Reparations Is Not About the Past. It Is About Power.

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For years, reparations has been framed as moral accounting — a long-overdue reckoning with colonial crimes, slavery, and historical trauma. That framing no longer captures what is actually unfolding. The modern reparations movement has evolved into something far more consequential: a Global South demand on the Global North to rebalance power, wealth, and legitimacy, amplified by a coalition that blends post-colonial nationalism, socialism, and jihadist anti-Western ideology.

This is not accidental. It is strategic.

Across Africa, the Caribbean, Latin America, and parts of Asia, governments are no longer asking quietly for acknowledgment or symbolic regret. They are issuing demands. Reparations, apologies, restitution, debt relief, technology transfer, and capital flows are increasingly bundled into a single argument: the prosperity of the Global North is illegitimate and must be paid back.

From Memory to Leverage

Consider Algeria, where colonial grievance is not episodic but foundational. French violence, nuclear testing, and cultural erasure are not invoked merely to heal wounds. They are reasserted whenever diplomacy stalls or domestic legitimacy frays.

Demonstration in Marseille, France against antisemitism, much coming from Muslim immigrants from former French colonies including Algeria

Or Namibia, which rejected Germany’s €1.1 billion offer precisely because it was labeled “development aid” rather than “reparations.” Aid preserves hierarchy. Reparations invert it. Reparations place the former colonizer in the position of debtor — morally, legally, and politically.

Across the Caribbean, reparations has become collective bargaining. Jamaica, Barbados, and Haiti are not asking for apologies alone. Haiti’s claim that France repay the 1825 “independence ransom” reframes national birth itself as extortion requiring reversal.

In India, reparations rhetoric fits neatly into civilizational nationalism — extracting moral and economic concessions from Britain while rejecting Western liberal tutelage.

This is not nostalgia. It is leverage. And it is gaining momentum.

The Socialist–Jihadi Convergence

What gives this movement its new force is the coalition that amplifies it.

On one flank are socialist movements that treat capitalism itself as a colonial crime. On the other are Islamist and jihadist ideologies that frame Western dominance as a civilizational sin. Their vocabularies differ, but their conclusions align.

Both see the Global North as illegitimate, wealth accumulation as theft, liberal democracy as camouflage for domination, and historical grievance as a renewable political resource. Reparations becomes the bridge — translating resentment into claims and memory into entitlement. It offers redistribution without admitting failure, a bloodless substitute where revolution stalled.

That is why reparations rhetoric now travels alongside calls to dismantle Western institutions, forgive sovereign debt, nationalize industries, and replace a rules-based order with “multipolar justice.”

From States to Peoples

Once nations inherit grievance, groups of people inevitably follow.

In the United States, descendants of enslaved Africans argue that wealth extracted centuries ago still compounds today — in land, capital, education, and political power. The logic mirrors the international model: systematic harm, identifiable beneficiaries, ongoing effects, and a moral requirement for redistribution.

In the Middle East, Arab claims against Israel for homes and land lost in the 1948 war are framed not as consequences of war initiated, but as perpetual moral debts transferable across generations and insulated from counter-claims.

Here reparations is not merely compensation. It is recognition, reversal, and re-legitimation of identity.

UNRWA offices in Jerusalem (photo: First One Through)

For individuals without a banner to rally around, reparations is the escape hatch, and there’s little selfish downside in crushing the Global North.

The Question No One Wants to Ask

If reparations reach back to slavery, empire, and war — how far back do they go?

Will Jews demand reparations from Saudi Arabia and other Arab states for Islamic conquest, dhimmi subjugation, and the twentieth-century expulsion of ancient Jewish communities from Iraq, Yemen, Egypt, and Morocco? If Arabs displaced in 1948 may claim restitution, Jews dispossessed from Arab lands must be able to claim the same (and why doesn’t the United Nations say as much?)

If slavery justifies restitution, does conquest?
If conquest counts, does ancient conquest count less than modern conquest?
And who decides?

These questions expose the framework’s central fault line: there is no principled stopping point.

Reparations as a Substitute for the Meritocracy Debate

Before reparations becomes the closing argument, it must be understood as something else as well: a way to bypass the hardest debate of all — meritocracy, accountability, and performance.

Reparations offers a sweeping explanatory shortcut. Systems that may be inefficient, corrupt, poorly governed, or badly executed are recast as inevitable products of historical oppression. Failure ceases to reflect choices or incentives. It becomes proof of theft.

Once inequality is framed entirely as inherited structural injustice, there are no consequences for present-day decisions. Policy failure is absolved. Cronyism becomes resistance. Capital flight becomes colonial residue. Authoritarianism becomes post-colonial trauma.

Meritocracy itself becomes suspect. Success is not earned; it is inherited privilege. Competence is irrelevant; power imbalance is decisive. Agency dissolves — and with it, responsibility.

