerbooks.”

And it really feels that way! For example, instead of the traditionally different lines recited by men (“Blessed are you… for not having made me a woman”) and women (“Blessed are you… for having made me according to His will”), the Siddur Eitz Ratzon reads, “Blessed are you… You have made me a Jew with an enriching heritage.”). I also like the line a few verses later, “You guide my steps, helping me walk on my intended path.” Poetry! What a way to begin your morning!

This experiment also introduced me to the bedtime prayers, which I never read until now. They brought me comfort, especially one particular night when I was upset about something and mentally spiraling.

I was listening to the new episode of my now former favorite podcast. The guest speaker being interviewed was an economist, but within the first ten minutes, it sounded like he was using this platform to spew antizionist and antisemitic hate and misinformation to millions of listeners without receiving pushback from the host.

As I paced around my room huffing and puffing, and sending minutes-long voice notes to my friends to complain, my eyes fell on my ArtScroll siddur (back to traditiooon!). I read the first few verses of the bedtime Shema in it and immediately felt calmer:

“Master of the Universe,
I hereby forgive anyone who angered or antagonized me
or who sinned against me —
whether against my body, my property,
my honor or against anything of mine;
whether he did so accidentally, willfully,
carelessly, or purposely;
whether through speech, deed,
thought, or notion…”

The Bedtime Shema offers an emotional and spiritual reset before shuteye. While I never finished reciting the whole prayer, I knew I could sleep easy, not thinking about an economist pretending to be a war expert. I guess I forgive him… for now.

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Kashrut (Kosher law)

Before experiment: I’ve never been one interested in a kosher lifestyle, but I finally understand its purpose: to infuse Judaism and holiness into the mundane, even while eating. And ever since last year’s Israel trip (I told you it was transformative!), I stopped eating non-kosher animals for the most part. I try to keep kosher style on Shabbat to mark the day differently. To me, this means eating kosher meat and not mixing meat and dairy.

During experiment: One day in April, I took myself out for a burger. I was craving cheese, so I ordered a plant-based burger with cheese and all the fixin’s. When I took my first bite, I heavily regretted it. It was awful! I decided if I had to choose, I’d go meat patty sans cheese. The plant patty was just not worth it.

On a different night, I made spaghetti and meatballs (made of real beef). It was a rare time for me having spaghetti and meatballs without parmesan. I learned I didn’t miss the parm. I even posted about it on Instagram and received many messages of support and suggestions, which I will save for a later Drop on kashrut!

As I reflect on the month, I just realized I took a few bites out of my friend’s chicken melt the other night without thinking. I was hungry, okay?

Tzedakah (Justice)

Before experiment: I donate once or twice a year.

During experiment: Living in NYC, I come across several people a week begging for money. If I have a spare dollar on me, I sometimes give, but I rarely carry cash. In the Mishne Torah, Maimonides lays out the rules for giving charity. He says that you are not required to give beyond your means, and you are not required to give to everyone who asks. But you should always respond to an ask with compassion or an effort to help if you can, treating every beggar with dignity. While I didn’t give to everyone who asked, I was more aware of it and treated each interaction with compassion. Instead, I gave to a friend who just happened to ask me at the right time! He was raising money for his NYC marathon campaign to support Blue Card, an organization that financially supports Holocaust survivors in need.

Chesed (Loving-kindess)

Before experiment: Not to talk myself up, but acts of kindness come naturally to me. I was always taught to just be nice to people! But it’s hard to go above and beyond, especially when you don’t want to. Chesed reminds us that we are obligated to perform acts of deeds that benefit others. Many Jews do this through volunteering, which I have done only once this year. 🫣

During experiment: … until this week, when I volunteered with Met Council, America’s largest Jewish nonprofit that serves New Yorkers in need (which includes non-Jews). Together, we packed thousands of toiletry kits for families in the Bronx. I met new people and had fun!

Learning

Before experiment: If you know me, you know I love learning. Let’s just say this value was easier keep than the kosher one!

During experiment: I attended two Torah classes: one on lashon hara (evil speech) by Rabbi Arielle Stein at Central Synagogue, and one on bikur cholim (visiting the sick) by Rabbi Ben Varon (yes, our favorite chaplain!) at AltShul. No notes on the experiment here - I just want to share with you a taste of what I learned:

Reflection

I obviously live a pretty, pretty, prettaaayy Jewish life already. But carving out time to focus on core values has made me think about them more: why they matter so much in our tradition, how to incorporate them into my life, and what other values I can practice with intention.

Now that April is over, do I feel happier? More fulfilled? While I don’t feel all that different, I can say with resounding confidence that I had fun along the way. Sure, I struggled through plant-based burgers on my kashrut journey. I felt stingy when I only gave tzedakah once, and it wasn’t even that much. But I made friends while doing something meaningful for my community. I enjoyed pausing to pray in my busy mornings or evenings, even if not every day and even if I stopped midway and gave up. I learned to give myself grace, and I am all the better for it.

