Rosh Hashanah Was Absolutely Lovely
I have a confession.
I have just completed my third consecutive Rosh Hashanah as an illegal settler.
I know.
Absolutely horrifying.
Somewhere in Europe, a junior foreign-policy analyst has dropped his oat-milk cappuccino.
Three years.
Three entire Rosh Hashanahs living as a Jew in the Judean Hills.
And I regret to report that the occupation festivities were magnificent.
We prayed.
We ate.
We heard the shofar.
We ate again.
We wished each other Shana Tova.
We ate again because apparently Jewish sovereignty requires carbohydrates.
Children ran around.
Families walked to synagogue.
People stood outside talking far longer than necessary.
There was Torah.
There was laughter.
There was wine.
There was enough food to make several international humanitarian organizations nervous.
It was beautiful.
Absolutely scandalous.
You would never know from looking around that we were apparently participating in one of the great geopolitical emergencies of the modern age.
Because when you hear the phrase illegal Israeli settler in occupied territory, you naturally picture some terrifying colonial warlord surveying his conquered dominion.
Then you arrive here and discover Moshe carrying two folding chairs to his neighbor because eighteen relatives are coming for lunch.
Imperialism has really lost its edge.
I personally spent part of Rosh Hashanah contemplating whether there was enough food.
Cecil Rhodes would have been embarrassed.
And now I have terrible news for the international community.
Next Rosh Hashanah will be number four.
Then five.
Then six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
I am planning an absolutely reckless campaign of…
continuing to live here.
Someone alert the United Nations.
At this rate, by 2036 I could have celebrated thirteen consecutive Jewish New Years in Judea.
Imagine the devastation.
There could be grandchildren eventually.
More Jews.
In Judea.
Eating brisket.
The Security Council may need to meet in emergency session.
THE JUDEA PROBLEM
I remain fascinated by the phrase “Jews illegally settling Judea.”
Not angry.
Fascinated.
It is linguistic performance art.
Jew.
Judea.
Do these words perhaps know each other?
Could there possibly be some connection?
Should we investigate?
Get the experts.
Fund a study.
Perhaps Harvard can establish a Center for Advanced Research Into Why Judea Sounds Suspiciously Jewish.
Give them $40 million and six years.
I can save everyone some time.
The English word “Jew” derives ultimately from Judah/Judea.
This is not Zionist propaganda.
This is etymology.
We are now arguing over whether the people whose name is connected to Judea have some historical connection to Judea.
Human civilization has reached the point where the dictionary itself is committing microaggressions.
And I adore the word “settler.”
I have decided to embrace it.
Good morning.
I am a settler.
Would you like coffee?
I settled here.
Very aggressively.
I bought groceries.
I paid bills.
I sent children to school.
I attended synagogue.
I took out the garbage.
I have personally participated in the systematic Zionist occupation of my kitchen approximately 4,000 times.
Last week I changed a light bulb.
The annexation continues.
MY THIRD ILLEGAL ROSH HASHANAH
But this Rosh Hashanah hit differently.
Maybe because it was my third here.
There is something almost surreal about standing in Judea on Rosh Hashanah and realizing how many generations of Jews would have given everything to stand where you are standing.
They prayed toward this land.
They wrote poems about it.
They cried for it.
They ended Pesach with Next year in Jerusalem.
They married beneath a chuppah and remembered Jerusalem.
They faced Jerusalem in prayer.
They buried Jews with earth from Israel.
They carried Zion through exile like a stubborn flame that simply refused to go out.
And now I live here.
Apparently illegally.
Sorry, ancestors.
We made it home, but the Europeans have concerns.
Please remain patient while Brussels reviews the paperwork.
Maybe in another 2,000 years they’ll get back to us.
And here’s the part I really want the people obsessed with “settlers” to understand:
I am not embarrassed.
I am not whispering.
I am not packing.
I am not spending Rosh Hashanah wondering whether some foreign government approves of my postal code.
I live in the Judean Hills.
I love living in the Judean Hills.
I intend, God willing, to celebrate Rosh Hashanah number four here.
And number five.
And number six.
Keep counting.
I’ll help.
2026: Three.
Next year: Four.
Then: Five.
Then: Six.
We can make a little chart if the Foreign Office needs one.
Perhaps laminated.
BRITAIN WOULD LIKE A WORD
Britain has apparently rediscovered its enthusiasm for determining where Jews may live.
This is an extraordinary hobby for Britain to choose.
You’d think there might be another historical subject where British territorial administration could maintain a dignified silence.
But no.
The empire has shrunk considerably, yet apparently the map department survived.
British politicians can now lecture Jews living in Judea about international morality.
This is roughly like getting a TED Talk on marital fidelity from Henry VIII.
Thank you enormously for the guidance.
We’ll file it somewhere appropriate.
Britain’s involvement becomes considerably less amusing when you remember the 1939 White Paper, which severely restricted Jewish immigration to Mandatory Palestine while European Jews desperately needed somewhere to escape.
That history matters.
Because Jewish sovereignty was not created in a laboratory.
It emerged from thousands of years of Jewish connection to this land and from the catastrophic consequences of Jewish powerlessness.
So when foreign governments start drawing moral distinctions between Jews who may live here and Jews who may not live there, forgive me if I don’t immediately reach for a pen to take notes.
We’ve seen versions of that movie.
The reviews were terrible.
