Leadership and Jewish Peoplehood: A Conversation with Marc Baker and Lishi Baker
Claire E. Sufrin
Marc Baker is President and CEO of Combined Jewish Philanthropies of Greater Boston (CJP).
Elisha (Lishi) Baker is a rising junior at Columbia University and an alum of the Hartman Institute’s Hevruta Gap-Year Program. He is co-chair of Columbia Aryeh, a student-led Israel advocacy and engagement group.
Claire E. Sufrin is Senior Editor at the Shalom Hartman Institute of North America.
Moments of crisis demand strong leadership. Sometimes that leadership is already in place and ready to respond; at other times, a crisis is what prompts new leaders to emerge. This past May, I invited Marc Baker, President and CEO of Combined Jewish Philanthropies of Greater Boston (CJP) and his son, Lishi Baker, to speak with me about Zionism, Jewish peoplehood, and the challenges of this moment for the American Jewish community, both on and off college campuses. Lishi was one of the most vocal Jewish students opposed to the anti-Israel encampments on the Columbia campus this spring and a co-author of “In Our Name: A Message from Jewish Students at Columbia University,” a letter that garnered more than 500 student signatures and went viral. (By mid-June, there were more than 800 signatories.) I wanted to understand what stepping into a public leadership role has meant both for Lishi and for Marc. Our conversation has been condensed and edited for clarity.
Lishi Baker (center left) leading a pro-Israel protest at Columbia University. Courtesy of Lishi Baker
Claire: I’ve reached out to the two of you for two reasons: first, I want to talk with each of you about Jewish communal leadership at this moment. Second, you are parent and child. This last academic year was unusually challenging for Jewish students on many college campuses and for the adults back home who love them. We can’t generalize from your experience—each and every combination of campus, student, and family is different. But I hope our readers will be able to take what you’ve each learned this year and use it as a lens for understanding other situations.
Lishi, can you start us off by telling us about your relationship with Judaism and the State of Israel?
Lishi: I have an extensive lived experience of Israel and of Judaism that has been developing throughout my life: educationally at Jewish schools since kindergarten, experientially while living in Israel, and informally at home with my parents and family. Judaism to me is a combination of religious practice, peoplehood, and shared values. Israel is our spiritual and geographic epicenter. I have a deep understanding of what the Jewish people means to me and what the Jewish story is, and how that story connects to the State of Israel and to the land of Israel.
Marc: You have been in settings that encourage you to work through ideas and wrestle with your own points of view. Over the past many years as you’ve deepened your knowledge, I've watched you try out different perspectives. You’ve pushed yourself and been pushed by your parents, teachers, and peers, and you’ve certainly taken on the role of challenging others and challenging conventional wisdom.
Claire: Marc, has there ever been a time when Lishi’s opinions have been challenging to you?
Marc: Lishi was raised in pluralistic schools and environments. Over the years, he has developed and tried out some positions, thoughts, and ideas that I, at times, have felt were less nuanced and less complex than they could be. He’s tried out provocative language, which I often react to because I’m sensitive to extreme ideological positions, and I always want him to communicate in ways that will make others open to him. Recently, we’ve been talking about what mental models, language, and ideological frameworks cross the line and might be dangerous or detrimental to the larger discourse about Israel.
What’s been really powerful this year is that, when it comes to the campus discourse, Lishi is in the debate, in the fight, on the front lines. I’m one step removed, observing, and sometimes challenging him to reflect on whether the way he wants to engage will be helpful or harmful. That is part of our dynamic.
Lishi: Some of what we've been playing with when we go back and forth, at least recently, is the question of when is the right time to choose complexity and nuance and to give others the benefit of the doubt, and when is the right time to draw lines with a strong sense of moral clarity. Lately, when it comes to Jewish students on Columbia’s campus who are supporting the anti-Israel encampments and who I feel are abandoning the Jewish people and the Jewish story, I am running out of patience. By claiming to speak in the name of Judaism, they are delegitimizing the claims of other Jewish students about the antisemitism at the protests, and I think that’s intentional. Calling out antisemitism should not be so complicated.
In most cases, even when I have used overly provocative language, I recognize complexity and embrace multiple perspectives. This is especially true when it comes to understanding different historical narratives. But embracing complexity cannot replace moral strength and clarity. Finding a balance between expressing moral clarity and searching for nuance requires reflection and hard conversations. In moments that call for it, I will state my values loudly and clearly. I believe that doing so makes me more intellectually honest when I engage with others. I never thought about this interplay between clarity and nuance until this year.
