And Away We Go… To Infinity and Beyond
Bound for Glory — My Pilgrimage to Jerusalem Begins Now!
I’ve been dosing up on family for the past week — copious hours of Jewish goodness that sinks into your soul, that is, if you’re lucky enough to have a family like mine. We ate — and ate — and ate. We didn’t argue the way Woody Allen would have you believe every Jewish family does; but we talked a lot, we remembered, we labored over which Happy Hour to haunt, what dishes to share, what drinks to ingest, and we told stories and laughed and laughed and laughed.
My two sisters are angels on earth. Without them, I don’t know where I’d be. Each of them raised three amazing kids — who now have incredible kids of their own. For our family who were annihilated in the Holocaust, Vivian and Rita’s commitment to life, love, and togetherness is nothing short of a miracle. It’s a living testament to my fabulous parents, who somehow survived that travesty and still built something whole and beautiful from the ashes.
We remembered our parents and our past, and we talked about the future — as fleeting as everything feels right now for Jews living through this moment of unbridled antisemitism. That’s why I’m so grateful to be making this pilgrimage to Jerusalem for the World Zionist Congress. Someone has to try to save the Jews from ourselves — to re-teach what Zionism actually means and to give the next generation a story they can be proud of.
I’m writing this from thirty thousand feet in the air, bound for my ancestral homeland — with a deep sense of moral conviction and the hope of finding the final phase of my journey, still determined to keep my promise: don’t stop till it all matters.
If you’d told me a year ago that I’d be Jerusalem-bound for this great opportunity, I would’ve said you’re nuts. But life — or fate, and the occasional divine social media intervention — has a funny way of connecting the dots. Serendipitously, my friend Richard Greene invited me to lunch. We met through TikTok, of all places. He loves bringing interesting people together — once with Congressman Jamie Raskin, and this other time with Tova Dorfman, who, as it turns out, is the president of the World Zionist Organization. I had no idea that meal would be the one to set me on this very flight.
Meeting her reopened a long-forgotten memory of my father — a true Zionist in the beautiful sense of the word, not the way the keffiyeh low-lives spit it out like a curse. I told her about him — about how, after surviving the gulag, he joined the underground movement that helped bring hundreds of thousands of Jews to Israel between 1945 and 1948.
She listened, then looked at me and said, “Abe, why don’t you run for the next Congress?”
“I’d love to,” I said, “but… but… but…”
“Tonight, at midnight, is the deadline to apply to join our slate — The Jewish Future,” she replied.
Oh my God — literally. Was this kismet? Yes. Was this a miracle? Also yes.
Was this my dad reaching from the heavens to give me a final chance to redeem myself for being such a fuck-up? A loving, hilarious one, granted, but also a truly darling, irresponsible man-child? Definitely.
And in that moment, I could feel my father’s presence washing over me. I knew this was it — my moment to try and step into the shadow of his footsteps and perhaps connect to the greatness of his unsung heroism.
And boy, did I run a social media campaign to get the votes I needed to say, “I am part of The Jewish Future.” Girl, I am the Jewish Future. Am Yisrael Chai indeed. But let me not get ahead of myself.
In the shadow of October 7, and the wildfire of antisemitism multiplying across the social media evil-sphere — and spilling into our streets and universities — I was damned if I wasn’t going to earn my spot.
And a spot I earned. And here I sit — bound for glory.
I mean…what?!? Am I on a freaking pilgrimage to Jerusalem or what?
Hashem! Jesus Christ! Mommy!
I can’t believe I’m here.
We’re living in a weird, dangerous moment. Too many young people — sadly, too many assimilated Jews — have lost the thread of our peoplehood and the grace of humanity. Some have been misled. Some don’t know the history. Others have been sold a story — one that leaves out rescue, resilience, and responsibility.
If we don’t step up and tell the whole truth — with honesty, humor, and humility — who will?
They tell me this 39th World Zionist Congress will be one of the most consequential in history — arriving just as the war ends and the living hostages have finally returned. And yet, the critical work of keeping Israel safe begins anew.
Whatever mistakes have been made must now serve as lessons learned.
We in the Diaspora have a responsibility — and the goal is clear: to learn, to rebuild, to teach, and to keep Israel strong — deliberately, democratically, and together.
Get my book/audiobook—you’d be doing a mitzvah!
“Won’t Be Silent - Don’t Stop ‘til It Matters”