In a thoughtful and candid piece titled “Is Christian Zionism an Existential Threat Destroying Jews and the Nation of Israel?”, Adam Eliyahu Berkowitz shares a deeply personal story of encountering a growing Christian movement that is drawing closer to Judaism—adopting Jewish practices, language, symbols, and theology—sometimes with sincerity, and sometimes with real misunderstanding. He raises heartfelt concerns about appropriation, blurred boundaries, misplaced claims of Israelite identity, and the fear that these trends could ultimately threaten the integrity of Jewish peoplehood, Jewish law, and even the future sanctity of the Temple.

I want to say this at the outset: those concerns are not imaginary. They come from a place of deep love for Am Yisrael, for Torah, and for the covenant that has carried us across millennia. I recognize many of the phenomena he describes. I have encountered them myself.

But my response is not to the facts themselves.

My response is to the posture from which they are being interpreted—and to what that posture reveals about where we believe we are standing in Jewish history.

When something feels threatening to identity, the instinct is to raise defenses. Throughout Jewish history, that instinct was often necessary. Under exile, persecution, and powerlessness, vigilance was survival. But fear—even understandable fear—is never neutral. It shapes perception. And if left unchecked, it can quietly grant power to things that do not actually possess it.

Let me say this gently and clearly: the Jewish people are not fragile.

We have survived Pharaoh. We have survived Nebuchadnezzar. We have survived Rome, Byzantium, the Church, the Crusades, the Inquisition, the pogroms, and the Nazis.

Against that backdrop, it is difficult to argue that Christians wearing tzitzit, using Hebrew names, or misunderstanding korban Pesach constitute an existential threat to the Jewish people.

That word—existential—belongs to empires, not to theological confusion. And even empires have failed to extinguish Israel. The prophets are explicit:

“Thus says Hashem… if the laws of the sun, moon, and stars should ever depart from before Me—only then would the seed of Israel cease from being a nation before Me forever” (Jeremiah 31:35–36).

Israel’s existence is not provisional, conditional, or dependent on others getting theology right. It is woven into the fabric of creation itself.

A Prophetic Process, Not a Finished Product

The prophets describe a time when the nations begin to shed falsehood and reorient toward the God of Israel: “The nations shall come to You from the ends of the earth and say: ‘Surely our fathers inherited lies, vanity, and things of no profit.’” (Jeremiah 16:19)

Turning toward Hebrew Scripture, biblical feasts, Israel, the Land, and the God of Avraham is often the first stage of rejecting inherited theological falsehoods.

But—and this is critical—rejection of falsehood does not automatically equal clarity of truth. The prophets never claim it would. This is a journey. A process. A gradual reorientation. And processes are messy.

If we are honest, we should acknowledge something else as well: we are in process too. As the Jewish people return to the Land of Israel, we ourselves are rediscovering, learning, and living Torat Eretz Yisrael. We are awakening to dimensions of Torah that could only emerge through sovereignty, land, language, and responsibility in the land of our forefathers. We are not simply teachers standing at the finish line—we are participants in redemption unfolding in real time.

That reality should cultivate patience, humility, and generosity.

The appropriate Jewish response to this moment is not condemnation or criticism, but guidance. Not fear, but confidence. Not gatekeeping, but light.

Fear Is a Diaspora Reflex

Much of the anxiety surrounding these developments reflects a posture deeply ingrained in Jewish memory—a diaspora reflex.

For centuries, Jews survived by guarding boundaries: shrinking when necessary, policing access, managing threats, and protecting identity in hostile environments. That posture was not weakness. It was wisdom under exile.

But we are no longer there.

We are home.

We live in the God-promised land of Israel.

We speak Hebrew in the streets.

We govern ourselves.

We defend ourselves.

We build, plant, teach, and broadcast Torah openly from Jerusalem.

A sovereign people does not respond to misunderstanding with panic.

A sovereign people teaches.

We Are Not the Gatekeepers of Other People’s Speech

It is not our role to censor, police, or control what others say, write, believe, pronounce, transliterate, or misunderstand.

We can explain how certain language lands on us.

We can teach what we do and why.

We can model reverence, depth, and restraint.

But it is not our task to demand that others filter their speech to protect our emotional comfort.

If a Christian writes the Divine Name in transliteration or uses language that Jews would avoid, this does not harm us. It reveals where they are on their journey.

And that is okay.

Not every disagreement deserves emotional investment. Not every misunderstanding deserves alarm. Once others gain access to our emotions, we have already surrendered ground in a conflict that, in truth, may not even exist.

Being Offended Is Not a Jewish Obligation

Judaism does not require us to be horrified by theological error.

Christians misunderstanding korbanot, the Temple, the priesthood, or Torah is not shocking—it is expected.

They are not Jews.

They are not bound by halacha.

They are not participants in the covenantal system that governs Jewish life.

To be offended by this is to assume a burden that is not ours to carry.

Truth does not need outrage in order to endure.

Falsehood Is Not Dangerous to Truth

If some Christians insist that they are the “true Israel,” this does not endanger the Jewish people.

It endangers them.

As King David so beautifully put it:

“For His kindness has overwhelmed us, and the truth of Hashem endures forever. Hallelujah.” Psalms 117:2

Falsehood has no stamina. It cannot sustain itself across generations. It collapses under its own weight.

Empires fall.

Ideas unravel.

Truth remains.

Jewish identity does not need fearful gatekeeping to survive. It has already outlived every challenger.

Our Mission Has Changed—and It’s Time We Realize It

We are not here to gather allies. We are not here to win arguments. We are not here to convert, correct, or control anyone.

We are here to bless.

We are here to teach Torah with confidence.

We are here to be a light—not wounded survivors flinching at shadows.

We are here to broadcast the word of God from Jerusalem, not whisper it behind defensive walls.

Let the nations come. Let them learn. Let them misunderstand. Let them wrestle.

Our task is to stand firmly, joyfully, and unapologetically in who we are—and to leave the rest in Hashem’s hands.

The cards will fall where they may.

And history has already shown who remains standing when the dust settles: those whose hearts are aligned with truth, whose intentions are sincere, and who seek God with humility—Jew and non-Jew alike.

Truth endures forever. Falsehood fades.
And the light that comes from Jerusalem was never meant to be feared—only shared.