Marc: I come at this tension between nuance and moral clarity from my own perspective and experience. I have spent most of my career leading pluralistic Jewish communities, which means I'm always thinking about serving the broadest possible range of the Jewish community. More than ever this year, I'm also deeply informed by my experience as a parent. I’m watching what Lishi is going through and learning both from his experience, and from our dialogue (and sometimes debate) about what he’s experiencing.
So much of my experience as a leader and educator has been devoted to pushing those who seem overly confident about what is right or true to be more nuanced and to embrace more complexity. But I have found myself using the term “moral clarity” more since October 7 than at any other point in my entire career. I, too, am wrestling with when to promote more diversity of opinions and complexity, and when it is a time for boundary setting, clarity, and leading with our own truths.
Lishi: I have aimed to build and support the biggest tent possible. There are many views I consider tolerable, even if I disagree with them. Right now, people—even within the Jewish community—are pushing on or crossing my broadest boundaries. The question for me has become: what do I do about it? Do I tell that person to their face what I think about their beliefs? How do I name it in a way that could be constructive?
I've been trying out different ways of responding to Jewish students who are participating in the encampments and claiming the protests can’t be antisemitic because they are a part of them. There’s something that feels right about telling someone point blank: “You've crossed the line here, and your tokenization of your own identity is harming the other Jewish students on campus, the majority of whom are feeling hurt, harassed and ostracized.” I believe they need to hear it. At the same time, I don't want to push that person entirely out of the Jewish community because if I, someone with a lot of tolerance for different views, push them out, they're just going to run even further away and potentially cause even more harm to the Jewish people.
Marc: I appreciate that you've tried to hold onto our shared commitment to the dignity of every human being and, even as you’ve considered how best to confront behavior that we agree is out of bounds, you have resisted the temptation to shame people. I'm very proud of you for that. From my perspective, shaming is neither respectful nor ultimately productive. I know we might not agree on this.
Lishi: In most cases I agree, especially since cancel culture is built upon an obsession with shaming. But there must be a way to publicly call somebody out for words or actions, to hold somebody accountable, that could actually be productive sometimes. I worry that we are too polite.
Marc: I think what we’re talking about, and struggling with, is the mitzvah of tokhecha, rebuke. The Torah (Lev. 19:17) tells us: “Do not hate your brother in your heart; you shall rebuke your fellow person.” There are many interpretations of this, but as I understand it, the Torah’s ideal is that, when we are in a community of shared values and commitments with people, we have an obligation to call out behavior that violates those values because we are collectively responsible for one another. Because it starts from a place of relationship and mutual responsibility, I prefer to translate it as “loving rebuke.”
I do not think we as a community have a well-developed toolbox for tokhecha. What would it take for us to share values and feel bound to one another, even across our differences, to the point where we are welcomed and encouraged to offer rebuke? What would it look like to do it effectively, constructively, and respectfully? For starters, in each case, when you want to rebuke someone, you have to ask: what will it achieve? Might I actually move that person, or will it just feel good to me?
Claire: When pro-Palestinian encampments were in place this spring on the campuses I know best, and especially as counter-protests began, it seemed like there was a mostly silent majority of Jewish students who felt themselves pulled in both directions. They care deeply about the rights of Palestinians, and they believe in the existence of a Jewish State of Israel, and as a result, they felt they could not join either side of the protest. Given your sense of moral clarity, how are you engaging with that kind of student on campus?
Lishi: First of all, students who care about Palestinians and believe in Israel’s right to exist should have no dilemma about which side to join; our side supports peace and coexistence, while the other side openly supports violence and war. Those who claim to support Israel and Palestinians but are being “pulled in both directions” have either checked their moral compasses at the door or are woefully uneducated. What I would say to that kind of student is that to have a good faith engagement with the State of Israel, you must believe that Jews and Israelis are human, and that Israel has a right to exist. Then we can talk about what Israel should look like. Part of what it means to be a Zionist is to aspire for Israel to be what we imagine it could be.
Having moral clarity doesn't mean everything is black and white. Moral clarity is a foundation that allows people to have hard conversations because they’ve agreed on a certain set of moral values before they started. I think a lot of students are struggling to participate in these conversations because they are confused about or have not yet clarified their foundational values. They’re just a pendulum swinging from one side to the other.
Marc: What do you think of the claim that, because the stakes are so high for what’s playing out on campus right now, and because the pressure to choose one side or the other is so strong, we are not doing a good enough job of creating meaningful spaces for people who hold an aspirational Zionism, people who want to start by affirming Israel’s existence and then wrestle with questions about the war and about the dignity of Palestinians?