Now that it’s May, it’s time to return to my shrimp-and-gossip-filled life. Just kidding ;)

✨ Jewish Joy of the Week

In another edition of Jewish geography, my work recently hosted a third-generation Holocaust survivor to share her grandparents’ experiences in Hungarian concentration camps. She recounted their journeys of survival, which included moving to a Philadelphia suburb and her grandfather becoming a Hebrew school teacher. While sitting in the audience and hearing this story, my colleague made the connection that this speaker’s grandfather was her very own bat mitzvah tutor many years ago! With tears, they embraced. It was a beautiful moment of Jewish connection.

Shabbat Shalom!

💦 If you like self-development, check out this Drop:

This was a heavy week, as we first observed Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s Memorial Day, before transitioning to the celebratory Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israel’s independence.

Israelis began marking Yom HaZikaron in 1951 to honor their fallen soldiers. For the first two year’s of Israel’s independence, the commemoration was held on the same day as Independence Day, but a decision was made to designate a national day of mourning. The day was enacted into law in 1963. In 1980, the day expanded to include pre-state fallen soldiers and security force members. More Jews in the diaspora began observing the holiday as well.

In the early 2000s during the Second Intifada, the holiday again widened its scope to include victims of terror, changing its name to Yom HaZikaron l’Chalalei Ma’arachot Yisrael u’LeNifga’ei Pe’ulot HaEiva (Remembrance Day for the Fallen Soldiers of the Wars of Israel and Victims of Actions of Terrorism).

Then in 2023, the scope expanded again to include non-Israeli Jewish victims of antisemitic terror attacks outside of Israel, per Israel’s Ministry of Diaspora Affairs and Combating Antisemitism. Don’t worry - this addition didn’t get tacked onto the holiday’s name this time. This decision to include victims of terror and antisemitism on a day memorializing soldiers reminds us that victims of hate are also soldiers; they are victims of the same fight. Plus, how many more sad days can we tack onto the Jewish calendar?

Something similar happened with Yom HaShoah, Israel’s Holocaust Remembrance Day, which we observed last week. In 1959, the Knesset, Israel’s Parliament, changed its name to Yom HaZikaron laShoah ve-laG'vurah, or Holocaust and Heroism Remembrance Day to institute an annual "commemoration of the disaster which the Nazis and their collaborators brought upon the Jewish people and the acts of heroism and revolt performed."

This nominal addition dispels a misconception of the Holocaust, that every Jew went like lambs to the slaughter toward their death. It honors the Jewish heroes of the Holocaust: those who hid in the freezing forest, who blew up Nazi train cars, who protected sacred Jewish texts, who successfully and unsuccessfully rescued Jews.

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These name changes are a powerful reminder that our history contains chapters of both heroism and tragedy, of suffering and courage. They teach us that the Jewish story continues to have hardship, but it contains acts of heroism and resilience as well.

Which brings me to one of the best Jewish books I’ve read this year so far! Out of the Sky by journalist and author Matti Friedman explores real heroism during the Holocaust through the lives of four parachutists. Their mission was to return to Nazi-occupied Europe after having already escaped to Palestine to rescue as many Jews and allies as they could, and kill Nazis along the way.

I loved this book because it asks the question: What makes a hero? The parachutists’ mission failed. Only one returned to Palestine alive. Yet, they each became legends in their own way for their courageous attempt to restore justice. They posthumously had streets, schools, and ships carrying immigrants to Palestine named after them. The most famous parachutist, Hannah Senesh, wrote the poem “Eli, Eli” which became a song every Israeli child grows up learning. Just last week, I heard it sung by a children’s choir at a Yom HaShoah event.

Through letters, firsthand accounts, and private reports, we get a glimpse into the hearts and minds of Hannah, Enzo Sereni, Haviva Reik, and Haim Hermesh. My favorite character was Slovakian-born Haviva, the brains of the operation once they were on the ground, but dismissed for being a young woman. She also slept around, sometimes with other women’s husbands on her kibbutz. I have a soft spot for imperfect heroes, what can I say? It’s why I love the Torah so much!

None of the story’s main characters were perfect. Even some resistance fighters thought Hannah Senesh too brash, a young woman too headstrong for her own good.

But they all had one thing in common: a Zionist yearning to help their fellow brethren and bring them to safety, no matter the cost. And they didn’t see this as a heroic act, but what was needed to be done. In fact, they didn’t want to be remembered as heroes. Oops.

Out of the Sky is proof that storytelling and memory matter almost as much as wartime success, even more so. These four parachutists may not have literally saved Jewish lives, but they gave living Jews strength. They became symbols of what a new nation needed to carry on.

As I mentioned earlier, Yom HaZikaron fades into Yom Ha’atzmaut in a single sunset. In 24 hours, we go from mourning the dead to celebrating independence, however that feels for you this year.

One lingering question I had after I finished the book was if these parachutists were so devoted to Zionism, wouldn’t it have been a more redemptive ending to the war to just stay in Palestine and live as free Jews? Perhaps survivor’s guilt led them to pursue their lofty goal, the fact that they fled while their families remained stuck in Europe. But then they never would have become the notable figures they are today, and we wouldn’t have this thought-provoking book.

Today, we thankfully have the choice to carry out their dream of living freely as Jews. We can be activists, like Enzo in his youth movement. We can tell our story, like Haim did when he returned from the war. We can study Hebrew like Hannah, or sleep with other women’s husbands like Haviva. Just kidding about that last part. She did so much more than that!

