Commentary: Post-Oct. 7, I’m finally questioning the narrative about Jewish inheritance
Recently, while cleaning out my basement, I came across a picture of myself from 1983. The photo was taken at my Reform Movement Jewish summer camp, located on several acres of bucolic rolling hills along a clear lake in southeastern Wisconsin. That summer was easily one of the best and most formative of my childhood. I was 15.
But seeing the photograph again was unexpectedly jarring. The picture was our official group portrait: roughly 50 young teenagers of varying heights, some piled around a wooden tower, a sort of mini-Midwestern ziggurat. In the center of the tower hung an Israeli flag, taller than any of us. The flag is the only one in the picture and such a
