Dear Editor,
A Letter Too Far
“We, the undersigned members of the Greater Cincinnati Board of Rabbis, are alarmed by the unjust detention of Imam Ayman Soliman.”
That’s how the letter began. Published in July 2025 and signed by 31 local rabbis, the statement described Soliman — the former Muslim chaplain at Cincinnati Children’s Hospital — as a “model member of and leader in Cincinnati’s faith community.” The rabbis invoked familiar Jewish values: welcome the stranger, free the captive, stand with the marginalized.
The letter’s release triggered a wave of outrage across Cincinnati’s Jewish community. In WhatsApp groups and online chats, the tone was the same: disbelief, anger and a growing sense of alienation.
“I’m calling my board members,” one person wrote. “I’m going to request a meeting with AJC and the Federation about this. If I used my employer’s name to make a political statement, I’d be fired. These rabbis don’t own the temples.”
The anger was compounded by the same rabbis who issued no statement after October 7th. “They said nothing when over a thousand Jews were murdered in Israel,” one congregant said. “But now they’re quoting Torah for a man reportedly flagged on the FBI’s terror watchlist?”
But one community member may have asked the most important question of all: “Does anyone on this supposed Board of Rabbis even know this guy?”
Who Is Imam Soliman?
The public narrative around Soliman was well-crafted: a soft-spoken hospital chaplain, portrayed as a man of peace and interfaith bridge-building. But that image eclipsed deeper scrutiny.
Soliman arrived in the U.S. in 2014. According to his attorneys, he worked as a freelance journalist aligned with the Muslim Brotherhood during Egypt’s Arab Spring, was jailed and tortured for his reporting and was granted asylum in 2018. He later served as a chaplain at Cincinnati Children’s Hospital and sat on the board of the Clifton Mosque, occasionally filling in as imam.
In 2021, he was offered a chaplaincy job in Oregon. That offer was rescinded after a background check flagged him. Soliman suspected he was on the FBI’s Terrorist Screening Database. By December 2024, federal officials moved to revoke his asylum, citing past involvement with a group U.S. authorities link to the Muslim Brotherhood.
Tensions on Campus
By November 2024, tensions were already boiling at the University of Cincinnati (UC). Egyptian dissident Dalia Ziada had been invited to speak at a UC Hillel event. Protesters — allegedly affiliated with SJP (Students for Justice in Palestine) and Brotherhood-aligned networks — threatened her. Campus police escorted her off-site. Jewish students were locked inside Hillel for safety.
Jake Powers, a UC graduate and founder of Bearcats for Israel, was there. He had once tried to build bridges with SJP. “Before October 7, I met with them for coffee,” he said. “So when they showed up to disrupt Dalia’s talk and I asked if we could talk — these were people I’d just had coffee with — they said no. It was clear they weren’t interested in dialogue anymore.”
Powers described one masked man — known as Mohammed — who entered Hillel under a false name. “He told students his name was Binyamin,” Powers said. “We ended up kicking him out. He was recording us the whole time.”
The Dalia incident was followed by a wave of pro-Palestinian speakers across Ohio universities, several with known or alleged ties to the Muslim Brotherhood. At Wright State University, one speaker described martyrdom as “the cornerstone of Palestinian resistance,” while pamphlets distributed at the event declared: “Palestine is Arab from the river to the sea,” and “With our souls, with our blood, we will sacrifice for Palestine.”
Many in the Jewish community called law enforcement and were told the same thing: the FBI was investigating. Two weeks later, the Biden administration began proceedings to revoke Soliman’s asylum status.
Soliman’s Role with SJP
In March 2024, Soliman stood at a Cincinnati City Council meeting alongside SJP activists, calling himself “a representative of the Cincinnati Religious Muslim Community.” He accused Israel of killing babies in incubators and warned council members: “We will not see your names on the next ballots” if they didn’t pass a ceasefire resolution.
The next month, he headlined an SJP fundraiser. Flyers from both his mosque and SJP promoting a “Week of Rage” used the same Arabic slogan: “For Gaza We Rise” — a phrase long associated with violent intifada.
I obtained a copy of a national “Intifada Toolkit” distributed by SJP in late 2023, which UC SJP received almost a year ahead of their “Day of Rage.” It outlined plans for a coordinated, diaspora-led uprising across U.S. campuses. The materials dehumanized Israeli civilians, glorified martyrdom and called for “resistance by any means necessary” — including armed struggle.
The impact in Cincinnati was immediate. The Jewish Federation issued a safety alert. Parents pulled children from Jewish schools. Armed volunteers stood guard outside synagogues and daycares.
