Judging Character

My late mother expressed a visceral dislike for trump from the moment he appeared on the political scene.

That surprised me because she rarely expressed opinions about politicians one way or the other. In truth, she never cared much about politics at all.

But there was something about trump that struck her as different. She felt strongly about him.

Mom was reclusive in her later years. She wrote fiction, maintained a blog, and largely kept to herself. She didn't socialize much.

Except on Facebook.

Facebook was almost tailor-made for her. It allowed her to stay connected with friends and family without having to see them in person. And that's where the trouble started.

She found herself in more than one heated argument over trump.

One day I asked her what it was about him that got her so worked up.

"He's a narcissist," she said.

"Aren't all politicians narcissists?" I replied.

"Maybe," she said. "We're all a bit narcissistic. But not like trump. He's a lying, destructive narcissist."

My mother instinctively recognized something that many political analysts, journalists, and voters either missed or chose to ignore. She saw a man with a bottomless need for attention and validation—someone who would say whatever was necessary to get it and who seemed incapable of caring about the damage left behind.

At the core of that kind of personality is an emotional black hole that eventually consumes everything around it. And as with a black hole, proximity is unsurvivable. As political strategist Rick Wilson famously titled his 2018 book, Everything Trump Touches Dies.

What strikes me now is how clearly my mother saw it from day one. I often find myself wondering how so many others failed to recognize what seemed so obvious to her.

Perhaps they saw it and decided it didn't matter. As long as trump appeared willing to give them what they wanted, character became a secondary consideration.

But that's the mistake.

Ultimately, character is not secondary. It is everything.

Which brings me to the Iran MOU.

Trump-supporting Jews around the world, and Israelis in particular, are suddenly confronting the same reality my mother recognized years ago.

Until recently, trump consistently polled as the most popular political figure in Israel, by far. Now, after the Iran MOU, many supporters feel betrayed because he failed to deliver what they believed he had promised.

People often support politicians the way children love a parent: completely and unquestioningly, until they stop getting what they want. Then affection instantly turns to anger.

It is a deeply immature way of engaging with politics, and not just poltics, most relationships as well.

If a politician promises people what they want to hear, many will overlook almost everything else. Trump understood that better than most. He built support by telling different audiences exactly what they wanted to hear.

The problem is that promises mean very little to someone without character. Commitments are tools. Principles are either non-existant or negotiable. Truth is whatever is useful in the moment.

What many Israelis may now be learning is what my mother understood from the beginning: politics ultimately comes down to character.

No politician gives people everything they want. Democracies do not work that way.

But character always matters because it tells you what remains when circumstances change and compromises become necessary. You may not always agree with a politician of character. You may not always get what you want from them. But at least you know where they stand and where their limits are.

My mother saw that trump lacked that foundation from the very beginning.

She wasn't a political analyst. She wasn't a journalist. She wasn't a political activist.

She was simply a good judge of character.

And as Heraclitus observed more than two thousand years ago, character is destiny.

MOU

It's not a deal, or even an agreement, it's a 14-point Memorandum of Understanding (MOU). Sort of like an agreement about an agenda for discussions. And that's the best part.

The rest is a disaster. Worst than most people imagined it would be. Terrible for the US. Horrible for the world. And an unmitigated catastrophe for Israel. 

It's not just complete capitulation, it's a road map for Iran to consolidate regional power.

Here are some juicy highlights:

4 — ...The United States of America further undertakes to remove its forces from the proximity of the Islamic Republic of Iran within 30 days after the final deal.

My read is that removing forces from Iran's proximity will be interpreted as including the bases in the Gulf states. 

 5 — ...The Islamic Republic of Iran will conduct dialog with the Sultanate of Oman to define the future administration and maritime services in the Strait of Hormuz in discussion with other Persian Gulf littoral states in line with the applicable international law and the sovereign rights of coastal states of the Strait of Hormuz.

My read is that this consolidates Iran's control over the Strait of Hormuz and the collection of 'administrative' fees.

6 — The United States of America undertakes with regional partners to develop a definitive, mutually agreed plan with at least USD 300 billion for the reconstruction and economic development of the Islamic Republic of Iran...

Trump is saying this will be private investment. Yeah, right. Private investors will be clamouring to invest with the mullahs and IRGC. 

7 — The United States of America undertakes to terminate all types of sanctions against the Islamic Republic of Iran, including the United Nations Security Council resolutions, IAEA Board of Governors resolutions, and all unilateral US sanctions, primary and secondary, in an agreed upon schedule as part of the final deal...

This one is self-explanatory.

8 —...The two parties also agreed to discuss the issue of enrichment and other mutually agreed matters related to the Islamic Republic of Iran’s nuclear needs, based on a satisfactory framework being agreed upon in the final deal. 

In other words, Iran is keeping their 'nuclear dust' and their program.

11 — The United States of America undertakes to make fully available for use the frozen or restricted funds and assets of the Islamic Republic of Iran upon the implementation of this MOU...

Can it get any better than sanction relief? It sure can because there are funds to unfreeze. 

Trump says that if Iran doesn't comply he’ll start bombing again. How likely is that as the midterm elections get closer. Zero. And Iran knows it.

Anyway, what’s not to comply with? This is everything they want and more.

Conclusion: The war was the best thing that could have happened to Iran. The Art of the Deal in action.

The Salty Soup

The clearest conclusion is that Benjamin Netanyahu's strategy has backfired.

He succeeded in convincing trump to involve the United States directly in a war with Iran. The assumption appears to have been that decapitation strikes, combined with a coordinated strategic bombing campaign, would topple the regime.

It failed.

Worse, the intervention exposed the limits of American military power and political will in the region. The United States could inflict damage, but not impose a new political reality.

It also brought America's regional partners—UAE, Qatar, Kuwait, Bahrain, and Oman—within the conflict's reach, demonstrating the price of hosting a U.S. military presence. Bases once seen as guarantees of security became potential liabilities.

