‘The older generation is losing the case for Zionism. So pass the microphone to us’

Israel does everything that is demanded of it. It gives back land for peace and is met with terror, but the world says Israel needs to do more. Israel is faced with Hamas’s genocidal massacre, and when the IDF responds in the most surgically precise way (unprecedented in the history of urban warfare), it’s called “genocide”. We point to our ancient connection to the land, and we are called “colonisers”. Despite the now-overwhelming evidence demonstrating widespread support for Hamas’s Nazi-esque ideology among Palestinians, any measure Israel takes for basic security and survival is considered a “war crime”.

It isn’t surprising that many hasbara activists feel like they are bashing their heads against a wall. I am sure there are people out there who are open to reason and will see the obvious merit of Israel’s case. But will we ever cut through the vicious hostility to Israel that lies at the root of this ongoing conflict? It certainly seems that our current strategy isn’t doing the trick. We need a serious rethink.

Oliver Anisfeld[Missing Credit]

Recently, I was chatting with a young British Muslim who is sympathetic to Israel. He told me that one of the main arguments he hears in Muslim circles is that Israel is a “phoney state” because the Jews are meant to be a godly, religious people – and the secular, democratic values espoused by Israel’s leaders seem to reject this. Now I do not for one second want to find any virtue behind the arguments that excuse the appalling hatred levelled at the Jewish state, but I do think this comment should give us pause. Israel is surrounded by religious, God-centric cultures, yet our activism is focused on a Western audience. Israel’s neighbours are not impressed by democracy or international law or even groundbreaking technology.

October 7 was the day that brought all of Israel’s cosmic battles into sharp focus more than ever before. The day was Simchat Torah, when we start reading the Torah anew. We went back to Genesis, the beginning. The most famous of all Torah exegetes, Rashi, opens his very first comment with a question (paraphrased): “Why did the Torah begin with God’s creation of the world and not the first commandment? Because if the nations of the world tell the Jews they are thieves, foreign occupiers of a land not theirs, Israel will respond that God is the creator of the universe and He assigned it to the Jews.” It seems like Rashi is saying that this is the only argument the nations of the world will find convincing. I do not think it was by chance that Israel read this message on October 7, 2023. I think it is the call of the hour. We should be clear to the world who we are – God’s chosen people, chosen to articulate His moral vision for the world – and whose right to the land comes from God Himself.

Now when I propose this to some Jews, they go crazy. “Are you trying to inflame tensions even more? This will only further enrage our enemies!” When I discussed this with YouTube’s most popular rabbi, Manis Friedman, he pointed out the following: First of all, how are all our other arguments working out for Israel’s PR? Again, they aren’t cutting through. Second, it’s too late, we have already been chosen – we didn’t do it, it happened to us. And for much of the world, the revelation on Mount Sinai is something they believe in; so they already know there is something different about the Jews.

Part of the reason hasbara fails is because it is rooted in our frustration that the world treats us differently, with “double standards”, and we crave for the Jews to be treated as a nation like all others. But we will always be treated differently, because the world knows we are different. And the more we deny it, the more it frustrates them. But difference is not necessarily a bad thing that we should resist. Difference can be wonderful.

The Jewish people’s divine mission in this world could be best understood by imagining a teacher in a classroom full of students. When a teacher tries to act like one of the students, they simply take advantage. They bully the teacher, and chaos reigns – but they certainly don’t treat the teacher like one of them. All that happens is the teacher and students both become frustrated.

I don’t doubt that, historically, antisemitism came from jealousy of the Jewish people’s chosen role. Even if it wasn’t said explicitly, it was clearly a key driver. But our chosenness is an irreversible fact. We can’t deny it even if we want to, and when we have tried to run away from it, the world has always pushed back.

So the solution is not for us to shy away from our difference, but for us to speak clearly, with the authority of a teacher in a rowdy classroom. It is the nations – the students – who need to revise their attitude towards us. You can be jealous of someone else’s position, or you can be proud to partner with them and excited to play your own unique role in this great divine plan. But this can happen only when everyone speaks plainly.