Why This Is Gaining Power Now — and Who It Alienates

This framework has surged as the wealth gap widens and upward mobility weakens. When capital compounds faster than wages and education no longer guarantees security, reparations offers a clean explanation: inequality is not complex or contingent — it is an unpaid historical debt.

That logic now collides with social reality in the West, especially for young men. College has become exorbitantly expensive. Returns feel uncertain. Many feel pressure to earn now rather than invest years in institutions that increasingly tell them they are part of the problem. If reparations is the moral language of the moment, some will try to join it. Those who cannot — particularly young white men — are cast as beneficiaries of a corrupt system, criticized for underperforming despite “privilege,” and then asked to atone anyway.

The result is a triple bind: vilified for advantage, shamed for underperformance, and burdened with inherited guilt — despite having done nothing other than be born where and how they were. This convergence helps explain male dropout from universities, the turn toward trades and online hustle, and the simmering anger of those who feel targeted by a moral framework that offers neither dignity nor exit.

The End State

If reparations becomes the dominant moral currency of global politics, the result will not be justice. It will be permanent contestation — a world where every border is provisional, every inheritance suspect, every success morally contingent.

Reparations promises closure. In practice, it offers none.

It turns history into an endless claims process, civilization into a courtroom, and the future into a hostage of the past.

Goshen and the Myth of Security

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When famine made Canaan (the land of Israel today) unlivable, Jacob’s family went down to Egypt. What began as a temporary refuge became something else entirely. Goshen (Genesis 45:9) was fertile, welcoming, and safe. The Jews prospered there. They built families, livelihoods, and a future. And for a time, it worked.

That is what makes Goshen so instructive. Unlike earlier famine detours in Genesis, this was not a brief excursion. Goshen was a one-way trip. It felt secure enough to settle into—and that comfort lasted generations. Until it didn’t.

Jews talk about it today as they ponder antisemitism’s historic trajectory. It has moved millions of Jews around the world for thousands of years, marking them as the “wandering Jew.” In 1900, most Jews spoke Russian, German, Polish and Arabic. In 2025, they almost all speak Hebrew and English, with French and Spanish covering virtually everyone else.

The land of Israel itself was not without Jewish migration. The land flourished, kingdoms rose, institutions formed. Then came division, exile, and destruction. First the northern tribes disappeared into history. Later Judah followed. The Jews did not just lose modern incarnations of Goshen; they lost their homeland for nearly two thousand years.

Parshat Vayigash is often used as the Torah’s first meditation on long-term diaspora. It offers no illusion that comfort guarantees permanence. Goshen was pleasant until a Pharaoh arose who no longer remembered Joseph. But the Jewish homeland was also strong until it fractured from within and fell to external powers. Neither place offered permanent security.

The lesson is not that exile is doomed or that the Jewish Promised Land is automatically safe. It is that where Jews live is often situational, not absolute. Prosperity can mask vulnerability. Stability can decay quietly. The obligation is vigilance—reading the environment honestly, assessing quality of life soberly, and understanding that history turns even when life feels settled.

Israel’s Security Barrier as seen from Jerusalem, built to stop terrorism during the “Second Intifada”

Goshen teaches that success today is not a promise for tomorrow. But Israel teaches the same. Awareness, not geography, is what determines whether a place remains livable.

Every Picture Tells a Story: The War Gazans Didn’t Start—and Aren’t Ending

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The headline asked why hundreds of Gazans have been killed. The article never answered.

In its December 24 piece, The New York Times assembled an inventory of grief—names, faces, photographs, shattered families—documenting civilian death in Gaza with intimate precision. What it did not assemble was an explanation. The question at the top functioned as decoration; the answer was assumed. Israel hovered everywhere as implication, never as argument.

What the article omitted is not marginal. It is decisive.

It did not say that Hamas still holds an Israeli hostage, in violation of the ceasefire framework. As long as that person remains captive, the war has not ended and the terms of the ceasefire have not been met.

It did not say that Hamas has refused to disarm—flatly, publicly—even though disarmament is a core requirement of the multi-point plan meant to end the fighting. The vast majority of Palestinian Arabs in both Gaza and the West bank agree. This is not procedural quibbling. A movement that keeps its weapons is declaring its intention to keep killing. Leaving that fact out does not clarify the story; it inverts it.

“a core, cross-regional [Gaza and West bank] red line remains: overwhelming opposition to disarming Hamas, complicating any post-war arrangement.” – PCPSR poll of October 28, 2025

It did not say that Hamas continues to state openly that it will pursue the war until the Jewish state is destroyed. These are not coded remarks. They are repeated commitments. When a belligerent announces genocidal intent and retains its arsenal, civilian deaths are not mysterious. They are the predictable outcome of strategy.

“The resistance is capable of continuing, and I am confident that the outcome of this conflict will be the demise of this entity [Israel].” – Senior member of the Palestinian resistance movement Hamas, Osama Hamdan on December 23, 2025

Instead, The Times presented Gaza as a place acted upon—its people rendered passive, its leadership reduced to background noise. The governing reality was blurred, that the popular, armed movement that began the war – with overwhelming local support – insists on continuing it. Palestinian Arabs appeared as if history were happening to them, rather than through institutions that still mobilize society for conflict.

