U.S. Jewish Institutions Are Purging Their Staffs of Anti-Zionists

The synagogue sent a letter to the congregation saying it ​“had no choice but to release a teacher from his employment … effective immediately” and that ​“after Oct. 7, with the dead being buried, the savagery of Hamas being brought into living rooms every night, the subtlety of one’s personal politics cannot be allowed to cause pain and insult to our community, who have so many family and friends in Israel.”

Fischer had previously been lauded by Sinai leadership for his work, with the education director writing, ​“I know 3 [years] in a row is a big ask, but I love having you as a teacher and would love to have you back,” according to an email sent months before Fischer was fired. Now, Fischer saw his job gone and his reputation muddied with the implication he supported the Hamas attack and, as Sinai’s leader Rabbi Michael Friedland put it in an email to In These Times, was ​“not being respectful or compassionate” to grieving Israelis or those with friends and family in Israel.

Fischer is not alone. In These Times interviewed 18 Jewish professionals with 16 different Jewish organizations across the country, all of whom describe being fired, quitting under pressure, or seeing their roles disappear since October 7 for issues surrounding criticism of Israel or support for a permanent cease-fire. These stories are just a snapshot of what appears to be a growing trend across the Jewish professional world. At the time of publication, In These Times was continuing to receive tips about similar cases. 

They largely tell similar stories. They care deeply about working in Jewish communities and were devastated at having to leave their positions for caring about Palestinian rights and liberation. Among their transgressions: Going to a protest, wearing a keffiyeh to work, liking an Instagram post.

There is the Hebrew education director in New England who says she was fired after singing about a cease-fire. The volunteer coordinator at a Baltimore County synagogue who was let go shortly after they were seen at a demonstration. The Sunday school teacher in Illinois who says they were dismissed after showing students a video of a Palestinian comedian. A veteran camp counselor who says she was harshly interrogated over a social media post — and then not invited back to a job she held for years. 

Many agreed to have their names printed, while some spoke only on background or asked to use a pseudonym in fear of reprisal, believing they might never be able to work in Jewish institutions again. The information was collected over nearly a year and wherever possible, the descriptions included have been corroborated by documents, screenshots or interviews with witnesses and those with direct knowledge of the circumstances.

Rebecca Vilkomerson, co-director of Funding Freedom, a philanthropy project designed to support Palestinians, says the dynamic is a ​“pervasive problem” and that those interviewed and identified by In These Times are ​“indicators of a larger pattern.”

“What’s happening in Jewish institutions is very much like what is happening in the funding world, which is not surprising because they are intertwined,” says Vilkomerson, who is also the author of a 2022 Solidaire Action report that looked at the philanthropic barriers to organizations supporting Palestinian freedom.

Since October 2023, ​“liberal Zionist funders, which often funded progressive or left organizations across many issue areas, are now imposing litmus tests over using words like ​‘genocide’ through funding cuts, threatening cuts, or quiet non-renewals,” she says.

It’s long been common for teachers and other professionals to be reprimanded for criticizing Israel by the Jewish institutions that employ them. But interviews with these Jewish professionals and other reporting and information collected by In These Times illustrates what appears to be a radical rightward turn in mainstream Jewish organizational life over the past year.

Support for Israel and its government’s assault on Gaza appear to have become a defining feature of employability, and those Jewish professionals who are speaking out in solidarity with Palestinians are often finding themselves unemployed. This dynamic makes the future for an entire generation of young Jewish professionals — many of whom are critical of Israel’s treatment of Palestinians and are protesting the current genocide in Gaza — increasingly precarious.

“That rightward shift has been really, really alarming,” says Sophie Ellman-Golan, director of communications for the progressive group Jews for Racial & Economic Justice. ​“We have members who cannot come to things and, if they do, we’re very careful to not put out photos to jeopardize their employment.”

“That wasn’t the case before October 7,” Ellman-Golan says. 