Iran, meanwhile, has shown an ability to connect the Lebanese front to the broader Gulf confrontation, underscoring that its ambitions remain regional and that its network of influence has not been dismantled. Despite significant military and economic setbacks, Tehran has emerged hardened rather than broken. It retains the capacity to project power across critical waterways stretching from the Gulf of Oman to the Gulf of Aden, ensuring that it remains central to the region's strategic calculations.

Israel has demonstrated formidable military capabilities. Yet despite impressive battlefield successes it cannot solve the problem of Hezbollah. Once again, it finds itself occupying southern Lebanon in pursuit of a buffer zone—a strategy that echoes the quagmire of its earlier Lebanese occupation. There is little reason to believe this iteration will produce a different outcome.

The soup has been stirred, but the ingredients have not changed. Netanyahu and trump mistook escalation for strategy. They dumped too much salt into the pot, believing force alone could transform the recipe.

Instead, they have made the region more volatile, America's allies more vulnerable, and Iran more deeply embedded in the very equation they hoped to solve.

The result is not a new Middle East. It is the old Middle East—angrier, more unstable, and now carrying fresh proof of the limits of military power. And Iran has taken advantage of it, re-positioning itself to have greater influence.

"מה שלא הולך בכוח, הולך במוח" (ma she'lo holech b'koach, holech b'moach)

It's an well-known Israeli phrase that means "What can't be achieved by strength (force) can be achieved by intelligence (brains)."  

The Iranians seem to have benefited from the Israelis (and Americans) not heeding their own advice.

Beaufort

News today that Israeli forces have crossed the Litani River in southern Lebanon and recaptured the medieval Crusader castle called Beaufort. 

I say recaptured and not captured because it’s not the first time. The story of the last time Israel held Beaufort is fictionalized in the acclaimed 2005 novel of the same name (originally entitled in Hebrew ‘If There Is A Heaven') by Ron Leshem which later became a harrowing Academy Award nominated film.

I reviewed the novel for The Gazette, and also had the privilege of introducing Ron at a reading at the JPL.

If you haven’t read the novel, now may be a good time. Suffice to say, the story - which is essentially about the futility of war and the sacrifice of a generation - does not end well.

The Saad Truth About Self-Promotion

Ordinarily I wouldn’t pay much attention to Gad Saad. But his announcement this week illustrates something larger about life lived through social media.

If you haven't heard about him, there's very little reason that you would. Saad is an undistinguished marketing professor specializing in something called Behavioral Sciences and Darwinian Consumption at Concordia University in Montreal. On Rate My Professor Saad scores a barely passing grade average of 2.7 out of 5 from 96 student ratings.

He may not excel in academia, but he certainly does in marketing himself, particularly online. 

He has a popular podcast and YouTube channel called The Saad Truth. His online career really took off when he started appearing on Joe Rogan's podcast in 2015. He's made almost annual appearances since, most recently just last week. Saad has built a significant online following with 1.3 million followers on X and over 360,000 subscribers on YouTube.

He's published a number of books, veering away from academic audiences and toward a popular conservative-oriented readership. His most recent book "Suicidal Empathy: Dying to Be Kind" has really taken off, thanks to recommendations by Rogan and Elon Musk, and television appearances on Fox News. 

The book is essentially an anti-woke screed, arguing that we in the west are too kind, empathetic and tolerant for our own good. That message has been Saad's ticket to fortune and fame over the last decade. One that's been wholeheartedly embraced by right-wing broadcast media and the online manosphere. 

Saad made mainstream headlines this week by announcing that Canada has become too woke and antisemitic for him. He is taking a position at the University of Mississippi, and will apply for permanent residency and eventually U.S. citizenship.  

Saad, who is Jewish, says he has not felt safe at Concordia for a while. It is true that since October 7th 2023 especially, the university - which is decidedly more progressive and diverse than its crosstown rival McGill (my alma mater) - has been a hotbed of pro-Palestine political activity.

I guess Saad is unaware that on January 10, 2026 the venerable Beth Israel congregation in Jackson Mississippi was firebombed. The assailant allegedly used an axe to break into the synagogue, douse the lobby and library with gasoline, and set it ablaze. Fortunately no one was hurt. They sure do have a tradition of embracing their ethnic minorities down in Ole Miss.  

So if you've been keeping score, Saad and Jordan Petersen have left Canada for refuge in the US, and two well known highly respected Yale University scholars, Jason Stanley and Timothy Snyder, have taken up residency in Toronto. As we hockey fans say, we got the better of that trade. 

I think it's pretty clear that Stanley and Snyder made their moves on the basis of principle, arguably taking a step down in prestige by coming to the University of Toronto. For Saad the move is academically-speaking lateral at worst, and a big step up self-marketing and money-wise. 

Antisemitism is inarguably on the rise, not just in Canada, but in the United States, Australia, Europe and everywhere else. Saying you are moving to the US to escape antisemitism is on the face of it absurd. So take Saad's talk of feeling unsafe in this woke country with a giant bushel of salt.   

But there's a bigger point. This is what happens when your online existence eclipses your real-world one. And it doesn't matter if the bubble you live in leans right or left. Your worldview gets warped either way. If you're Jewish you think armed Pro-Palestine activists or neo-Nazis plotting to kill you lurk around every corner. 

I've seen it over and over again with friends and acquaintances. Their paranoia and fear is directly proportionate to the amount of time they spend on social media. 

The Saad truth, as Gad would put it, isn't that he can't distinguish Montreal from Mississippi. Mississippi, in fact, has the most permissive gun laws, open and concealed carry, in the U.S. It's that life lived primarily through algorithmic outrage eventually makes everywhere look like a war zone.  

The bottom line is that Gad's big announcement is really just a Saad and cynical ploy for self-promotion.  

The Incident of the Golden Calf

This week Yisroel showed up. You remember him from last week — the smart one. He brought someone new to experience me.

The new kid’s name was Yoseph. Same age as Yisroel, but not dressed like him, more like a miniature adult: a long black coat hanging to his ankles, a boxy hoiche (high) hat instead of the usual kneitch (pinched or folded) fedora. And for some reason this week Yisroel’s hat looked wrong, not his usual hat — too small for his head — and when I mentioned it, he admitted it without explaining why.