“Whenever SJP held protests on campus, I’d try to show up—not to confront anyone, just to hear what they were chanting,” Powers said. “I even tried to get a group together to listen. I didn’t think anything would happen.” But something did. “I put an Israeli flag outside my house,” he said. “They egged it. They pooped on my floor. The university did nothing. The police did nothing. No one did anything.”
If that weren’t enough to connect Soliman to radical, antisemitic movements in the city, UC’s SJP said so directly in a statement describing Soliman’s impact:
“His presence on campus has been indispensable; offering religious guidance, leading us in prayer, resolving conflict and mediating communication and being a steadfast supporter of all students — especially those from marginalized communities. His role has not been limited to religious duties; he has been a fierce advocate, standing beside students when their voices were silenced and guiding us with humility and deep care.”
Rabbi Jun’s Letter
Alongside the letter came a blog post by Rabbi Ari Jun, senior rabbi at Temple Sholom and by most accounts the driving force behind the statement. He described a hallway meeting with Soliman after a City Council session: “He was of a slight build, a little bit older than me, and that day he was wearing a bright red fez,” Jun wrote. “He came and found me… thanked me… it didn’t matter that we didn’t agree.”
It was a cinematic anecdote — but it left something out. Just minutes before that meeting, Soliman had addressed the Council wearing a keffiyeh, accusing Israel of cutting electricity to babies and warning of political retribution.
The Vigil
The weekend after the letter’s release, Rabbi Jun attended a public vigil in support of Soliman, joined by at least three other rabbis. He held a sign that read: “This Rabbi Supports Immigrants.”
To many in the community, the rabbi’s post from the vigil confirmed their deeper concern: that progressive movements aren’t embracing Jewish values — they’re redefining them, then using those redefinitions as a litmus test for who counts as a ‘good Jew’ — a standard almost no Jew could meet. Just last year, Cincinnati Pride forced two Jewish organizers to resign after they became targets of a harassment campaign that included threats of violence. Earlier this year, Rabbi Jun was disinvited from a Cincinnati anti-Nazi rally by local socialists, who publicly accused him of being a “Zionist demagogue.” And yet, there the rabbis stood — shoulder to shoulder with the same activists who had mocked them, excluded them and purged Jews from progressive spaces.
The Bridge Incident
On July 18, one week after Soliman’s arrest, the so-called “vigil” gathered at the base of the Roebling Bridge. It wasn’t the candle-lit, hymn-singing scene the word suggests. Instead, it looked like two entirely different events accidentally booked the same venue: families with strollers and toddlers on one side, and on the other, a small but unmistakable squad of about 20 activists in black masks, vests and tightly wrapped keffiyehs — the kind of people who don’t just bring signs, but “mystery wagons” that make everyone else edge a little farther back.
Rabbi Jun and several Jewish politicians planted themselves somewhere in the middle, holding signs and echoing the day’s official refrain: ICE is deporting a “children’s chaplain.” But the optics told a different story. Palestinian flags rippled in the breeze, the keffiyehs tightened and the chants — straight from the SJP playbook — signaled what was coming next. The crowd wasn’t stopping at the park. Of course they were going to cross the bridge.
And when they did, things escalated. As they blocked traffic on the Roebling, an SUV tried to inch through. Within seconds, masked protesters surrounded the vehicle, pounding on the windows and scrambling onto the hood. Covington Police moved in fast. Twelve arrests followed — nearly all from that black-masked, “ready-for-trouble” contingent.
The Backlash
Maybe the rabbis thought they were doing something noble — standing on the right side of history, or at least the side with better hashtags. But to much of Cincinnati’s Jewish community, the letter landed like a betrayal. Since October 7, the community has been battered — physically, emotionally and spiritually. Jewish schools have hired armed guards. Parents have pulled their kids from campus events. Students have been harassed. And through it all, the Greater Cincinnati Board of Rabbis stayed silent.
Then, out of nowhere, came this letter — 31 rabbis rallying to defend a man accused of ties to the Muslim Brotherhood. “I couldn’t even look at the rabbi,” one congregant said. “I don’t want to interact with anyone who signed that statement.” Another added, “Our new senior rabbi signed it. I’m seriously considering whether to stay.”
In the past two weeks, congregants have been pressing for answers in private meetings with their rabbis. Some leaders claimed they signed “in a personal capacity,” but that explanation rang hollow — especially when 15 of the rabbis signed with their congregations’ names attached. Others insisted not every rabbi in a synagogue agreed, but when the senior rabbi signs, it sends a message. And now that new information has surfaced about Soliman’s background, the question hanging over the community is simple: When will any of the 31 rabbis retract their statement?
Anna Selman
Cincinnati, OH