The photographs – eleven in all, a remarkable number for an article, mostly featuring children – did their work. They always do. Images narrow the moral aperture. They locate causality at the edge of the frame. What lies outside—tunnels, refusals, threats, the last hostage—falls away. Repetition turns absence into innocence.

This is not empathy. It is evasion.

Civilian death is tragic and deserves coverage. But tragedy without agency becomes accusation by implication. When Arab suffering is anatomized down to the last tear while their popular elected leadership’s war-making is erased, journalism is no longer news but advocacy.

The Times did not lie. It curated. It acted as the political-terrorist group’s propaganda arm.

Readers are left asking why Israel is still fighting, when the honest question is why Hamas is still waging war—still holding the last hostage, still refusing disarmament, still promising destruction.

Every picture tells a story. This one tells a story about the author.

Ben Shapiro, the Biblical Joseph, and Lessons on Where to Aim

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The conservative group Turning Point USA held its four day AmericaFest conference this week with a lineup of political commentators – and Nicki Minaj (1:13:00). Ben Shapiro of the Daily Wire sent the conference in a new direction, coming to speak early and attacking several of the speakers due to come on – including Tucker Carlson and Megyn Kelly – for trafficking in antisemitism and platforming wild conspiracy theories and theorists.

The media lit up that there is a rupture inside the conservative movement. Vice President JD Vance said at the conference, seemingly in response to Shapiro’s line of attacks, that “we have far more important work to do than cancelling each other.”

While the majority of people at Turning Point agree with Shapiro about Israel according to polls, the question of how to engage with people with whom you strongly disagree or want to persuade is an important question about tactics.

Consider the biblical figure Joseph.

When he first dreamed, Joseph placed himself at the center of the story and delivered the message directly to those who would one day bow before him. His brothers did not merely hear a vision of the future; they heard a declaration of hierarchy. The dream named winners and losers, elevation and humiliation.

Truthful or not, it was combustible.

Joseph learned—at extraordinary cost—that telling people they will submit to you does not hasten destiny. It creates enemies who delay it. Fate may be fixed, but its route is not.

Years later, standing before Pharaoh, Joseph applies that hard lesson with precision.

Joseph tells Pharaoh that his dream came in two forms because God has decided to do it—and to do it soon (Genesis 41:25-32). This is a striking claim, because Joseph himself had two dreams many years earlier, and nothing happened quickly.

Joseph is not contradicting himself. He is revealing what he has learned.

As a boy, Joseph assumed repetition meant imminence. Life taught him otherwise. His dreams were doubled, yet delayed for decades. They passed through betrayal, silence, and obscurity before fulfillment.

So why does Joseph now speak with certainty?

Because he ultimately understood something he did not then: the meaning of repetition depends on where the dream is aimed and who holds agency.

Joseph’s youthful dreams were aimed directly at people—at his brothers, at his parents, at their submission to him. They provoked resistance. Those who felt targeted fought the message, and history slowed.

Pharaoh’s dreams are different—not because they are truer, but because Joseph presents them differently.

Joseph does not tell Pharaoh that HIS reign will collapse or that HIS legacy will be erased. He does not aim the dream at Pharaoh’s ego. He does not place Pharaoh at the center of decline and does not elevate himself as the savior.

Instead, Joseph shifts the focus outward—to the land, to the people, to the coming conditions. Egypt will suffer. The famine will devastate the country. The threat is environmental and collective, not personal.

By doing so, Joseph removes both himself and Pharaoh from the line of fire.

Joseph learned an important lesson: when a dream threatens reality rather than pride, it accelerates history.

His own dreams were delayed because they challenged people directly. Pharaoh’s dreams moved quickly because they challenge circumstances instead.

Joseph’s greatness is not merely interpretive; it is strategic. He transforms a divine warning into a solvable problem.

He gives Pharaoh a way forward—storage, planning, delegation, foresight. Pharaoh is no longer defending his status; he is protecting his people.

Joseph learned the difference between telling people what will happen to them and showing them what will happen around them.

The first creates enemies. The second creates leaders.

Truth, But Approach

Joseph did not abandon truth. He learned how to deliver it. Ben Shapiro also spoke about serious matters honestly, but perhaps poorly. He imagined himself as the true shepherd of the conservative movement and sought to de-platform others.

When you aim at people, they shield themselves. When you aim at conditions, people mobilize.

If you want history to move, do not take aim at the audience.
Give them the map—and let them walk into the future themselves.

You Can’t Launder Murder

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In October 2002, in a case before the Supreme Court, Justice Antonin Scalia did something characteristically disarming. In the middle of a commercial case—a dispute about representations, intent, and liability—he reached for an example so blunt that no one in the courtroom could miss the point.

