Two major New York Times pieces criticized Israel on the same day — one suggesting it used Eurovision for soft power despite finding no rule‑breaking, and another Kristof column alleging widespread sexual abuse of Palestinian detainees based on highly disputed sources. Both appeared as a major evidence‑based report on Hamas’s sexual violence went uncovered by the Times, prompting accusations of skewed priorities and editorial bias.

Kanye West’s return to the stage at SoFi Stadium on the first night of Passover is framed as more than a concert—it’s a revealing moment about culture, power, and memory. Despite his history of antisemitic statements, the performance unfolded with little acknowledgment from the industry or the crowd, signaling how quickly controversy can be absorbed and forgotten. The comeback is portrayed as a deliberate, profit-driven decision rather than an organic return, exposing how influence and demand can outweigh accountability. Set against the significance of Passover, the moment feels especially unsettling, highlighting a broader willingness to stay silent when it’s convenient.

As Hollywood’s stars filled the Oscars with red pins and polished declarations of conscience, a quieter truth lingered off‑screen: the causes they spotlight are often the ones that fit neatly into the night’s narrative. Meanwhile, Iranian women risking their lives for basic freedoms — and Ukrainians enduring Iranian-made drones — received none of the symbolic solidarity lavished on more fashionable conflicts.

Explore an unexpected phenomenon unfolding beneath a sky filled with missile fire: bomb shelters turning into spontaneous dance floors. What might seem surreal from afar becomes a powerful portrait of human resilience, as strangers packed into concrete rooms use music and movement to push back against fear. Blending personal reflection, cultural history, and moments of startling intimacy, the piece reveals how dance has become an act of defiance, connection, and survival in a city under siege.

As tensions spiked ahead of the US‑Israel strike on Iran, a group of international influencers arrived in Israel expecting a media‑training workshop—only to be swept into the reality of war. What began as a program on combating misinformation quickly became an unexpected immersion into Israeli resilience, solidarity, and life under fire, reshaping how these creators understood the country far beyond what they’d seen online.

Rising tensions between distance and duty unfold as Israel comes under sudden attack. What begins as a canceled flight quickly becomes a meditation on courage — both from the influencers sheltering under fire in Tel Aviv and from those forced to advocate from afar. As missiles fall and antisemitism surges, modern conflict demands new forms of presence, clarity, and resolve, even from those outside the blast radius.

Hollywood advocacy group The Brigade has written a letter calling out double standards in the industry, pointing to "selective" outrage and failure to condemn the atrocities being committed in Iran. When a movement tries to take moral high ground on one issue but is silent on another, it is left with no credibility.

When Bad Bunny took the stage at the Super Bowl, the world didn’t just see a global superstar; we witnessed a masterclass in the psychology of belonging. As a member of the Jewish community — a group that has spent generations navigating the delicate dance of integration and identity — I realized that the Puerto Rican icon was demonstrating a lesson that every minority community in America desperately needs to relearn.

For two years, I have made sharing the stories of the hostages who were taken on October 7th a central part of my advocacy. I did this for an obvious reason. Their stories matter. They are sacred. The hostages and their families deserve to be heard.

Jews light candles this Hanukkah not to deny the darkness, but to assert something simple and necessary: Violence fueled by silence does not get the final word.