The View from Kemp Mill: A Conversation with Dr. Tevi Troy

There are plenty of ways to describe a Jewish community: its schools, its shuls, its housing prices, its kosher restaurants. In the middle of our conversation, Dr. Tevi Troy offered another.

“People read books here.”

It was a small observation, but it opened a much larger discussion about what Kemp Mill values—and what makes people choose to build their lives here.

A presidential historian, former senior White House aide, and former deputy secretary of Health and Human Services, Troy has spent years studying Washington and working inside it. He is now a senior fellow at the Ronald Reagan Institute and a senior scholar at Yeshiva University’s Straus Center.

For our third annual conversation ahead of the High Holidays, we began not in the Oval Office, but in the Gemara—with a question that would carry us through much of the discussion: What keeps a Jewish community together?

From there, we moved closer to home: Kemp Mill’s changing character, its rabbis, its political differences, and, yes, its restaurant hours. We also discussed a book taking shape from his Talmud podcast contributions and his concerns about threats directed at Jews and public officials.

Troy was speaking from Tacoma, Washington. At one point, he paused to admire the water: “I wish I could show you the view I have.”

The view back home proved worth discussing, too.

This conversation has been edited and reorganized for clarity and flow.

Ancient questions, familiar concerns

What does the Gemara tell us about keeping a Jewish community together?

The Jews were trying to navigate a world in which they no longer had their own country, and foreign rulers made a real difference to their lives.

That is part of how I see the Gemara. It is not just about Jewish law. It is also about how we are going to live in this new environment. Some Jews were in Babylonia; others were elsewhere. They had to deal with the Romans and the legacy of the Greeks. They were trying to cope with the chaos of the pre-modern world.

These were practical questions. You are living under somebody else’s rule, and what that ruler decides can affect your community. So you have to understand the world around you. But you are also trying to maintain a Jewish life within it. How do you do both? That is part of what these discussions are working through.

There is also the question that runs through the experience of exile: How do you hold things together? How do you maintain a Jewish community through all of that? The fact that we are still here is part of what makes the question so interesting.

What makes a community work?

What has stood out to you about Kemp Mill’s growth?

The shifting demographics of the Montgomery County Jewish community. When I moved to Kemp Mill in 2002, it was not clear to me that it would become the area’s central Orthodox community. There were White Oak, Woodside, and Potomac, among other options.

At the time, Kemp Mill struck me as a more Modern Orthodox community. Now it has become a place for a much broader range of Orthodox Jews, from modern to yeshivish. That emergence is interesting to me.

I remember when a number of the Torah School rebbeim lived in White Oak. Over time, people moved to Baltimore or Kemp Mill. White Oak became a smaller community than it had been, while Kemp Mill grew substantially.

So it is not just a question of the community getting bigger. It is also a question of who can see themselves living here. That has broadened quite a bit.

What made that growth possible?

A number of new shuls opened during the time I have been here, and they met different needs. That is an important part of the story, because an established Orthodox community does not necessarily have everything every Orthodox family is looking for.

Chabad of Silver Spring is a good example. Some people initially wondered why Chabad was coming into an already-established Orthodox community. But they have done an amazing job and clearly filled a need. There were people looking for something different, and Chabad gave them that option.

Ohr HaTorah met another need. You had yeshivish families who wanted a fuller family davening experience than they could necessarily have at the Yeshiva, where the focus is naturally more on the bachurim. A family looking for a shul has somewhat different needs, and having a place that recognizes those needs matters.

You could look at Kemp Mill and say, “It is Orthodox. It has plenty of Orthodox shuls.” But having several shuls is one thing. Having a shul where a particular family feels comfortable is another. Even within an Orthodox community, people are looking for different things.

Those additional institutions helped more families see Kemp Mill as a place they could make their home. So the growth of communal resources mattered. It helped broaden the community without requiring everyone to fit into the same mold.

What draws families to Kemp Mill?

We have friends who moved here from Boca Raton about five years ago. They had done research into which Modern Orthodox community would be the right fit for them. It was a combination of things, rather than any one thing that settled it.

Where could their children get a strong secular education alongside a Jewish education? Where would the culture not be completely materialistic? Where would there be enough kosher options?

Nobody is going to say that we lead in the number of kosher restaurants. We do not. But there is a difference between having every possible option and having enough of what you need. We did not always have kosher sushi. Now we have sushi!

Then there are the other things: relatively more affordable houses, and a feeling that not everyone is competing to own the newest car.

People read books here.

That tells you something about the atmosphere. When you are choosing a community, you are thinking about schools and shuls, of course. But you are also thinking about what your children will see around them and what people value. What will seem important to them as they grow up here?

