There are moments in history and in our collective consciousness that demand our utmost sensitivity, respect, and care. As Hamas keeps throwing us back to the traumas of October 7, whether by releasing dead bodies or tortured hostages, we, as Jews and Israelis, keep living through and reliving an unfathomable tragedy, the depths of which we cannot yet fully grasp and whose end remains beyond our sight. My intention is not to diminish or simplify this heart-wrenching reality, but rather to uphold the educator’s hat, so to speak, to explore, reflect, and honor the complexity of this matter with the seriousness and reverence it so deserves.
For this rollercoaster keeps highlighting a pressing intellectual and ideological issue – one which spans far beyond the scope of our current tremulous situation and encompasses our history as a whole. The persistent disparity between our story – who we are and how we have evolved- vs our narrative - how we tell and retell this story- is one of profound significance, one which carries with it deep personal and communal emotions that cannot be overlooked. It is precisely because of the pain we all currently share that I feel compelled to seek a much broader meaning beyond grief, to remind ourselves that even in darkness, our true story should not be based on the foundations of tragedy.
It is in many ways the mandate bestowed on the Jewish/Israel educator to traverse times, spaces, and events of our shared history and return with a meaningful narrative with which our audience can correspond, let alone sympathize and own. In that spirit, I wholeheartedly believe that the Jewish people have a formidable story to tell —a tale of resilience, curiosity, and moral responsibility that spans millennia. In a world increasingly dominated by information overload and competing narratives, there is a genuine need to rethink how we have been telling our own story. We must ask ourselves: What is the identity that lies at the very base of our being, and, by extension, what kind of identity do we pass on to future generations? How do we want them to perceive the Jewish people, Israel, and Zionism in an ever-changing and quite tremulous global landscape?
For generations, the Jewish people have carried the weight of persecution, our collective memory shaped by exile, expulsion, tragedy, and surrounding antisemitism. In response, we have mastered the language of survival, often fortifying the edifice of our identity by scaffolds of suffering and defense. But this deeply ingrained narrative has come at a considerable cost: we have grown hesitant to celebrate ourselves on our terms, fearing that pride might be mistaken for arrogance, that self-affirmation might provoke a lurking, light-sleeping resentment. We tread carefully, as if our very existence must always be justified rather than embraced. As Rabbi Yehuda Potok rightly observes in his important piece How Jewish Identity is Formed Matters (eJP, 1.21.25), “We often allow ourselves to be defined by what others think of us, of who they believe we should be”. Yet, true strength is not found in the perpetual attempts to align with other’s perceptions, let alone in continuous defensiveness, but in the courage to define ourselves beyond victimhood through our achievements, our values, and the profound contributions we have made to the world. If we allow fear to dictate the boundaries of our self-expression, we risk diminishing not only our voice but the depth and richness of our story.
The answer, arguably, lies not in reflection or reaction to past traumas, but in a proactive understanding of our past, present and future; the ability to recalibrate the lenses which inform the view of our evolving story, and the rhetorical shift that needs to be articulated in the wake of such a process. First, as already noted by Amy E. Schwartz’s "No, Jews are not being erased – We’re Just Sharing the Pie (Moment, 3.20.23), the Jewish community needs “to appreciate the many allies currently eager to stand with us against antisemitism and threats”. Indeed, there are many around us who do not harbor any form of antisemitism or anti-Zionism. Yet, our focus is not on them, but rather on the haters – arguably not because the latter are the majority (far from it!) but due to our intrinsic and historic sensitivity to such hateful rhetoric and the ingrained inclination to amplify such voices in order to solidify our communal force and shared identity.
And while I strongly disagree with any view that renders antisemitism as ‘just another form of hatred in the historic human arsenal of bigotry’, the discussion here focuses on us, not the shape-shifting disease called antisemitism. Jewish, Israeli, and Zionist discourse, as well as education, must shift away from an identity centered on the antisemite, on reaction and survival, and instead focus on creation, renewal, and collective agency. We must move beyond the mindset of “Never Again” as a foundational identity-forming mechanism and embrace a more empowering, forward-thinking ethos of “Back Again”—a narrative that emphasizes the proactive vision that has always driven Jewish life. This shift is critical if we are to ensure the continued relevance of both Israel and the Jewish people in the modern world.
