As a graduate student at the University of Michigan in the 1960s, Robert Rockaway was surprised to find how many of his Jewish colleagues and professors were reticent about—or even ashamed of—the fact that they were Jews. His efforts, along with a handful of other students, to start a Jewish-studies program brought these feelings to the fore:

[O]ver three months, we met with Jewish professors in the history, political-science, philosophy, and Near Eastern-studies departments. The result was that only one professor . . . openly supported our efforts. [Likewise], when we first approached the Detroit Jewish Federation for money to fund a Jewish-studies program at Michigan, we got the same answer the professors gave: “It’s not a credible academic field.” . . .

As I reflect on those years, I now appreciate [the reasons behind] all the hesitation to express one’s Jewish identity openly: the concern about anti-Semitism. In the city of Detroit in the 1960s, the Detroit Athletic Club barred Jews from membership. Private golf courses restricted their membership to non-Jews. Certain neighborhoods, such as the affluent suburb of Grosse Pointe, maintained “gentlemen’s agreements” of not selling homes to Jews. And the Detroit Edison company and other firms did not hire Jews. . . .

But the memories of hard-core anti-Semitism, however scary, did not adequately account for the hesitancy to express any Jewish identity on the part of my Jewish peers and faculty members at the university. Abandoning or hiding from your heritage in order to be accepted has never worked. It did not work in Europe and it does not work in America. . . .

Once upon a time, persecution was the glue that held non-religious Jews together, but it no longer appears to play a significant role in Jewish survival in America. However, surveys and journalistic pieces in the general and Jewish press point to a resurgence of overt anti-Jewish sentiment in the United States, perhaps especially on college campuses and among academics. I can only wonder what impact this new turn of the wheel will have on the future of Jewish-American identity and attitudes, and on American Jewish life.

On Tuesday, a Hizballah drone attack injured three people in northern Israel. The next day, another attack, targeting an IDF base, injured eighteen people, six of them seriously, in Arab al-Amshe, also in the north. This second attack involved the simultaneous use of drones carrying explosives and guided antitank missiles. In both cases, the defensive systems that performed so successfully last weekend failed to stop the drones and missiles. Ron Ben-Yishai has a straightforward explanation as to why: the Lebanon-backed terrorist group is getting better at evading Israel defenses. He explains the three basis systems used to pilot these unmanned aircraft, and their practical effects:

These systems allow drones to act similarly to fighter jets, using “dead zones”—areas not visible to radar or other optical detection—to approach targets. They fly low initially, then ascend just before crashing and detonating on the target. The terrain of southern Lebanon is particularly conducive to such attacks.

But this requires skills that the terror group has honed over months of fighting against Israel. The latest attacks involved a large drone capable of carrying over 50 kg (110 lbs.) of explosives. The terrorists have likely analyzed Israel’s alert and interception systems, recognizing that shooting down their drones requires early detection to allow sufficient time for launching interceptors.

The IDF tries to detect any incoming drones on its radar, as it had done prior to the war. Despite Hizballah’s learning curve, the IDF’s technological edge offers an advantage. However, the military must recognize that any measure it takes is quickly observed and analyzed, and even the most effective defenses can be incomplete. The terrain near the Lebanon-Israel border continues to pose a challenge, necessitating technological solutions and significant financial investment.