In These Times reached out for comment from all of the institutions named in this investigation where workers came forward to talk about their experiences. Some responded, some didn’t, and one person accidentally sent the In These Times executive editor the following:

“I just want to weigh in that this is a publication we should never engage with. Think of the equivalent on the radical right …” wrote Tamar Cytryn of Chicago Jewish Day School (CJDS), who later noted the message was sent ​“in error.”

Cytryn’s email continues: ​“I do think we need to prep our security team and the JCC for possible crazies who show up to protest outside our campus.”

Shaul Magid, who teaches modern Judaism at Harvard Divinity School, says the increasing trend of Jewish institutions effectively purging dissent since October 7 resembles ​“a state of crisis.”

“More than an exercise in pro-Israel muscle, this is a bit of an act of desperation. The liberal Zionist center is collapsing,” Magid says. ​“It is in a kind of panic.”

Wernick had worn the keffiyeh to show solidarity with Palestinians, and it had special significance for them on Valentine’s Day because ​“solidarity is a form of love.” Wernick believed it was their ​“cultural duty to stand in solidarity with oppressed people as a Jewish and Japanese American with family members who have been majorly impacted by state violence.”

Stein, who supervised Wernick, says the parent complained on site, showing her a photo of Wernick. The next day, Mishkan leaders — including Rachel Cort, Mishkan’s executive director — would reference the photo in a meeting with Stein, in which Stein was instructed to tell Wernick keffiyehs were not allowed. 

Stein agreed to talk to Wernick at first, thinking it could buy her time to figure out her next steps, and later said she wouldn’t do it.

Only a couple of weeks later, Wernick and Stein, saying they felt targeted and pressured, put in their two weeks’ notice.

“It’s felt really liberatory to teach Jewish kids even inside of an institution that we don’t align ourselves in,” Stein says, “[but] since October 7, it became increasingly clear to both of us that [the] special gift that we had held on to for so long was being taken away.”

The concerned parent at Mensch Academy, Max Averbukh, was a familiar face to Stein and Wernick. Averbukh and his wife, Jane Charney, are donors to Mishkan. Charney’s LinkedIn profile lists her as an associate vice president at the influential nonprofit Jewish United Fund of Metropolitan Chicago (JUF), which is very closely affiliated with the Jewish Federation of Metropolitan Chicago. The Federation, according to 2023 tax filings, holds nearly $1 billion in assets and gave more than $175 million in grants in 2022, including about $85,000 to Mishkan.

Mishkan touts itself as dedicated to ​“radical inclusivity” and boasts support for the ​“creation of affirming spaces where people could bring their whole selves.” In a statement to In These Times, Ashley Donohue, senior director of communications for Mishkan, notes inclusivity revolves around ​“many spectrums of diversity — straight and queer, cis, trans and nonbinary, old and middle-aged and young, racially and ethnically diverse, across the political spectrum, Zionist, anti-Zionist, and non-Zionist, traditionally observant and lovingly irreverent.”

But several former Mishkan employees scoffed, saying they were often offended by comments and actions from Mishkan leadership and felt pressure to hide or change their views, especially around Israel/​Palestine.

One example is from an internal Slack conversation on February 16, between Cort and Rebecca Stevens, senior director of programs, in which Cort appears to callously insult Stein. The Slack exchange occurred while Cort was on a call with Stein, who was explaining how and why she was uncomfortable with her directive to instruct Wernick to not wear a keffiyeh:

“aviva [Stein] is telling me they can’t have this conversation with Julie [Wernick]
bc it feels too much like racism
she’s crying
I think she’s heading towards quitting
lol”

“I knew it went too well yesterday”

Stein, it winds up, was also in that Slack group. And, to add insult to injury, Stein says it happened while she was clearly distressed and audibly crying on the phone with Cort. (Cort later apologized.)

Another staff member who left Mishkan after October 7 (and requested anonymity) said that, at a subsequent meeting, staff was instructed not to wear clothing that could be interpreted to have political meanings.

“They knew they couldn’t say you can’t wear a keffiyeh,” they said. “[Instantly] we were all challenging them on it. What counts as political clothing? Does a watermelon count as political clothing? Does a Magen David count as political clothing?”

