By the spring of 1948, three armed Jewish militias had been fighting and working towards the birth of modern Israel. There was the Haganah, under David Ben-Gurion, which would become the core of the new Israel Defense Forces. There was the Irgun, led by Menachem Begin, and a smaller group, the Lehi. Begin agreed to dissolve the Irgun units operating in Israel into the new army, a decision he made in the name of national unity and cohesion even though tensions between the Irgun and the Haganah were deep, and Haganah operatives had previously informed on their counterparts in the Irgun to British officials. Even so, the Irgun had pledged to become a part of the IDF in the newly formed state of Israel.

A month after Ben-Gurion declared independence, a ship named the Altalena set sail from France under the auspices of the Irgun, carrying rifles and some 900 immigrants, many of them survivors of the Shoah. The ship left port the same day a United Nations cease-fire took effect, a truce that barred the importation of any new arms or combatants into the country. When it reached the coast at Kfar Vitkin just north of Tel Aviv, a dispute broke out over how the weapons would be distributed, and in particular over Begin's insistence that a share go to an Irgun battalion in Jerusalem, which he argued stood outside the truce's terms since Jerusalem's status remained unsettled under the UN partition plan. The standoff turned violent onshore, and Begin ordered the ship to sail south, to Tel Aviv, in full view of the city and the international press.

Near what is today Frishman Beach, Ben-Gurion gave the order to open fire on the ship, and by this time, with Begin aboard, on his main political rival. Two officers refused before a third accepted the command. Sixteen Irgun men and three IDF soldiers were killed. And Begin, standing on the burning deck with comrades dying around him, ordered his own men not to fire back. He would repeat that order over the radio that night: never, he said, could he condone a war between brothers.

The specter of the Altalena has haunted Israeli politics ever since. It plays a potent and mythological role in the imagination of the political right as one of the earliest examples of a centralized government dominated by the political left that uses the power of the state against its domestic opponents.

Now, six weeks before an Israeli election, the wreckage of the Altalena has been discovered. To discuss the ship's sinking and the significance of its recovery, Jonathan Silver, the host of the Tikvah podcast and the editor of Mosaic, is joined by the historian, educator, and writer Avi Shilon. Shilon is the author of, among other works of scholarship, the definitive biography of Menachem Begin, published in 2012 by Yale University Press.

Friends of Israel and enemies of Israel both commit the same mistake when they assume that, in American colleges and universities, the faculty hired to teach Jewish subjects are, in their own way, supportive of the Jewish state. The assumption is a reasonable one, and each side's error mirrors the other. The friends of Israel naturally suppose that academic scholars of Jewish history, Jewish thought, the history of Israel, and the arts and letters of Hebrew are there to offer context and support and are both capable of and inclined to explain Israel's case on campus. That doesn't mean that they would be expected to support any particular Israeli policy or Israeli politician or each and every maneuver of the Israeli military, but that they support Zionism in some fundamental sense. And Israel's enemies think that same thing, but of course from the opposite point of view, seeing in the entire enterprise of Jewish studies and all of its related fields and disciplines a vehicle for propaganda. It turns out that both are wrong. There's a good chance that an average member of a faculty of Jewish studies, Israel studies, Hebrew studies, or Holocaust studies holds a documented public position against Israel. Nearly four in ten of the professors specifically teaching Jewish civilization on American campuses are on the record as being hostile to Israel.

Those data come from newly released findings of the largest audit yet undertaken of the views of professors of Jewish civilization in America, published recently by the Ronn Torossian Foundation and a publication called The Olam. The audit's own headline number is higher still—better than half, and past 70 percent at the Ivies—but that figure blends named professors together with institutional listings and petition tallies. The number above is the most important: faculty individually identified as teaching these subjects, and what they've put on the public record.

To think through what this means, Jonathan Silver, the editor of Mosaic and host of the Tikvah podcast, is joined by Rachel Fish. Fish is a scholar of modern Israel, Zionist thought, and contemporary anti-Semitism, and the incoming CEO of the Israel Institute. They discuss not just these numbers, but how a discipline built to study Jewish civilization on serious scholarly terms ends up, in a meaningful share of cases, working against that civilization's national survival. We talk about what it means for the pipeline that produces the next generation of professors: graduate admissions, dissertation topics, and the hiring committees that decide who gets to teach. And I ask her about what a Jewish family sending a child to campus in the coming weeks needs to understand before that student walks into the classroom.

