As an Israel educator, I spend most of my professional hours teaching people about Zionism, the issues affecting Israel today, and Torat Eretz Yisrael. A communal discussion has begun about teaching Israel. This discussion doesn’t center around the Israel of headlines or hashtags, but the Israel that lives in our souls – the land of our ancestors’ dreams, scarred yet resilient, a place where history breathes in every stone and struggle.
The Jewish community is wrestling with a question that cuts to the core of who we are as a people: how do we tell Israel’s story in a world that’s louder, faster, and more divided than ever? For centuries, those who lived through history’s trials have been our truest storytellers – a survivor of the Kishinev pogrom, a farmer in the Jezreel Valley, a soldier on the Golan Heights.
These voices carry the weight of experience. They don’t just recount events; they paint them with the colors of memory. It is with sweat, fear, hope, the smell of scorched earth or blooming almond trees, raw and unfiltered, that make the past immediate, human, undeniable.
For a people like ours, whose history is a tapestry of exile and return, these voices are sacred. They remind us that Zionism isn’t an abstract ideal but a lived reality, forged in sacrifice and stubborn faith. As an educator of Israel’s story, I’ve spent years teaching – not to persuade, but to illuminate. My classroom is a place for Zionism’s complexity, for the Torah of this land, for the debates that shape its present.
I lay out facts like stones in a path, inviting students to walk it themselves, to question, argue, and seek truth. My role isn’t to dictate what they think but to teach them how to think, critically, deeply, with love for a land that demands both scrutiny and devotion. This is the educator’s covenant: to empower, not to preach.
Then there’s the influencer, an invention of our digital age. On Instagram, TikTok, and X, they weave narratives that reach millions. Their goals? To build a following, to spark joy or outrage, to shape perceptions.
Some strive for authenticity, forging real connections with their audience. Others chase brand deals, turning influence into profit. In the Jewish world, influencers have become a force, amplifying Israel’s story to a global stage. A single post can counter a lie, rally support, or remind a Jew in the Diaspora that they’re not alone.
But the question lingers: Is influence enough when the stakes are survival? Adam Scott Bellos, in his blistering op-ed, says no. His words are a shofar blast, waking us from complacency: “We do not need more influencers. We need more builders. We need Hebrew-speaking teachers, not Instagram celebrities. We need self-defense instructors for our children, not brunches in Malibu.
“We need serious investment in culture, education, and strength – the kind of investments that ensure continuity, not the ones that inflate egos. The influencers may think they are shaping the narrative. They are not. They are distractions. They are false gods; hollow idols before which the organized Jewish world has bent the knee. But just as we smashed idols before, so too must we smash these, because our people’s survival has never depended on performance. It has depended on purpose.”
Bellos’s critique stings because it forces us to confront our priorities. In a world where antisemitism surges and Israel fights on multiple fronts, are we investing in what endures or in fleeting spectacle?
Fighting on the information front
Adela Cojab pushed back, arguing that influencers are not just relevant but essential. “This war is being fought on multiple fronts,” she writes, “of course, with weapons in the air and on the ground, but also with words, images, and narratives online.
“October 7 took place in Israel, but its effects were felt worldwide. In this environment, Jewish influencers serve two crucial roles: defending our existence to the world and uplifting our own people so Jews everywhere know they are not alone. These roles are not optional or frivolous. They are necessary.”
Her point lands with force: In a digital age, where narratives shape reality, influencers are warriors in a battle for hearts and minds.
Hallel Abromowitz-Silverman, an Israeli who knows the terror of rocket sirens, offers a different plea, one rooted in the land itself. “Those of us who have spent the past two years under near-constant rocket fire from Hamas, Hezbollah, the Houthis, and the IRGC are the ones qualified to represent our country,” she writes.
“Those of us who live here face the consequences, and carry the scars, physical, emotional, and social, that must remain central to the conversation. Because, while influence can reach wide audiences, lived experience shapes truth.
“Elevate the voices who have been on the frontlines for years. Listen to survivors. Prioritize Israeli educators, activists, and soldiers. Support those living the reality rather than those who observe it from afar.”
Her words are a quiet thunder, reminding us that Israel’s story belongs first to those who bear its wounds.
THIS DEBATE isn’t just about influencers versus educators; it’s about the soul of our community. A recent poll by M², The Institute for Experiential Jewish Education, lays bare a troubling truth: only a quarter of Jewish community workers in the US feel hopeful about our future. Antisemitism and Israel’s wars aren’t the main drivers of this despair. It’s “internal communal division,” a fracture that echoes through our history.
What’s the path forward? Influencers have power; let’s not dismiss it. A viral video can debunk a blood libel, spark solidarity, or remind a young Jew on a hostile campus that they’re part of a larger story. Yet influence without depth is a house built on sand.
We need voices rooted in the land, in its language, in its pain and promise. We need educators who don’t just tell Israel’s story but teach others to wrestle with it, to love it with open eyes, to defend it with clarity and conviction.
Imagine a Jewish world where influencers and educators aren’t at odds but are in harmony. Picture influencers amplifying the voices of those on the ground, soldiers who’ve faced rockets, teachers who’ve shaped minds, survivors who’ve carried the weight of October 7. Imagine educators equipping influencers with the tools to move beyond soundbites, to speak with the gravitas of history.
This isn’t a zero-sum game. We can harness the reach of social media while investing in the builders, those who teach Hebrew, train our youth in self-defense, and strengthen our communities with knowledge and pride.
Here’s our charge: redirect our resources to what lasts. Fund educators who spark critical thinking, who teach our children not just to love Israel but to understand it. Support Israelis who live the reality – soldiers, activists, survivors – not just those who post from afar.
Build institutions that prepare our youth to stand tall, to speak our truth, to defend our future. And yes, let’s use influencers, but let’s demand they elevate substance over style, truth over trends.
Our survival doesn’t rest on likes or followers. It rests on purpose; the same purpose that brought us back to Zion, that sustained us through centuries of exile, that drives us still. Let’s reclaim it, together, for Israel, for our people, for the generations yet to come.
The writer is a Zionist educator at institutions around the world. His book, Zionism Today, was published recently.