Since the 7 October attacks that killed about 1,200 Israelis last year, Jewish Americans across generations and political divides have been pulled into a crisis unfolding half a world away. For some, witnessing Israel’s bombardment of civilians in Gaza has compelled them to protest in support of Palestinian rights. For others, a sense of growing antisemitism has created an atmosphere of isolation and unease in personal and professional circles. All describe navigating difficult conversations, grieving lost relationships and grappling with a painful new terrain.
The Guardian spoke with five Jewish Americans who reflected on how their lives have changed over the last year. Their words have been edited and condensed.
‘My relatives’ bodies are being held hostage in Gaza and we are grappling with what that means’
Lea Silvert, 30, Worcester, Massachusetts, niece of Judih Weinstein Haggai and Gadi Haggai, who were killed on 7 October
For months, my family waited for information. It was horrible. There was so much uncertainty in our lives. We didn’t know if they were alive or dead. We didn’t know if they were in Israel or Gaza. We had no idea. But I clung on to hope. I had visions that Judih and Gadi were alive in Gaza, either in a house or in the tunnels, and that they were with each other. I made myself believe that for 83 days.
Now we know they are dead, that their bodies are being held hostage in Gaza, and my family is grappling with what that means for us. But also we’re working very hard to advocate for the release of the hostages, for an end to the war, and for more humanitarian aid into Gaza.
It’s been hard to connect with other people on the topic of the hostages. At work or at school, I feel like I leave half of myself outside the door each time I walk in. I’m often scared to bring it up, especially with people I don’t know, because it’s so polarizing. You’re either for this side or you’re for that side. It’s all or nothing. It’s very painful to hear everyone’s opinions, especially when people aren’t going through it themselves.
I feel there is a microscope on me being Jewish and American, that people hold me accountable for the Israeli government, and I think that is incredibly antisemitic. Why would I be accountable for what Netanyahu does when I am one of the voices so actively challenging him? I don’t understand that conflation between identity and the power of a fanatical rightwing government.
I feel very alone. I feel like a lot of people are quick to judge. Yet this is a moment that requires everyone to hold nuance and complexity – and that is very hard, and not at all automatic. At the same time, I’ve received an outpouring of support and understanding from loved ones and complete strangers. It’s given me strength and hope as I grieve.
‘I’ve been lambasted by both sides’
Isaac Saul, 33, Philadelphia, journalist at Tangle News, a non-partisan news site
I think – and care – a lot about the conflict. When I graduated college, I went to a yeshiva in East Jerusalem. Leading up to October 7, it had been 10 years since I’d been in Israel, but I still had a lot of friends from my time there. When the attacks started, I got on WhatsApp to see if everybody was OK. And while everybody who I knew personally was safe, every one of them knew somebody who had been injured or killed. It felt really close.
I wrote about it pretty early on. I said that Israel was going to respond, and that I was scared about what the response was going to be.
At the same time, I saw people start talking about the conflict for the very first time as though they knew what they were talking about. Progressive friends of mine all of a sudden posted every day about Zionism being racism and Israel committing genocide. Jewish friends of mine were inclined to blindly support whatever Israel did and started posting shallow, borderline racist stuff about Palestinians. I was stuck between those two groups. It was frustrating and painful.
When I started writing about it publicly, I heard from Palestinian Americans who were upset about how I was framing stuff, and I was lambasted by Jewish and Israeli-Americans who said I was a self-hating Jew. It was pretty isolating. I wrote a piece recently about all the documentation of some of the horrific things that members of the IDF have done during the war. I got so many emails from people saying, ‘I can’t believe you wrote this email without mentioning a single thing Hamas has done,’ despite the fact that I’ve been writing about Hamas for 11 months. Every three months I have an I’m-throwing-in-the-towel breakdown. But then I’ll lick my wounds and convince myself that it’s important to keep doing this.
And all of this is wrapped in a kind of guilt, because it isn’t my neighborhood being bombed, or my family members and friends dying. Many Palestinians and Palestinian Americans have it way worse than me right now. So on top of all the other feelings, I have guilt that I am even struggling, when I’m safe and secure thousands of miles away.
Linda Holtzman, 72, Philadelphia, rabbi of the Tikkun Olam Chavurah
I grew up, as many people did in the 60s and 70s, in a strongly Zionist household and community. It was only later that I started to realize there was much more to Israel than I had known. It became clear to me that there was a very vibrant Judaism in the world before the state of Israel, and now I see myself as part of a community of people who are trying to create a Judaism beyond Zionism.