As Matti Friedman writes: the Zionist response is action. If Yom HaShoah reminds us what happens when there’s no Jewish state, and Yom HaZikaron reminds us that having a Jewish state comes with a price, Yom Ha’atzmaut reminds us of the power of having a Jewish state and of the responsibility that comes with it to take action. What that action looks like, I leave that for you to decide.

🎁 GIVEAWAY

Thanks for making it this far! I’m giving away a signed copy of Out of the Sky to one lucky winner!

To enter, all you have to do is like and share this post or any past post somewhere, either by restacking on Substack, sharing on social media, or in that WhatsApp group chat you usually mute (send screenshot pls!). The eligible winner must live in the U.S. and must subscribe to The Shabbat Drop. I’ll post the winner next week.

✨ Jewish Joy of the Week

I went on a friend’s Polish food tour in Greenpoint. The pastries were delicious and the company was great. My favorite part, though, was when I found out my friend’s brother-in-law is someone I used to work with, one of the three Melbourne Jews I know. Small Jewish world!

Shabbat Shalom,

💦 If you care about Jewish resistance, check out this Drop:

This Drop is for anyone spiritual, struggling with spirituality, or into yoga and/or poetry! Or if you’re like me, struggling with all of the above.

I’ve been trying to pray more. For months, I’ve been reciting the Modeh Ani (okay, more like I mumble it to myself) as soon as I wake up. Lately, I’ve been reciting more morning prayers and have been studying Shabbat service prayers with my chevruta, or learning partner.

However, it’s hard to pray when you don’t know the purpose or origin of the prayer, you don’t have time, or the words just aren’t speaking to you. Sometimes I start off strong with my morning prayers, energized and focused, and then cut it short because I have to get started with my day, like today. Or I breeze through a prayer because I can’t connect to it when I don’t understand why Jews recite it.

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I could write a whole Drop on this, but wanted to share, because I connected with another Jewish Substacker who wrote a creative poem on this topic.

Corie Feiner is a Jewish yogi and poet, who is on a mission to write 108 poems, each corresponding to a different yoga pose! She’s at 107 now, so clearly she doesn’t struggle. Or does she? Her poem, “High Lunge Prayer Twist,” (below) depicts prayer as a messy endeavor, an experience of resistance between your body and heart.

I am continuously inspired by the myriad ways people connect to their Jewish practice, and I hope Corie’s poems and journey touch your soul in some way.

The following is from Corie:

I started writing my yoga poems during a profoundly moving yoga practice where at the end I sat up, picked up my journal, and wrote my first poem for Hero Pose.

What does it mean to be a hero?

To kneel on any piece of floor
you can find, your knees pressed together,
your feet apart, your big toes reaching
towards each other in stillness and longing?

A few days later, I wrote a poem for Warrior I.

…I raise my arms above my head
as if I were reaching to grab swords
from the sky like a mythic hero born
of my wild hair hoping

that if I killed everything around me
I would no longer feel any pain.

After the third and fourth poems came, I realized that each pose was inspiring me to write poems the way that dance inspired Degas to paint. Each movement is rich with Hindu tradition and mythology, yogic philosophy, physical challenges, spiritual potential, and the somatic release of old stories held in my body. Yoga also has Jewish connections, like the many stories we carry, honoring our bodies, and the breath.

Although I was new to yoga as a practice, I was not new to writing. I had been writing poems since I was nine years old when my then best friend gave me a velvety black writing journal for my birthday. This small gesture led to me writing regularly and served as a safe space for a very sensitive soul navigating the rawness of 1980s New York. I spent my lunch breaks writing with my high school’s poetry group, Poets House, reading, writing, and feeling at peace between the shelves of hundreds of poetry books.

I decided to dedicate myself to somehow making poetry my life and my living. After I studied poetry at the University of Pittsburgh and pursued my MFA at NYU, I spent many years as a full-time poet-in-the-schools, workshop facilitator, performer, and adjunct college professor. As a lover of spoken word poetry, I was part of the vibrant NYC slam scene and started a bunch of poetry reading series. I was also active in the thriving Jewish arts scene and was a cast member of Storahtelling as well as an artist in residence at the 92nd Street Y/MAKOR, back when it was a thing.

After I got married to my soulmate, we moved to a small historic town by the Delaware River in Pennsylvania, where I became the Poet Laureate of Bucks County, but mostly dedicated my time to becoming a home birthing, homeschooling, cook-from-scratch sort of mom to my two boys.

My current project, A Poem for Every Pose, integrates my love of yoga with poetry.

Currently, I have 107 yoga poems out of 108 and will soon be ready to publish this collection. My vision for these poems is for them to be read before, during, or after yoga practices to help us align our minds, bodies, and souls and bring us to a place of self-love, presence, and healing.

You know how Miriam played the tambourine in the desert as we fled Egypt? That is the purpose of these poems—to be the songs that keep us going as we move through these tumultuous and possibly transformative times.

The two poems I am sharing with you here are “Reverse Tabletop,” and “High Lunge Prayer Twist.” Each one, in its own way, has its own deeply Jewish DNA with subtle and not-so-subtle references to prayer.

