Dear Bnei Akiva Summer-Camp Tzevet:

Bnei Akiva is tucked into the very folds of my DNA. It is a mosaic of late-night conversations, lifelong friendships, and a value system that helped bridge the gap between who I was and the person I am proud to be today.

So, I want to start this letter with a “thank you.”

Thank you for the all-nighters where the air felt thick with possibility. Thank you for providing a space where I felt I belonged—where wanting to learn Torah in chevruta didn’t make me a “nerd,” but rather someone who found an eager circle of peers. Thank you for the “bribes” of hot chocolate that made waking up for a dvar Torah feel like the height of cool.

You taught me that spirituality isn’t just a ledger of halacha; it is a full-bodied experience. It’s the roar of Shabbat songs, the sting of tears during a Tisha B’Av candlelit walk, and the adrenaline of a color war slogan. The sheer volume of ideology, shlichut, and love poured into a Bnei Akiva summer camp is phenomenal, and I will always hold an utmost appreciation for the leaders and madrichim who made it happen.

You gave me the room to lead, to fail, and to navigate the messy emotions of leadership in a setting that allowed for trial and error.  And lets be honest, there was so much error!
Thankfully, you also taught me to ask questions, and to be curious.
But it is because of that very curiosity that I have to file a complaint.

Tell me: are you still leaving out the basics?

Growing up in the movement, the importance of aliyah was paramount. I felt celebrated for my Hebrew, for my heart being “in the East.” We were taught about the return to our ancestral homeland, and we opened our arms to anyone making that journey. I thought I “got” it.

Yet, we never spoke about the others who happen to live in that same space. We never learned about Arabs or Palestinians, or their history.

In a way, perhaps I should thank you for that, too. By leaving a void, you allowed me to arrive in Israel curiously, and learn about the reality on the ground with a fresh pair of eyes, rather than through the prism of a specific, pre-packaged ideology.

However, this void in our education is absolutely dangerous.
Like, life or death dangerous.

For example, for those making aliyah, moving across the Green Line and joining Messianic agendas, there is a fundamental right to know exactly what they are ascribing to. There is a profound disconnect between American Jewish Zionism and the reality of the Israeli settlement movement. Many American Jews arrive truly wanting peace and wishing for a partner in a two-state solution, yet some are unaware that they have been gently led into a reality defined by Ultra-Messianic Zionism. This is a movement explicit about its goal of a single land, unashamed of its ideological opposition to peace, and—in its radical fringes—harboring the inhumane wish to transfer or eliminate any Palestinian who stands in the way of Biblical borders.

In its inherent ideology, the radical Messianic movement says: Eretz Yisrael HaShlemah, no matter what. These settlers do not pretend to be interested in peace. They see themselves as civilian soldiers prepared for violent land grabs, and they are wholeheartedly prepared to pay the price for living on soil that does not belong to them. They are not surprised by Palestinian hatred; they believe it is biblically ordained. This isn’t just a theoretical recipe for escalation; it is exactly what is happening on the ground.

And these ultra-messianic radicals do everything in their power—politically, financially, and religiously—to ensure people move there. They know their power comes from the “normalized” settlements. It is the settlers who say, “I just want to live in peace,” who provide the movement with its necessary political cover.

I have heard countless American settlers claim they are part of a more flexible, ethical movement. They say, “This specific settlement isn’t controversial,”  “If my settlement remains the last obstruction to peace, I’ll leave” or my favorite one “It’s just a beautiful neighborhood for my family.” I’ve been to many settlements and I know they are certainly beautiful neighborhoods for the family.  And full of some of the best people I know. But in practice, they have joined the movement whether they like it or not. They have become “one of them” in the only way that matters: by physically claiming Messianic Biblical borders.

The most tragic occurrence is when its accompanied by a lack of awareness. They are encouraged to trespass on someone else’s property, and then forced to defend that presence with weaponry, and yet they remain bewildered as to why they are being attacked. They seem to think the radical Messianist settlers are the uncontrollable fringe group – I am sometimes left to wonder if they are missing the political Hebrew to see that those same fringe groups are actually the ones running the show.

Some pay for this with confusion, some pay for it with anxiety, intense fear, and trauma, and others pay for this with their life. I hope I don’t have to say that , of course of course I am not ever justifying violence against settlers, under any circumstance. Many terrorist attacks are expressions of deep antisemitism no matter what anyone will do . Even so, becoming a physical civilian soldier on territory that isn’t yours has a real life danger.

My second example comes from a different angle. I am writing this now thanks to a guest appearance in one of my WhatsApp groups: “Join our Zionist protest, “Nakba is חרטא!” (“Nakba is BS”).”

When I see those signs, I don’t see a mere political stance; I see the direct result of the educational vacuum I grew up in.

There are people who passionately believe in a good world, in justice, and in human rights—people who would genuinely speak out against international injustices—who are now coldly and actively denying any recognition of another human being’s pain.

Of course, the Nakba feels like a lie if your history lesson ended at the campfire. It is infuriating to be accused of a crime you are positive you never committed.

But the reality is that it did happen; they just didn’t know how to tell you. If no one at the campfire ever spoke about the Palestinian families who have been displaced from the very land, where they too, hoped for self-determination, then where will you learn about it? Eventually, you inevitably find yourself vehemently denying a reality simply because it was hidden from you.

To deny the Nakba is to deny the documented reality of Palestinians being displaced through a complex, often violent combination of military threats, massacres, and the sudden sale of lands by absentee landlords. Perhaps Bnei Akiva didn’t teach us the names of those villages or the weight of that displacement, but our collective silence does not mean it didn’t happen.

It means we were sent into the world with only half the story, leaving us ill-equipped to develop a more nuanced Zionist identity alongside the truth.

This void is dangerous for those across the Green Line, but it is equally dangerous for anyone living in the Middle East. Our information gap might ensure full bunks in camp this summer, but unfortunately it is also doing its part to perpetuate the cycle of violence we are trapped in.

Thank you, Bnei Akiva, for giving me the tools to think for myself; I only wish the map you gave me had included the whole territory.