Visitors to Jerusalem's Old City see a marvelous religious diversity that is unique in the contemporary Middle East, and made possible by Israeli sovereignty. For most of Jewish history, the Jewish people have lived at the mercy of other nations, and the security of Jewish communities depended on the Christian or Muslim rulers in whose lands Jews lived. But in the Old City of Jerusalem, one walks around and sees so many religious sites, Christian and Muslim, of immense theological significance, all protected by the laws and law-enforcement officers of the Jewish state. Israel's commitment to the security of Christian and Muslim sites and worshipers is, seen through the eyes of history, a breathtaking accomplishment.

But an accomplishment of this kind is also a test. There are shocking reports of Christian worshippers and Christian clergy being harassed by Jewish Israelis. The Wall Street Journal and other outlets have recently reported on a spike of such abhorrent incidents. Israel's president, prime minister, and chief rabbis, along with several members of the Knesset and other prominent figures, have all condemned this behavior. But even if the perpetrators are not in any way representative of Israeli society as a whole, it is worth seeking to understand why these contemptible acts are happening and what they mean.

Rabbi Mark Dratch chairs the International Jewish Committee for Interreligious Consultations and has been writing about the ugly reports of spitting on Christian worshippers and on the damage and disrespect done to a Christian statue by an Israeli soldier in Lebanon. He joins the podcast today to discuss these topics with the host and editor of Mosaic Jonathan Silver. The primary subject of their conversation is not diplomacy or Israel's reputation abroad, though of course these things matter greatly. Instead, the focus of this episode is what the Jewish tradition calls hillul Hashem, desecration of God's name, and what it means for a people who spent thousands of years in exile to preside over religious minorities of the kind they once were.

Traditional Jews pray in a minyan, a quorum of ten men who form the communal setting in which an individual Jew prays as a part of the Jewish people. In January of 2021, a man named Daniel Grand sent an email to some of his friends, seeing if he could organize a minyan at his home. He lives in University Heights, Ohio, just outside Cleveland, too far from his synagogue to walk on Shabbat and holidays when driving is forbidden by Jewish law.

A neighbor saw the invitation and complained to the mayor's office, after which the city sent Grand a cease-and-desist letter. Praying with guests in his home, the city told him, made his house a place of worship, and a place of worship requires a zoning permit he did not have.

A public hearing followed, at which neighbors said, on the record, that they did not want the area known as a Jewish neighborhood. Without the proper zoning and permitting, the city arranged for police surveillance of Grand's house. His neighbors set up cameras to make sure that visitors would not come there to pray. And there was, in the fine print of the city's own code, a cruelty that reads almost like satire: had Grand actually won his permit, transforming his home into a house of worship, he and his family would have had to move, since a house of worship cannot also be a residence.

Grand sued the city, and his case was thrown out because the court held that it was not yet ripe, a legal term that refers to the fact that the local zoning board had not yet ruled against him, and was officially still considering his application. This December, the Supreme Court will consider the case of Grand v. University Heights.

To discuss this case, Jonathan Silver, the editor of Mosaic and host of the Tikvah podcast, is joined by John Bursch, who is one of the attorneys representing Grand. Bursch is senior counsel and vice-president of appellate advocacy at Alliance Defending Freedom and a veteran of many oral arguments before the Supreme Court, and formerly served as a solicitor general in the state of Michigan.

For half a century, Israel treated its adversaries as if their intentions could be tracked and might change according to circumstances. With the states surrounding it, that assumption largely held: Egypt, for instance, signed a peace treaty and kept it, whatever else occurred in the region. But with the radical forces that Iran built around Israel in the years before October 7, that same assumption proved catastrophic. Hamas, Hizballah, the Houthis, and the militias in Syria and Iraq do not vary in their commitment to Israel's destruction. What varies is only their capability. And so Israel has been forced to exchange a doctrine built on monitoring intention for one built on continually destroying capability, whatever the diplomatic cost, wherever preparations for war are found. Today's guest, Dan Schueftan, calls this doctrine preventive violence, or simply, violent maintenance.

Schueftan is the director of the National Security Studies Center at the University of Haifa. In conversation with Mosaic's editor Jonathan Silver, he lays out this doctrine, its roots, and the circumstances that forced Israel to adopt it. He then offers a threat assessment of Iran's proxy network as it stands today: in Gaza, Lebanon, Yemen, Syria, and Iraq—before turning to the sepearate question of Turkey.

In the spring of the year 73, after Jerusalem had already fallen to Roman forces, 960 Jews atop a desert fortress chose death by their own hand rather than surrender. We know the story because of Josephus, the 1st-century Jewish historian and former rebel commander who turned chronicler of the very revolt he had once been a part of.

