Why I feel inspired to start The Empowered Jew
Disclaimer: I originally wrote this blog post in March 2024 but never published it, as it felt more like a diary entry than a formal post. However, with the help of G-d, my husband (thank you, Ezry), and my mum, I have now launched The Empowered Jew. I’m also happy to share that throughout this process, I have become more empowered than ever before. This background provides insight into why I felt compelled to start this initiative. Stay tuned for more posts related to The Empowered Jew—this is just the beginning!
Two things that I encountered over the last few days have been quite disturbing:
After a conversation with a Jewish person my age, who attended a Jewish day school and was raised in a Modern Orthodox home, he told me that he feels sorry for me because I have such an extreme view on Israel.
Why is it considered extreme to believe that the Jewish people deserve self-determination and autonomy over their one Jewish homeland?
To provide some context, there are approximately 50 Muslim countries in the world. Despite the fact that Israel is culturally, religiously, and historically our ancestral homeland (just excavate the land), and of course, that God gave it to us (as stated in Rashi’s commentary on the first verse of the Torah, Genesis 1:1).
Then, I was chatting with a neighbour who ignorantly mentioned that (and I quote), “there are hostages on both sides.”
Like major OMG—hostages on both sides?!
There’s a huge difference between being ripped out of your bed and unknowingly taken into Gaza, beaten, tortured, and sadly raped, compared to planning, perpetuating, or acting on terrorist crimes and being taken to jail.
I responded to these conversations in different ways, trying to remain calm and frame my message positively, really trying to bring the point home.
Predictably and sadly, the Jewish person remained stuck in his impractical and what I would say delusional views. I know he meant well but you could tell how much he had been influenced by social media, which is full of propaganda and misinformation, having real, negative effects on Jewish people globally. I told him not to waste time feeling sorry for me—he should feel sorry for the hostages instead! I tried to conclude on a positive note by highlighting the value of diverse opinions; after all, this is who we are as a people. The saying “two Jews, three opinions” wasn’t coined for nothing!
Fortunately, my non-Jewish neighbour listened to me and appeared genuinely surprised. He admitted that he had never encountered the Jewish perspective beyond what he sees in mainstream media. He even told me that I had opened his mind to a new viewpoint and that he would strive to be more critical, rather than accepting everything he sees and reads as a fait accompli (fact).
I believe it’s so important for Jewish people to advocate for the Jewish community (both within and without). If not us, then who? Yet, in these two scenarios, I kept wondering, what was the best way to respond?
To that Jewish person, perhaps the best response would have been with love: “I hear you, I love you anyway.” For Jews facing darkness, bring light and positivity. That’s what we need—not to convince or argue.
For the neighbour, maybe I responded well, but who knows? Did my message come across without seeming too biased? (Obviously, I am biased. Who isn’t?) Did I have enough facts? Was I logical in my approach, despite how illogical this whole situation is? These are important questions. But where does one turn for the answers? This is why we need The Empowered Jew.
I was at the doctor’s office chatting with the secretary, whom I consider more than just an acquaintance. We often joke around and have a friendly rapport. When she asked how I was feeling just after October 7th, I hesitated. I could have gone with the classic “all good,” but I chose to be honest and expressed that I was feeling emotional, sad, and distraught about everything happening in Israel.
Without hesitation, she replied, “Well, you know, innocent civilians need to stop dying.” I felt my body tense up; her response was uncomfortable and dismissive. It was frustrating—she didn’t hear or sympathise with me, instead jumping straight to assumptions. Overwhelmed, I changed the subject.
After leaving that appointment, I felt upset and disappointed in myself. I wondered how I could have redirected the conversation. I should have said, “Yes, innocent civilians do need to stop dying, including Israelis and Palestinians,” but instead, I froze and moved on.
Yet another instance, my uncle, who is visibly Jewish and lives in LA, was waiting in line at a supermarket. Suddenly, a lady shouted at him, “Hamas should have killed you! Hitler didn’t do his job right.”
A few weeks ago, on Shabbas morning, a friend of mine who is religious and works in a non-Jewish environment, told me that when her colleagues are discussing the conflict (there is also someone who wears a keffiyeh in her workplace) she literally cringes and squirms with awkwardness. She does not tell anyone she is Jewish and although no one has ever face to face confronted her, she already feels ashamed and embarrassed to be associated with Israel.
I don’t blame her at all. I feel that too sometimes, and how absurd is that? Why should I, a Jew and lover of Israel, my ancestral homeland, feel ashamed when Israel is mentioned? Ridiculous, irrational—but the truth!