Mishkan’s leadership, like that of many Jewish organizations, appears to have been spooked and scrambling since October 7 because, according to several former staff members, they were unsure of how to handle criticism of Israel and protest of the assault on Gaza while still maintaining their posture of being radically inclusive.

The employees who left Mishkan Chicago since October 7 include a combination of at least eight full- and part-time staffers. Donohue asserted ​“this is no more turnover than any other year with a young staff and a number of part-time positions.”

Wernick found that response infuriating.

“It is not normal,” Wernick said, ​“for almost the entire Hebrew school team to quit mid-year.”

After a clip featuring Burdock singing at a cease-fire protest made the local news, she says her boss, a rabbi at the religious school where she worked, texted her to join a 3 p.m. meeting the next day with all of her supervisors. Burdock says the rabbi informed her that a few families said they ​“felt completely betrayed by the signs I was near saying that Israel bombed a hospital and what was happening in Gaza was genocide.” 

The school’s leadership later bluntly asked Burdock: ​“Are you an anti-Zionist?”

Burdock had been organizing with the Jewish anti-occupation group IfNotNow (which does not take an official stance on Zionism) on and off for a decade, but no employer had ever asked about her activism. ​“I felt really sad,” Burdock says, ​“because I felt like they were testing me to see if I could fit in a community that I had been instrumental in building.” 

Burdock says her bosses claimed she ​“failed to understand how her actions impacted the institution.” Then Burdock was fired — and heartbroken: This job was not just her major source of income, but something she built her life around, completing a master’s in Jewish education the previous year. She worried she would be excluded from other Jewish organizations.

But Burdock soon connected with other workers experiencing similar retaliation through an ​“established network of progressive Jews working at the intersection of ending antisemitism and white supremacy.” What quickly sunk in: People like her needed help and support, and she was far from the only one.

Burdock got to work linking people to each other ​“to help everyone feel less isolated and alone.” 

“We have an obligation to stand up in this moment for the sanctity of all life,” Burdock says. ​“We can be scared, but we cannot be complicit.” 

When Kleinman first started working for Base, she says she signed a document acknowledging she could not be in partnership with groups that ​“deny Israel’s right to exist as a secure, democratic Jewish state, including support for or participation in the BDS (Boycott, Divest, Sanction) movement.” She interpreted that restriction to apply to her work role, not in her personal life.

But Paikin wrote to Kleinman that, ​“in many ways, the definition of a Base rabbi is that the personal is the professional.”

“In some ways, I’ve always wondered if I was being a little cowardly in not screaming about Palestine all the time and taking jobs that take me from doing some of [that] work that feels so necessary,” Kleinman says. ​“So, there is something quite freeing about not even having the choice anymore.” 

Kleinman later coordinated with student Rabbi Louisa Solomon, a longtime Palestine solidarity organizer and frontwoman of New York-based Jewish punk band The Shondes (which means ​“shame” in Yiddish), and the two created a Google Form and Signal channel to connect with similar Jewish workers who had been (or expected to be) fired.

“So much of this is happening not in the light of day,” says Solomon, who notes how isolating it can be for anti-Zionist Jews to face ostracism in the Jewish community while mourning events in Israel-Palestine. ​“Most of us on the far Left in the Jewish community are rightly trying to focus our energies to help save lives in Gaza. And our feelings of isolation and alienation are rightly of secondary concern. But as a future rabbi I also want to make sure that we don’t neglect those needs completely and have people totally depleted because they have had no space to air those feelings and feel connected to others and less isolated.”

Solomon, who is set to graduate from rabbinical school in 2025, served as the student rabbi at her alma mater, The New School, in 2023-24. She says that, while she showed up for all students no matter their feelings on Israel, she believes her personal opinions and activism with JVP (including attending the same October 18 protest where Kleinman was arrested) caused tension with campus leadership. 

Her position was not renewed, with the school adding in a statement to In These Times that the position ​“was intended to be temporary.” A campus campaign, citing her anti-Zionist politics, was launched to have her reinstated.