Context over content: The need for a new look at an old narrative
In today's information-saturated world, fraught with misinformation, disinformation, manipulation, and the ever-so-growing reliance on willed ignorance, context has become a far more valuable currency than content alone. Maintaining a narrative of the Jewish people, which is often reduced to a one-dimensional meridian of persecution, war, and defense, is robbing ourselves of the necessary context of our very being. From historic expulsions and pogroms to the horrors of the Holocaust, the wars against Israel, the resurgence of antisemitism, and the ongoing conflict in the Middle East, these events are often presented as the defining features of Jewish life and identity.
But is this truly the story of the Jewish people? Is this the most meaningful way to understand who we are? Is Judaism an entity destined to defend itself from cradle to grave, rather than celebrate its life between cradle and grave? Should the eternal narrative of the Jewish people indeed be shaped by the Passover Haggadah’s statement, “In each generation our enemies rose to exterminate us, and God, blessed be He, saves us from their hands”? Is our very essence molded primarily by the anguish imposed on us throughout history by external adversaries? Should the Zionist movement’s appearance and Israel’s existence be understood primarily as reactions to such external threats, as necessary responses to centuries of antisemitic persecution?
Simon Rawidowicz’s term “the ever-dying people” poignantly captures the recurring sense of existential crisis that has accompanied Jewish history—a people perpetually on the brink of extinction, whether due to external persecution or internal decline. This perception, while historically understandable, risks trapping Jewish identity in a framework of survivalism, where continuity is defined primarily by overcoming threats rather than by the flourishing of Jewish life. Yet, if we step back and look at Jewish history not through the lens of near-destruction but through the extraordinary resilience, creativity, and dynamism of the Jewish people, a different truth emerges: We are not the ever-dying people but the ever-living people.
Across millennia, Jewish civilization has not only endured but thrived—adapting, innovating, and contributing profoundly to global thought, culture, and morality. From ancient Jerusalem to medieval Spain, from Eastern Europe to the Balkan, North Africa, the Middle East, contemporary global Jewish diaspora and the state of Israel -- Jewish life has been marked by an unbreakable continuity of learning, creativity, reinvention, and progress. While acknowledging the hardships of history, it is essential to shift the paradigm from one of perpetual survival to one of perpetual vitality, embracing a Jewish trajectory defined not by defense but by the boundless potential of an enduring and ever-evolving people.
Honestly, I reject this alarmist narration with all my heart, for we cannot and must not sustain a healthy Jewish body on such a perpetual diet of tragedies! We are a people of vision—one that has always sought to turn the world in which we live into a world in which we believe. Our history is marked by a thirst for knowledge, progress, a commitment to social justice, and an aspiration for a better world.
It is a story of a people whose small numbers run opposite to their great impact, of individuals and communities who have, time and again, rebuilt, reimagined, and reformed the world around them. Our most enduring legacy has been our proactive ability to shape both our own destiny and to assist, to the best of our ability, to those around us — a legacy that extends from the covenantal journey of Abraham and Sarah, through the extraordinary contributions of diaspora Jews throughout history and unto the establishment of the modern state of Israel.
Reactive identity: Is ‘Safe Haven’ the true impetus?
One of the most profound examples of the reactive identity structure deeply embedded within our own narration of Israel and Zionism is the one surrounding modern Israel’s very existence. Many Jews and non-Jews alike (many of the latter being staunch supporters of Israel) continue to view Israel primarily as a “safe haven”—a refuge for Jews in the face of external threats. This understanding of Israel’s raison d'être, rooted in the trauma of the Holocaust and centuries of persecution, positions Israel’s existence as a defensive necessity rather than a proactive vision and a historic renaissance.
This view of Israel as merely a defensive reaction may yield multiple expressions of empathy with Israel, but that doesn’t change the serious risk it poses to Israel’s deeper and truer significance, let alone standing in modern discourse. Is that truly the justification for Israel? For 77 years now, Israel has existed as a sovereign nation, three-quarters of a century in which it has evolved, created, invented, imagined, dared, dreamed, and realized a host of achievements in nearly every field of human interest. It is the product of values, ideals, solidarity, resilience, and shared yearning for a better life, as it is equally a product of heated arguments, multiple viewpoints, and endless tensions, which are all part of its Jewish and democratic backbone. Yet the dominant framework through which we narrate Israel’s history remains primarily grounded in crisis, conflict, wars, and survival.