Yoseph barely spoke. He had thick, oversized square glasses, buck teeth, and carried a school backpack over his ankle-length coat, which made him look strangely anachronistic, like a child dressed for another century. I asked what was in the backpack.

“Pamphlets,” Yisroel answered for him.

Yoseph was clearly the junior partner on the mission. Maybe he was there strictly to observe, maybe he was in training. I decided at that moment Yoseph would not be disappointed by the visit.

Yisroel got right to it.

“This week we read Behar,” he said. “On the mountain. Mount Sinai. And we learn that Sinai was not a high mountain. From this we learn—”

“That we need humility,” I interrupted. “God chose a modest mountain to deliver the greatest gift possible.” I've heard this one a hundred times.

“Yes,” Yisroel said. “A person can be important like a mountain, and still remain humble.”

“Nice,” I said. “But that’s not why He chose Sinai.”

The boys looked at me.

“He chose Sinai because it was small enough for Moshe to climb. If God brought the Israelites to Everest, how would Moshe get up there? Sometimes the obvious explanation is enough.”

No response.

“Which raises another question,” I continued. “Why didn’t God simply float Moshe to the top? The people had already seen the ten plagues, the sea split, water come from rocks, manna from heaven. One more miracle wouldn’t have changed much.”

Still nothing.

“I’ll tell you why. Because God wanted Moshe to make the climb. And He wanted Israel to watch him make it. This was the end of miracle-dependence. The Law only matters if people do the work of following it. Faith alone isn’t enough. Taking responsibility is what matters.”

“And of course,” I added, “they immediately failed the first test.”

“The Golden Calf,” said Yisroel.

Then he said something unexpected.

“Rabbi Zushe says that for America’s 250th anniversary, trump wants everyone to honour the Sabbath.”

“I didn’t hear that,” I said. “But you go back and tell Rabbi Zushe that Glen says he’s committing chillul Hashem.” I know the kids tell their Rabbi about our weekly visits. 'Chillul Hashem' means desecration of God’s name. I realized it was quite an accusation.

The boys stiffened.

"Any Jew praising trump is doing exactly that. You know why? Because trump builds golden statues to himself. It’s literally the aigel hazahav (the Golden Calf) all over again. A violation of the second and third Commandments."

I pulled out my phone and showed them the photo of golden trump from his golf course this week.

“Tell Rabbi Zushe he should be ashamed."

Added smiling, "There was something pertinent in this week's Torah portion after all."

The kids left the office looking a bit shaken. 

Job done.

The Messianic Agenda

For some time now, I’ve been circling an uncomfortable idea: that elements within Israel’s current leadership are not just indifferent to the condition of Jews in the diaspora—but may, in a deeper ideological sense, see their deterioration as useful.

Call it, for lack of a better term, the Messianic Agenda.

To be clear, I don’t believe Benjamin Netanyahu wakes up in the morning plotting how to make life harder for Jews in Montreal, London, or New York. His explicit project is to permanently foreclose the possibility of a two-state solution and consolidate Israeli control over Palestinian land. That much is visible in policy, in coalition choices, and in political instinct.

But Netanyahu does not govern alone. He sits atop a coalition that includes figures like Bezalel Smotrich and Itamar Ben-Gvir, for whom politics and theology are not separate spheres. In their worldview, history is not just something to be managed—it is something to be fulfilled.

And within that worldview lies the ancient idea of the ingathering of exiles: that Jews will ultimately return to the land of Israel as a precondition for redemption.

You don’t have to stretch very far to see the implication. If Jews are comfortable, secure, and integrated in the diaspora, why would they leave? But if life becomes precarious—if antisemitism rises, if belonging begins to fray—then aliyah is no longer an abstract ideal. It becomes a necessity.

I am not suggesting a coordinated policy to export instability. That would be too crude, too conspiratorial.

What I am suggesting is something subtler and, in its own way, more troubling: a governing ethos that is perfectly willing to absorb, perhaps even quietly validate, the consequences of its actions on diaspora Jews, because those consequences align with a deeper religious and ideological current.

If Jews abroad become targets of anger toward Israel, that is regrettable. But it also reinforces the core Zionist claim in its religious-nationalist form that Jewish life outside Israel is ultimately untenable.

This marks a profound break from the Zionism many of us in the diaspora grew up with.

In the 20th century, Zionism was a partnership. Israel was fragile, resource-poor, and dependent. Diaspora Jews, especially in North America, provided capital, expertise, and political cover. We did so not out of religious conviction, but out of historical memory and cultural attachment. Israel was not where we had to live. It was the place that ensured we would could live anywhere without worry, because we always have somewhere to go if we had to.

I remember that ethos vividly.

As a child, I would paste small paper leaves onto a cardboard tree at school, each one representing a modest donation to the Jewish National Fund. Some kids were enthusiastic about it, filling tree after tree with leaves. There was always competition to see who could make the most trees. I wasn`t one of those kids. My tree looked as bare as the onset of winter. It was a source of some shame and embarrassment. 

I have a black and white photograph of my grandfather Sam from the early 1960s. He stands with a group of men around a woman, her hair covered with a kerchief, at a sewing machine. He is inspecting the way two swatches of fabric were sewn together with the practiced eye of a master in his field. As one of Canada's most successful garment manufacturers, grandpa Sam had been invited by the Prime Minister of Israel himself, to help develop the country`s fledgling textile industry. That, too, was Zionism: practical, collaborative, outward-looking.

That version of Zionism assumed a strong, confident diaspora as a permanent feature of Jewish life. A partner in state-building.

Today’s version is different. It is more insular, more absolutist, and more overtly theological. It does not look to the diaspora as a partner so much as a population in waiting.

At the same time, the environment for Jews outside Israel is becoming more volatile. Social media is becoming saturated with conspiracy theories that would not have felt out of place in The Protocols of the Elders of Zion. Old tropes—of secret control, of blood libel, of dual loyalty—have returned with modern packaging and algorithmic amplification.