When Solomon and Kleinman created their Signal thread, it was joined by B. Ever Hanna, who worked as a director of chesed (loving kindness) at Chizuk Amuno, a Conservative shul in Baltimore County, where they organized volunteer opportunities. Hanna was also among the 300 arrested at JVP’s October 18 protest.

About a week after that protest, Hanna says they had a disciplinary meeting regarding a timecard infraction that meandered into a discussion of the protest. Hanna says they were told they could no longer be trusted.

Two weeks later, Hanna was fired.

Chizuk Amuno did not respond to a request for comment.

“There’s this sort of narrative painted by Zionists and kind of the mainstream Judaism that we’re these unknowledgeable, uncaring, flippant young people who don’t understand complexity and nuance,” says Hanna, ​“when, in fact, we are very knowledgeable about the subject and also this is incredibly painful for us. We don’t want to be alienated from Judaism.”

Hanna’s story was echoed throughout the interviews conducted for this article, where those facing career ostracism argue that they are exactly the people necessary to reproduce communal life — as they are the ones engaging in Jewish education and looking to take active communal roles.

“I’m furious on behalf of each of these courageous activists who are facing serious material and emotional consequences as a result of their organizing with JVP,” says Stefanie Fox, executive director of JVP. ​“I’m also deeply sad. I am heartbroken that Jewish institutions are firing some of the most brilliant Jewish leaders in our country rather than honestly grappling with the moral crisis of Zionism and standing clearly against the Israeli genocide of Palestinians.

“It’s a shanda,” Fox says. ​“A shame.”

Sarah Turbow, who co-authored the letter and is a former staff member at J Street, says that, when the letter came together, there was little to no mainstream Jewish organizational support for a cease-fire, and that many institutions remain out of alignment with the political and moral views of their employees.

“As a group of professionals from a wide spectrum of Jewish organizations, many of us have devoted our life’s work to building thriving Jewish communities,” the letter reads. ​“Our organizations may or may not join the call for a cease-fire themselves, but we feel moved to speak as individuals to demonstrate broad support within the Jewish community for a cease-fire. Whether inspired by our Israeli and Palestinian loved ones, guided by the wisdom of our ancient texts, or motivated by principles passed down to us through the generations, we feel we must speak now.”

Of the 878 signatories, about 20% were ​“anonymous,” which may indicate a fear of retribution.

The letter was released Dec. 7, 2023, the first night of Chanukah, and the 10 Mishkan Chicago staffers included their names and their affiliation. According to interviews with staffers and screenshots of a relevant discussion, Mishkan Chicago leaders, including Rachel Cort, quickly reached out to those employees and asked them to remove, at the least, their affiliation, which they did. Mishkan Chicago says, per policy, employees (other than rabbis) are not allowed to sign public letters with their staff affiliation.

Five days later, at another meeting, several employees say Mishkan Chicago leaders used the gathering to discuss new social media and activism policies related to Gaza, and that Mishkan Chicago’s then-board chair, Lisa Portnoy, was in attendance.

According to several employees who were present, Portnoy said Mishkan Chicago’s leadership is in conversation with donors several times a week because of threats to pull donations because of Mishkan Chicago’s approach on Gaza, and that Mishkan does expect donors to leave, representing a loss of $50,000 to $100,000, the equivalent of several staff positions.

Several employees say they interpreted the comments to mean they could lose their jobs if they didn’t stop calling for a cease-fire and organizing for an end to the genocide.

“Unfortunately, we have since observed a continued pattern of you violating JUF policy in ​‘liking’ posts from Jewish Voice for Peace Chicago which are inconsistent with the position and mission of Hillel and JUF,” the memo read, citing a Wikipedia entry that says JVP is an anti-Zionist organization that supports BDS.

“Additionally, the Jewish Voice for Peace website displays a call to action, ​‘URGENT: demand a ceasefire now’ and urges Congress to ​‘stop fueling genocide’ among other campaigns,” the memo read, ​“that are in direct conflict with JUF’s mission and policies.” 

