Ben Cohen, co-founder of Ben & Jerry’s, says he is launching a “Palestine-themed” flavor after Unilever refused to approve it. The flavor is watermelon, the colors of the Palestinian flag. He claims it will “repair the damage that was done there.” Think about that. A man who built a fortune selling ice cream now believes he can redeem the world with dessert. That is what passes for moral seriousness in 2025.
This is not conscience. It is vanity dressed up as virtue. Cohen is not chasing peace. He is chasing applause. He isn’t comforting victims. He is comforting those who cheer their murderers. To take the side of people who glorify the killing of Jews is not moral courage; it is moral collapse. His watermelon sorbet is not a gesture of peace. It is a sugary sermon from a man too fond of his own virtue to look evil in the face.
Ben & Jerry’s has been preaching from its pint lids for decades. Somewhere along the way, moral clarity turned into moral theater. When the company stopped selling ice cream in “occupied territories,” it congratulated itself for standing for justice. What it really did was single out Jews while keeping silent about China’s concentration camps, Iran’s hangings, and Russia’s bombings of civilians. The outrage is always selective. The silence always convenient.
Cohen insists he stands for peace. But peace with whom? With the men who burn families alive? With the killers who hide behind hospitals? With the organization that turns schools into weapons depots? Or with the only democracy in the region that still values life over death? Real peace begins with moral honesty, and Cohen has none. He has traded substance for slogans and courage for clout.
The Jewish people survived empires and exile because they never confused compassion with foolishness. Jewish morality is built on truth, courage, gratitude, and the defense of life. Cohen’s brand of “solidarity” with those who praise death is not empathy. It is surrender. It is what happens when comfort dulls conviction and guilt masquerades as goodness.
The irony is almost painful. Every privilege Cohen enjoys—his wealth, his fame, his safety—comes from the civilization he now condemns. Capitalism, democracy, and moral order made him possible. He now uses that freedom to champion movements that would destroy it. That is not bravery. That is betrayal. A man who owes everything to the values of the West has chosen to sneer at them while making “activist ice cream” for social media.
To be a Jew is to live with responsibility, not fashion. Judaism demands compassion, but never for evil. It calls for justice, but never at the expense of truth. When a Jew joins those who demonize Israel, he is not standing for peace. He is walking away from his people and from the moral foundation of his own faith.
History will not remember the flavor of Ben Cohen’s watermelon sorbet. But it will remember what it revealed: a generation that mistook guilt for goodness and applause for righteousness. They inherited courage and turned it into performance. Cohen will not be remembered as a man of conscience. He will be remembered as a man who melted, a man who traded truth for trends and loyalty for likes.
Sadly, the phenomenon of the self hating “kapo Jew” is not uncommon throughout Jewish history. Whether through profound ignorance or some deep seated psychological need (ie Stockholm Syndrome) such individuals turn their backs on their own people, land, culture and history. What they never understand until it is too late is that there is no great success in being on the last train to Auschwitz.
Unilever should sue him for what he is doing to the brand. I stopped buying it when I found out the whole leadership of B&J are supporters of Palestinian terrorists. I'll never buy that poisoned brand again.