Some of this is tied to Israel’s recent actions. America's involvement in the war with Iran has become a lightning rod for antisemitic conspiracy. 

Some of it is opportunistic. The internet doing what it does best: flattening distinctions and rewarding outrage.

But the result is the same. The line between criticism of Israel and hostility toward Jews is increasingly blurred, and diaspora communities are left to absorb the consequences.

Here is the paradox.

The more exposed diaspora Jews feel, the more Israel can present itself as indispensable. And the more indispensable it becomes, the less incentive its leaders have to moderate policies that contribute to that exposure in the first place.

This is not a conspiracy. It is a feedback loop, one that does not require anyone to consciously design it in order to benefit from it.

The tragedy is that it risks eroding something that took generations to build: a relationship between Israel and the diaspora rooted not in fear, but in mutual investment and shared purpose.

What replaces it may be something narrower, more coercive, and ultimately more fragile—a Zionism that depends not on the flourishing of Jewish life everywhere, but on its contraction.

The 21st century version of Zionism increasingly pursues a Messianic Agenda. The ingathering of the nations is always in the background. 

For Jews who don't relate to that Israel, our ancestral homeland risks losing its meaning and importance. 

Worse, when the Israeli government makes moves that don`t consider the international consequences, diaspora Jews feeling increasingly at risk, may understandably turn against it. And that is regrettable.   

The Best Case Scenario

Putting on my political analyst’s hat again. Here’s what I’m thinking might happen.

Trump’s and Netanyahu’s boneheaded war has shown Iran that it has a nuclear option they can actually use effectively without much cost: Closure of the Straight of Hormuz.

That’s a good thing. 

Because now they don’t actually need to pursue a real nuclear weapon, which was Israel’s greatest concern. 

So Iran agrees to give up on their nuclear ambitions for some extended period of time, say twenty years (longer than Obama’s deal), and in return the US allows Iran to collect a toll from passing ships for as long as it takes them to cover reparations for the war damage that was inflicted on them.

Other issues that I cannot see being resolved in any case would be Iran’s missile capabilities or funding of proxies. Giving up the means of self defense, which is the right of every sovereign nation, is a non starter for Iran.

But I do think they might consider giving up their enriched uranium to a trusted third party. 

Hizbollah will not be part of this deal in any case. 

So Israel doesn’t get everything it wants, but crucially it gets a non nuclear Iran for the foreseeable future. 

Trump gets out of this quagmire and can declare victory because he gets a longer deal than Obama’s.

Iran has a non-nuclear ‘nuclear’ option providing a sense of regime protection, and reparations. 

This to me is a best case scenario at this stage. It sucks because the only party that truly comes out way ahead is Iran, as a revived regional power, but one that will not directly threaten Israel. 

And there’s always a chance, in the long run, that the Iranian people will tire of their hated leaders and take them down, in the natural course of events, as they might have before trump and Bibi foolishly tried to hasten the process, and instead set it back a generation.

Trump Derangement Syndrome

It was always projection.

I’m thinking of those trump supporters who spent years insisting that the people warning about his irrationality were the irrational ones—dismissing critics with the pejorative “Trump Derangement Syndrome.”

The phrase has somewhat respectable origins. In 2003, conservative commentator Charles Krauthammer coined “Bush Derangement Syndrome,” describing it as “the acute onset of paranoia in otherwise normal people” in reaction to George W. Bush. Later, another commentator David Horowitz invoked “Obama Derangement Syndrome” to criticize what he saw as over-the-top hysteria from parts of the right.

But with trump, the phrase evolved into something else entirely. Not just a critique, but a reflex—a way to deflect criticism while shielding one’s own emotional investment.

It echoes a childhood defense: if someone calls you stupid, you fire back, “I know you are, but what am I?” Or, “I’m rubber and you’re glue—whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you.”

Admittedly, I was a sensitive kid.

And here we are, back in the schoolyard.

Now some of the loudest voices who praised trump while hurling “derangement” at his critics, are suddenly changing their tune—Tucker Carlson, Candace Owens, Alex Jones, Theo Von. Like the cowering kids who cheered on the bully, only to realize they might end up in the principal’s office along with him.

So what changed?

Was it the profanity-laced Easter message?

The image of the orange messiah as the healer Jesus?

His praising Allah after threatening to destroy an entire civilization?

Too much Epstein?

Who knows.

The explanation now offered is convenient: age, decline, something neurological—he’s not the same man he once was.

I’ve always rejected the idea that trump is suffering from dementia. That was never the issue.

What he has consistently displayed are traits associated with sociopathic, malignant narcissism: impulsiveness, grandiosity, extreme self-centeredness, and a profound lack of empathy. Those traits aren’t new.

What’s changed isn’t him—it’s the willingness, or ability, of some supporters to ignore them.

Now that those same traits are harder to overlook, and the stakes have increased with the US at war, the story shifts. Not “we misjudged him,” but “he has changed.”

It’s a more comfortable narrative. It preserves the past at the expense of the present.

Projection is a powerful thing.

The Cultural Barometer

I watched an interesting talk this weekend by David Brooks titled How America Recovers From All This. It’s worth watching—if only because it ends on an optimistic note. And we could all use a bit of that.

Still, I was left unconvinced that his optimism is entirely justified.

Brooks’ central thesis is that it is not technology, economics, or even politics that ultimately shapes society—it's culture. Politics, in his view, follows culture, which itself reflects what we collectively value. Change the values, and you can change the direction of society.

To make his case, he sketches a sweeping cultural history of postwar America. Following the mass trauma of WW2, the 1940s and 1950s, he argues, were defined by the values of humility, self-effacement, and trust—in institutions, community, and church. The 1960s were a reaction: a culture of liberation that rejected conformity in favor of authenticity, experimentation, and social upheaval. The 1970s consolidated these trends into what he calls "chaos," it was characterized by egocentrism, social fragmentation (family breakdown), distrust in institutional authority (think Watergate), personal excess and rising crime rates.