Those things mattered to this family. The community had to meet a certain threshold: a choice of shuls, school options, enough kosher resources. You cannot simply substitute a nice atmosphere for the things a family needs.

But once those needs were met, the other qualities became important, too. The question was no longer just whether the community had enough. It was whether this was the kind of place where they wanted to raise their children.

So it’s not all about the restaurant count?

Exactly. There is a lot to offer beyond the number of kosher restaurants. It is a nice community, and I have heard people at yeshivos and seminaries talk about how nice the Maryland kids are. That says something about the place, too.

What gives the community that character?

A couple of things. There are a lot of government employees here, so it is not necessarily a money culture. There is more of a government and public-service culture. I think that helps shape the atmosphere—what people value, what they are interested in, and what they talk about.

The Washington area also has a substantial intellectual life, with think tanks and universities. And there is intellectual diversity within the community. You have liberals and conservatives—some of them professionally liberal or conservative. Politics is not just something they follow; it is what they do for a living.

But there is a recognition that somebody else can have a different political perspective. You are not necessarily going to agree, and nobody is asking you to. You can disagree with someone and still be part of the same community.

Growing up in my circles in New York, a Republican Jew was unusual enough that people would remark on it. My son’s experience in Miami is almost the reverse: he found a much more conservative environment.

Here, you have a mix. The person sitting next to you in shul may see politics very differently from you. But you are still neighbors, and there is more to that relationship than where each of you stands politically.

So, is this a less competitive community?

Competitive on other fronts.

I am not sure “less competitive” is the right description. But the competition does not seem to be primarily about who has the newest car.

What role do the rabbis play?

We have some really special rabbeim.

Look at Rabbi Wolvovsky and the program at Chabad that brings in rabbis from across the community to speak. He told me he had discussed the idea with people in other communities, and they could not put the same thing together. Some thought it would not work where they lived. Others looked into it but could not make it happen.

It is interesting that Kemp Mill is a place where it does work.

Rabbi Weinberg at KMS is another very special person. And my impression of the Vaad is that it recognizes different stripes of Orthodoxy and accepts that they can be part of the same community.

Do people feel comfortable disagreeing politically?

In my experience, yes. I do not feel the kind of ideological shunning over American partisan politics that I have heard about elsewhere.

I had a non-Jewish friend in Kensington who was conservative. He told me that he and his wife felt socially excluded because of their politics, including among other parents. They eventually moved to North Carolina. That was his account of his experience. It is not what I feel here.

Part of the explanation, I think, is that we are used to overlapping communities. In the broader Jewish world, Democratic affiliation is familiar. In Orthodox circles, conservative and Republican perspectives are familiar.

Here, you encounter both. A different political affiliation does not automatically make someone an outsider.

And when it comes to politics in shul?

One good feature of the community is that there tends not to be partisan politics from the bimah. At KMS, that is a very strict rule, as I understand it.

A lot of people here are professionally political. They do not necessarily want to hear politics in shul, whether it comes from the right or the left.

You have debated this with Rabbi David Saperstein. Where did you differ?

David is a friend, and we did a series of debates at shuls around the country. We have different perspectives.

I argued for keeping politics out of shul. His position, as he explained it to me, was that political engagement could be part of what brings people into the pews. He was not shy about that. We disagreed about the role it should play.

I grew up in a Conservative shul, and the joke was that rabbis took their sermon cues from The New York Times editorial page. I am not sure that approach would work in this community, and I think that is a good thing.

The people can be political without the shul itself being partisan.

Could the community expand a little farther out?

I think we should look a little farther north, toward Randolph Road. There is housing stock there that may be less expensive than houses within a very short walk of the existing shuls.

Perhaps there could be a neighborhood Friday-night minyan, with people making the longer walk to the established shuls on Shabbos morning. It is worth thinking about how that might work.

Should we do more to introduce families to Kemp Mill?

We have a lot to offer. There is a lot to tell people about. So yes, I think a more deliberate effort to market the community could be worthwhile.

From the daf to the next book

Let’s return to Take One. How did you go from listening to the podcast to becoming a recurring contributor?

I started listening to Liel Leibovitz’s podcast, which brings in different writers and thinkers to discuss the Gemara. I thought it would be nice to participate.

I was learning at a slightly different pace, so I could look ahead for something that might work. I pitched him an idea, and he liked it. I came on, and then it developed into a recurring thing.

We made a bit of a shtick out of it. Liel is very good with nicknames, and that became part of the fun.

When did you realize there might be a book in it?