Lishi: When my friends and I write op-eds about what it means to be a Zionist on campus, we always include something along the lines of, if you were to get coffee with three of us, you'd find three different opinions about Israeli politics, and three different views of what the long-term solution to the conflict could be. When the people participating in these conversations want Israel to exist and have the best interests of Israel and the region in mind, having these conversations is an inherently Zionist activity. We are the space for aspirational Zionists.
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Marc: So why do you think some people are really struggling right now to feel at home in your Zionist camp?
Lishi: I think they don't understand that Zionism is just the belief in the right of the Jewish people to a state in their historic homeland. People are equating Zionism with the Israeli government. They think anti-Zionism is equivalent to criticizing the Israeli government. As a result, they wrongly think that if they are critical of the Israeli government and its politics, they must be anti-Zionists, and they join that camp. But anti-Zionism denies the right of the Jewish people to a state in their historic homeland. You can’t criticize the policies of a state that you also don’t believe has a right to exist. That is bad faith demonization. On the other hand, criticism done with the baseline assumption of Israel’s right to exist as a Jewish State belongs in the Zionist tent.
Marc: Lishi, I hear you saying that the reason those people are feeling kind of homeless is because their misunderstanding of Zionism leaves no room for the kinds of criticism they want to express.
I would add that I think the “pro-Israel” Jewish world has moved far away from the time when it tried to shut down all criticism of Israel. You can see Israel education getting more sophisticated and nuanced. And last year, mainstream American Jewish leaders were marching with Israelis in the democracy protests! Unfortunately, I think there is still a perception (or accusation) that public, passionate expressions of solidarity with Israel coming from more mainstream Jewish organizations equals an unwillingness to critique or have hard conversations.
I also think that right now, we have some fundamental disagreements about priorities. Should American Jews be focused on our own, internal Jewish moral critique, or should we be focused on defending ourselves and Israel against the outpouring of hatred toward Israel and Jews? Clearly, the answer is always both; this is a false dichotomy and should not be an either/or choice. However, especially when it comes to our public discourse, it appears that some in our community are saying that yes, antisemitism is a problem, but the bigger issue is that we are not focusing enough on Palestinian suffering and the failings of the Israeli government. Others, like us, are saying that there’s a deeply flawed Israeli government and deep divisions within Israeli society, and the human tragedy in Gaza is awful; but first and foremost our extended Jewish family is suffering, Israel is fighting for its existence, and there are serious threats to Jewish life in America, including and perhaps especially on campus. Perhaps we are divided by a question of first principles and what we’re most focused on, especially in a time of crisis.
Lishi: I want to double down on that. We cannot forget that Israel is at war right now. It’s not just about what’s happening on campus. The people who are overemphasizing criticism of the government seem not to realize that they’re doing this in a moment of deep Israeli trauma and during a fight for Israel’s continued existence. There are moments for nuance and complexity, moments for reckoning with Israel’s imperfections. Most of the time is that time. But in the middle of a war, when there are people on Columbia's campus screaming “we don’t want Zionists here,” “go back to Poland,” and “death to the Zionist state,” I don’t think the response should be “you're right, Israel’s government is bad.” The response should be, “No, we’re here to stay.”
Marc: I’ve been thinking a lot about the fact that we American Jews have a certain privilege in being here, the privilege of not experiencing the acute trauma of October 7 and this war, not having siblings, children, parents fighting in Gaza, and not fighting for your own lives against well-armed neighbors who want to kill us. To me, this explains the gap between the American Jewish left and the Israeli left for much of the past 8 months.
My sense is that your stance and mine have been informed by the fact that we have been centering the experiences of many Israelis. I have heard you say on many occasions, “my friends are in the army right now, my friends are in Gaza right now, my friends.” You have an acute sense that you are not on the front lines, but your friends are, and that makes you more humble about judging Israel as an American Jew.
Lishi: Whenever my Israeli friends text me, asking how it's going or telling me that I'm doing good work, my response to them is always, “I’m really just doing it to make you proud.” I am focused on centering Israeli experiences and doing my Israeli friends justice.
Claire: Marc, are there limits to how central the Israeli experience should be for American Jewish values and priorities?
Marc: Ultimately, I try to center Jewish peoplehood, which includes Israelis, Americans, and Jews around the world. To me, feeling a deep sense of connection to and responsibility for individual Jews wherever they are, and to the Jewish people as a whole, is a huge part of what it means to be a Jewish leader.
