Published: 22 November 2022
Last updated: 5 March 2024
Wearing his kippah while protesting the occupation is a religious and political statement for SAM STEIN, especially in the face of the new coalition.
A month ago, I made the impulsive decision to wear a kippah to the weekly protest in Sheikh Jarrah, held every Friday against the ongoing forced home demolitions occurring in the Palestinian neighbourhood.
Wearing a kippah - or any Jewish symbol - is a sensitive issue for Jewish activists engaging in Palestinian solidarity work. We understand that these symbols are triggering for Palestinians who’s only exposure to them is settler violence. Many activists who typically wear a kippah will opt for something more innocuous such as a baseball hat. My decision to don my kippah was even more surprising because I hadn’t habitually worn it - around Palestinians or anyone else - for more than two years.
Growing up in an Orthodox community, it was obvious that every boy and man would wear a kippah. I dutifully followed this expectation, and even continued to proudly do so at all times long after I stopped being halachically observant or identifying as Orthodox.
Many people seemed to find it akin to a bastardisation of Judaism that I would wear a kippah while partying, breaking shabbat, or eating non-kosher.
The way I saw it, I wanted to wear my Judaism on my sleeve no matter where I was or what I was doing. But after I moved to Tel Aviv three years ago, the assumptions about my religious and political beliefs, and the beratement became too much. I stopped wearing my kippah.
In late 2020, I moved from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. As an activist looking to become more engaged in anti-occupation work, the purpose of the move was to be closer to the West Bank and to become part of the vibrant activist community living in Jerusalem.
This community quickly became my primary social circle, and - against every stereotype - my closest friends were religious anti-occupation activists; both more religious and more dedicated to equal rights in Israel-Palestine than anyone I’d ever met. I began joining them for shabbat meals, and I felt comfort in the complete freedom to wear or not wear a kippah as I saw fit. If I didn’t, it was fine because my friends knew I wasn’t observant.
If I did, it was fine because they understood my relationship with the symbol, and they - all wearing religious garb themselves - were fully aware of, and shared, my politics.
"[I received] hundreds of furious comments calling me a fake Jew and claiming I was being paid to confuse people."
This renewed comfort regarding my kippah clearly spilled over into other aspects of my life, because I found myself not only willing to wear it to Sheikh Jarrah, but strongly wanting to. I once again wanted to wear my Jewishness on my sleeve. I specifically wanted to do so in the face of the far-Right settlers who are always present at these protests, waving flags of right-wing political parties and shouting racist slogans.
To navigate the sensitivity around Palestinians and religious Jewish clothing, I kept my kippah in my pocket until I was holding something that made it abundantly clear which side of the protest I was on.
"Nothing I’m doing is a contradiction. I’m bringing my full self to these protests, and my full self includes a kippah."
On one occasion, that was a large Palestinian flag. I began waving the flag and put my kippah on my head. As soon as fabric touched scalp, the settlers began yelling at me to remove my kippah. The protest eventually ended, and I walked home with my kippah still on my head. The yells of the settlers were nowhere on my mind. My only thought was that it felt right to bring my Jewishness - to bring my full self - to that space.
A few days later, a friend sent me a link to a Tik Tok video. The video, filmed by one of the Sheikh Jarrah settlers, showed me waving the Palestinian flag and zoomed in on my kippah. It was about six seconds. It garnered close to 500,000 views and hundreds of furious comments calling me a fake Jew and claiming I was being paid to confuse people. It made my day.
It also guaranteed I was going to continue attending the protests, kippah and all. I saw it as an opportunity to show everyone - not just my niche community - that wearing a kippah does not equal support for the occupation or Jewish supremacy.
I returned to Sheikh Jarrah wearing a Palestinian flag scarf and my small, knitted kippah. Once again, the settlers - celebrating the results of the Israeli election by brandishing “Likud” flags and hoisting up a massive cardboard cutout of Itamar Ben-Gvir - immediately began harassing me.
One of them (not wearing a kippah himself) repeatedly yelled at me with his face about six inches from mine, calling me a “destroyer of Israel.” To me, this was the sign of a rousing success. The settlers hate me because I’m reclaiming something they’ve worked for decades to appropriate: Judaism.
I don’t know if being seen in a kippah by a small number of settlers and protesters every Friday will be enough to undo the associations Jews and Palestinians alike have with kippot, but I know I’m going to keep doing it, and I can only hope it has an impact on those around me.
I also know that nothing I’m doing is a contradiction. I’m bringing my full self to these protests, and my full self includes a kippah.
Photo: Sam Stein (left) is confronted by a protestor angry at his wearing a kippah at an anti-occupation protest (supplied)