The so-called “timeline of Israel” – the one which myriad of both Israeli and diaspora Jews have been raised upon at schools, summer camps, synagogues, JCCs, youth movements and other venues – remains starkly marked by wars, military campaigns and terror attacks - 1947, 1948, 1956, 1967, 1973, 1982…. unto October 7, 2023. Yet these events do not reflect our story but rather the repeated attempts of others to end our story! These events are crucial, of course, and they need to be studied, remembered, commemorated, and cherished in honor of those whose sacrifice allows us to continue living here. But the wars themselves (or any type of tragedy imposed on us) must never be the milestones of our people’s path but rather viewed as attempts to ruin that very path. This same pattern extends far beyond the modern state, encompassing Jewish history as a whole: The ancient conquests by foreign empires, the destruction of the Temples, the expulsions from Spain, Portugal and England, the pogroms in Europe, North Africa and the Middle East --- these are not Jewish events --- they are assaults on Jewish existence, attempts to cut-off Jewish presence, whose focus was and remains life! Auschwitz is not a Jewish landscape, nor is the Holocaust a Jewish event in its essence; rather, it was an atrocity imposed upon the Jewish people by those who sought our annihilation.
The deep Jewish story, then, is not grounded in suffering itself but in resilience, faith, and moral courage, even at times of great anguish. It is the ways in which Jews have lived that define our historical essence- both in times of tranquility, as well as at historic crossroads that featured onslaughts of darkness, as we summoned our deepest values and took all measures to reaffirm our commitment to life, to dignity, and to rebuilding anew. To shape Jewish identity around oppression is to concede the narrative to those who have sought to destroy our narrative. Instead, our narrative should correspond much more adequately with our own story, affirming the indomitable spirit that has sustained us, ensuring that our legacy is one of perseverance, meaning, and purpose rather than perpetual victimhood. Last time I checked, we continue to say “L’chaim” (to life) when we raise our glasses, and we continue to sing “Am Yisrael Chai” in celebrations- to life, not to survival!
The awesome gravitational pull of tragedy as a social, ideological, and philanthropic mobilizer is well known. That notwithstanding, such a narrative whose backbone is war or defense-oriented reduces Israel to a reactive state, forever defined by its need to protect Jews from external threats, rather than a thriving, dynamic country with an ongoing (and still evolving) mission to create a vibrant and meaningful society in accord with its most venerated values – both ancient and modern. This disproportionate focus creates a profound distortion, not only in how others perceive Israel but also in how we, as a people, come to see ourselves.
It conditions us to believe that tragedy is intrinsic to our very existence, as if our identity is defined solely by struggle and suffering. But this is a false and limiting narrative. Israel’s story has been shaped between such wars, not by them, and is one of resilience, creativity, intellectual and cultural vibrancy, and an unwavering commitment to life, creativity, and renewal. We, therefore, need to reverse the framework of our narration: the story of the Jewish people is committed to life, recognizing that this commitment has witnessed external attempts to extinguish it, rather than a story wherein such external attempts become the skeleton that sustains our ever-weary bodies.
Accordingly, the contemptible question regarding Israel’s so-called “right” to exist should be utterly divorced from the question of antisemitism or any other form of external danger. For this right should never be viewed, let alone justified as a response to such threats, but as a continuation of our internal narrative, an outcome of what Israel’s Declaration of Independence renders “our natural and historic right”. Here we must distinguish between goal and outcome: the goal of Israel was and remains the revival of a thriving Jewish life in form of a modern state in our ancestral homeland; one of the outcomes of Israel’s existence is indeed its ability to be a safe haven for world Jewry in times of need --- but that is not the reason, let alone the justification for its existence!
The roots of Zionism: An ancient value vs a modern political movement
The same critique can be applied to the term “Zionism” itself. For many, Zionism is often understood solely as a political response to European antisemitism and the historic oppression of Jews. This myopic, single-dimensional, and historically erroneous view, which presents Zionism as appearing ex nihilo in the late 19th century, fails to acknowledge the rich, spiritual, and historical roots of the Zionist aspiration that have been part of Jewish identity for millennia.
