When Jewish teens finally speak
They waited until their parents weren’t home.
Two Jewish teenagers seemed to be waiting for that exact moment so they could finally ask me about Israel. This happened in Denver a few days ago, during a trip I took following my participation as a speaker at the IAC conference in Miami, in which I presented the David Cards project. After that, I continued to Denver and Los Angeles.
In Denver, I stayed with a family I had met several years earlier. They offered me the cozy bedroom of their middle son, who is currently away at college. One afternoon, as I was sitting in the living room, the family’s two other sons — one 14 and the other 25 — approached me once we were alone. I felt as though they had waited until their parents had gone to work. One after the other, they began asking difficult, direct questions about Israel, the IDF, and the war.
It became clear to me that they had been waiting for an opportunity to speak honestly with an Israeli — someone they felt they could talk to openly about complex and uncomfortable issues. The questions were sharp, the answers candid, and a real conversation emerged — one that seemed to offer them clarity and, perhaps more importantly, the feeling that someone was giving them answers that made sense.
At one point, the younger brother told me about his public-school teacher, who regularly uses Israel as an example when teaching about genocide and apartheid. He recorded our conversation and told me he intended to play it for his teacher. He seemed relieved — and satisfied — with the responses he had received.
By the way, the parents are enthusiastic supporters of Israel, with deep knowledge of the country and extensive experience in this sphere. But perhaps that is precisely where the challenge lies: in the gap between children who hold more complex, and sometimes critical, views of Israel, and parents whose positions are confident, supportive, and firmly established. I wonder whether this dynamic — between parents holding “exclamation points” and children holding “question marks” — creates a subtle tension that makes Jewish teenagers in the US hesitant to voice their more nuanced thoughts about Israel, gradually pushing these conversations to the margins of family life.
What I took from this short but powerful encounter is that there are many young American Jews who are actively looking for someone to talk to about Israel and the war — someone who isn’t their parent, who understands their liberal, questioning mindset, and who won’t judge them for asking difficult questions. I think many of them simply don’t have enough people around them to turn to on these issues.
That conversation wasn’t isolated. I encountered another version of the same struggle later that week.
The Other Side of October 8 Jews
During this visit, I had lunch with a young Jewish man for whom the events of the war — and the images from Gaza flooding his phone — led to a clear conclusion: the brand called “Israel” no longer speaks to him. In marketing terms, this is often described as a “brand collapse.”
He has lost trust in the State of Israel, in its government, and perhaps even in Israelis themselves. The entity called “Israel” no longer represents values he feels he can identify with, and so he has chosen to step back. Once a significant donor and an active participant in Israel-related and Federation life, he has since withdrawn from that involvement.
Is he alone in this? I fear not — especially as I read more articles about the subject and improve my understanding of the world of liberal, Democratic Jews who feel that today’s Israel no longer represents them. The question that lingers is what, if anything, we are meant to do in response.
As an IDF reservist heading toward my fifth call-up order, after 370 days of reserve service since October 7, I believe the minimum we can do is ensure — and actively work toward — Israel remaining a “brand” worthy of commitment, identification, and moral engagement for those young people who are still with us in this story, while holding onto the hope that those who have stepped away may one day return. I believe this is a question Israelis must ask themselves as we shape our society: will we continue striving to build an Israel that inspires admiration and connection among Jews in the Diaspora, or will we stop thinking about them altogether, our brothers and sisters overseas?
The Israelis of America
The IAC conference in Hollywood, Florida was both impressive and thought-provoking. It showcased the strength of a well-established and influential immigrant community that, in a relatively short period of time, has built a strong reputation, accumulated real influence, and succeeded in bringing top-tier speakers and leaders to a single gathering. Among the 4,000 participants were many non-Israelis — American Jews and American Christians alike — who have become committed allies of Israel and Israelis in the United States.
In my view, Israelis living in the US hold significant potential to serve as a bridge between the entity often referred to as “the brand of Israel” and American Jewry. Israeli-Americans across the country can function as a living connection between an Israel that is not always presented accurately or authentically, and American Jews who are increasingly liberal and less tolerant of developments that clash with their value systems.
An Israeli-American who is active, visible, and trusted within their local community — especially someone who has been there for five or 10 years — can be particularly effective in the field of Israel education. In many cases, such individuals may even be more impactful than rotating educational emissaries (shlichim) sent by Israeli organizations for two- or three-year terms. The key, of course, is that Israeli-American educators approach this role with a sense of responsibility, nuance, and statesmanship. They would need to engage American Jewry thoughtfully, rather than through a one-sided or purely political lens. Many young Jews are still reaching out. The question is whether we, as Israelis, are truly listening.