The memo also described Klus as not meeting standards related to various professional duties and ​“not being fully able to empathize with and validate others’ experiences around the topics of Israel and Antisemitism (sic).”

Stefanie Fox, JVP executive director, says Jewish institutions supporting the Israeli government are ​“feeling threatened and are lashing out.”

“Since October, repression against Palestinian and Palestine solidarity organizing has reached an all-time high: militarized police and mob violence, coordinated slander campaigns in mainstream media, bogus lawsuits and dangerous legislation,” says Fox, who adds that JVP is often a lightning rod for Jewish organizations who are frightened by the large and growing base of Jews who agree with JVP’s anti-Zionist principles and notes that JVP has doubled by almost every metric, including membership, since last October. ​“This purging of Jewish progressives from our communal institutions is a disturbing trend within this campaign.”

Klus says their problems at Hillel began in earnest soon after October 7 when they, in analyzing the violence, mentioned to a coworker at evening dinner (unrelated to their work at Hillel) that they could understand the joy some Gazan youth must have felt when breaking through the separation wall that day. 

After, Klus says they were informed by Charles Cohen, executive director of Metro Chicago Hillel, that they were being investigated for alleged ​“pro-Hamas” comments and put on leave.

Human resource managers with JUF conducted the investigation. Klus says when they met with JUF, they were told by Nathan Benditzson, director of employee relations and HR operations at JUF, that the ​“perception of being pro-Palestinian was enough to fire.” To return to work, Klus says they were told to undergo special ​“empathy training.” 

Screenshots of the empathy training were provided to In These Times and show Klus was asked to answer questions about whether Hillel was inclusive enough or ​“too focused on Zionism.”

Hillel International is not shy about its pro-Israel agenda, but also uses inclusive messaging, including that Hillel is for ​“all kinds of Jewish.” 

As the confidential memo and other documents illuminate, Hillel is direct about anti-Zionism and appears to find it reasonable to mention political positions critical of Israel in the same sequence as notorious hate groups.

According to one document at Metro Chicago Hillel that Klus shared with In These Times, an employee receiving that document must agree to not be any of three things:

A Nazi.
A member of the Ku Klux Klan.
Part of any anti-Zionist group or effort.

“Such prohibited conduct or affiliations could include … the Ku Klux Klan or the Nationalist Social Movement (formerly the American Nazi Party) or those activities or organizations with an anti-Zionist agenda, such as Boycott, Divest or Sanctions (BDS),” according to part of the document, which was titled ​“Prohibited Activities, Conflicts of Interest and Off-Duty Employment.”

Klus, who plans to attend rabbinical school, believes Hillel is making a grave error by making the organization intractable for young Jews who have differing views on Israel, the assault on Gaza and the future of Judaism.

“I think [Hillel is] in a very crucial decision point,” Klus says. ​“They are making the wrong decision, [and] they will lose a significant portion of young Jews who are increasingly anti-Zionist.”

Another troubling decision, Klus says, is that they and others at Hillel were asked to attend pro-Palestinian events and report back to Executive Director Cohen or staff at JUF. In a Slack message from Nov. 6, 2023 — a screenshot of which was provided to In These Times—Cohen asked Klus to attend a University of Illinois-Chicago event called ​“Arab Americans: Beyond Erasure and Profiling.”

Neither JUF nor Metro Chicago Hillel responded to a request for comment for this story.

Meanwhile, some 550 miles away at Kansas University, another Hillel staff member, Maya Griswold, says their feelings about Israel had always been complicated and that, after October 7, there were several incidents that made them feel their critical perspective was no longer welcome.

One, Griswold described, was when a rabbi from a nearby Kansas community said, on Indigenous Peoples’ Day, that the Israel Defense Forces were engaging in the ​“redemption of our land.” Another was at a Jewish learning meeting when a student expressed hope that the Israeli army would ​“level the place,” referring to Gaza. Griswold had previously communicated with her Hillel supervisor about their opinions on Israel, which had been fine, though the tenor changed in the weeks after October 7.