When discussing Zionism, it is imperative to distinguish between two marked yet interconnected dimensions: the modern political Zionist movement of the 19th century and the ancient Zionist value that has informed, shaped, and sustained Jewish identity for thousands of years. The modern Zionist movement, founded by Theodor Herzl in the late 19th century, emerged as a response to Jewish ongoing statelessness and the pervasive threat of antisemitism in Europe. Herzl and his followers sought to establish a sovereign Jewish homeland in the Land of Israel (!), driven by the pressing need for Jews to have a physical refuge from centuries of persecution. This modern Zionism was, and remains, a political movement whose ostensible impetus was grounded in the practical realities of Jewish continuity.
However, leaving the story of Zionism here is a criminal neglect of historical context, failing to recognize that Zionism as a value and an ideal is not about survival but about revival – a notion that long predates Herzl. Moreover, divorcing the Zionist movement from the ancient and longstanding Zionist value is precisely the tool used by Jew and Israel haters whose main purpose is what Gil Troy renders “Jewish historicide”, relying on people’s ignorance and leading them to believe that Zionism was born in the 19th century.
First, there was a reason for the movement to be called “Zionism” to begin with; for while some of its branches parted ways from traditional, let alone religious affinities, all nonetheless viewed it as intrinsically linked to the evolving Jewish story of old --- after all, “Zion” appears over 150 times in the Hebrew Bible. Second, the longing for Zion—Tziyon in Hebrew—was not merely a political aspiration, but a deeply spiritual and cultural one, woven into the very fabric of Jewish faith and lived experiences since the first exile some 2500 years ago. It is the persistent memory, recognition, and longing for Israel as the Jewish Homeland, irrespective of the myriad of lands that have since become home for Jews. It is the proactive renaissance of Jewish aspirations from their nascent appearance on the historic stage.
From the time of Abraham and Sarah, who first heeded the divine call to settle in the land that would become the ancestral home of the Jewish people (Lech Lecha); through the Exodus from Egypt, which was a journey in a particular direction and under a particular directive; through Ezra and Nehemia’s “Return to Zion” excursion; through Ezekiel’s lamentations “by the rivers of Babylon we set and wept, remembering Zion”, through the compilation of the Jerusalemite Talmud, which is dwarfed by its Gigantic Babylonian brother yet focuses on ‘Mitzvot that are contingent on [physically dwelling in] Israel’; through Spanish Rabbi Judah Halevi’s “My heart is in the east, yet I am in the farthest reaches of the west”; through every synagogue whose Bimah faces Jerusalem and therefore features “Zionist architecture”; and unto the Zionist ritual of breaking the glass under the Huppa (marriage canopy) “in memory of Jerusalem” --- Zionism remained grounded in a deep and multi-expressional attachment to the Land of Israel as intrinsic to one’s identity as a Jew.
This longing for Zion sustained the Jewish people throughout millennia of exile and dispersion, proactively guiding their hopes, prayers, and dreams long before it became a formalized political movement. If I had any say, the Hall of Independence in Tel-Aviv, which hosted Israel’s historic declaration of independence on May 14th 1948, would not feature Herzl’s portrait as the sole champion of “Zionism”, but rather as a major link in a chain of portraits, featuring men and women who were indispensable for its entrenchment as a value, its sustenance as a memory and its persistence as an aspiration throughout Jewish history --- starting with Abraham and Sarah. These are figures who remind us that Zionism is the revival of a pledge wherein Jews are not merely reactive subjects of history but proactive and sovereign owners of their own destiny, agents of social change, builders of communities, and creators of a better present as well as a future. This is the narrative we should uphold, celebrate, and put under the hardest scrutiny, reflection, and critical examination when evaluating its actual and current realization.
Breaking free from the cycle of reactive identity
To embrace such a proactive Jewish identity, we must break free from the cycle of perpetual survival and victimhood that has too often dominated Jewish narration and, by extension, education. Israel’s narrative must be first and foremost framed as the modern realization of an ancient dream, a state of ideals (NOT an ideal state) which actively seeks to reflect Jewish values of justice, peace, and collective responsibility. Similarly, Zionism must not be seen merely as a reaction to antisemitism, but as a powerful and proactive vision rooted in the ancient Jewish connection to the Land of Israel, one that seeks to actualize the values of the Jewish people in form of a modern state among the family of nations.