Wherever you are at in your Jewish or spiritual journeys, I hope these poems serve you well and help you feel something deeper. And if you are called to subscribe to my Substack, I would love to have you as part of my community where we talk about yoga, poetry, and the body in a down-to-earth sort of way. We’ve also been doing Rosh Chodesh yoga for the new moon on Substack live!

“Reverse Tabletop”

This poem was inspired by the Shehechiyanu prayer, which is what we say when we experience something for the first time, to realize the miracle of the present moment.

To the lift, to the knees, to the back
to the throat, to the head, to the neck,
to the hard wood, to the clang of glass,
to the knock of knives, to the water,
to the wine and strength it takes
to hold all my weight like this.

To the hips, to the core, to the nicks,
to the scrapes, to the stretch, to the aches,
to the meals, to the grace, to the long spine,
to the answered prayers, to the shoulder’s shake,
to lifting the goblet of my heart into the air
and to toasting that I have made it
to this very moment, this very breath,
this very day.

Sanskrit Name: Ardha Purvottanasana

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“High Lunge Prayer Twist”

To know high lunge twist is to know
that sometimes a prayer can look like this,
your whole body quivering quietly,

your gaze not quite towards heaven,
but sideways, backwards towards the ache
of your past and the small triumph

of just being here, right now. Sometimes
your palms will not be able to rest against
your beating heart, but that does not mean

that your prayers will not be heard,
the soles of your feet holding themselves
in place, your hips hugging the bowl

of your belly filled with breath, your elbows
like the edges of pointed stars telling you
what it is like to hold so many wishes,

to create your own light and to know
that you will never truly fall.

Sanskrit Name: Parivrtta Ashta Chandrasana

Shabbat Shalom and happy writing, praying, or posing (or all three!),

💦 Like prayer or poetry? Check out these Drops:

Interestingly, walnut in Hebrew is egoz melech, or the king’s nut, due to royal connotations (the Greeks called the walnut "basilicon", meaning "royal nut.”)

Just before Pesach, I was lucky enough to attend Jewish Book Council’s 75th National Jewish Book Awards, held at Temple Emanu-El. Surrounded by brilliant writers, scholars, translators, and publishers, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude celebrating those who contribute to the greater Jewish story.

Jewish Book Council (JBC) is a nonprofit dedicated to educating, enriching, and strengthening the community through Jewish literature. This year was packed with award winners from 21 categories, ranging from Sephardic Culture (Golden Threads by Ariel­la Aïsha Azoulay, illustrated by Haitham Haddad and Hagar Ophir) to Children’s Picture Book (The Remembering Candle by Alison Goldberg, illustrated by Selina Alko). The highest honor, Jewish Book of the Year, was awarded to Eli Sharabi for Hostage, his memoir detailing his 491-day captivity in Gaza.

If you think this year’s most celebrated Jewish books sound depressing (the children’s picture book is about lighting a yahrzeit can­dle and talking to kids about the death of a loved one), you’re in good company. The evening emcee, entertainer and podcaster Jonah Platt, kicked off the evening with a song he wrote called “Tragedy Tonight” to highlight this point:

🎵 “Something familiar,
Something peculiar,
Something that Jews enjoy
It’s tragedy tonight

Something distressing,
Something depressing,
What keeps the Jews employed
But tragedy tonight

Nothing with jokes or lively discussions
Only the Nazis, Gaza, and Russians
…
You want to smile, get a new hobby
Make sure you don’t read Eli Sharabi” 🎵

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Platt’s song set the tone for the evening: a celebration of these works and a window into who we are, what we dream up, what we’ve survived, and what we refuse to forget. Something distressing, indeed, but something essential.

I was surprised to learn that only a few of the 21 winners were on my radar/shelves. Of course, I had read Hostage and Sarah Hurwitz’s As a Jew. Hurwitz’s second book, , which won the award for Contemporary Jewish Life and Practice, explores sources of internalized Jewish shame, stemming from antisemitism and anti-Zionism, and how she overcomes them and evolves into the proud, outspoken Jew she is today.

I also heard of Book Club Award winner Dog (Yishay Ishi Ron), a novella of Israeli wartime trauma, and American Jewish Studies winner Antisemitism, An American Tradition by Pamela S. Nadell, that dispels the notion that the U.S. has always been a safe haven for Jews, something we are questioning today. Her book traces ugly history, from Gen­er­al Grant’s Order #11 dur­ing the Civ­il War and the lynching of Leo Frank, to more recent examples like the 2019 Poway shooting.

All the other award-winning books were new to me - clearly, have much reading to do! Some standouts to add to my TBR list:

📚 People Without History Are Dust: Queer Desire in the Holocaust by Anna Hájková - winner of Holocaust literature - grapples with the complex dynamics of sexuality in the camps.

📚 The Anatomy of Exile by Zeeva Bukai - winner of Debut Fiction - follows an Israeli family fractured by grief, displacement, and a forbidden love between a Mizrahi Jewish woman and a Palestinian man. In this book, history repeats itself within the family, and the characters learn that empathy trumps all.

📚 Fagin the Thief by Allison Epstein - winner of Fiction - is a twist on Oliver Twist that reimagines Dickens’s notorious villain, giving Fagin a rich backstory and humanity. Please, sir, I want some more!