Yesterday was Tisha b'Av, which commemorates the destruction of the two Temples. Josephus records another catastrophe: Masada, the last stand of the Sicarii, the most militant faction of the Jewish rebels, against Rome, and a mass suicide that Jewish tradition has argued over ever since. Was it heroism? Was it madness? Should the Jews of Masada instead have followed in the path chosen by Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai and the sages at Yavneh—accommodating the enemy to preserve the Torah?

This week's podcast is an episode of The Pillars, a series produced by the Lobel Center for Jewish Classical Education and hosted by Rabbi Mitchell Rocklin. In this episode, Rabbi Rocklin takes up Josephus's account directly—what it asks of us, what the rabbis made of it, and what it has come to mean for the modern state of Israel. The episode first aired this past March, but its questions are the questions Jews are reflecting on during this week in the liturgical calendar, about the demands of Jewish sovereignty and God's providence in history.

This week, Rabbi Ari Lamm joins Mosaic's editor Jonathan Silver to discuss the biblical idea of election or chosenness. Rabbi Lamm has argued that Genesis itself is a long sequence of choosing and rejection—Adam over the animals, Abel over Cain, Isaac over Ishmael, Jacob over Esau—and that the Bible never once tells us why. We learn how God assesses a life after the fact; we are never shown the reasoning behind the choice itself. One midrash even imagines Abraham chosen by lottery. Rabbi Lamm suggests that this silence is deliberate: chosenness is a mystery, an acknowledgment of the limitations of human understanding.

Naturally, the subject of chosenness has long been discussed within the Jewish tradition, and Rabbi Lamm focuses on the debate between Judah Halevi and Moses Maimonides about whether divine election is earned or something carried through inheritance.

With this in mind, the conversation turns to the theological puzzle facing 17th-century English Christians: should Israel in Scripture be understood as the church or as the actual, literal, Jewish people? And once some concluded it meant the latter, an old the­ological problem became a new and productive one. Rabbi Menasseh ben Israel, the great Amsterdam sage at the center of that story, offered European thinkers a way to hold Jewish particularity and universal natural law together rather than against each other, and in doing so shaped the political thought of a nation. The conversation expands on themes Rabbi Lamm explored in his 2025 Sapir essay, "The Rebirth of Chosenness."

This episode of The Tikvah Podcast is generously sponsored by Celine and Kenneth Weiss in memory of their parents. If you are interested in sponsoring an episode of The Tikvah Podcast, we invite you to join the Tikvah Ideas Circle. Visit tikvah.org/circle to learn more and join.

In April of this year, Israel's Foreign Ministry created a position that had never before existed: special envoy to the Christian world. The appointment came after a string of incidents that have strained Israel's standing with Christian communities: an IDF soldier destroyed a statue of Jesus in Lebanon; during the war with Iran, the Latin patriarch of Jerusalem, Cardinal Pizzaballa, was barred for safety reasons from the Church of the Holy Sepulcher; a nun was assaulted in Jerusalem; and videos of Jewish Israelis despicably spitting on Christians have gone viral on social media. There are not very many of these incidents, thankfully, but each and every one does enormous damage to Israel's standing and contradicts all of the good work that Israel does to keep its Christian minority safe. Aside from the publicity problems that they create, these incidents (with the exception of the protective measures that kept worshippers from Jerusalem's holy places during a ballistic-missile attack) are in and of themselves wrong. That's why they've been so roundly condemned by the highest levels of Israeli government, including by Prime Minister Netanyahu. In response, the foreign minister Gideon Sa'ar has appointed one person to mediate Israel's relationship with the Christian world as a full-time charge.

That person is George Deek, a veteran Israeli diplomat, an Arab Christian whose family has lived in Jaffa for hundreds of years, and the first Christian in Israel's history to reach ambassadorial rank, serving in Nigeria, Norway, and finally Azerbaijan before assuming this post.

In today's podcast, Ambassador Deek addresses those incidents directly, distinguishing isolated wrongdoing from patterns that demand real institutional response. He lays out an argument about why Israel's bond with the Christian world is simultaneously theological and strategic and delineates his strategy in relation to the major cultural crises of our moment: that the Middle East is losing its ancient minorities at the same time the West is losing its confidence, and that both crises stem from the same failure to answer honestly the question of what went wrong—a failure that too easily curdles into blame, and from blame into anti-Semitism.

This episode of The Tikvah Podcast is generously sponsored by Jeffrey Druckman and Erica Goldman in memory of Vicki Frolich. If you are interested in sponsoring an episode of The Tikvah Podcast, we invite you to join the Tikvah Ideas Circle. Visit tikvah.org/circle to learn more and join.