Griswold felt the need to resign but wanted to stick out the semester to support students and maintain her health insurance. She said she had not been formally accused of doing anything wrong, but after she told the interim executive director she didn’t think she could ​“work for a Zionist organization,” she was told she had two weeks to leave. After the then-executive director announced Griswold’s upcoming departure, another staff member allegedly told her ​“there is no place for you in Judaism and there is no place in Hillel if you don’t support Israel.”

In a written statement provided to In These Times, current Kansas University Hillel Executive Director Ethan Helfand declined to ​“publicly discuss specific personnel matters” but described the chapter as welcoming ​“a diversity of perspectives on Israel” and ​“inclusive.”

Helfand also asserted ​“the Jewish state of Israel is at the heart of many students’ Jewish identities, and we view Israel as a central element of Hillel’s work.”

“I’ve never felt more connected to my Judaism and what I’ve been taught and I feel utterly betrayed by the community that taught me,” says Griswold, who is no longer planning on a career in Jewish life.

“I wouldn’t advise anyone right now to work in the Jewish community if they are anti-Zionist,” says Elena Kanzer, another former Hillel staff member in the Midwest who asked to use a pseudonym. 

Kanzer was raised attending a synagogue affiliated with the Chabad-Lubavitch Orthodox movement. Like Griswold, Kanzer was very involved in Hillel as a college student and later joined as staff. 

Kanzer says they and their supervisor at Hillel had different views on Israel, but could collaborate, and Kanzer was able to create some progressive curriculum on social justice issues that included Palestine. After October 7, Kanzer says the atmosphere became tense and painful.

One reason is that they witnessed staff at Hillel to, in her opinion, ​“enable hysteria” around anti-Zionism, which was explained to students as a prescient and threatening form of antisemitism. Kanzer resigned, citing health reasons.

Hillel International did not respond to requests for comment about any of these incidents.

“It’s such a huge mistake for these organizations to prioritize Zionism because they are losing all these young people,” Kanzer says. ​“People are just getting pushed out or overtly fired.”

The situation at Mishkan became a not-uncommon topic of conversation among younger Jewish Chicagoans as word got out about Stein and Wernick. The pair even hosted a celebration surrounding leaving Mishkan that also served as a fundraiser for Gaza.

Not too far away, at the Reform synagogue Makom Solel Lakeside in Highland Park, Ill., Sunday school teacher Adam Gottlieb told In These Times they were fired 27 hours after showing a video of a Palestinian comedian to their teenage students. Gottlieb also serves as one of two cantorial music soloists at Tzedek Chicago. 

Gottlieb had focused some of their curriculum on the Jewish tradition of moral evaluation known as mussar, which Makom Solel Lakeside appeared to think highly of, since it taught about Jewish values like honesty, self-reflection and repair. Lakeside sends out a word of the month to their email list, and February’s word had been ​“truth.” After the termination, the synagogue changed it to ​“patience.”

“A lot of these institutions like to have more progressive or radical young, queer Jewish faces at the front end of their organizations representing them publicly, but don’t want those people’s values,” Gottlieb says, ​“especially on Israel and Palestine, to shape the policies and practices of the institution.” 

In a written statement to In These Times, Makom Solel Lakeside’s Rabbi Evan Moffic said Gottlieb ​“was not fired for his views on Israel” and would not comment further.

The discussions around Zionism and anti-Zionism in Chicagoland, like so many other metropolitan areas across the United States, are not just relegated to employment in Jewish institutions, but extend to congregants and residents.

At the Conservative synagogue Anshe Emet in Chicago’s Lakeview neighborhood, congregants Rachel Brustein and Leora Mincer were suspended after wearing T-shirts reading ​“Not in Our Name” at a Shabbat morning service, where Mincer had been on the bima, or platform, reading the weekly Torah portion. (In an emailed statement, Anshe Emet Executive Director Mimi B. Weisberg wrote that ​“the issue was not wearing the shirt, or voicing an opinion against the manner in which Israel is waging the war in Gaza,” but the ​“provocation” of removing their outerwear to reveal the shirts during the reading.)