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The variety and depth of the winning book topics presented on stage were striking. There are so many ways to connect to Jewish identity, from Soviet Jewry to Moroccan ancestry, and books are just one path of exploration.

Something else that stood out to me throughout the evening was how prevalent Zionism was across genres. At a moment when some voices are trying to separate Israel from Judaism, it was clear Zionism had a seat at the table on the night of the Oscars of Jewish literature. Whether grappling with the war in Gaza through poetry like in Aharon Shabtai’s Requiem, exposing how cruel Hamas captors can be, pushing back on anti-Zionist arguments while remaining critical of the Israeli government, or exploring Israeli-Palestinian relationships through fiction, these works reflected just how deeply Israel remains embedded in the contemporary Jewish story. Nuance had a seat at the table, too! We were in good company.

“At a time when thoughtful storytelling and visibility matter more than ever, Jewish books have the power to strengthen community, spark meaningful dialogue, and affirm who we are,” said Naomi Firestone-Teeter, CEO of Jewish Book Council.

As guests left the gala, we helped ourselves to the table centerpieces: piles of books by Jewish authors. I picked up a timely book called The Persian, by former CIA analyst David McCloskey, about Mossad espionage in Tehran. It says it’s a novel… or is it?

Depressing topics aside, the night proved there’s still so many stories to tell, and we’re still here sharing them. As Jonah Platt’s song ends, “The People of the Book will be all right! Tragedy tomorrow, let’s celebrate tonight.” Amen.

See the full list of winners here.

I asked attendees what Jewish book they’re excited about right now. Here’s what they said! Let me know what you’re reading or excited about in the comments.

“My friend’s book, Honoria (Janice Shapiro), which is a winner tonight. It’s about young girls and their friendship in 1920s Paris, but really any age can read it.”

“People Without History are Dust (Anna Hájková), which won the Holocaust book award. My husband was a Holocaust survivor and our family funds this award.”

“Sharon Brous’s book, The Amen Effect, even though it made me feel sad and powerless. It made me ask myself, ‘What can I bring to the world right now?’”

“Porcupines (Fran Fabriczki).”

“I just picked up 10/7:100 Human Stories (Lee Yaron), but I’m going to give it to a non-Jew to read.”

“The Talmud.”

“Rabbi Angela Buchdahl’s book, Heart of a Stranger. We just read it in my book club.”

“Honoria. I’m into graphic novels.”

“Chutzpah Girls (Julie Silverstein & Tami Schlossberg Pruwer). It’s about strong Israeli women.”

“Amos Oz’s A Tale of Love and Darkness. It’s the greatest post-war Jewish book ever written.”

“Eli Sharabi’s Hostage. I love what he said from Man’s Search for Meaning, that if you have a why, you can get through any how. He kept living even though his ‘why’ was gone.”

“I’m completely fascinated by Nicholas Lemann’s Returning. Out of the Sky by Matti Friedman is an incredible read. And adored Porcupines by Fran Fabriczki.”

“Obsessed with Laurie Frankel’s upcoming book Enormous Wings!!”

“When the Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb!”

Shabbat Shalom! Happy reading,

💦 If you like Jewish books, check out these Drops:

This might be the first time in three years of The Shabbat Drop history that I’m sending an email on a day other than Friday. Surprise! The three-day Yom Tov was stressing me out, but not for the usual reasons it stresses Jews out.

To email on Friday, or not to email on Friday? Leda’ati, the sooner I get Pesach content out, the better. ;)

Thank you to all of you who contributed to last week’s Passover ask, which was: send in something that relates to any theme of Passover, from freedom to frogs. And you delivered!

With constant rocket fire over our family in Israel, a war with no clear end in sight, daily settler violence, and Mamdani attending a Passover Seder, there’s a lot of precariousness in the world right now. Some submissions reflected that. Some were uplifting, too!

I’ll start with my entry. Several Drops ago, I shared music by Iranian Jews. One of them was an artist named Liraz Charhi (stage name: Liraz), a contemporary Israeli Iranian singer/songwriter and actress. Her Iranian parents immigrated to Israel in the ‘70s, and she now lives in the LA Persian neighborhood known as Tehrangeles. She starred in the hit TV show Tehran and wrote songs for the recent movie adaption of Reading Lolita in Tehran.

Her international singing career took a hit just days after October 7th, when her UK tour was cancelled, and her London-based record label asked her to take a pro-Palestine political stance on social media. She declined (five of her in-laws were murdered on October 7th) and moved to another label. She actively speaks out against the Iranian regime.

One of her songs, titled "Zan Bezan" (Women, Sing), is a rallying cry for freedom sung in Farsi. The 2020 song is more relevant than ever, with lyrics like:

“Women, sing it
You’re allowed to dance
You’re allowed to sing
You’re allowed to rejoice
…
Together we’ll make a revolution.”

The song reminds me of Miriam leading the women in song and dance, the dance of liberation. Perhaps all Iranian women can one day sing in freedom together.

Here are the rest of the submissions! Enjoy.