“let’s assume that there is a Federal statute that makes discrimination because of, or failure to hire someone, or let’s say, let’s say killing someone solely because of his race a crime, a separate crime. And someone, let’s assume he kills someone who is Jewish, and he said, well, I didn’t kill him solely because he was Jewish; I killed him because I disagree with the policies of Israel. Does that get him out of the statute?” – Supreme Court Judge Antonin Scalia on October 8, 2002

The question was not theatrical. It was instructional.

Scalia was making a narrow, lawyerly point about intent laundering—the habit of rebranding a harmful act with a more palatable explanation after the fact. In commercial law, courts reject that move every day. You cannot sell a defective product and escape responsibility by calling the defect innovation. You cannot mislead customers and then claim a higher purpose. Labels don’t change outcomes; explanations don’t erase harm.

He chose that example because everyone understood it immediately. Not because it was exotic, but because it was familiar. People do, in fact, come for Jews with reasons. They always have. The reasons change; the target does not. That is why the hypothetical worked even in a commercial case. It required no ideological scaffolding, no speech doctrine, no moral hedging. The room got it.

Scalia wasn’t talking about protest or expression. He was reminding the Court that post-hoc justification does not transform reality. A Jew selected as a Jew remains a Jew, regardless of the banner the attacker waves. You cannot launder murder through geopolitics any more than you can launder fraud through branding.

What makes the moment unsettling two decades later is not that Scalia saw this clearly in 2002. It’s that today, society now pretends not to.

Today, the very maneuver Scalia identified is routinely indulged. Violence against Jews is reframed as politics. Targeting Jews is explained as resistance. The word “Israel” is treated as a solvent capable of dissolving antisemitism on contact. The act is dissected until the victim disappears into the explanation.

Scalia understood that this maneuver was not new. In the Middle Ages, it was radical preachers who performed the laundering. On Easter, from pulpits across Europe, Jews were accused of killing Christ, poisoning wells, murdering Christian babies. The charge was always moral, never personal. The violence that followed—pogroms, expulsions, massacres—was framed not as hatred, but as righteous response. The excuse sanctified the act. The victim was still Jewish.

“The crimes you are committing in Palestine by desecrating the sanctity of the holy sites – foremost among them the blessed Al-Aqsa Mosque – you should expect reactions, not only from the Muslims, but rather from the entire world.” – Palestinian Authority Chairman Mahmoud Abbas’ Advisor on Religious Affairs and Islamic Relations Mahmoud Al-Habbash on December 15, 2025 about the massacre of Jews in Sydney, Australia

The vocabulary has changed. The mechanism has not.

Today the laundering is done in different robes—through left-wing media narratives, academic language, teacher-union resolutions, and activist slogans. The Jewish state is branded unholy, colonial, imperial. Zionism is recast as original sin. Once that premise is accepted, Jews everywhere become legitimate stand-ins—symbols of something larger, targets by proxy. “Globalize the intifada” is not poetry. It is a call that travels, and it always knows where to land.

The laundering does not stop on the left. Figures like Candace Owens have vilified Jews across time itself—casting them as architects of the slave trade two centuries ago, as hidden hands behind modern social decay, as a people uniquely responsible for nearly every ill that can be stitched into a narrative. The effect is not historical inquiry; it is moral conditioning. When Jews are blamed for everything, they become appropriate targets for anything. The excuse differs. The permission is the same.

Candace Owens antisemitism reel by Canary Mission

This is why Scalia’s example mattered—and why he chose it so plainly. He knew that people come for Jews with reasons. He knew those reasons are never the point. And he assumed, reasonably at the time, that everyone else could still see the difference between explanation and absolution.

Decades later, that clarity is treated as controversial. Motives are said to cleanse acts. Ideology is said to transform targets. Murder is said to become discourse if the language is fashionable enough.

You can change the sermon.
You can update the slogans.
You can trade Easter blood libels for postcolonial theory.

But you cannot launder murder.

The Ghosts of Jihadi Christmas

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Before Christmas arrives in Europe, the barricades do.

Markets are designed around security corridors. Choirs rehearse behind concrete blocks. Armed patrols take their positions weeks in advance. In some cities, officials quietly shrink routes, replace gatherings with broadcasts, or advise citizens to celebrate privately. These decisions are made before a single hymn is sung, before a single candle is lit.

The season now begins with anticipation—not of joy, but of danger.

Europe carries this fear because Christmas has already been marked in blood. In Berlin in 2016, families shopping for ornaments were crushed beneath a truck driven by a man who pledged allegiance to ISIS. In Strasbourg in 2018, a gunman stalked a Christmas market, shouting Islamic slogans as he killed. An attack was foiled the following year in Vienna, Austria. Just days ago, five Muslim men were arrested for planning a Christmas attack in Germany. Another attack in Poland was foiled.

