Over the past year, Israel Bonds have quietly become a new pressure point in the broader campaign to push public institutions to distance themselves from Israel.
For decades, Israel Bonds functioned as a largely nonpartisan financial instrument — purchased by states, municipalities, and pension funds as part of diversified portfolios. Recently, however, they have been reframed by activists as a political target. What was once treated as a routine investment has increasingly been portrayed as a moral litmus test, even when the underlying financial exposure was relatively modest.
Michigan is the latest place where this tension surfaced.
In November, the State of Michigan allowed its Israel Bond to mature and chose not to reinvest. Publicly, the decision was described only in general terms as fiduciary rather than political. No detailed explanation followed. At the same time, divestment groups quickly and publicly celebrated the outcome as a victory, incorporating Michigan into a growing national narrative of institutional retreat from Israel.
That gap — between official restraint and activist certainty — is where optics take over.
Before responding publicly, we made an effort to understand what actually happened. We spoke directly with the Israel Bonds office. We reviewed public records. We obtained FOIA documentation confirming that the bond matured on November 1 and was not renewed, despite active outreach from Israel Bonds offering competitive institutional rates. The factual question was no longer ambiguous. What remained unclear was how the Jewish community should respond, if at all.
At Jewish Frontline, we made a deliberate decision not to launch a public campaign immediately. Instead, we drafted a narrowly scoped, nonpartisan open letter calling for transparency, dialogue, and reconsideration. The letter did not allege motive. It did not accuse the State of political bias. It did not demand a specific outcome. It simply asserted that a decades-long financial relationship with real communal impact deserved clarity and consultation — particularly at a moment of unprecedented antisemitism.
The strategy was intentional: test leadership consensus before claiming leadership voice.
If a meaningful cross-section of Michigan’s Jewish Rabbis and institutional leaders were willing to sign, the letter would move forward publicly. If not, it wouldn’t.
Invitations to sign were sent directly to approximately fifty Michigan Rabbis and Jewish communal leaders and circulated more broadly through professional networks. After a full week, seven leaders signed.
That response forced a difficult but necessary conclusion. There was not sufficient participation to responsibly present the letter as a communal statement, and the planned campaign was paused.
Michigan is not occurring in a vacuum, though the national picture is more complicated than a simple pattern of retreat. In New York City, for example, Israel Bonds were allowed to lapse under prior leadership, but Comptroller Mark Levine has since publicly advocated for resuming purchases. What should have been a routine portfolio decision has instead become politically fraught, illustrating how Israel Bonds — once treated as unremarkable financial instruments — are increasingly pulled into symbolic and ideological battles unrelated to their underlying merits.
Other states show a different variation of the same dynamic. In North Carolina, activists claimed a divestment victory after Israeli bonds were sold, while the State Treasurer insisted the move was part of routine portfolio management. The details differ, but the pattern is familiar: a quiet investment decision, loud activist celebration, and limited public clarification, allowing a narrative to harden in the absence of communal response.
This is not an accusation of bad faith. Many Jewish leaders are thoughtful, dedicated, and deeply invested in their communities. But the Michigan episode revealed something structural: a leadership culture that treats even modest public affirmation as a liability. Silence, in that environment, often feels safer than presence.
The problem is that silence is rarely interpreted as neutrality. In public life, silence is read — fairly or not — as acquiescence. When Jewish leadership does not speak, others speak for us. Narratives form without us, and decisions that carry communal meaning are absorbed without explanation.
Jewish Frontline ultimately chose not to proceed with a public campaign that could not honestly claim broad leadership backing. That choice reflected responsibility, not retreat. At the same time, the outcome deserves reflection.
What does leadership look like when the risk is reputational rather than physical? How often does caution become habit? And at what point does restraint quietly turn into self-erasure?
It is also important to pause and publicly acknowledge those who did step forward. Seven Rabbis and communal leaders chose to add their names to the letter, knowing that leadership does not always come with certainty, consensus, or comfort.
The Michigan Jewish community sincerely thanks the following leaders for their willingness to stand publicly, thoughtfully, and in good faith during a moment of heightened strain and uncertainty:
Rabbi Nadav Caine
Beth Israel Congregation, Ann Arbor
Rabbi Shalom Kantor
Congregation B’nai Moshe, West Bloomfield
Rabbi Asher Lopatin
Kehillat Etz Chayim, Oak Park
Rabbi Dorit Edut
Detroit Interfaith Outreach Network, Huntington Woods
Rabbi Michele Faudem
Beit Faudem, West Bloomfield
Rabbi Betzalel Alpert
Partners Detroit, Southfield
Eugene Greenstein
Past President, Zionist Organization of America – Michigan Region, Southfield
Their leadership reflects a quiet but meaningful commitment to communal responsibility at a time when Jewish communities across the country are navigating unprecedented pressure. This moment deserves recognition — not as a contrast to others, but as a reminder of what principled leadership can look like when clarity matters.
Jewish Frontline will continue to operate deliberately, document carefully, and speak responsibly. But this episode made one thing clear: silence is not an absence of action. It is a choice. And in moments like this, it is a choice that shapes the narrative whether we intend it to or not.
Shlomi Bennett is the founder of Jewish Frontline, a Michigan-based grassroots initiative strengthening Jewish visibility, literacy, and pride through community engagement, education, and public activism.