I have been doing these for about five years, and I am very glad, in retrospect, that I saved the scripts. I did not just speak off the top of my head.

At one point, I put all the material together and realized I had something like 15,000 or 20,000 words. That was enough to make me think seriously about a book.

I spent the summer working on the draft, and I am planning to submit it to the publisher soon.

Do you have a title yet?

Not yet. I considered using the podcast nickname, but I am not sure it is widely recognized enough to carry a book title on its own. I will find one.

You mentioned “underpromise and overdeliver.” Is that your approach, too?

Definitely. Some people have a brasher approach. That has never been my way.

Disagreement, pressure, and the public square

What concerns you about the discussion around Israel—and what are your hopes for 5787?

I am concerned about efforts by opponents of Israel to make it unpopular. In my view, those efforts have had an effect on the left, and I see hostility toward Israel on parts of the right as well.

My hope for 5787 is that the Jewish community can begin to turn that around. I do not think we should assume that public attitudes are fixed.

Why are you optimistic about changing that?

Joshua Muravchik wrote a book called Making David into Goliath: How the World Turned Against Israel. You should talk to him.

What struck me in reading it was his account of how much sustained effort, over many years, went into changing the way people viewed Israel. I came away thinking that this shift did not simply happen on its own.

You could read that and say, “Woe is me.” But I am an optimist. My reaction was: If people were able to put thought, energy, and resources into changing perceptions in one direction, then we have people who can put thought, energy, and resources into changing them in another.

That takes ideas and effort, and it takes money. But it is not just about money. It is about being thoughtful and deliberate about the case you are making.

How much of the criticism is really about Netanyahu?

Jared Moskowitz raised that question in an interview with Jewish Insider. He talked about colleagues who had explained their opposition to aid in terms of Benjamin Netanyahu, and his question was: What happens when Netanyahu is no longer there? Do those positions change?

That is a distinction worth examining. Is the disagreement really with a particular Israeli leader, or does it go beyond that leader?

There was another part of the interview that concerned me even more. Moskowitz talked about threats and harassment directed at members of Congress, and about how frightened some of their spouses are. He argued that concern about their families is becoming part of the political calculation.

That seems like a very different kind of political pressure.

It is. That was the part of his account that I found chilling.

It is not only the member of Congress who has to deal with it. Their spouse is dealing with it. Their children may be dealing with it. Once that happens, you are talking about something very different from an argument over policy.

The concern is that someone might begin thinking, “If I change my position, maybe the pressure moves on to somebody else.” That is very different from somebody persuading you that your position is wrong.

So the question becomes whether people are free to act on what they actually believe.

Exactly. The protection matters.

There are outspoken supporters of Israel, including Ritchie Torres and John Fetterman, who are not Jewish. But my concern also extends to people who are less publicly identified with the issue and may still be facing threats against themselves or their families.

I think that deserves more attention. A person should be able to make a decision based on what he or she actually believes, not based on fear about what might happen at home.

You also connected this to what the Jewish community itself spends on security.

The community is spending an enormous amount just to protect itself. A recent Jewish Federations of North America study estimated that American Jewish institutions spent more than $1 billion on security in 2025.

Obviously, we have to protect our own synagogues, schools, and institutions. But alongside that, I think we should also be paying attention to the safety of legislators who are facing threats and to the safety of their families.

If intimidation is affecting people’s ability to participate freely in public life, that is something the broader society has an interest in addressing.

You mentioned Tal Fortgang’s phrase “civil terrorism.” What does he mean by that?

Tal has written about a kind of intimidation that is different from what people traditionally think of when they hear the word terrorism. He uses the phrase “civil terrorism” to describe unlawful conduct intended to coerce or intimidate people for political purposes.

The distinction I would make is between expressing a view and physically targeting another person.

You are allowed to say that you hate Israel. You are allowed to protest. But following somebody wearing a yarmulke and ringing a loud bell right next to his ear so that it causes injury is not simply making a political argument.

That is the sort of conduct I am talking about. There need to be consequences for unlawful intimidation. People should not have to accept physical harm or targeted harassment as the price of being visibly Jewish or expressing their views.

And for elected officials, the principle is pretty simple.

Yes. They should be able to vote according to what they actually believe, not because they think changing a position might protect their family from threats.

That is really the issue. Political disagreement is part of democracy. Intimidating somebody—or frightening his family— so that he changes his position is something else entirely.

We’ll have to do this again when the book comes out. This is already our third High Holiday conversation.

I would love to do a fuller interview when the book comes out.

I love our conversations. I love the publication, and I look forward to these conversations going on for many years to come.