The 1980s brought a neo-conservative “bourgeois backlash”: a return to self-discipline, order, and free-market faith and excess. The decade of "Greed is Good," but also the end of the Cold War. 

The 1990s attempted a synthesis—reconciling the bohemian ethos of the 1960s with the bourgeois values of the 1980s, as the former counterculture youth had grown into the educated professional class. But by the 2000s, Brooks sees a collapse of that synthesis: not just a loss of trust in institutions, but in one another—a fraying of the social fabric and what he characterizes as a loss of moral knowledge and  ethos.

It’s an elegant narrative. But it rests on broad generalizations that raise as many questions as they answer.

Most notably: what actually drives cultural shifts?

Brooks largely sidesteps the role of anomalous major events, technologies, and personalities—factors that seem less like background noise and more like catalysts. It is difficult, for instance, to understand the 1960s without the Vietnam War, or without powerful figures like JFK and Martin Luther King Jr. Likewise, the shocks of 9/11 or the financial crisis loom large over the cultural mood of the 2000s. Today, it is impossible to ignore the impact of the Covid pandemic, social media and the advent of artificial intelligence.

If anything, the forces he identifies as symptomatic of the age, act more like the engines of change. To my mind there is a complex interplay between politics, economics, social phenomena and unforeseaable events that shape our times. Culture does not determine where we are—it expresses it.

There was one part of Brooks’ talk that resonated with me. His discussion of humiliation as a driver of political behavior. Humiliation, as he defines it, is the sense of being denied the dignity or status one believes they deserve. It is a powerful emotional force—one that can easily turn into resentment and hatred.

That dynamic is clearly visible in contemporary American politics. The rise of trump tapped into something real. The anger, the intolerance, the sense of grievance—these are not inventions. They are expressions of lived experience, however distorted and politicized.

Where I part ways with Brooks is in his faith that we will naturally gravitate back toward higher values—that we will tire of division and rediscover meaning, justice, and humanism.

Perhaps. But it is far from clear why or how that turn would occur.

If anything, our culture today seems to reflect something else: disconnection, narcissism, and a certain emptiness. Much of popular music feels repetitive and inward-looking. Increasingly, it is even generated or shaped by AI. The broader cultural landscape often feels less like a shared conversation and more like a fragmented echo chamber.

Brooks believes that most people instinctively understand that a life of meaning is more valuable than one devoted to pleasure. That may be true in the abstract. But it sits uneasily alongside what our culture actually rewards and amplifies.

It is entirely possible that we break the cycle, as he suggests. But it is just as plausible that we continue down a different path—one in which technology, especially AI, further erodes agency, deepens isolation, and amplifies cynicism.

If Brooks is accurate that the cycles we experience tend to swing from a decade of change to a decade of consolidation and back, then the worrisome social and political trend of the last decade may well consolidate in the next one. 

That would take us further from pursuing the humanistic 'higher values' that he predicts than ever, and there is no telling where that takes us.  

American Exceptionalism

CLICK HERE TO HEAR AUTHOR READ

I heard the term my whole life

and wondered, 

what's that all about?

I knew

a few things: Elvis, 

The Supremes, 

Charlie Parker and Monk, 

the Beach Boys and Jimi Hendrix,

the Yankees vs. the Dodgers,

Ali vs. Frazier,

the lights of Times Square 

and the Hollywood sign,

Gilligan's Island and The Beverly Hillbillies, 

Laugh-In and Carol Burnett,

The Love Boat, Charlie's Angels,

and Fantasy Island,

Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry

and Luke Skywalker:

One small step for a man...

JFK, RFK, MLK and Vietnam,

D-Day,

The Bomb,

and the Marshall Plan;

a decision not to humiliate 

the defeated

but instead

to invest in them -

for the first time in history

someone understood,

together 

we live in freedom

or die in chains,

it was called 

American Exceptionalism

and it belonged 

to all of us.

Facing The Reality of Israel's Project

This post was inspired by an important recent discussion on the Ezra Klein show. Highly recommended.

Many of us staunchly supported Israel's right to defend itself after the attack of October 7th 2023. 

It's now clear that the current Israeli government has chosen to leverage its response to October 7th to launch another project: The one state solution.

A decision - intially implicit but now largely explicit - was made to not just destroy Gaza in every functional way to make it unlivable, but also to kill the Oslo Peace process once and for all. This means an effort to render the Palestinian Authority completely ineffectual and to annex the West Bank by building settler communities at a rate that would make any hope of a Palestinian State impossible.

From 2020 to 2023 no new Jewish settlements in the West Bank were approved by the Israeli government. In 2023 nine new settlements were approved. In 2024 it was five. In 2025 the number is fifty-four. 

This has deep roots. Netanyahu has been laser focused throughout his political career on two main goals. The first was to eliminate the terrorism that has plagued Israel. The second was to eliminate the nuclear threat from Iran. 

The terrorism came in two forms: Palestinian terrorism that emanated from the West Bank, and Iran-backed proxy terrorism that came from Hizbollah based in Lebanon and Hamas based in Gaza.

Netanyahu viewed the post-October 7th response as a strategic opportunity to advance his long-term agenda. Trump’s reelection provided the final tool—total military carte blanche with U.S. backing—and that is what we are now witnessing.

He could now, not merely attempt to set back the threat of Iran's proxies (the so-called Axis of Resistance) and their nuclear program, but equally important (and much less discussed) end the two-state solution. 

Which begs the question: Assuming Netanyahu is successful in his military objectives, where does that leave Israel with respect to the Palestinians?  

There seems to be only two possibilities: 

1. The West Bank and Gaza are formally annexed and the Palestinians become full citizens of Israel. Any Palestinians who don't want Israeli citizenship will either leave voluntarily and/or be forcibly expelled. 

It seems pretty clear that the Palestinians won't want this result under any circumstance and won't ever accept it. Israelis won't want it either because it would threaten the Jewish majority.