Tensions also emerged at the 2023 Jewish Social Justice Roundtable assembly in Washington, D.C., just a little over a month after the October 7 attack and at the same time as the initial major March for Israel. Some attendees openly called for a cease-fire during the conference, while others joined the pro-Israel rally across town or demanded changes to conference programming they deemed controversial or prejudicial.

In one of the more talked about but somewhat comical instances, a staff member at the progressive Jewish Organizing Institute and Network in Boston sent an email to membership on Martin Luther King Jr. Day in January with the subject line ​“ALL HANDS ON DECK — cease-fire now!” In the body of the email, a sentence read: ​“if we’ve taught you anything, we hope that you will use those learnings to stop the genocide in Gaza.” Ninety minutes later, a follow-up email declared the message unauthorized by the organization.

A month later, Jewish Currents reported at least four of seven staff members who left their jobs at the liberal Zionist, anti-Occupation lobbying group J Street after October 7 did so ​“making it known to colleagues that the liberal Zionist lobby’s lack of support for a cease-fire in Israel’s war on Gaza had motivated their resignation.” This came after more than 100 J Street alumni signed a letter calling on J Street to ​“immediately push for a ceasefire and urge elected officials to do the same.” J Street’s president Jeremy Ben-Ami told Currents that he ​“welcomed” that letter and it showed the ​“broad spectrum of opinion on these difficult issues within the organization’s leadership and staff.”

In These Times has found those resignations indicative of widespread departures of Jewish professionals across the United States at Jewish institutions of all sizes, and that a large number of their employers often, like J Street, identify as liberal and inclusive.

Ramona Saft, a counselor at Camp Ramah in New England (CRNE), says she was gearing up for the 2024 camp season and prepared to return, but social media posts about Gaza got her into trouble. In one of her Instagram Stories, she shared a post by student Rabbi Solomon of The Shondes that called the Israeli assault on Gaza a genocide.

Saft says friends from camp sent her condemning messages, but she was not notified of any change in her professional role until a few weeks later, when she joined a Zoom meeting with Rabbi Ed Gelb, CEO of CRNE.

Gelb, Saft says, quickly cut to the chase: Is what you posted on Instagram ​“what you really believe?” ​“Do you really believe Israel is committing genocide?” And, eventually, ​“Do you believe Israel has a right to exist?”

“I was shocked to be asked in this moment … truly stunned,” recalls Saft, adding that Gelb told her she would not be able to fulfill the Camp Ramah vision of Jewish education.

So instead of spending the summer leading campers, Saft stayed home. Some 145 Camp Ramah alumni and associated others signed and sent a letter to the camp in support of Saft that reads, in part: ​“Camp Ramah New England is home to many campers and staff members deeply critical of Israel and Zionism, and these people come to camp in spite of, and not because of, its commitment to Zionism.”

In response to questions from In These Times, Gelb and CRNE declined to comment but sent an earlier statement that had been sent to petition signers in support of Saft that said a job offer was not rescinded because people are interviewed each year to see if they’re a right fit, and that Camp Ramah was ​“an unapologetically Zionist camp.”

Gelb also shared a ​“Statement on Israel” published on the camp’s website less than two weeks after October 7. ​“Israel has an obligation to protect its citizens and remove the threat of further Hamas attacks,” reads part of the statement, which also notes that there are limits to ​“acceptable debate.”

“I think there’s a lot of people who are further to the left on this issue and they are silenced and bullied,” says Shay Roman, a former associate producer for the Amazon Studios show Transparent. Roman says she was ​“let go” from her position at an independent Jewish community center in Los Angeles before October 7 after creating Palestine-related programming and using the word ​“apartheid” on social media. 

“We have seen so many institutions, that so many of us who are Jewish and progressive and definitely skews young have found home in … have really been failing us and moving to the right since October,” Roman says. After Roman’s exit before October 7, a petition challenged what was described as a rightward shift in programming that occurred afterward, and a board member also stepped down in protest.

