After a career in the foreign service, where officers are obliged to keep their political views to themselves and promote the positions of the current U.S. administration, some retiring diplomats have a hard time getting used to speaking their minds, particularly when the press is involved.

Ludo Hood is not one of those people.

The 53-year-old retired from the U.S. Foreign Service last week after two decades of service, a career that took him to Kuwait, Bahrain, France and Qatar. Most recently, he served as a senior advisor to Keith Kellogg, President Donald Trump’s former special envoy for Ukraine, and before that as a close advisor to Deborah Lipstadt, the former U.S. special envoy to monitor and combat antisemitism — two roles that put him in the crossfire of some of the biggest political debates in Washington. 

Hood, who is preparing to take on a role at a think tank, sat down with Jewish Insider this week to reflect on a career representing the U.S. that included stints working on Iran policy during negotiations for the 2015 nuclear deal, relations with Gulf states during the fraught Arab Spring and antisemitism policy in the tense aftermath of the Oct. 7 Hamas attacks in 2023. 

Through all those foreign postings and geopolitical flashpoints, one of the most “alarming and shocking” moments of Hood’s time as a foreign service officer came within the halls of Foggy Bottom — when, in the months after Oct. 7, the State Department hosted listening sessions for staffers to express anti-Israel views and bash the policies espoused by the federal government.

“It was the only time in my career where active dissent against the elected president’s overall policy and strategic direction was allowed to be aired in the open, and was actually in many ways encouraged,” Hood told JI. 

The gatherings were hosted by then-Deputy Secretary of State Kurt Campbell, and they came as some rank-and-file diplomats, plus many political appointees from the Biden administration, voiced dissent against President Joe Biden’s support for Israel. 

“In terms of being politically correct, you had to give a lot of deference to a heavy anti-Israel point of view, which maybe is fine in the context of a social studies program at a university,” Hood said. “But it’s the State Department. We are national security professionals who are supposed to be implementing the policy of the duly elected president.” 

Hood compared that moment to the sentiment among some foreign service officers who have struggled to represent the U.S. under Trump. Hood acknowledged that some diplomats do not agree with Trump’s approach to foreign policy, but said that they should not express that view publicly as part of their job — and that Trump would not stand for so much public expression of dissent.

“There was and perhaps remains opposition to the way that Trump does and says certain things in the State Department,” said Hood. “The difference here is the Trump people, either under [former Secretary of State Mike] Pompeo or now, would never tolerate unprofessional behavior, and it is unprofessional.”

“Obviously, you’re allowed to have your own personal points of view,” Hood continued. “But if you’re going to sign up to do this work, you ought to be reasonable.” 

That doesn’t mean he always agreed with the positions that he was meant to promote as a diplomat. During the Biden administration, Hood took issue with the White House’s policy that nearly anytime antisemitism was mentioned, it had to be coupled with a mention of Islamophobia, a policy that Hood called “illogical and irrational.” (Lipstadt, his former boss, has called for antisemitism and Islamophobia to be discussed as distinct forms of hate.)

“It was official policy at the Biden White House in terms of how they named task forces and so forth,” said Hood. “We had to accept the horrendously problematic addition of ‘counter-Islamophobia efforts’ into what we were doing or what we were commemorating. I say ‘horrendously problematic’ because it undermines the fight against Muslim hatred or other forms of religious hatred to start conflating them for politicized reasons that have nothing to do with the actual strategies needed to curb that kind of discrimination.”

Even before Oct. 7, Hood said, getting certain State Department diplomats to include antisemitism in meetings with foreign leaders could be challenging. 

“It could be painfully difficult to say and do certain things because of an institutional reluctance to highlight antisemitism,” Hood said, particularly in Europe.

When Trump was inaugurated early last year, Hood transitioned to the Ukraine file, the first time in his career when his portfolio did not include the Middle East. 

He was more sympathetic to the plight of Ukraine than many members of the incoming Trump administration, which he said was more amenable to appeasing Russian President Vladimir Putin and less interested in continuing to spend billions on Ukraine’s defense. Kellogg, the Ukraine envoy, was also more supportive of Kyiv than Trump, leading to some of his portfolio being taken over by White House Special Envoy Steve Witkoff. Kellogg ultimately stepped down in January.

“It was frustrating to see how that played out, partly because the guy is a decent, honorable man who probably could have been treated better by some people operating in the White House and elsewhere,” said Hood. “Perhaps more relevantly, more substantively, I think Kellogg had a view on the Russian invasion of Ukraine, which, from where I stood, reflected reality and reflected how we should be approaching the conflict.” 

