Two decades ago, Nathan Kamenetsky, a prominent Jerusalem rabbi with impeccable ḥaredi credentials, self-published The Making of a Godol, a two-volume biography of his father, Yaakov Kamenetsky (1891-1985), who had been a leading rabbinic sage (or godol) of non-ḥasidic Orthodoxy in America. The book’s frank portrayal of its subject, and of numerous other revered sages, constitutes a radical departure from the hagiographies that have become mainstays of popular ḥaredi literature—so much so that it was swiftly condemned by prominent rabbis. The younger Kamenetsky quickly ceased publication; Amazon now sells the book for $2,503. Reading the book for a second time Marc B. Shapiro reflects on its virtues and idiosyncrasies:

Anyone lucky enough to have bought a copy of Kamenetsky’s book when it came out, . . . quickly saw what a curious book it was: chatty, psychologically acute, alternately gullible and critical, endlessly digressive, and compulsively readable (though the spelling and transliteration are a bit idiosyncratic). It also had a peculiar literary structure that could have been conceived only by someone who was raised in an intellectual tradition of commentaries and metacommentaries: the biography of the godol in question was just 67 pages long and ended in spring 1908, when “our protagonist,” as Kamenetsky refers to his father, was seventeen. All the rest was commentary, or rather notes and excurses and further notes spawned by these excurses (each distinguished by somewhat bizarre choices of headings and font).

Nathan Kamenetsky had an instinctive historical sensibility: he was interested in the minute particulars and realia of his subjects’ lives, and he had a knack for choosing the revealing anecdote. [Nonetheless], The Making of a Godol was in the tradition of ḥaredi historical works. Yet it was unique in that Kamenetsky did not generally censor either himself or his sources, nor, despite his belief in the intrinsic religious value of the study of great rabbinic scholars, was he interested in writing hagiography. By choosing not to portray the great rabbis as entirely selfless [saints], lacking any self-interest or ego, he bucked the conventions of his society. His g’dolim [great rabbis] are great, but they are not perfect.

Stephen Daisley writes about the slaying of Yaron Lischinsky and Sarah Milgrim:

Yaron and Sarah were murdered in a climate of lies and vilification and hatred. . . . The more institutions participate in this collective madness, the more madness there will be. The more elected officials and NGOs misrepresent the predictable consequences of asymmetric warfare in densely populated territories, where much of the infrastructure of everyday life has a dual civilian/terrorist purpose, the more the citizenries of North America and Europe will come to regard Israelis and Jews as a people who lust unquenchably after blood.

The most intolerant anti-Zionism is becoming a mainstream view, indulged by liberal societies, more concerned with not conflating irrational hatred of Israel with irrational hatred of Jews—as though the distinction between the two is all that well defined anymore.

For years now, and especially after the October 7 massacre, the call has gone up from the pro-Palestinian movement to put Palestine at the heart of Western politics. To pursue the struggle against Zionism in every country, on every platform, and in every setting. To wage worldwide resistance to Israel, not only in Wadi al-Far’a but in Washington, DC. “Globalize the intifada,” they chanted. This is what it looks like.