
This past Sunday night, just after Tisha B’Av, we welcomed Eitan Chitayat to Shtiebel—the creative force behind the I’m That Jew campaign that’s now being worn as a badge of courage and identity by Jews around the world.
He came to speak with students from the Australian Union of Jewish Students and other young adult leaders, to hear from them—really hear them—about their experiences of being Jewish on campus and in the world today. The rise in antisemitism here in Melbourne and globally is no longer theoretical; it’s personal, urgent, and exhausting.
Eitan’s challenge to them was simple in theory, but complex in practice:
Be proud of who you are. Be proud of your Judaism.
But how do you hold that pride when you feel invisible—or worse, unsafe?
How do you wear your identity without fear in a world that sometimes wants you to disappear?
He gave them all t-shirts bearing his now-famous declaration: I’m That Jew.
And then he asked them to wear it—not just on their bodies, but in their hearts.
Not as a slogan, but as a stand.
Since then, I’ve been sitting with his words—and with the deep dissonance of this moment we’re living in. The grief of Tisha B’Av still lingers, reminding us how quickly internal division can fracture a people. And meanwhile, halfway across the world, the pain of war continues to unfold—in Israel, in Gaza, and within every Jewish heart that refuses to go numb.
And so I find myself saying:
I’m that Jew who loves Israel—deeply, emotionally, and without condition—
but is profoundly disappointed in her government, and heartbroken by its choices.
I’m that Jew who believes in a Zionism rooted in dignity, democracy, and justice.
Who weeps for the hostages still in captivity, and prays for their safe return.
Who also mourns the thousands of innocent lives lost in Gaza, and refuses to ignore their suffering.
I’m that Jew who wants peace—not as a slogan, but as a reality.
Peace for Israelis. Peace for Palestinians.
Peace born not of silence or surrender, but of safety and mutual recognition.
I’m that Jew who wants Hamas defeated—because terror has no place in our future.
But I’m also that Jew who knows we cannot bomb our way to peace.
I’m that Jew who believes food and water are basic human rights.
That children should be learning, not fleeing.
That no one should live in fear—whether in Sderot or Khan Younis, Tel Aviv or Melbourne.
I’m that Jew who holds complexity in one hand, and compassion in the other.
Who refuses to let go of nuance, even when it’s uncomfortable.
Who believes that critique is not betrayal—and that silence, sometimes, is.
I’m that Jew who sees Tisha B’Av not just as history, but as warning.
Who knows that baseless hatred—sinat chinam—can still destroy us from within.
Who believes our greatest strength has always come from our moral courage and our unity in diversity.
I’m that Jew who still hopes.
Who still believes.
Who still shows up.
There are moments in life when a t-shirt becomes more than just cotton and thread.
It becomes a mirror.
A prayer.
A promise.
This is one of those moments.
And I’m proud to say: I’m that Jew.