On the other side of the Ukraine issue was the increasingly influential isolationist right. Hood called the ongoing intra-Republican feud about foreign policy “a profoundly important debate,” even as he came down hard against the isolationist wing.

“I think there’s very easy arguments to be had to push back on isolationism and restrainers,” said Hood. “I think those of us who want an assertive America aren’t asking for forever wars, aren’t asking to invade in the name of democracy. I think there are ways of putting America first on the global stage without deploying what has now become known as neocon objectives, basically democracy promotion.”

It’s fair to say Hood is aligned with the more traditional, interventionist wing of the Republican Party; he recently joined the Hudson Institute, a pro-Israel think tank closely aligned with several former top Bush administration officials. He said that over his two decades in diplomacy, his central views about the world and foreign policy have not changed. But he said he has come to hold a more realpolitik view of the world that is less Pollyannaish about democracy as a strategic objective. 

“I think maybe democracy promotion, or even having a heavy focus on human rights, is probably at best naive, if not a lost cause, in some parts of the world,” said Hood. “We shouldn’t necessarily allow those issues to always get in the way of a bilateral strategic partnership that is broadly speaking good for stability and prosperity for that country or for that region.”

Hood is leaving the foreign service at a time when the institution’s future is in question. More than 1,300 State Department staffers — including many foreign service officers — were laid off last summer. The American Foreign Service Association, the union representing foreign service officers, called it “a catastrophic blow to our national interests.” 

Hood called Trump’s “top-down approach,” where he leans heavily on personal advisors like Witkoff and Jared Kushner, “understandable in some respects.” He is not instinctually opposed to the cuts and thinks some were necessary. 

“We needed a lot of disruption in the national security establishment. There’s still so much bloat to be cut,” said Hood. But, speaking diplomatically, Hood tentatively suggested that Trump might actually does have something to gain from the bureaucrats in Foggy Bottom and America’s embassies around the world. 

“What you don’t have now is bottom-up information and recommendations being aired, discussed, debated,” said Hood. “Sometimes there are real questions about implementation and messaging.”

Next stop:  the well-trodden Washington path of helping public officials hone their messages. In other words: a think tank.

Only in a family where nearly everyone is a rabbi does becoming a Cabinet secretary in one of the largest states in the nation make you a black sheep. 

That’s the joke that Uri Monson, Pennsylvania’s budget secretary, likes to make when describing his career as a public servant in the context of his family — a brother, father, grandfather and great-grandfather who were rabbis; a stepmother who was a lifelong Jewish nonprofit professional; and a mother who was a renowned Jewish academic and university administrator.

But coming out of that kind of lineage (his great-grandfather was the first person to certify Coca-Cola as kosher!), choosing a career in public service was Monson’s act of “pseudo-rebellion,” he said in an interview with Jewish Insider earlier this month. He didn’t stray that far from his Jewish values, though — during his first internship, at city hall in Philadelphia, he helped draft the mayor’s speech for Israeli Independence Day.

“I grew up a mile from Independence Hall. I’ve always been an American government junkie, and fascinated by and love[d] government and its ability to really help,” said Monson, 56. “I felt, even at 18, that I could make it better, that it had to be able to be done better, and that started me on that path to public service.” 

Even if Monson didn’t follow his family members into the Jewish professional world, growing up immersed in deep conversations about the weekly Torah portion over Shabbat lunch and spending his summers at Camp Ramah in the Poconos shaped his approach to public service just as much as his wonky fascination with fiscal policy and his master’s degree in public administration.

“What we’ve seen all along is that that Jewish perspective has shaped his commitment to what government can do and the way that society should work,” said Rabbi Chaim Galfand, the head rabbi at Perelman Jewish Day School in Philadelphia and a close friend of Monson’s. 

Monson attended the joint program at List College at the Jewish Theological Seminary, where he earned a bachelor’s degree from Columbia University and another, in midrash, from  JTS. The intellectual curiosity and creativity that comes from his expertise in interpreting the Torah — Monson calls himself a “midrash parsha junkie” — colors the way he approaches everything from budgetary policy to his weekly Settlers of Catan board games with Galfand each Shabbat. 

The biblical stories about Joseph are his favorite; Joseph’s “rise in the political world,” from slave to advisor to the Egyptian pharaoh, is particularly resonant for Monson. But he doesn’t think there is only one way to engage with these stories, and that’s a lesson that guides his approach to public policy, too.

“When you make that jump to learning that the Talmud is not a book of law, but that it’s a book of how to think about law, it’s a major change. It’s a major jump in thought,” Monson said. “To realize that you had people disagreeing over really complex issues of Jewish law — that’s how they lived their lives, and what they actually record [in the Talmud] is the discussion and the back-and-forth and the debate. They were able to do it while living civilly together.”