A main issue now, however, is that disagreement over Israel appears to have become so verboten that careers in the field are increasingly unstable. The result may present a ​“pipeline problem” for an institutional Jewish world rife with unfilled rabbinical positions and without a plurality of students. For example, the Jewish Theological Seminary, the American centerpiece to the Jewish Conservative Movement, graduated only 12 rabbis in 2023 and had only seven incoming new rabbinic students. With more young Jews critical of the Israeli status quo, these increased barriers could create further staffing insolvency at major institutions of Jewish life.

For this relatively small ​“industry” of synagogues, Hebrew schools, Jewish nonprofits, community centers and other organs of Jewish life, issues of employment are additionally complicated by the outsize cost of Jewish professional education, which often leads to hefty loans and layers of debt. And if a Jewish professional’s views are suddenly considered unacceptable by the Jewish professional world, it can leave few career options.

“Rabbinical school is not free … it does have a high price tag,” says Rabbi May Ye, who used to serve part-time with the Mending Minyan in New Haven, Conn. ​“I was forced to leave my dream job, being the rabbi of an anti-Zionist synagogue and rabbi-ing anti-Zionist Jews, because it does not provide a living wage.”

The field for people like Ye is daunting for other reasons, too, especially because most institutions that would employ openly anti-Zionist Jewish professionals do not have funding for consistent and widespread hiring.

“Until [anti-Zionist Jewish institutions] get the same resources that other communities in the Jewish mainstream have,” Ye says, ​“I have questions about how we will be able to sustain ourselves and build and grow.”

Several of those interviewed for this article compared this moment to an earlier period of political purging: when Jewish organizations went after communists. According to Lila Corwin Berman, a scholar at Temple University who studies the history of Jewish philanthropic life, there have also been other moments when regional conflict has pushed Jewish organizations to draw firmer barriers around criticism of Israel.

The difference this time is ​“the scale of it and the ability, the technology that can do it and monitor what people are saying … that just feels like it has more power than it has before,” Berman says. If the trend continues, it could contribute significantly to one of the sharpest breaks in the history of American Jewish life, forcing out a generation of progressive Jews and furthering the crisis of legitimacy plaguing much of the communal Jewish infrastructure.

“It is deeply shameful that organizations in our community are retaliating against workers for holding the truth that every life is sacred, that Israel’s brutal assault on Palestinians in Gaza must end,” said IfNotNow national spokesperson Eva Borgwardt, in a statement to In These Times.

Many of those interviewed also noted there is little separation between the political convictions of many of these Jewish professionals and their personal connection to Jewish life. If these institutions force that distance, they may end up betraying the same ​“Jewish continuity” and promises of inclusion they so readily claim to protect. These issues have also extended beyond the world of Jewish employment, as Israel/​Palestine quickly became a litmus test for acceptable opinions across industries.

For Rabbi Brant Rosen, who leads Tzedek Chicago — where three of those interviewed for this article also work — the increasing tensions in the Jewish world is not surprising.

“After October 7 and as the new reality was settling in, it became very, very clear to me fairly quickly that my colleagues who were working in the Jewish establishment world were increasingly walking on thin ice,” Rosen tells In These Times.

There may be no institution that better represents this tension than Mishkan, whose stated dedication to radical inclusivity, to some former staff, no longer feels very inclusive.

When Stein left Mishkan, she was given a ​“KudoBoard” on which staff and leadership wrote goodbye messages. Mishkan wound up closing the comments because people were leaving what leadership described as ​“disparaging and inaccurate comments about Mishkan.”

“We are saddened that you are choosing to leave Mishkan and Mensch Academy, but we understand if you don’t agree with our approach on Israel and Palestine, which is predicated on bringing people together across difference in spaces where those differences can be surfaced constructively and with compassion and curiosity,” Heydemann wrote. ​“We honor your ability to know when a workplace is no longer the right fit for you.”

The question now is: Which Jewish workplaces would be?

Fact-checking by Thomas Birmingham.