Frogs in the House of Your Officials

“I chose this piece of art for a few reasons: my husband saw this online, and even though I do not read Hebrew - neither does he - the description said it was the story of Exodus written in Hebrew. The frog was created by a Jewish artist, who was inspired by people dressed as frogs across to cities resisting ICE.” -Andrea, NYC

What “Firstborn” Really Means

“One of the interesting ideas I learned from Mark Gerson's book, The Telling: How Judaism’s Essential Book Reveals the Meaning of Life, is that the plague of the firstborn is not really about the literal firstborn of Egypt. The biblical concept of ‘firstborn’ is more akin to the ‘culture-bearer’ -- the one who represents and transmits a society or civilization's values. The killing of Egypt's firstborn means destroying those who stand for an idolatrous, slave-holding society. This has been a particularly transformative reading for me, a firstborn of a triplet. It indicates multiple ways one might adopt the role of firstborn and ironically, not be born into it.” -Phil, NYC

Worried and Down (Even Though My Wife Tells me to Be More Upbeat)

“This Passover I am not very happy. I see the U.S. and Israel venturing into a wider and wider war in the Middle East, with Israel moving into Lebanon and Iran sending missiles and drones into American allied bases. I also worry about what I see happening in Israel under Bibi’s rule. What's the point of escaping slavery and oppressive rule only to live in a land of constant war? I worry about such things.

I am also upset about the IDF soldier who got killed recently fighting for Israel; he was from New Haven, my hometown. I worry about the increase in antisemitism that I see worldwide. It is exacerbated by the conflict in the Middle East and often gets blamed on Israel, thus Zionism, and there is a constant widening gap between groups of American Jews as it relates to what is going on in Israel.

I am upset, which you gather by now, so as we seek the land the milk and honey and seek peacefulness, and seek to end antisemitism, we must keep our spirits up (which is difficult for me, but my wife insists). We must stand firm in our beliefs, Judaism has existed long before all other major religions and has retained its strength from those who love it, believe in it, and practice it. We must keep our resolve and stand strong for what we believe in. But I do worry.” -Fred, Connecticut

We are Passover

We celebrate freedom
While mourning loss

We share the story
That binds us whole

We recite and sing
As notes rise like tiny doves

We dance to outpace
The rhythm of sorrow

We move forward
Fueled by our history

We never walk alone

- Maddy, Connecticut (note: both of my parents did this while they were sick and also put up with my critical feedback - I love them both SO much!!)

A Modern Exodus

“Everything I do is in light of my hero son, Shay Michaeli, who fell in action defending our country during the war. You can read more about him here.” -Yoram, Israel

From the Red Sea to Rio

“I was reading about Miriam’s role in Passover and her leading the women in song and dance, and for some reason I pictured the scene in the movie Black Orpheus, which is set in Brazil, where Eurydice is dancing with everyone during Carnaval.

Something about the themes of freedom from slavery and dance, and powerful women with a central role. And the layers too if you compare/contrast the two stories, pulling from African diaspora culture and spirituality, Greek mythology, Mardi Gras (Christian/Roman Catholic), and Judaism.” -Heidi, Iowa

Freedom is a Process

“Booker T. Washington made a life of teaching former slaves the skills and habits for success as free people. The transition did not happen overnight. There is arguably a similar reason Gd had the Jews wander in the desert for 40 years. There is also a reason American slaves looked to Exodus for inspiration. There is much to learn in our own story from his autobiography.” -Joel, Virginia

I love the variety of answers! Clearly we need to dance more. 💃

Whether you’re spending this Pesach in a bomb shelter, laughing with family, or worrying about the state of the world, there’s no right or wrong way to move through this theme-heavy holiday. As long as you’re reflecting (and maybe cutting down on chametz to embody those themes), you’re doing just fine.

I promised a prize to my favorite answer and will contact the winner after Passover!

Chag sameach,

💦If you like Passover, check out these Drops:

This year, I’m not inviting you to my Seder (sorry), but I’m inviting you to contribute! Send your “exodus object” to miranda.lapides@gmail.com before Passover, and I’ll share my favorites in the next Drop. I will give a prize to my favorite response!

For inspiration, read this old Drop or this one.

A few weeks ago, I gave a d’var Torah for Parashat Tetzaveh, which describes the dress of the kohen gadol, or the High Priest. The High Priest’s robes of fine linen and a breastplate adorned with 12 stones representing each of the tribes distinguishes him from the regular priests of the Mishkan. As I posed here, does this mean his garments were a symbol of superiority, or of responsibility?

As you ponder that question, allow me to introduce Shlomo Bar-Ayal, a Freemason and an Orthodox Jew! I incorporated him into my d’var when I spoke about how we dress for the important roles we play, which you can read at the bottom of this post. I never published it because the war with Iran broke out, so I thought this week’s parsha would be perfect to bring it back! Especially since the priests are mentioned again (the priests that keep on giving… sacrifices).

Before we hear from Shlomo, what are the Freemasons? No, they’re not a secret society hiding treasure maps on the back of the Declaration of Independence.

Created in 16th-17th century London, Freemasonry is a predominantly fraternal organization that focuses on moral development, mutual support, and shared ethical values. Originally consisting of stonemasons, its teachings often use symbols from the trade, like a compass and a square (to remind members to act ‘squarely’ and with self-restraint), and the eye in the pyramid on the one-dollar bill (a reminder that G-d is always watching).