13 people killed in Berlin Christmas attack in 2016

These attacks were not misdirected rage or incidental violence. Christmas itself was the target. Its visibility, its symbolism, its unapologetic presence in public space made it irresistible to jihadist ideology.

Time has passed, but the lesson lingers. Terror no longer needs to strike every year to be effective. Memory enforces compliance. The terrifying ghosts return on schedule, and cities respond accordingly.

The ideology behind this fear is explicit. Radical Islamism divides the world into rulers and the ruled, believers and infidels. Christians and Jews are permitted only when diminished, tolerated only when silent. Public faith is defiance. Celebration is rebellion. Holidays are moments when submission is tested.

People mourn five people killed by jihadist in Strasbourg, France in 2018

That worldview does not stop at Europe’s borders.

In Nigeria, Christmas approaches without illusions. In the northeast, churches shorten services or cancel them outright. Caroling routes remain undrawn. Families calculate risk before prayer. Islamist insurgents have repeatedly attacked Christian villages and churches on Christmas and Easter, murdering worshippers and burning sanctuaries. The timing is intentional. The theology is clear. Christmas is treated as an offense that must be punished.
Here, fear is not inherited memory. It is lived experience.

Radical Islamists kill 295 Christians in Nigeria on Christmas 2023, mostly women and children, burned alive

Jews have been bearing this burden for decades, their calendar similarly weaponized against them. Jewish holidays are chosen for attack because they gather families, because they proclaim continuity, because they announce survival in the open.

On Simchat Torah in Israel in 2023, 1,200 Jews celebrating the renewal of the Torah were slaughtered in their homes and at festivals. The date was chosen carefully. In Sydney, Australia, Jews gathering during Chanukah were met with terror and violence. A holiday of light confronted an ideology that demands darkness, enforced not metaphorically but operationally.

Across continents and faiths, the pattern holds. Jihadist terror does not only murder people. It seeks to reorder time. It teaches Christians and Jews that their holidays are liabilities, that joy invites punishment, that visibility must be negotiated. It aims to train infidels to bend the knee before violence is even required.

This is why the danger is most acute before Christmas, before Chanukah, before any non-Islamic holy day arrives. When celebrations are diminished in advance, when silence is praised as responsibility, when absence is framed as wisdom, terror has already achieved governance. Fear begins to regulate behavior.

A society that learns to cancel joy preemptively will eventually learn to cancel belief, then speech, then presence itself. When communities retreat before threats are issued, coercion has become ambient. Submission has become routine.

For the past decade, Islamic radicals have been chanting in Arabic in the West, “Khaybar, Khaybar Ya Yahud, Jaish Mohammed Sauf Ya’ud” which means “Watch Out Jews, Remember Khaybar, the Army of Mohammed is returning”. That Army of Mohammed is the ghost of jihadi Christmas coming to slaughter infidels near you.

Brooklyn Chanukah Donut Crawl 2025

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As the first evening and last night of Chanukah were on Sundays, we are posting this blog a bit late, as we could only make it out to Brooklyn for the second Sunday. Despite being late to the festivities, we had a very aggressive agenda (below in planned order of the route):

  • Ostrovitsky Bakery, 1124 Avenue J, Brooklyn, NY 11230
  • Pomegranate Supermarket, 1507 Coney Island Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11230
  • Sesame – Flatbush, 1540 Coney Island Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11230
  • Taste of Israel, 1322 Avenue M, Brooklyn, NY 11230
  • Patis Bakery, 1716 Avenue M, Brooklyn, NY 11230
  • Schreiber’s Homestyle Bakery, 424 Avenue M, Brooklyn, NY 11230
  • Viva La Dough, 501 Avenue M, Brooklyn, NY 11230
  • LUNCH: Sunflower Cafe, 1223 Quentin Rd, Brooklyn, NY 11229
  • Pita Sababa, 540 Kings Hwy, Brooklyn, NY 11223
  • Taam Eden Bakery, 4603 13th Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11219
  • Weiss Kosher Bakery, 5011 13th Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11219
  • XMAS LIGHTS: Dyker Heights Christmas Lights

As Tevye said in Fiddler on the Roof, “sounds crazy, no?”

Reality (sugar rush and other responsibilities) crashed on us and we didn’t make it through the entire list but here are the reviews.

A public announcement before beginning – be prepared. Bring water bottles and some other items like plates, plastic knives and wipes. Quartering the donuts is a must if you want a healthy sampling.

Donut crawl “kit”

Ostrovitsky’s Bakery

Last year, we came to Ostrovitsky’s in the afternoon and they were out of some of their best flavors, including chocolate mousse, napoleon and rosemarie, so we came here first. We picked up one of each, an Oreo and a plain jelly (we were seven people).

Before getting into the flavor and quality of each, I want to share that as opposed to prior years when we arrived at the beginning of the holiday to fight large lines, there was no line here or any pandemonium at the other stores. Eight days of deep fried foods must tap the strength of even the greatest Maccabee.

