In 2000, I was an incoming freshman at the University of California, Berkeley. I’d moved to California from Jerusalem, a few months after the second intifada broke out. I found my comfort zone at Hillel and ended up living in the Berkeley Bayit, a pluralistic Jewish cooperative house. 

Shortly, I began witnessing collisions between my Jewish peers’ pre-college identity and reality. Hailing from proudly Jewish families and having attended Jewish schools, programs, and summer camps, these students had enthusiastically chosen to engage with Jewish life on campus. But for many, something inside of them was slowly breaking. 

 

They had been raised on stories of a perfect and wonderful Israel, a goldene medina, if you will. And in the early aughts, the plot thickened. Israel was making the news daily. Instead of cherry tomatoes and drip irrigation, headlines now screamed checkpoints, occupation, and human rights violations. Large anti-Israel protests and sit-ins sprouted up on campus, and a mock checkpoint, replete with students dressed as IDF soldiers, delayed students en route to class. 

 

These theatrics were mostly factual. But, as we know, they are only one side of a very complex story. 

 

In the meanwhile, the crises I repeatedly observed among Jewish students grew out of a single question: why was I raised on half-truths?

 

This collision, an identity crisis, led to different outcomes. Some students disengaged from Jewish life, while others became determined to deepen their knowledge and engagement with Judaism and Israeli politics. One student joined the BDS movement, then known as Students for Justice in Palestine.

 

Twenty five years later, I again left Jerusalem. In July 2025 my family moved to Canada, and we have been living in Hamilton since December. We decided to enroll our kids in Jewish school, where they hear and learn Hebrew daily. They have made Canadian and Israeli friends, and are surrounded by people who understand their lived experience of wars, sirens, and trauma.

 

As a parent, I now have a deeper understanding of my college friends’ upbringing and source of distress. To protect our children from similar crises in the future, I propose a pedagogical shift in how we teach, talk about, and celebrate Israel.

To better understand the shift, let us think about how parenting styles have changed over the last century. If a 1950s parent was a strict authoritarian, evoking force and power, then a 21st century parent aims to cultivate their child’s personality, critical thinking, and inner self. Today, we value rooted children who can speak their mind and constructively engage with the world.

 

The pedagogical shift vis à vis Israel follows similar lines. Let us dismount the post-1967 wave of might and miracles, and bring Israel down to earth. We must teach Israel in such a way that connects our children today and provides them with the skills and knowledge to engage with Israel (and its detractors) in the future.

 

Thankfully, a curriculum already exists—Israel’s Declaration of Independence. It promises an ingathering of exiles; equality regardless of religion, race, or sex; social and political equality; freedom of religion, conscience, language, education, and culture; aspirations for peace and hopes of being a good regional neighbor.

 

At school and community celebrations, let us place these aspirational promises front and center. Replace oversimplifications with depth and knowledge; instead of singing that Israel is special, go into detail about what makes it special. 

 

Consider two hypothetical students of the future, encountering anti-Israeli sentiment on campus. The first student can dutifully recite that Israel is the Jewish homeland. The second can talk about Israeli democracy, and explain how citizens of all religions can vote. Which student will experience a clash of world views? Which student will be able to engage in conversation? Which student will have a more constructive experience?

 

This pedagogical shift will not be easy. It requires brave leaders and educators to step away from blue-and-white bacchanalia and carve out a new space. A space less defined by Jewish right and might, and more shaped by humble promises made 78 years ago.