It was never easy to be an anti-Zionist in the Jewish world. But since October 7, that opposition to anti-Zionism has strengthened, and the number of anti-Zionists I know – myself included – who have been pushed out of mainstream Jewish institutions is huge.
I have been on the faculty of the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College since the 1980s. In June, I was told that, because of budget concerns, I was no longer the director of student life. I could teach as an adjunct, but I basically lost my position. I was the only anti-Zionist on the faculty.
At RRC, I supported students with a range of views – Zionists, anti-Zionists, and everything in between. I loved knowing that there were people who saw things differently, but who were open to engaging and disagreeing. That, to me, feels like the ultimate Jewish value, and one that is vital in a rabbinical school.
So my departure feels like a loss that is larger than just one faculty person who couldn’t be budgeted for. It’s the loss of the depth of that kind of discussion and disagreement. Until this year, it felt OK to identify as an anti-Zionist and to be fully a part of the faculty. And since October 7, it has not felt like that.
So while the establishment Jewish community is making things very difficult, it has also been a year of building real community among anti-Zionists. It’s smaller, but we’re there.
‘A lot of code-switching’
Noah Rothman, 26, San Francisco, University of California, Berkeley, graduate and former president of Berkeley Hillel
In Berkeley, you had to be careful about what you said, who you said it to, and how you were saying it. Even within the Jewish community, I did a lot of code-switching.
It was a really intense environment. So much happened. People left Hillel, and it transformed into a totally different space. On campus, there were protests and counter-protests, there was a walkout for Palestine, there were outside agitators, there was an encampment. At an event, some windows were broken. And then, there were also meetings going on behind the scenes. There was so much happening, and a lot of us were caught up in it.
I got funding for some things to work with Muslim student groups. And unfortunately, that just never came to fruition. Things were just too sensitive.
A pivotal point was I came back from spring break. I said to the Hillel rabbi: “You know what, I’m not gonna try to hide how I feel. I’m not gonna apologize for what I believe in.” I lost the patience I had been holding for the people who characterized Hillel as the enemy, as this horrible organization that was sponsoring genocide. Judaism and politics became so intertwined, and I was done with apologizing for all the good things we were doing, like hosting weekly Shabbat dinners.
[After graduating], I spent the summer traveling and didn’t really talk about Israel. Last year, all my conversations were about it, so I looked for an opportunity to escape. The only place I really talk about it now is among family. I’m able to breathe.
Part of me feels guilty that I don’t talk about it more, because this is one of the issues of our time. I served a year and a half in the Israeli army, and my brother currently lives in Israel. He served in Gaza, and he was just called up this morning because of Lebanon. I’m trying to balance this intimate relationship to the crisis with my need for self-preservation.
‘I traveled to Israel to volunteer after the war started’
Steve Sanderson, 60, Minneapolis, retired physician
When October 7th hit, I felt I had to do something for my fellow Jews, for Israel, and for the region. So, in late November, I traveled to Israel to volunteer on farms. I wanted to help people get food, but I also wanted to help the Israeli economy, as all of the international workers had left due to the war. I wound up staying for nearly a month.
My wife was invariably supportive, although others questioned my desire to go into a war zone. But I didn’t see it as an adventure. For me, it was a responsibility.
I’m a very proud Jew, and I’m a very proud Zionist. Over the years, I’ve been to Israel at least 40 times. I believe in the biblical, historical, and legally recognized Jewish state of Israel, where everyone is welcome. But I also believe in learning about the narratives of others who have historical claims. I work towards the goal of peace and justice for everyone in the region by volunteering with organizations – like the Arava Institute, an apolitical organization focused on environmental diplomacy – in which Jewish Israelis are working together with Arabs and Palestinians.
Still, after millennia of antisemitism, I genuinely believe that Jews and Judaism cannot survive without Israel. I also think it’s Israel’s right to defend herself and to destroy the monstrous organizations that are hell-bent on murdering of Jews.
My wife and I are blessed to have many non-Jewish friends. I’ve had great conversations with them in recent months, and they’ve learned a lot about Israel, Jews, and antisemitism. Yet I’m disheartened that the world acts like Israel can’t do anything right. We read a lot of different news sources in our household, and it feels publications always portray Israel – and by extension, Jews – in a negative light.
Much of that is rooted in antisemitism, which has always been present, but has seriously ramped up since October 7. It’s depressing and stressful.