We made a new friend at the store, a caterer, who very much likes the bakery and shared a story how many bakeries actually get their sufganiyut (filled donuts) from Ostrovitsky’s.

The chocolate mousse was the biggest fan favorite of the reviewers, deeper in flavor than the lighter rosemarie. The napoleon actually tasted like a napoleon- not a donut, which isn’t necessarily a bad mark but wasn’t expected. The jelly and Oreo were both good.

selection from Ostrovitsky’s bakery

Pomegranate

The big supermarket had a wide variety this year. This year’s selection was good. However, the plain jelly was watery and the “long john” variety had little jelly in it.

The halvah was good but other bakeries were much better.

Selection of donuts from Pomegranate

Pita Sababa

We were lucky to have friends get to Brooklyn before us and pick up a selection at Pita Sababa before we got there on the itinerary, as it is not close to the other bakeries and often has a line. The sampling was fantastic! The halvah was simply outrageous – with lacy halvah on top and rich full flavor inside.

Donuts from Pita Sababa

The caramel was okay as was the plain sugar coated. The Dubai Chocolate was divine with great flavor and fullness of filling. It hit the top place this year, knocking Sesame for the first time in our seven year crawl.

Sesame

Sesame has been top of the charts for each of our crawls since 2019. This year, it continued to impress, with plentiful varieties and flavors in both pareve and dairy. People buy them buy the dozens – literally.

Donuts from Sesame in Brooklyn

Patis Bakery

We stopped into Patis for lunch (as well as Koma sushi) and to try just one donut – a dairy cookies and cream. It was light and flavorful. There wasn’t a very big selection of donuts, and they don’t make them at the location as they do in the other bakeries, so we were very satisfied in light of the difficult competition.

Pareve donuts at Patis
Dairy donuts at Patis

Schreiber’s Homestyle Bakery

We got a few dairy donuts at Schreiber’s, and lace cookies which we consider the best in the category. The strawberry was fine and the marshmallow wasn’t very good, especially as we had it the following day.

Schreiber’s donuts

Viva La Dough

Viva La Dough was new to our crawl. It did not disappoint. The dough was excellent – even the following morning which is unheard of for sufganiyut. The tiramasu was light and airy – they way you would expect. The coffee filling was tasty, as though you were eating an expensive dessert at a restaurant.

Tiramasu donut and the inside of a creamy strawberry jelly – almost tasted like a cream cheese and jelly sandwich – from Viva La Dough

We ran out of energy and did not make it to Taam Eden or Weiss’s Bakery. Taste of Israel had no donuts for walk in.

Overall

As this was our seventh year of the crawl, we have pruned the poorer bakeries and now left with only good selections. Pita Sababa’s Dubai chocolate and halvah were the rockstars of the day. Sesame continues to do well with pistachio, nutella, peanut butter, but some did not like the dairy milk lotus. We give high marks to Viva la Dough, even though the selection is lighter than the others.

The New York Times’ Year in Pictures and the Architecture of Moral Inversion

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Hamas does not rule Gaza against the will of its people. It rules because large numbers of Gazans want it to. Hamas articulates aims that many in Gaza accept: “armed struggle,” permanent war, and the eradication of Israel. This is not an imposed ideology. It is a shared one.

That reality is the reason the war has not ended.

Hamas refuses to disarm. It promises to fight again. It rejects coexistence as a moral crime. And Palestinian Arabs have not rejected Hamas. There has been no uprising, no mass refusal, no turning inward to say this has destroyed us and must stop. The tunnels remain. The rockets are rebuilt. The hostages were hidden in plain sight and with complicity.

The Arab world understands this. So does the Muslim world and international community, quietly if not publicly. No money will rebuild Gaza while Hamas governs. No state will guarantee security for a territory whose leadership is openly genocidal. Even those who chant Gaza’s cause from afar refuse to absorb the cost of dismantling its rulers. Words are cheap. Responsibility is not.

And so the world fractures.

One side insists Gaza deserves unlimited sympathy—stripped of agency, frozen as a permanent victim, absolved of all consequence. The other side sees a society that has embraced a war of annihilation and asks the world whether moral condemnation is not only justified, but necessary. This divide is not about compassion versus cruelty. It is about whether moral judgment still matters.

What cannot be sustained is the fiction that Gaza is merely trapped between Hamas and Israel. Gaza is trapped— by leaders and parents who have chosen martyrdom over future, ideology over life, and war over their own children’s survival.

That is where sympathy collapses.

Because the only people in Gaza whose moral claim is uncontested are the children—and they are being sacrificed by a society willing to place guns in schools, tunnels under bedrooms, and hostages among families. A society that teaches its children that nothing is nobler than dying for the cause of destroying the Jewish State.

Sympathy cannot be demanded for that choice. It can only be extended—narrowly, painfully—to those who never had one.