From 'Never Again' to 'Back Again': Reimagining Jewish/Israel education
This shift in narrative—from focusing on “Never Again” to reaffirming “Back Again”—is not just a change in words, nor is it contingent on religiosity. Rather, it is a call to reexamine our foundational texts and intellectual, spiritual, and cultural legacies as necessary context to the way we narrate ourselves today, and it is a call to action. It requires us to redefine the way we teach Jewish history, identity, and the connection to Israel. Jewish education must empower our people to understand their heritage as a story of agency, vision, and renewal, not just one of survival and defense.
It is a sobering reality that one of the few institutions built by diaspora Jewish communities with the express purpose of educating non-Jews about who we are - the Holocaust Museum - is centered on the darkest chapter of our history. To teach the lessons of the Holocaust is a sacred duty, an obligation we bear with solemnity and moral clarity, and there is no question that remembrance, as well as commemoration and education, are essential. But what does it say about Jewish identity and how it is perceived when the primary way we introduce ourselves to the world is through the lens of our suffering and demise? What are the ramifications of a reality in which others “know” us first and foremost by the ways we have died, rather than the ways we have and continue to live? In many places, the Holocaust Museum or memorial is the only Jewish institution that a non-Jewish visitor will ever enter, shaping their understanding of Jews as an eternally persecuted people rather than as a civilization brimming with life, creativity, and profound contributions to humanity. While we must never cease to teach the lessons of past horrors, we must also recognize the cost of defining ourselves through them. It is time to reclaim a more complete narrative—one that honors memory but offers the broader context that champions the vibrancy, resilience, and boundless aspirations of Jewish life.
Similarly, Israel’s official protocol for visiting world dignitaries has long placed a visit to Yad Vashem, the national Holocaust memorial, at the center of the itinerary. While this practice is deeply rooted in historical consciousness and the imperative of Holocaust remembrance, it inadvertently reinforces a narrow and problematic narrative of Israel’s raison d’être. By making the Shoah a primary gateway to understanding Israel, the protocol risks presenting the Jewish state as a fundamentally reactive and defensive project—a refuge born solely from tragedy rather than a sovereign expression of an enduring national and cultural identity. While the Holocaust undeniably shaped modern Jewish consciousness and global support for Israel’s founding, reducing Israel’s legitimacy to a reaction against genocide overlooks its ancient roots, intellectual and spiritual achievements, and the proactive agency that has driven its existence, as well as ongoing development.
In these times of amplified Jewish angst and dismay, many Jewish organizations have posted the formidable task of fighting antisemitism at the top of their priorities. It is a pledge amplified by the urgent need “to equip our people and the younger generation with the tools/language/answers needed to defend themselves and their identities as Jews from adversarial onslaughts on and off campus”. While I wholly support the need, its realization – from an educational perspective – is arguably misguided in many such cases.
Fighting antisemitism should never be viewed as a goal in and of itself but rather as a natural outcome of a deeply rooted, self-affirming Jewish identity. Standing against antisemitism should emerge as an internal motivation rather than an external instruction; it should be the result of a process rooted in agency, the proactive pursuit of knowledge, pride, and commitment to Jewish values, rather than a response born out of urgency or fear. A Jewish identity that is robust, meaningful, and self-assured will naturally resist antisemitism—not because it is trained to fight but because it has a sense of ownership and embraces the fullness of Jewish life. Rabbi Potok (ibid) sums it up quite well by stating that “we must shift from a defensive mode of combating anti-Semitism to helping our youth define their own Jewish identities by ceding Jewish pride and knowledge in connection to our civilization. We need to teach our children that Jewish joy and belonging is, in fact, an avenue for combating anti-Semitism and generating hope”.
Conclusion: A proactive Jewish future
My colleague Shelly Keidar succinctly sums up the meditations offered above by stating that “our story should be one of agency rather than urgency”. Indeed, it is time to reclaim the fuller scope of our story, to cultivate an identity that is not dictated by past traumas as existential necessity, but on the genuine measures of the evolving Jewish spirit, its unwavering resilience, social commitment, and communal fortitude- despite such traumas. By doing so, we may assist in forging identities that are not shaped by the external forces who have sought our demise but by the internal values and principles that have always sustained us as a people and inspired us to dream, to rebuild, and to create. We are, and always have been, the ever-living people.
Dr. Zohar Raviv is the International vice president of Educational Strategy for Birthright Israel. He is also a Scholar in Residence for the ICenter and Momentum organizations and on the board of Boundless Israel.