The members, known as brothers, gather in local lodges, with hundreds of thousands of lodges around the world. Some chapters accept women. There are about six million active members today. You could throw a stone anywhere and you’d likely hit a Freemason.

Shlomo is the 32nd Degree Master Mason of the Grand Lodge of the State of New York (which is a beautiful building!). But more relevantly, he’s an Orthodox Jew, which doesn’t conflict with his Masonic affiliation. In fact, his cultural and religious tradition enhances it.

He writes a blog (here’s a great Passover post about the Four Questions) and has a podcast called The Jewish Freemason, where he explores the connection between Jewish thought and Freemasonry. Here’s Shlomo, our local treasure!

What made you want to become a Freemason?

My favorite uncle was a Freemason so it was something that I knew about and he was one of the best men that I knew growing up. The fact that he was accepted even though he was openly Jewish in Saginaw, Michigan said a lot about it. I also had the chance to meet other Masons along the way and was impressed by their dedication to the moral principles of the fraternity.

Freemasonry emphasizes moral development, brotherhood, and service. How do these values resonate with Jewish teachings and reinforce each other in your daily life?

Freemasonry is very close to Judaism vis a vis moral development, brotherhood, and service. When we read the Torah it is no accident that these are emphasized. Right now, for instance, we are reading the Book of Vayikra. In the middle of it we suddenly come across Parashat Kidoshim, which is concerned with our moral behavior. It says, in essence, that if you truly want to be holy then you have to follow these moral principles.

The concept of caring for your neighbor is emphasized throughout the Torah. There are a lot of laws concerning how we should live together.

Masons are required to believe in God, but we do not ask them how they do so. Like in Freemasonry, Judaism focuses more on morals and ethics. Abraham, for example, questions God’s judgment in the classic case of Sodom and Gomorrah. Abraham debates with God about destroying the city, because there might be 10 righteous people there. God takes on the debate, because God was not looking for somebody who was a believer, but somebody who was morally righteous. This tells us it’s the action that matters. What you do is more important than what you believe. This is a very Jewish and Masonic concept.

The Torah does not seem to command us to believe in God. The Ten Commandments start out with God making the statement “I am the Lord, your God who took you out of Egypt.” Note that this is a statement of fact, not a commandment per se. This fits in well with the concept in Freemasonry that all Masons are required to believe in God, but how they do so is left to the individual.

How do your fellow brothers see or perceive you as a Jew (if at all)?

Everyone knows that I am a religious Jew, and I have been accepted by the Brethren as such. I proudly wear my kippah and have taken to wearing my tzitzit out. They have given me the utmost respect in religious issues. When it comes to eating, kosher meals are always supplied to those who keep kosher.

We have traveled the world and have met Masons in many countries. They have all greeted my as a brother and treated both me and my wife with utmost respect. They also assigned brothers to be our guides in these countries.

What’s the biggest misconception you’d like to clear up?

The biggest misconception is that we are involved in politics. We stay away from politics as much as possible. I know quite a few active political men who are Masons. While in lodge they do not speak about any politics. I should point out that no lodge will endorse a political campaign. We do say the Pledge of Allegiance when opening the lodge in the US. In other countries they have similar customs.

That said, we do take moral stands. The Grand Lodge of New York has sent support to the Grand Lodge of Israel during the Gaza war. Not for political reasons, but for moral reasons.

The biggest misconception is that we are trying to take over the world. If you look up conspiracy theories, you will find that there are as many about Freemasons as there are about Jews.

👉Here’s some history published by Yad Vashem on antisemitism against the Freemasons for accepting Jews.

We are not a religion nor a substitute for a religion. There are many Jews who are afraid that Freemasonry is a form of idolatry. We are not. My wife and I were on a tour of Freemason’s Hall in London. Someone noticed that there were pictures representing different religious ideas but there was not a picture of Jesus. The guide pointed out that that would be violation of Masonic principles. We do our best to stay away of a particular religion.

Any comment on National Treasure?

I loved National Treasure. Totally untrue but a lot of fun.

Lastly, what are your Shabbat and Pesach plans?

This Shabbat we are going to our shul, Congregation Ohab Zedek, on the Upper West Side for a Shabbat Hagadol for a Friday night seudah.

Then on Sunday we will be flying to Rome to spend Pesach on the Amalfi coast in a Pesach program. I will be speaking about the effect of the Bayit HaRishon on Western Civilization. Then I will give another lecture on the effects of Jews on the US Constitution and the effect of the US Constitution on the Jews.

Here’s Shlomo’s gracious contribution to my d’var from a few weeks ago on Parashat Tetzaveh:

“In Freemasonry it is usually required to be in a suit and tie at all meetings. When we have a special event then we are to be in tuxedos. When Grand Line officers attend a very special event then they will be in morning coats.

The reason for this is simple: Our goal is to make good men better. Men behave better when they are dressed better. Also, it makes a statement to us and the world that we are not just a bunch of guys getting together.

Now how does this fit into the parsha?

Let’s realize that there are certain fundamental reasons for the Kohanim to be dressed as the Torah mentions. First, they have to approach their duties with respect. They have to display that respect to the people since in a certain sense they are representing the common, i.e., non kohen, Jew to God. They are also representing God to the common Jew. In Masonry we are to be considered leaders of our communities. Thus we need to dress appropriately.