That is why the ritualized outrage of the West’s most powerful institutions now feels so hollow. Each year, The New York Times publishes its Year in Pictures, and the selection itself becomes an argument. In 2025, the year with the largest spike in antisemitism including several incidents of mass murder, there were no pictures of Jewish victims. Instead, page after page of Gaza: rubble, smoke, bloodied streets, dust-covered children. Destruction, repeated until it acquires the authority of inevitability. Israel appears only as force. Gaza appears only as suffering. Context is stripped away. Agency is erased. The camera becomes a verdict.

Two-page spread in New York Times’ 2025 year in pictures showing Gaza rubble. The only other 2-page spread was the election of Zohran Mamdani, an anti-Israel member of the DSA, as mayor of New York City

But the depravity lies not only in what is shown—it lies in what is omitted.

There are no photographs of Jewish life under siege: no police guards posted outside synagogues, no concrete barriers and metal fences erected around schools, no quiet images of fear normalized into daily routine. There are no frames of mourning for Jewish victims abroad, the couple shot in Washington, D.C., the arson at the home of the Jewish governor of Pennsylvania over Passover. No recognition of the global consequences of a war whose ideology has traveled far beyond Gaza. Violence against Jews outside Israel didn’t even make a footnote.

New security fence erected outside synagogue in 2025 (photo: First One Through)

When Israeli hostages appear in the Times, they are reduced to a single visual trope: a large military helicopter, as if their captivity were a logistical problem rather than a crime. Even Jewish victims of Gazan atrocities are set against a large Israeli military. The human cost of hostage-taking is laundered into abstraction.

New York Times only picture of a Jewish victim is a tiny speck in a large Israeli military helicopter

What does receive sympathetic attention are arrests—multiple images of pro-Palestinian demonstrators detained by police, framed as moral courage meeting state power. Advocacy for Israel’s destruction is softened into dissent. The pages preen about resistance while refusing to name what that “resistance” seeks to accomplish.

This is not journalism. It is moral choreography.

The pictures ask only one question—who suffered more?—while carefully avoiding the only one that matters: who chose this war? To launch it? To continue it? They do not show Hamas leaders refusing disarmament. They do not show weapons beneath nurseries. They do not show the ideological choice to sacrifice children for permanence of war.

In this telling, Israel becomes the aggressor by existing, and Gaza becomes sympathetic by persisting in annihilation. The refusal to surrender is recast as resilience. The willingness to sacrifice children is aestheticized as tragedy rather than condemned as crime. Sympathy is manufactured by amputating responsibility. The global anti-Israel advocates are embalmed in the moral light; Jewish victims disappear off the pages.

When the world’s most influential newspaper presents destruction without causation, suffering without choice, and death without ideology, it does not advance peace. It sanctifies perpetual war. It promotes a global blood libel. And it teaches readers that moral clarity is cruelty, while moral confusion is virtue.

The far-left media hopes that history will remember its curated selection of photographs and the modern moment will gather sympathy for the anti-Israel and anti-Jewish horde. Hopefully they are proved very wrong, and this time capsule will forever mark The New York Times for its profound antisemitism and moral depravity.

Related:

Every Picture Tells A Story: There Are No Genocidal Leaders In Iran, Just Fancy Women (November 2024)

Every Picture And Headline Tells A Story: Columbia’s Pro-Palestinian Students Are NOT Antisemitic (April 2024)

Every Picture Tells A Story: No Brutal Slaughter Of Israeli Civilians (October 2023)

Every Picture Tells A Story: Palestinian Terrorists are Victims (November 2020)

Every Picture Tells a Story: Anti-Semitism (February 2017)

Whether by Wisdom or Strength, One North Star

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Joseph and the Maccabees stand at opposite ends of Jewish history, yet they are oriented toward the same destination.

Joseph saved lives through wisdom. He read the moment correctly, understood power as it existed, and worked within it with discipline and restraint. His brilliance was not only in interpreting Pharaoh’s dreams but in translating vision into policy. Grain was stored since hunger was anticipated. Life survived because Joseph learned how to operate inside a dominant civilization without surrendering his inner compass.

The Maccabees faced a different landscape. Jewish practice itself was under assault, the Temple desecrated, identity mocked and criminalized. In that moment, preservation required action of a different kind. Physical courage and sacrifice to restore the possibility of Jewish continuity. Their strength reopened a future that had been closing.

Both paths flow from the same conviction: Jewish life must continue.

That shared conviction matters more than the method used to defend it. Jewish tradition does not freeze history into a single playbook. It records multiple responses to pressure, exile, and threat, each shaped by its circumstances, each measured by whether it protects life and meaning.

This tension feels immediate today. Jews in Western societies sense the ground shifting beneath them. Institutions once assumed to be neutral now tolerate or excuse intimidation. Public expressions of Jewish identity invite scrutiny, hostility, or worse. Families quietly debate whether to double down on civic engagement, legal advocacy, and cultural participation, or whether to seek physical concentration, communal withdrawal, and in some cases departure altogether.