2. The West Bank and Gaza are controlled but not legally annexed and the Palestinians are subjugated permanently.

In other words, ethnic cleansing or apartheid.

The unworkability of this situation is one thing. The immorality and illegality is another. In either case, it puts Israel in a terrible bind both domestically and internationally. 

Previous Israeli governments made it a policy to remain non-partisan as far as the United States is concerned. Netanyahu tied Israel inextricably to trump, which was a risky move that offered short term benefits but other dangers. 

Those chickens are already coming home to roost. We are seeing Israel's support in the US plummet to historical lows, even among the 'America First' evangelicals.  

So what is the endgame?

At best: Israel secures a period of dominance, under conditions of simmering resistance, growing international isolation, and deepening moral compromise.

Whatever this is—it isn’t a just peace.

The Breathing Pattern of Politics

Politics is often described as a pendulum swinging between left and right, progressivism and conservatism. But that familiar spectrum feels inadequate to explain the moment we’re living in. The deeper oscillation may not be ideological at all. It may be civilizational.

What if politics doesn’t fundamentally swing between left and right—but between 'inclusion' and 'exclusion', between openness and closeness?

This framing shifts the question from “How should society be organized?” to something more primal: "Who belongs and who doesn’t?"

Periods of inclusion are marked by expanding boundaries. Immigration rises, trade flows more freely, cultures intermingle, and institutions assume that difference can be integrated without breaking the whole. These are times of confidence—when societies feel stable enough to absorb complexity.

Periods of exclusion move in the opposite direction. Boundaries harden. Membership narrows. National identity becomes more sharply defined. The priority shifts from expansion to cohesion, from openness to protection. These are times when societies feel under strain and begin to question how much difference they can sustain.

After the devastation of World War II, much of the world moved decisively toward openness—building international institutions, lowering trade barriers, and promoting universal rights. That trajectory accelerated after the Cold War, culminating in a high point of globalization where borders softened and integration deepened.

But openness, when extended far enough, begins to generate its own tensions—economic dislocation, cultural anxiety, and a sense of loss of control. In response, the pendulum swings back. The past few decades have been defined by this reversal: a turn toward rigidity of borders, identity, and sovereignty.

This helps explain why traditional political categories feel scrambled. Figures like trump do not fit neatly into conventional ideological boxes. Their defining characteristic is not a consistent economic philosophy, but a clear orientation toward closure—restricting borders, renegotiating trade, and redefining who is and who should not be included within the national community.

Importantly, neither pole is inherently virtuous. Excessive openness can erode shared identity and create instability. Excessive closure can harden into authoritarianism and conflict. 

The movement between them is not simply a battle of good versus bad ideas—it is a recurring attempt to rebalance competing needs: expansion and cohesion, diversity and unity.

Rather than a straight line, politics may be better understood as a kind of 'breathing pattern'. Societies inhale—expanding, including, absorbing. Then they exhale—consolidating, defining, protecting.

The critical question is not whether the cycle exists, but whether they are short or long, and what drives their turning points. Are these shifts inevitable responses to material pressures like economic disruption and migration? Or are they shaped—and perhaps accelerated—by narratives, leadership, and perception?

If the latter is true, then the pendulum is not just something we experience. It is something that can be pushed and we can influence. 

Donnie Two Weeks

I think I first heard the nickname sometime last summer. “Donnie Two Weeks.”

It came up when trump was threatening tariffs against just about every country on the planet. The pattern was always the same: a deal had to be reached in two weeks. And when the deadline inevitably passed, it was extended—by another two weeks.

And now, here we are again. Another two-week deadline. This time for a ceasefire and a deal with Iran. Make a deal, or face destruction.

A President of the United States has never talked like this. Like a mafia boss. It’s the language of a protection racket. I’m giving you two weeks. Pay up—or else.

There’s a reason Presidents never talked like this. Political messaging is meaningful and layered. Agreements between countries are complicated. They take time, patience, and sustained negotiation. Nothing meaningful in international diplomacy happens in two weeks.

According to Wendy Sherman, the Deputy Secretary of State under Obama who helped negotiate the Iran nuclear deal, it took eighteen months to reach an agreement. 

So when another two-week deadline gets announced, you already know what’s coming. Not a deal. Just another extension.

But the nickname is so apt for another reason. Trump thinks like a mafioso.

Loyalty matters more than competence or rule of law. Relationships are personal not institutional. Power is territorial. And everything eventually comes down to making money.

Look at how he talks about countries. About “running” places.

Think of the Venezuela operation. It’s hard not to see it as one operator muscling out another—Nicolás Maduro replaced, territory absorbed, assets controlled.

Or take his response to a question from reporter Jonathan Karl about the Strait of Hormuz. When he was asked if he would accept Iran charging tolls on global shipping, trump answered that he was considering "a joint venture."

We get our cut. They get theirs. "It’s a beautiful thing,” he said. You can almost hear the mobster-accent.

Vladimir Putin runs a a mafia state—leveraging the power of government to skim his cut off the top of every transaction. Donnie Two Weeks wishes he could do the same. 

So, every time he threatens 'two weeks' think of it that way.

A Whole Civilization Dies

There is a new question circulating in my mind on the day trump announced that he will be ordering his military to kill an ancient civilization, in his words: "A whole civilization will die tonight, never to be brought back again."

Will the members of the military willingly participate in an unambiguous, self-admitted war crime?

And if they do, will there be military tribunals in the United States and/or war crime trials in the Hague to hold the perpetrators accountable?  

And a somewhat related question: What has become of America when the terrorist-supporting, theocratic autocracy of Iran seems like the reasonable party to a conflict? 

Trump has backed himself into a corner. Basically made an exaggerated impossible threat that just shows how panicked he is. 

My guess is that he'll extend the deadline again, saying there are 'very good' fictitious negotiations going on. Or do a little more bombing and say the job is done.     

But let's say I'm wrong - it wouldn't be the first time - and he goes through with a Dresdan-style bombing campaign of Iranian infrastructure.   

The one thing we know about trump is that he is nothing if not narcissistically, dementedly, transparent. He thinks out loud through his social media posts. Almost everything he says publicly is projection. 