There are many more examples I could provide of people I know who have faced uncomfortable situations, hate speech, and blatant antisemitism. But how is one supposed to respond? What is the right way? We need The Empowered Jew.
We need to be guided on how to be a Jew living in this crazy 21st century climate. We are lamplighters and ambassadors for our land and our people (whether we like it or not). Especially us religious Jews, who are so overtly Jewish, whether it be our dress or even simply our names (Chava Israel is mine), we wear our faith on our sleeve, and we need to not only be empowered but educated.
Knowledge is key. So many of my friends, including myself, know that Israel is fighting a just war in our hearts, but we also need to understand this in our minds, intellectually, and know the reasons why.
The crazy thing is, when you ask someone from a marginalised group about their background, they often proudly identify with that part of themselves. For instance, at a Studies of Religion conference I attended a few weeks ago, a pastor who gave the Acknowledgement of Country mentioned his Scottish, English, Irish and Aboriginal ancestry, and categorised himself as a proud Aboriginal Australian. Personally, I found that inspiring and felt sad knowing that when you ask a Jew their background, it’s highly unlikely they will say, “Jewish.”
Of course, I understand there are real implications of antisemitism. If one is in an unsafe situation, safety comes first. But if you are in a safe environment, why hide from your identity? History shows again and again that antisemites don’t care how integrated or assimilated you are. They care about one thing: if you are Jewish. Haman, Hitler, Hamas—they didn’t and don’t discriminate in this case. A Jew is a Jew.
At this same conference, a Rabbi was explaining the meaning of a Jewish wedding ceremony. He was joined by a Reform female Rabbi, and together they gave broad perspectives on Jewish weddings. The Rabbi then mentioned how Mizrachi and Sephardic Jews have different customs, such as in writing the Ketubah. A Muslim girl in the audience asked why, and the Rabbi replied, “Because Jews moved around from place to place.”
I’m not here to criticise this Rabbi, who gave an excellent talk, but this innocent mistake during such crucial times was grave in my eyes. Jews didn’t just “move around” from place to place. We were persecuted, banished, exiled, massacred, expelled (whatever words you want to use). This is our history—our story—our lived experiences. The Rabbi could have used this question as the perfect opportunity to share our sadly true and real story, yet he didn’t; what a missed opportunity.
This made me realise that many Jews (myself included) often whitewash our history. Whether it is because we are shy or simply because we don’t always have the knowledge, skills, or tools to use the correct words when explaining, responding, or answering questions about our heritage, we need to start changing our language. When someone asks me, “Where are you from?” I should say, “I was born in Australia, but I am originally from Israel.” As Jews, just like everyone else does, we need to start owning our story, our heritage and constantly reinforce our legitimate connection to our ancestral homeland of Israel.
Why are Jews so afraid of their identity? Is it intergenerational trauma? I know we don’t consider ourselves victims, and that is a huge element that makes us successful, despite the insane challenges we have faced as a people. However, we also need to remember that we are marginalised. We are more marginalised than marginalised—we make up about 0.2% of the global population!
I often find inspiration in Mark Twain’s 1899 essay “Concerning the Jews.”
Here’s an excerpt:
“If the statistics are right, the Jews constitute but one quarter of one percent of the human race. It suggests a nebulous puff of star dust lost in the blaze of the Milky Way. Properly, the Jew ought hardly to be heard of, but he is heard of, has always been heard of. He is as prominent on the planet as any other people, and his commercial importance is extravagantly out of proportion to the smallness of his bulk. His contributions to the world’s list of great names in literature, science, art, music, finance, medicine, and abstruse learning are also way out of proportion to the weakness of his numbers. He has made a marvellous fight in this world, in all the ages; and has done it with his hands tied behind him. He could be vain of himself and be excused for it. The Egyptians, the Babylonians, and the Persians rose, filled the planet with sound and splendour, then faded to dream-stuff and passed away; the Greeks and Romans followed and made a vast noise, and they were gone; other peoples have sprung up and held their torch high for a time but it burned out, and they sit in twilight now, and have vanished.
The Jew saw them all, beat them all, and is now what he always was, exhibiting no decadence, no infirmities of age, no weakening of his parts, no slowing of his energies, no dulling of his alert and aggressive mind. All things are mortal but the Jew; all other forces pass, but he remains. What is the secret of his immortality?”
Sometimes, you need to hear it from others to truly appreciate how awesome it is to be a Jew. We need to be loud and proud—unapologetic for who we are and what we stand for.
I’m trying. It’s far from easy.