Jews gather at candle lighting ceremony in Carl Schurz Park in New York City, hours after the mass murder of Jews in Sydney Australia (photo: First One Through)

Both instincts draw from deep Jewish memory.

Some respond like Joseph, believing that wisdom, professionalism, and moral clarity can still carve out space within complex societies. Others hear the echo of the Maccabees and sense that when identity becomes negotiable, consolidation and self-defense are no longer optional.

The danger is not that Jews choose different strategies. The danger is losing sight of the common north star and turning strategy into accusation.

Chanukah, read alongside Parshat Miketz, offers a sobering reminder. Joseph’s Egypt eventually transforms from refuge into bondage. The Maccabees’ victory secures a moment of light, not a permanent settlement. Jewish history does not promise stability; it demands attentiveness. Survival in the long-term cannot happen without survival in the present.

Each generation inherits the same responsibility: to read its moment honestly, to choose its tools carefully, and to ensure that the flame continues—whether through wisdom, through strength, or through the careful discipline of knowing when to shift from one to the other.

Time to Say Goodbye, With Love and Sorrow

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I was sitting in the audience at an Andrea Bocelli concert at Madison Square Garden in New York City, the lights dimmed, the hall hushed in anticipation for the encore “Con Te Partiro,” (Time to Say Goodbye), his most iconic song. He teased the audience with “New York, New York” and headed for the exit once more. The crowd cheered and he came back to sing the song they craved.

Andrea Bocelli at Madison Square Garden (photo: First One Through)

Beside me sat a close Jewish friend who grew up in Australia. We had come for the music, for the beauty of a voice that carries memory as much as sound. Yet, as the first familiar notes rose, I saw her mind was in another world.

She was thinking of her parents and brother’s family back in Melbourne.

Only days earlier, they had been at a Chabad Chanukah party—children, candles, singing, the ordinary holiness of Jewish joy. Then the news broke of the shooting in Sydney. Phones buzzed. Conversations stopped. Parents gathered children closer. And out. What had begun as celebration turned into a flight of urgency. They left with the unmistakable instinct that something precious had become fragile. Perhaps lost.

As Bocelli sang of leaving—of standing alone and dreaming of the horizon—the words landed differently. “It’s time to say goodbye,” he sings, not with bitterness, but with ache. He sings of departing lands once fully lived in, of moving forward while carrying love along. The song understands that some goodbyes are spoken precisely because the bonds mattered.

Time to say goodbye
Countries I have never
Seen and experienced with you

Australia has been such a land for Jews. Around 115,000 strong, the community was built in large part by Holocaust survivors and their children, who arrived determined to create lives of dignity and contribution. They succeeded. Jewish schools flourished. Synagogues filled. Jewish families felt Australian in the fullest sense—rooted, confident, woven into the national fabric. It was a beloved home.

That is why this moment feels so melancholy.

When antisemitism intrudes into Jewish life—when Chanukah gatherings require calculation, when news of violence travels faster than reassurance—something internal shifts. Families begin to think not only about safety today, but about continuity tomorrow. They listen closely for the voice of government, for the firmness of protection, for the sense that Jewish life is fully defended. When that reassurance feels thin – no, absent – dark history whispers.

Yes, I know there is no light in a room when there is no sun
If you’re not there with me, with me

For two years my friend had been speaking to her parents and brother about leaving Australia as antisemitic incidents surged and the government seemed unwilling to do anything. Now, the threats had crossed to violence. Murder. On a mass scale.

At the concert, Bocelli sang on. “With you I will leave,” he promises. The line felt written for this generation of Jews. Leaving does not mean erasing. It means carrying Australia forward: the beaches, the friendships, the generosity, the years of building a good life. Love will not dissolve at the airport gate.

For children, aliyah after moments like these is not politics. It is the air they breathe. It is the desire to grow where Jewishness fills the public calendar, where holidays are shared rather than guarded, where identity settles into the background instead of standing on alert. Israel becomes the horizon the song gestures toward—not as fantasy, but as alignment.

But they know some parents – many Holocaust survivors – will not be able to make the journey. They will stay behind in a land they thought of as home while their children and grandchildren head to their homeland.

When you’re far away I dream of the horizon and words fail
And I, yes, I know that you are with me, with me

As the music swelled, my friend wiped away tears. They were for her brother’s children, who should have stayed longer at a Chanukah party. They were for her parents’ generation, who believed Australia was the final chapter. They were also for something enduring: the knowledge that the Jewish story includes movement, discernment, and the courage to know when it is time.

I will leave with you
On ships at sea
Which, I know
No, no, they don’t exist anymore

The concert ended. The applause lingered. We walked out quietly, in a world darkly distinct from the thousands of other concert-goers heading to their homes.

Somewhere between Melbourne and Jerusalem, between a beloved home and a homeland, the song kept playing, softly affirming the discussions of long goodbyes that were taking place in Jewish homes throughout Australia.