While the antisemitism of the past was driven by jealousy of our chosenness, one thing has changed today. People are gradually realising the moral emptiness of the ideologies and institutions they once put their faith in. This came into particularly sharp focus in the aftermath of October 7, which I also do not see as a coincidence. Whether it’s academia, political leaders, celebrity culture, the media, or even religious culture – we are witnessing a severe shortage of moral leadership. Couple this with the unprecedented political and social freedoms most Jews have today, and we now have the perfect opening for the Jewish people finally to come into their global role.

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Antisemitism also thrives, in part, on the Jews being a mystery. How is it that the Jews are so successful despite the odds being stacked against them? How does such a small people, with such unique qualities, have such a wide influence? These mysteries feed into conspiracy and paranoia, and in previous generations we simply did not have the freedom or security to challenge them. But today we do. What about, instead of just “fighting antisemitism” we try to create “pro-semitism”? If the hate thrives on mystery, let’s demystify. Jews sometimes feel the world is “out to get us” but, again, that could be understood as wanting to “get” us – to understand who we really are.

Since my teen years, I have been consistently blown away by the depths of wisdom and moral brilliance in our Torah and Jewish heritage. I have been amazed at how much Judaism has already transformed the world in the global conversation of ideas. Today we have an unprecedented opportunity to take this to a radically new level. In a world crying out for moral leadership, it’s finally time for us to provide it. Getting rid of antisemitism is only the short-term prize of this approach. The real prize will be greater than we can imagine.

​Oliver Anisfeld is a media entrepreneur focused on influencing opinion through “edutainment”. In 2016 he set up J-TV, a global Jewish YouTube channel that presents inspiring Jewish wisdom and ideas to both Jews and non-Jews and spreads the truth of Israel’s cause. He also runs several other media channels and projects. He lives in London and studied history at University College London, focusing on the influence of the Hebrew Bible on America’s Founders

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It’s time for the grown-ups to step aside

By Noah Katz

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For my generation, the last five years have been anything but normal. From March 2020, when the pandemic began to dominate our lives, to the Hamas invasion of Israel on October 7, 2023, to the shocking yet (for anyone who’s been paying attention) totally unsurprising massive uptick in antisemitism in all parts of society and particularly in Western higher education – the kids are, quite simply, not alright.

All of these events, along with a more general sense of WTF is going on?, are deeply interconnected. They have created a younger generation of Jews very different from those who came before. The future of Jewish survival must begin with Jewish institutions understanding who this new generation is. Who we are.

Yes, each generation is different from the one before it. But there is something different about Gen-Z and Gen-Alpha. The gap began before Covid, but was severely exacerbated by the social isolation of lockdowns.

Now, before you start telling me that the pandemic was awful for all of us, it was particularly awful for those under 18. I was lucky enough to have started university pre-lockdown. I had already moved out of home and lived, briefly, as an independent adult.

By Noah Katz[Missing Credit]

Being a teenager was different before Covid. You went to school, had fun with friends, and, most importantly, you were able to make mistakes in a safe environment without the risk of grown-up repercussions. For my generation, the world ended in March 2020.

Kids were stuck at home on Zoom, worrying about their grandparents dying, instead of socialising, having fun, being silly – being children. Young children were locked away from any meaningful social interaction. Some regressed.

Then, a few months into the apocalypse, the narrative of race in Western society shifted. For those of us in our late teens or university years, this was the second of what would become a succession of tectonic shifts in a relatively short period.

The Black Lives Matter movement didn’t start in 2020, but George Floyd’s dying words of “I can’t breathe” and the video of his death spread around the world. While people were suffocating in hospital beds, a police officer named Derek Chauvin needlessly took the life of a father-of-five. Debates around race, racism, and the systemically oppressive nature of how society is constructed broke through to the mainstream, and with it came a new language. This novel language, which emphasises social justice and a desire for what the Spanish philosopher José Ortega y Gasset called a “hyperdemocratised” society, seemed to become a lingua franca for younger people. It’s lazy to blame BLM, DEI, or whatever three-letter acronym you’re annoyed at today for the ills of the Jewish people in 2024. The fact is that while young people may speak a different language from those who have come before us – we also think differently.