MEANWHILE, IN IRAN…
Iranian leaders continue periodically explaining that Israel will disappear.
This prediction has now been running longer than some television franchises.
Israel will be destroyed.
Any day now.
Definitely.
Almost there.
Please remain on the line.
Your destruction is important to us.
The Jewish state, meanwhile, stubbornly keeps existing.
This must be maddening.
Imagine dedicating enormous resources to eliminating Israel and then watching Israelis spend Rosh Hashanah debating whether the kugel needs another ten minutes.
Iran builds missiles.
Israel builds missile-defense systems.
Iran funds proxies.
Israel develops technology.
Iran announces the Zionist entity is approaching its end.
The Zionist entity announces that Highway 1 has traffic.
One of these announcements has proven considerably more reliable.
THE REAL PROBLEM WITH ZIONISM
The problem isn’t that Jews exist.
People became reasonably comfortable with Jews existing.
Preferably somewhere else.
Preferably quietly.
Preferably requiring protection.
Preferably appearing in black-and-white photographs.
The world became exceptionally good at mourning powerless Jews.
Powerful Jews are apparently more complicated.
A Jewish victim is uncomplicated.
A Jewish soldier creates opinions.
A synagogue destroyed in 1938 produces solemn speeches.
A synagogue protected by armed Jews in 2026 produces panel discussions.
A Jew fleeing persecution is tragic.
A Jew returning home is controversial.
A dead Jew gets a memorial.
A living Jew gets a UN resolution.
Funny how that works.
Zionism committed the unforgivable offense of changing the Jewish job description.
We are no longer merely objects of history.
We participate in it.
We have borders.
Elections.
Soldiers.
Farmers.
Scientists.
Rabbis.
Secular Israelis.
Religious Israelis.
Left-wing Israelis.
Right-wing Israelis.
Israelis who will argue about absolutely anything because apparently Moses came down from Sinai carrying three tablets and the third said:
YOU ARE REQUIRED TO HAVE AN OPINION.
And we have sovereignty.
That is the part people still haven’t fully processed.
I HAVE EVEN WORSE NEWS
My third Rosh Hashanah here was beautiful.
That isn’t propaganda.
That’s my life.
I walked these hills.
I prayed here.
I heard the shofar here.
I celebrated the Jewish New Year surrounded by Jewish families living Jewish lives in the ancestral landscape of the Jewish people.
There was no feeling of being foreign.
Quite the opposite.
There are moments here when history feels almost physically present.
You look at the hills and realize Jews knew these hills before London existed as London.
Before Christianity.
Before Islam.
Before the European Union.
Before the United Nations.
Before hashtags.
Before somebody invented the phrase “illegal settler” and apparently decided that two words could erase several thousand years of history.
Then you hear children speaking Hebrew.
That gets me every time.
Hebrew.
Here.
Ordinary Hebrew.
Kids arguing.
Parents shouting.
Neighbors talking.
Shopkeepers complaining.
A resurrected national language being used to ask somebody whether they remembered to buy mayonnaise.
That might be the most Zionist thing imaginable.
Not monuments.
Not speeches.
Normality.
Jewish normality in the Jewish homeland.
And that is precisely why I refuse to apologize for it.
SO HERE IS MY OFFICIAL NOTICE
To every government, activist, organization, commentator and professional outrage merchant deeply concerned that Jews are living in Judea:
Please update your calendars.
I have completed Rosh Hashanah Number Three as your terrifying illegal settler.
God willing:
Number Four is coming.
Then Five.
Then Six.
Then Seven.
Then Eight.
I hope to become absolutely exhausting.
I hope eventually somebody in London has an Excel spreadsheet with my Rosh Hashanahs on it.
SETTLER YONAH: STILL THERE.
2026: Still Jewish.
2027: Still Jewish.
2028: Alarmingly Jewish.
2029: Jewishness showing no signs of decline.
2030: Has apparently purchased more chairs.
2031: Celebrated Rosh Hashanah again despite international concern.
2032: Sources confirm brisket.
2033: Situation deteriorating. Grandchildren possible.
Because I’m not waiting for permission to belong to my own history.
My children aren’t temporary visitors to Jewish history.
Israel isn’t a temporary experiment.
Jerusalem isn’t a temporary capital.
And Jews living in Judea aren’t some bizarre historical accident that will disappear once enough foreign ministries issue sternly formatted PDFs.
We came back.
That’s the part everyone keeps trying to intellectualize because the alternative is admitting something extraordinary happened here.
A scattered ancient people came home.
Rebuilt sovereignty.
Revived Hebrew.
Defended itself.
And started living again in places carrying the same names they carried when our ancestors walked them thousands of years ago.
Call me a settler.
Please.
Put illegal in front of it if that makes the bureaucracy feel important.
I will somehow survive the emotional devastation.
Because when the shofar sounds here again next Rosh Hashanah, I will not be thinking about Britain’s sanctions policy.
I will be thinking about the Jews who dreamed of hearing that sound here and never got the chance.
And I will understand how ridiculously privileged I am to be the Jew who did.
Third Rosh Hashanah in Judea:
Complete.
Fourth:
Coming.
Fifth:
God willing.
Sixth:
Put it in your diary.
And after that?
Keep counting.
We have waited 2,000 years.
I am in absolutely no damn hurry to leave.
Fabulous! Shana Tova!
You are not living in an illegal state y