Another reason is that this ‘uniform’ takes individuality out of the equation. One cannot show off with a special garment. All are equal in service to God. In Masonry we wear aprons. This is a throw back to the days when we were actual stonemasons. While many of us have special aprons depending on our status within Masonry, the most important apron that we have is the plain white apron that we each received upon our initiation. That is the apron that we will be placed on our casket when we leave this world. It underlines a basic fact. We might rise to a higher station with the Craft but in the final analysis we are still equal.”

Good Shabbos and Chag Pesach sameach,

I am a big fan of the Oscars! Not so much the pomp and glam of it all, nor the performative display of politics, but for the genuine love and appreciation of film. Okay, and maaaybe to beat my mom in our annual contest for predicting the most winners for each category (I won this year, in case you were wondering).

This is not a Drop about the Jewishness of the 98th ceremony, like which Jewish celebrity wore what, nor about the Jewishness of Marty Supreme (for an article on that, read this!). It’s also not about the nominated short documentary Children No More: Were and Are Gone, which follows anti-war Israelis raising awareness of children killed in Gaza (haven’t seen it but my thoughts: right message, wrong place; surprised it didn’t win; I’m expecting a nominated doc about how the world turned a blind eye to the Bibas boys and all other children murdered on October 7th).

This is also not about how adorable my parents are. I mean, just look at their costumes!

This Drop is about Butterfly, a 15-minute animated short film directed by Florence Miailhe, a French-Jewish animator. The film tells the true story of Alfred Nakache, a Jewish Olympic swimmer who survived Auschwitz.

Not to snub the actual winner that I didn’t even see, The Girl Who Cried Pearl, but there are several reasons to applaud Butterfly. First, its visuals are stunning. The production used 65,000 paintings on glass and canvas, over 4,000 liters of oil paint, and 125 artists to create its fluid motion. The bold strokes of turquoise and splashes of the Algerian coast are mesmerizing and relaxing to watch.

The story, though, is not a relaxing one.

We follow Nakache as he grows up in French Algiers, and is afraid to dive into the water at first. After overcoming his fear of water, he trains as a professional swimmer, moves to France, falls in love and has a child, and eventually competes in the 1936 Berlin Olympics, where he receives taunts of “Dirty Jew!” Only, in this scene there are multiple swimmers of different skin tones in the frame. You don’t know who’s the Jew. And that’s the whole point.

I had never heard of Nakache, whose family came to Algeria from Iraq in the 19th century. After the film, I looked him up and was surprised to see his skin tone was seemingly fair in black and white photos, and olive in colored photos. Butterfly intentionally depicts him with a darker complexion.

The reason Miailhe took creative license and chose to paint Nakache, one of the hundreds of Mizrachi Jews (of Middle Eastern descent) in France persecuted by the Nazis, with darker skin than he really had was to depict Jewish diversity.

At a time when Jewish identity is often misunderstood and you have 15 minutes to educate somebody (if you’re lucky), Miailhe took the liberty of painting Nakache as a Black Jew from North Africa. Although I consider myself knowledgeable about Jewish diversity, I wasn’t sure who was being called a dirty Jew in the Olympics scene (I went into this film not knowing anything about it). Though I knew who our protagonist was, I admittedly thought the victim was the white swimmer.

I found it jarring to see Nakache marching in a sea of light-skinned prisoners in the camp. It wasn’t an image from my Holocaust education. It left me with more questions than answers. It made me curious, like any good film should.

Miailhe, whose father knew Alfred and who learned to swim with his brother growing up, said in an interview: “I hope people will be moved by Alfred Nakache’s story and rediscover it, because it’s not well known in France. Also, we are living in some very troubled times in a world where racism and antisemitism are back.”

Was Miailhe right in exaggerating a historical figure’s skin tone to make a point? I’ll leave that for you to decide.

We watch, through vivid brushstrokes and bubbles, as Nakache falls in love and has a child, only for the three of them to be taken to Auschwitz and separated. There, the Nazis make “the swimmer of Auschwitz” dive into a freezing basin as punishment and humiliation.

He eventually is liberated in 1945, but his wife and child do not survive. Throughout his life, Nakache never stops swimming. He’s one of the first swimmers to perform the butterfly stroke, and returns to France to continue swimming, teaching children and reflecting on his life and lost family.

Nakache is the only competing Olympian before and after surviving the Holocaust (he competed in the London Olympics in ‘46), and one of the few athletes to compete in the Olympics after surviving the Holocaust (others include Polish weightlifter Ben Helfgott and Hungarian gymnast Ágnes Keleti).

Butterfly is a heartbreaking and inspiring work of art that portrays a lesser-known part of Holocaust history. It depicts diversity, a lifetime of courage, loss, and resilience in just 15 minutes, making it a short film you absolutely must see.

In keeping with the symbolism, I’m sharing the famous Holocaust poem “The Butterfly” by Pavel Friedmann, which he wrote at the Theresienstadt concentration camp in 1942. In 1944, he was deported to Auschwitz where he was murdered.

✨ Jewish Joy of the Week

This Facebook memory from the beginning of Covid, six years ago:

Shabbat Shalom! Here’s to in-person Shabbat meals,

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