To make matters worse, during our formative years, spaces for young people to engage in nuanced dialogue were killed by Covid. As a result, we didn’t have the space to disagree, and to explore that disagreement, safely. The de-nuanced novel lingua franca manifests now in four different ways.

First: Due to lockdowns, perhaps, we show collective compassion more forthrightly than our elders. We spent two and a half years having to mask up, not for ourselves but to protect others. We could hear what people were saying but couldn’t see them saying it. The facial expressions weren’t there. We were forced to trust people based on what they said, but not how they expressed it. Not only did Covid kill our ability to engage in dialogue, but expression became inhibited. You never knew if you were reading people right. It was strange, but we knew it was necessary in order, eventually, to bring the End of Days to an end.

Second: As a result, perhaps, of this heightened sensitivity to collective compassion, younger people today also have a greater understanding of the intricacies of intersectionality. This is why we’re able to move away from the reticence of our elders to lean into the discomfort that can come from efforts to build bridges with other minoritised groups.

Third: we will not accept diktats from legacy organisations representing the perspective of older generations. Nothing about us without us springs to mind. We’re demanding seats at the table, not on the sidelines, to help form the world we want to see.

Finally: my generation has broadly grown up in a world where Israel’s existence is non-negotiable. It’s just a fact. Unlike our grandparents, who witnessed its establishment, or their children, who saw it teetering on the brink, we see Israel as a hard truth, like any of the many countries that came into existence after the Second World War. With that comes new conversations around the meaning of Zionism.

Am I a Zionist? That depends on how one defines Zionism. If Zionism is just believing in the right for Jewish self-determination in our ancestral homeland – then, sure as sh*t, I’m a Zionist. I know that Israel is one of the only places in the world where it is safe for Jews to exist as Jews.

If, however, Zionism means that one isn’t allowed to criticise or actively campaign against the Israeli government or establishment – then, no, I’m not a Zionist. From my perch the other side of the Atlantic, in the United Kingdom, I can see that a deep schism has erupted in American Jewry, between Zionist and anti-Zionist Jews. Is this schism simply the wider trend of a divided world playing out in our communities? It seems our mishpocha across the pond are preoccupied with internal division, but strangely unwilling to rip off the Band-Aid (as Americans put it) and do the surgery necessary to repair. I know our people’s history, and I know that it shows exactly why we need Israel. So, why are more young people becoming inclined to move away from “traditional” Zionist ideals? In short, we see what those ideals have been bastardised into. It doesn’t make me any less of a Zionist to want a free Palestine; I would argue it makes me more of a Zionist. I protested against the judicial “reforms” in 2023 because I love Israel and I am a Zionist. I called for a ceasefire in the war in Gaza because I’m a Zionist.

My Zionism, especially after October 7, puts peace at the centre. It posits that for the homeland of the Jewish people to thrive and to flourish, we have to give to get. We have to work empathetically with people we don’t understand, rather than just expecting them magically to understand us. Working only with “moderates” who agree with us on the easy things is a lazy approach; instead we need to be brave and have the difficult conversations. Think of it like theatre: In order for the director’s vision to emerge, participants have to suspend their disbelief. Their disbelief that the “other” side is wrong or evil or lying just because they’re the other side – for humanity to succeed, the basic humanity of all people must be in the fore of all conversations.

So, why am I a Zionist? I’m a Zionist because I believe in hope. Hope for our people, and hope for all peoples who live between the river and the sea. I yearn for a free Palestine and a secure Israel. Yes, I’m an idealist. But aren’t all ideologies based in idealism? Back home, I see the British Jewish community balanced on the edge of a precipice, and I’ll be damned if my community falls into the abyss. If we want to “ensure the future of the Jewish people”, as legacy organisations never stop telling their donors, can we please do away with this willing misrepresentation of the challenge we face? It’s not about ensuring the future so much as accepting the changing face of the present. This begins with understanding just how different my generation is, and when necessary, stepping aside to let us take the lead.

