Two Things

Last week, my daughter sent me an article that’s been sitting with me ever since. Ezra Klein’s latest piece in The New York Times, “The Israel Debate is Changing. American Jews Are Changing Too,” is a careful, painful exploration of the cracks forming in Jewish identity — particularly for those who grew up believing in a certain kind of moral clarity when it came to Israel, Zionism, and what it means to be a Jew.

Although Klein’s focus is on American Jewry, it spoke directly to what many of us are experiencing here in Australia.

Klein writes:

“The consensus that held American Jewry together for generations is breaking down.”

That consensus — that what’s good for Israel is good for the Jews, that anti-Zionism is always antisemitism, that a two-state solution is not only possible but inevitable — no longer holds.

We’re seeing that same shift here. The same questions, the same tensions, the same fractures — in shuls, around dinner tables, and within ourselves.

Antisemitism is no longer hiding on the fringes.

It’s not just coming from the extreme left or right anymore. It has entered the mainstream — in headlines, public statements, and public spaces. July has been a brutal month for our community in Melbourne. What was once whispered is now shouted. What was once shocking is becoming common.

For some, the reaction has been to draw closer — to double down on identity and community. That instinct is valid and deeply human.

But others — not out of disloyalty, but from a place of moral clarity — are asking hard questions. They are grieving not just what’s happening to us, but what is being done in our name. And they’re doing so with deep Jewish conviction.

Deborah Lipstadt, the U.S. Special Envoy for Combating Antisemitism, names this shift clearly:

“For many Jews, especially younger ones, Israel is not the unifying symbol it once was. They want to separate their Jewishness from Israel’s politics. And that’s creating a rupture we haven’t seen before — not just generationally, but communally.”

It’s a rupture I see here, too. And it raises hard questions.

Because two things can be true at once.

On one hand, the pain and suffering in Gaza is undeniable. People are starving. Food is scarce. Families are enduring unthinkable hardship. The humanitarian crisis is real, and it demands our attention and our compassion.

And on the other hand, Israel is at war with Hamas — a brutal, deeply embedded terrorist organisation responsible for the October 7th massacre and the continued holding of hostages. Israel has not only the right, but the obligation, to defend its citizens and to do everything in its power to bring those hostages home.

It is also true that certain decisions about restricting the flow of aid into Gaza have been made by Israel — sometimes for military reasons, and sometimes for politically expedient ones. And it is equally true that Hamas has manipulated this reality, taken control of food supplies, and weaponised its own population in ways that have made suffering worse — not out of necessity, but out of strategy.

These truths do not cancel each other out. They exist in tension, and it is precisely that tension we must learn to hold.

Can we mourn every innocent life lost — without turning on one another?
Can we sit with grief and outrage — and still make space for nuance and for one another?

We can be terrified by rising antisemitism.
We can be broken by what is happening in Gaza.
We can stand with Israel.
We can call for accountability.

None of these truths negate the others.

This is what it means to live with moral complexity.
This is what it means to be Jewish.

As we approach Tisha B’Av, we are asked not only to remember what was destroyed — but to reflect on why it was lost.

Our tradition teaches that the Second Temple fell not only to Roman violence, but to sinat chinam — senseless hatred between Jews. Division. Contempt. A refusal to hear one another.

We are not immune to that danger now.

So the task before us is not to solve everything.
It is to choose not to fall apart.

Not agreement.
Not certainty.
But listening.
Making space for the other voice.
Holding complexity without fear.
Staying in the discomfort — together.

Because this is the only way forward.
The only way we ensure that Israel is not only a state for Jews, but a Jewish state — grounded in values, compassion, and our sacred story.

Because two things can be true —
and more importantly, two things can be true at once.

Photo Credit: The image “Two Things Can Be True” was created using ChatGPT.

Two Things

Antisemitism is no longer hiding on the fringes.

Because two things can be true at once.

As we approach Tisha B’Av, we are asked not only to remember what was destroyed — but to reflect on why it was lost.

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