When he says the Democrats are trying to steal the election it's because he is.

When he says the Democrats are weaponizing the Department of Justice against him it's because he is weaponizing it against them.

When he calls something 'fake news' it's because he is lying about it.

So there is always truth to what he's saying, it's just the exact opposite.

We may be able to add to the list, "a whole civilization will die tonight" - he's not talking about Iran, he's talking about America.   

April 6, 2026

“…We will explore, we will build... but — ultimately — we will always choose Earth. We will always choose each other.”

- Artemis Astronaut Christina Koch’s words when reconnecting with Earth after 40 minutes without communication on the far side of the moon.


"We have a plan, because of the power of our military, where every bridge in Iran will be decimated by 12 o'clock tomorrow night…Power plants in Iran will be burning, exploding and never to be used again."

- Donald J. Trump at a White House press conference.

Is This Another Suez Moment?

History doesn’t repeat, but it does rhyme.

I keep seeing parallels in recent events with another moment: the Suez Crisis.

A quick refresher.

On July 26, 1956, Egyptian President Gamal Abdel Nasser nationalized the Suez Canal Company, a joint British-French enterprise that had operated the canal since 1869.

Nasser made the move in direct response to the United States and Great Britain withdrawing financial support for the Aswan High Dam. His plan was simple: use canal tolls to fund its construction.

Fearing for their oil supply and strategic position, Britain and France formed a secret alliance with Israel to retake the canal by force.

In October 1956, Israel invaded the Sinai Peninsula, providing a pretext for British and French forces to intervene as “peacekeepers” and occupy the Canal Zone.

Militarily, the operation was largely successful. Politically, it was a disaster.

Egypt blocked the canal by sinking ships. The international community reacted with immediate and severe condemnation. U.S. President Dwight D. Eisenhower, furious at the deception, threatened Britain with economic sanctions and a run on the pound. At the same time, the Soviet Union threatened intervention, raising the specter of a wider war within the broader context of the Cold War.

The United Nations deployed its first-ever peacekeeping force. By March 1957, foreign troops withdrew, and the canal reopened under Egyptian control.

The outcome was decisive. Nasser emerged as a hero of Arab nationalism, and the crisis marked the end of British and French imperial dominance in the Middle East.

Now consider the present.

In this scenario, it’s not Suez but the Strait of Hormuz. Egypt is replaced by Iran. And instead of Britain and France acting alongside Israel, it is the United States. Russia, in turn, plays a role analogous to the Soviet Union. The United Nations, this time, appears diminished—unable to exert meaningful influence.

In 1956, the United States acted as a restraining force on its allies. Today, it is a principal actor. Bahrain, United Arab Emirates, Kuwait, and Qatar are sovereign, wealthy, and deeply integrated into global markets with everything at stake.

Imagine the outcome.

Iran establishes a de facto toll system in the Strait, allowing passage to its own vessels and those willing to pay. After a period of escalation, the United States—seeking to avoid a wider war—unilaterally ends hostilities.

Iran then declares the toll permanent, framing it as both sovereign right and reparations for wartime damage.

What do the Gulf states do?

Publicly, they would reject it outright. Freedom of navigation is not an abstract principle for them; it is the foundation of their economic survival. Accepting such a regime would signal weakness and erode sovereignty.

My guess is they would comply, quietly, to keep oil and gas flowing—especially Qatar, whose exports depend heavily on that passage. The result would be a dual reality: formal opposition paired with practical accommodation.

More significantly, they would begin to rebalance their strategic relationships.

If the United States proves unwilling or unable to guarantee open passage, confidence in its security umbrella weakens. That doesn’t mean abandonment—but it does mean diversification. Ties with China and Russia deepen, not as replacements, but as hedges.

And perhaps most quietly, they would explore accommodation with Iran itself.

If Iran emerges from such a confrontation appearing resilient—or even victorious—the incentive shifts toward de-escalation. Diplomatic channels reopen. A tacit equilibrium forms.

Because for these states, the priority is not ideological victory. It is survival.

This is where the historical rhyme is strongest.

In 1956, Britain and France achieved their military objectives but suffered a lasting political defeat. Nasser, despite battlefield setbacks, emerged stronger.

In this scenario, Iran would not need a decisive military victory to claim success. Endurance alone—combined with the perception of having stood up to the United States—could be enough.

And that perception would reshape the region, and in the process power relationships around the world.

Stephen Lewis (1937-2026)

You can’t script it in a more touching way.

Stephen Lewis was gravely ill in hospice on Sunday when he watched on television his son Avi Lewis win the leadership of the federal New Democratic Party. He passed away two days later at the age of 88.

Lewis served as an elected member of the Ontario legislature and later as leader of the provincial NDP. But most of his public life was spent in other roles: as a special advisor on race relations in Ontario, Canada’s Permanent Representative to the UN, Deputy Director of UNICEF, and United Nations Special Envoy for HIV/AIDS in Africa.

I don’t think I ever voted for a New Democrat. But I always had a great deal of respect for Stephen Lewis—as a bridge builder, a humanitarian, and a statesman. He was respected across party lines, and, in my lifetime, one of the most thoughtful and articulate voices of Canadian values on both the national and international stage.

He was also heir to a Jewish dynasty in Canadian public life—one his son now carries forward. Stephen’s father, David Lewis, was a key figure in the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation, the forerunner to the NDP, and later served as federal NDP leader (1971–75), succeeding the party’s legendary founder Tommy Douglas, to whom we owe medicare.

The roots of the Lewis family’s political activism in Canada lie in the Jewish Labour Bund, the secular trade union and workers’ rights movement of Eastern Europe in the late 19th century.

When I mentioned David Lewis to my wife the other day, she said, “Oh—you mean the street.” Yes, there is a Rue David Lewis in Côte Saint-Luc. I chuckled, wondering how many people who live on that street know anything about the man it was named after. My guess is not many.