That is to say: I’m not a leader of tomorrow, I’m a leader of today.

It may be controversial to say the quiet part out loud: Most legacy Jewish organisations are conservative in nature. Institutions inherently dislike change; all the more so large, century-old institutions.

This conservatism can often lead to the silencing of new voices precisely because their leaders don’t want to see their own power diminished. I’m not pointing out this problem because I want that power, but the failure is a problem because we are seeing so many Jewish organisations flounder with youth engagement. While every new generation is different from the one before it, ours has gone through so many upheavals in so short a time – from lockdowns to social justice, from the crisis of Israel’s democracy to October 7 and the explosion of antisemitism – that we have emerged fundamentally different from even the millennials, who are just a bit older than us. Legacy institutions, led largely by Gen-Xers and Boomers, can barely understand what we’re saying.

Since the end of 2022, one of the main things legacy Jewish organisations were talking about was “Jewish unity”. Seeing the reactions of the Israeli population to Netanyahu’s fascist-adjacent cabinet rippling like a tidal wave across the diaspora, organisations thought that the lack of unity was the issue that we, as a people, must address.

Over the summer of 2023, I attended, in Jerusalem, the launch of an initiative built to foster “Jewnity” as I sometimes like to call it. Led by the World Jewish Congress, one of the legacy organisations which is getting youth engagement right with its NextGen programming, we were brought together at Nefesh B’Nefesh Headquarters to hear from President Isaac Herzog, who opened the afternoon of lively discussion between emerging and established diaspora leaders and top voices in Israeli civil society, with a message of enthusiasm to take into our work: Stop talking, he urged us, and start doin.

In the weeks after the October 7, some commentators said that the problem of Jewish unity was solved because of the pain we shared. I disagreed. To me, it all seemed temporary, like a family coming together at a shiva.

You don’t want to upset things, but the feelings are still there. Grief rarely fundamentally changes feelings. It often just covers them up.

What I’m saying, in other words, is that we have to find an answer, not just talk about it endlessly. We can’t just ignore it but have to do it, and really do it, soon. These Jewnity conversations aren’t for nothing; they’re really important. However, the crucial thing that seems to be missing from them so often is the willingness to actually change.

Yes, we sit at roundtables and get to know each other for two hours at a time, but for those two hours to be worth it, the power balance has got to shift. A good leader leads from the middle, not the front. A good leader knows when it’s time to step back and let others do the talking.

It is time to let the new generation take the lead. One example of a legacy organisation doing just that is the Board of Deputies of British Jews.

At the beginning of 2024, I was elected as the first Chair of the Board’s Under 35 Assembly, a body designed to ensure that the over 260-year-old organisation remains fit for the future by listening to the people who’ll be leading it in ten, 15 or 20 years’ time. Like a shark, we have to keep swimming or risk death.

Jewish communities the world over, please, let your young speak for themselves. Let us change your tired systems for the better. We’re not a threat. We have the same deep-rooted love for our people as you do.

So, give us your resources, give us your endorsement to create something better. Let us not just shake your stale systems up, but allow us to flip them on their heads and reverse all the barriers to participation.

I’m fed up of working around the antiquated system; I want to make the system work for me. Just like my criticism of Israel isn’t based in baseless hate, this too is based in so much love. I love the Jewish people, so I want to change us for the better.

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Noah Katz is an award-winning media host with strong experience in Jewish advocacy, who is passionate about diverse involvement in political spaces. Noah was the youngest chairperson of a Jewish Community in the world in 2023/24 (Lancaster and Lakes),  and chairs the Board of Deputies’ Under 35 Assembly, serves on the board of the National Union of Students (NUS), holds a BA in Cultural Studies (with a focus on the Jewish diaspora) from Lancaster University and is set to earn an MSc in Human Resource Management from Lancaster University Management School

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‘Young Zionist Voices: A New Generation Speaks Out’, edited by David Hazony, is available on Amazon (£14.70)​