It’s because of peoplehood that I believe Israel is a non-negotiable commitment of American Jewish life. Right now, as an American Jew who cares deeply about the Jewish people, I believe that it is my responsibility to center the experience of the half of the Jewish people living through historic trauma and a war. With that as a north star, I try also to acknowledge the suffering of innocent Palestinians— war is just awful. I strive to engage with diverse viewpoints, to love every person, and to hold our diverse community together. I’m sure that plenty of people could tell you when and how I fail, but I try!
Claire: I think it’s fair to say that this past academic year was not what any of us expected it to be. As Lishi finishes his second year of college, I’m curious how each of you is thinking about his experience on campus.
Lishi: I applied to college with History and Middle East studies as my top two academic interests, and as a History major with a specialization in the Middle East, I am following through on my initial plans. I applied to Columbia specifically because of its core curriculum. I wanted to read great works of literature, philosophy, and the arts and then use them for engaging with contemporary issues.
I knew when I applied that Columbia’s Middle East department is widely considered to be the academic and intellectual epicenter for the development of Palestinian identity and, with it, anti-Zionism. I arrived expecting to be challenged and hoping that by taking classes with people who have dramatically different understandings of the Middle East, I would be able to expand my knowledge and expand my vocabulary. This year, I have felt particularly glad that this is my field of study. When I walk out of class, everyone around me is talking about the things that I am studying. The books I read and discussions I participate in make me so much better at engaging with everyone around me. And I have a much deeper understanding of anti-Zionism—which combines antisemitism, anti-nationalism, decolonization theory, Marxism, and more—that allows me to better combat it.
College has become a high-stakes environment where I can use the narratives, facts, and ideas that I'm learning in my courses to engage with people who either don’t know very much about the Middle East or who do know a lot but disagree with me politically. I am glad that I am here to grow as an individual and a leader, even as our Jewish community is facing such ostracism and antisemitism. There’s no other college I would rather be attending.
Marc: Different kids go to college for different reasons. We want Lishi to get a great liberal arts education. We want him to have access to extraordinary professors and content knowledge. We want him to develop his critical thinking, to question and strengthen his own views, to broaden his thinking and his world, and to do so in conversation with equally passionate and curious peers. Even with everything that’s happened over the last year, I think Lishi is still getting a lot of that. What is sad to me is that I think he might be getting it in spite of the culture of higher education right now and not because of it. I’m frustrated that Lishi’s pursuit of the ideals of liberal education seems to be countercultural. I think that we are in need of a reckoning in higher education, including its core purpose and core values.
I'll say one other thing. I don’t think any of us thought Lishi was going to college to become an activist. But Lishi, I'm not sorry that you’ve faced this situation, because you’ve grown into a warrior for the Jewish people, for the values of higher education, and for American democracy, ideals that we didn't even realize we had to fight for. You’ve developed resilience, tenacity, and grit that I think we agree are super important right now. Many of us have not been focused enough on these qualities over the past few generations.
Claire: We are talking at a moment when everyone should have a chance to take a breath and reflect. Lishi, today is literally your last day on campus before you leave for the summer. I’m curious what you expect to be the biggest challenge facing your campus Jewish community when you return in September?
Lishi: We have had very little time to reflect on the last seven months on campus—my friends and I have been at work, all day, every day.
I hope that, over the summer, people will have time to reflect and think about what we need going forward.
The larger Jewish community on campus needs to build a better shared vocabulary for understanding and talking about antisemitism, Israel, Jewish peoplehood, and the Jewish story. I hope that we will expand our library of books at Columbia Hillel on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and on Jewish history. I also think we need to work on building a broader, unified community that’s more than just activists.
By the fall, I expect that if and when we’re put back in a position to defend the Jews and Zionists on campus and the existence of the State of Israel, we will be better prepared with both more knowledge and more personal investment and connection.
Marc: I hope your answer is right, because it assumes that we will have a reset in the fall. I fear that we won't and that Jewish students on college campuses could end up in a prolonged battle. If that’s what happens, what you described earlier, not having a break for a day, could define your entire college experience.
Lishi: We showed up this year for three main reasons: we care about and love Israel; we are deeply connected to our Judaism and to the Jewish people; and if we stopped showing up, the bully would win. If we’re forced again into a position where we need to defend our dignity and the Jewish State on campus this fall, we’ll do it. We will not stop showing up for our people.
Marc: I find that answer just extraordinary. Ima and I have watched you over the past seven months with some combination of admiration and disbelief. I probably shouldn’t miss the opportunity to say, if it's not already obvious, that we are incredibly proud of you.
Lishi: Love you too, Abba.