And I wonder how many supporters of the NDP across Canada—currently forming governments in British Columbia and Manitoba, and serving as Official Opposition in Alberta, Saskatchewan, Ontario, Nova Scotia, and Yukon—know that the party’s origins lie, in significant part, in the Jewish labour and social justice movement.

Israel - We need to have a word

You know how a true friend is one who is candid? They tell you the truth even when you may not want to hear it.

Israel. I love you. But we have to talk.

It seems you have a new law—a death penalty law. Death by hanging; which feels particularly archaic and barbaric. It brings to mind the gallows of the old west, the Nuremberg trials, even the Book of Esther.

I suppose I should be thankful stoning wasn’t chosen.

Admittedly, Jews have a history with the death penalty.

The Torah prescribes it for 36 offenses, including murder, kidnapping, and severe religious violations like idolatry and breaking the Sabbath.

However, the rabbis of the Talmud sharply restricted its use. The Mishnah teaches that a court that executes once in seventy years is considered “destructive.”

And of course there is the principle associated with Maimonides: better to acquit a thousand guilty people than to put a single innocent one to death.

For this reason, for many centuries, Jews have not been enthusiastic about capital punishment.

Modern Jewish movements—Conservative and Reform—have explicitly opposed it. Orthodox Judaism has never embraced it in practice either.

As for the modern State of Israel, capital punishment has been carried out only once, in the case of Adolf Eichmann.

Until now.

Because this proposed law is not exactly for Israelis. More for Palestinians. Not exactly for crimes inside Israel proper, but in the West Bank.

It targets terrorism: a person who intentionally causes death with the aim of harming a citizen or resident of Israel, and with the intent of rejecting the existence of the state.

The law outlines two tracks: one in Israeli civilian courts, and another in military courts in the West Bank—courts that try Palestinians under military law.

In that system, the sentence could become mandatory: death, and that penalty only.

So not only would a mandatory death sentence be new in Israeli law, it would, in practice, apply almost exclusively to Palestinians.

There is a term for when one law applies to one group and another to a different group: two-tiered justice. A less polite word is discrimination.

History offers examples of such systems. None are remembered kindly. And Israel has long resisted being associated with such comparisons—for good reason.

You might think discrimination only cuts one way. It doesn’t. It's said we've lost the war when we become our enemy's image of us.

I remember learning that, in its time, the Torah was relatively progressive in its treatment of the stranger—precisely because Israel knew what it meant to be one.

“You are to have the same law for the foreigner and the native-born.” (Leviticus 24:22)

On this day, Passover eve, it bears remembering.

The Israelites were subject to a different law than their taskmasters in Egypt.

It did not end well for Egypt.

Beyond Narratives

Human beings are born storytellers. It's in our nature.

We tell stories to make sense of our experience. We tell stories to find reasons. We tell stories to explain. We tell stories to find meaning. We tell stories to connect with each other. We tell stories to amuse and entertain.

The popular writer Noah Yuval Harari describes storytelling as our superpower. It's this ability that fundamentally differentiates homo sapiens from the rest of the animal kingdom. It's allowed us to rise to the top of the survival heap. 

While animals only cooperate with their biological kin or in small packs, our species learned to cooperate with total strangers by telling stories. 

Telling stories has allowed us to collaborate on a mass scale. Pooling our various talents and skills we were able to learn from one another, share with one another, trade with one another and dominate as a species. 

Through stories we created social systems, societies, institutions and civilizations. We created mass market economies, countries, and international organizations.    

I was a storyteller once. Even published short stories and two novels. I wrote book reviews for the newspaper, and gave reviews as public lectures. 

And then it just stopped.

Not only did I lose my desire to write and publish stories. I lost my desire to read them. Up to that point I read about a novel a month. And fiction was all that I read. Then one day - it seemed like it happened overnight - I felt that I never wanted to read another novel again.

I couldn't explain why.   

It happened about ten years ago, so part of me thinks it had to do with donald trump, and his omnipresent brand of post-truth politics. Here for the first time was a politician who somehow defied narrative. 

His political ascendency was both a product of the imagination and made possible by a failure of the imagination. He was a creation of television, more fictional character than real, for years the target of  mockery and scorn, who was somehow becoming a reality to contend with. Many of us could hardly believe it was possible. 

Sometimes that happens. When something so outrageous impinges on normalcy, we fail to acknowledge it, and before we can, it's too late. 

With trump, the reality we were living became stranger than anything fiction could muster. A satire and absurdity worthy of a Simpson's episode. 

No work of fiction could compete with reality anymore. The lie of fiction - noble lies told in the service of art, beauty and truth - became eclipsed by the hollow, ill-intentioned lies and outlandish conspiracies we were hearing every day emanating from the Oval Office.  

What was the point of reading or writing fiction? It had lost the battle. 

I started reading only non-fiction to try to make sense of the world in which we were living. I read books on philosophy, politics, psychology and even physics. As reality became indistinguishable from fiction, I wanted to feel grounded again.

Those books, however, maintain a certain element of narrative, using cause and effect and chronology to analyze and explain the world. 

In recent years, I've gone a step further. 

I've been reading books on Eastern religion and spirituality. You might call these books anti-narratives. They explore the deepest most universal truths of existence by going beyond narrative. They are written with very little narrative structure, usually question and answer format, a guru responding to disciples. 

At root, the message is that narrative obscures truth. The fundamental purpose of narrative, like memory, is the construction of a particular "self", an identity in which one is a protagonist inside one's own story. According to Eastern wisdom this particular self is artificial and therefore false. It must be transcended in order to live fully and truthfully in the present.

Our emotions are not to be denied or avoided, they are not even to be understood or explained, as we do with the narratives we construct. They are simply to be experienced, accepted, and allowed to come and go, without attaching any meaning to them. 

Easier said than done for most of us. In the West we are conditioned to think of ourselves as the central actors in our stories. 

The realization and acknowledgement that each of us has an infinitesimally small part in a grand and complex eternal reality, can itself, be a source of meaning and liberation. And being fully present, in the moment, constitutes the way to live in reality as it truly is.