When my wife Miriam and I travel, we love authentic cultural experiences. To that end, we had a wonderful time this Pesach at a Seder in Mexico City, warmly welcomed by other guests and the clergy. We knew we had reached the right place when we could smell the matzoh ball soup from the sidewalk – over the 15-foot-high security fence surrounding the congregation.

We arrived late, just in time for the festive meal. After dinner, the remainder of the Seder was primarily in song – in Hebrew, Spanish and Ladino. We loved the singing and spirit. Even the teenagers were participating. There was a palpable feeling of unity, pride and joy in the room. 

One of the songs was Shir HaShalom, the song of peace. For many of us, this song entered our consciousness on November 4, 1995, when Shir HaShalom was performed at the conclusion of a peace rally in Tel Aviv-Jaffa, with then-Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin and Foreign Minister Shimon Peres joining in. Minutes after the rally ended, Rabin was assassinated by Yigal Amir, a fellow Jew. A copy of the song’s lyrics, stained with Rabin’s blood, was found in his jacket pocket.

As the room sang along, I started to cry, and the tears continued to flow on our ride back to the Airbnb. The death of Yitzhak Rabin is a tragedy that still reverberates today. We will never know how history would have played out had Rabin lived. What we know is that the 30 years since Rabin’s death have been filled with war, terror, loss and sorrow. 

Israel has gone through a breakdown of civil society, and while the country comes together during difficult times – most notably after October 7 – by and large our (yes, our) Jewish homeland has become increasingly discordant, even tribal, with competing visions and narratives often playing out in destructive ways.

Our fates are intertwined

My father, Michael Blain, was a Holocaust survivor who passed away in 2022 and who worked professionally for Israel Bonds. In the final years of his life, a common refrain from our conversations was how worried he was about Israel. That worry was focused on external enemies. I don’t know if he would have survived the pain of Oct. 7 and its aftermath. But I do know that in his heart he believed strongly in Jewish unity and peoplehood – and would be deeply troubled and saddened by how much of that spirit has now been lost.

I am a proud Zionist. Working professionally in the Jewish community for 27 years, I helped raise tens of millions of dollars to support Aliyah from the FSU and Ethiopia, social services – including for victims of terror – and education. I have visited Israel around 25 times, including twice in 2025. My oldest brother lives in Israel, as well as seven nieces and nephews, 17 great nieces and nephews, four first cousins, and many friends and colleagues. I have always felt a unique sense of belonging and pride during these visits. 

Even with all of its warts, Israel remained a force for good, a light unto the nations, while living in a very rough neighborhood. I take pride in Israel’s tremendous innovation and creativity, and the discovery and development of new technologies that improve our lives. 

My last visit to Israel was centered in the Western Galilee, where we saw inspiring examples of Jews and Arabs coming together in real and meaningful ways, with a shared goal of raising their children in peace, despite what’s going on in the world around them. 

Most importantly, our lives as diaspora Jews have been deeply enriched because of the existence of the Jewish State – touching our hearts, minds, and souls. Our fates are intertwined.

I recently left my position as CEO of JewishAkron. Before I left, I had a difficult conversation with a board member, who felt that the Jewish Federations of North America (JFNA) needed to take a stand against the current political direction and activities of the Jewish State. I argued that while I share many of the same feelings on a personal level, organizations like JFNA need to remain big tents focused on their mission – and that the inevitable withholding of contributions only hurts the people who rely on them. At the same time, the days of unquestioned financial and political support are becoming a relic of the past, especially when we listen to the concerns of our next generation, many of whom feel increasingly alienated from today’s Israel.

The Israel of 2026, led by Benjamin Netanyahu and driven by an increasingly far-right and militant majority in the Knesset, is not my Israel in the same way. Tragically, I see that gap only growing for the foreseeable future. I know that many, perhaps even most, American Jews feel similarly. I support and understand Israel’s right and responsibility to defend itself against its enemies – especially Iran and its proxies – Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Houthis. I support the preemptive war against Iran, albeit with serious doubts about achieving the goal of regime change.

I am pained by anti-Israel bias in the media, which both reflects and encourages rampant anti-Israel sentiment throughout the world. I’m deeply troubled about how it plays out on campus and city halls, on social media and in social circles, in Hollywood and on the street. We’ve seen the implications for diaspora Jewish communities from the surge in antisemitism, including violent attacks on Jews and Jewish institutions. 

Going back to Mexico City, all of the congregations we saw were protected by huge walls and gates, with plenty of cameras and armed security. We even had to go through an extensive prior security check to be approved to attend the Seder. I know that it’s the same in Europe, and sadly, with our current trajectory, it is inevitable that we will need to start building similar fortresses in the United States.

During my March 2025 trip to Israel, I decided to get a tattoo to make a visible statement of my eternal love for Israel. There are two main messages – Am Yisrael Chai and We Will Dance Again – circling an ancient two-headed goat from the Israel Museum. I wear it proudly.

But it gets harder and harder. You know the issues: an increasingly isolated Israel, tremendous death and destruction in Gaza (still with no day-after plan), the significant portion of the population who are excused from army service, Jewish terror (yes, terror) being unleashed throughout the West Bank, attacks on the judiciary, the new death penalty law, movement away from Israel’s founding principles and democracy, corruption, etc. Even as I write this, an Israeli soldier was photographed destroying a statue of Jesus in Lebanon – confirmed by the IDF. One more shameful and unnecessarily self-inflicted wound.

Silence is not an option

I no longer lead a Jewish organization – these thoughts are strictly my own. As I’ve debated the wisdom of saying and sharing them, ultimately, I’ve decided that I have a responsibility to speak out. I do not want my silence taken as acquiescence. 

I know the arguments against speaking out: We aren’t on the front lines, our children don’t serve, Israel has enough enemies, don’t give them the satisfaction of a divided Jewish community. I am writing this because I believe in my heart of hearts that a different path is in Israel’s best interest – certainly much better than endless war, division, isolation, and castigation as a rogue state.

I’m not naïve. I know my opinion means little in the bigger picture. Facebook and social media are echo chambers, bringing together like-minded people as opposed to forums where differences can be discussed thoughtfully and respectfully. As I have friends and family members from across the religious and political spectrums, I am hoping that will be the case here. The conversation is too important to pass on. 

I think back to that Seder in Mexico City, to the smell of the soup drifting over the sidewalk and the voices of an entire community rising together in song. The Seder is, at its heart, a journey – the difficult trek from the dark place of slavery in Egypt toward a much more hopeful future in the Promised Land. It is a reminder that our history is not just a series of events we endure, but a path we choose to walk together.

Just as we ended that night in Mexico City with song, we must strive for a future where our voices are unified by our highest values rather than our deepest fears. Am Yisrael Chai – may the nation of Israel live, today and tomorrow, in a way that reflects and inspires the very best of who we are as a people.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)