Monson started his career in Washington as a policy advisor at the Department of Education during the Clinton administration. He has friends from that era who have lost their jobs as the Trump administration slashes the federal workforce. Monson does not reflexively believe all public employees have a right to keep their jobs; his former boss, President Bill Clinton, also stressed efficiency and shrunk the federal workforce by hundreds of thousands of people. But he does think those workers should be respected.

“There are few of us who have a mantra, and I share this with the governor, that [we] cannot stand the phrase, ‘That’s the way we’ve always done it.’ There are always opportunities for change,” he said, referring to Gov. Josh Shapiro. “The biggest difference for me between what I was a part of and what the current administration is doing is that that change was all about employee empowerment.” Shapiro has made a play for laid-off federal workers, encouraging them to apply to fill vacancies in Pennsylvania.

Monson’s time in Washington got him started on his path to Harrisburg — both because it was his first full-time gig in the government, and also because it was in this era that he reconnected with Shapiro, who was working on Capitol Hill at the time. 

“Like most expatriate Eagles fans, we would find each other to watch games, that kind of thing,” said Monson. But their relationship goes back decades: Shapiro and Monson’s younger brother, Ami, were in the same grade at Akiba Hebrew Academy, a pluralistic Jewish day school in the Philadelphia suburbs. (CNN anchor Jake Tapper was another classmate.) Shapiro’s parents and Monson’s were active in the Soviet Jewry movement of the 1970s and 1980s.

“Uri and I both lean on our family and our faith as motivation to serve the good people of Pennsylvania,” Shapiro told JI in a statement last week. “We are both driven by the same Jewish principle of tikkun olam, and from the passage from the Talmud that teaches us that no one is required to complete the task, but neither are we free to refrain from it.”

Shapiro’s first video ad in his 2022 gubernatorial campaign showed him, his wife and their children celebrating Shabbat. Monson, who observes Shabbat and does not work or travel from sundown Friday until Saturday night, receives weekly “Shabbat shalom” emails from Shapiro.

“When he offered me the job, I said, ‘I’m not going to be in Harrisburg on Fridays in the winter’” — when Shabbat begins in the late afternoon — “and he said he understood,” Monson recalled. Over the years, his colleagues have gotten used to Monson’s Shabbat observance, sending emails on Saturdays with the subject line “read me first” to try to capture his attention after Shabbat ends.

“Once in a while they’re like, ‘Maybe I want to be Jewish too,’ because they need a break,” Monson said, laughing. 

Monson returned to Philadelphia in the late 1990s for the first in a series of increasingly powerful jobs dealing with municipal and school district budgets. In 2012, when Shapiro was chair of the Montgomery County Board of Commissioners, he tapped Monson to serve as chief financial officer of the commonwealth’s third most populous county. Monson then spent seven years as chief financial officer of the School District of Philadelphia, which has a budget of $4.6 billion, helping shepherd the district through the tumult of the COVID-19 pandemic. He joined Shapiro in Harrisburg in early 2023.

“Uri had a very calming presence of being able to lead with certainty in very uncertain times,” said Larisa Shambaugh, the former chief talent officer in the Philadelphia school district, where she worked closely with Monson. She saw him take a forward-looking approach to budgeting, thinking not just about cost but about how to advance the interests of the school district.

“What was truly a joy about working with Uri is that he wasn’t a CFO that was focused only on finances and only on the bottom line,” Shambaugh explained. “When we would be thinking about proposing a new initiative or a new policy or a new staffing structure, the first question wasn’t, How much would this cost and can we afford it? It was, Why is this best for students?”

Shambaugh also benefitted from another skill Monson brought with him to his next job: his baking skills. He baked lemon squares for a meeting with new school board members. When he found out Shambaugh loved challah, he baked her one. In his new job, he’s baked cranberry walnut muffins twice — once to relax before a budget hearing and once to get rid of flour before Passover — and brought hamantaschen to the capital during Purim. (“We’ve all been on the receiving end of his largesse,” said Galfand.)

Monson has spent the spring testifying at Statehouse hearings about Shapiro’s $51.5 billion budget proposal. This is the forum where he allows his Torah discussion skills to shine: keeping his cool under sometimes hostile questions from Republicans, and disarming them by actually being willing to engage. (When he sat down at this year’s budget hearings, he wore a custom kippah showing the commonwealth of Pennsylvania, made by an artist his wife found on Etsy.)

“I will never claim to have a monopoly on good ideas, and I think that’s something I certainly learned from around the table and from growing up among the rabbis,” said Monson. “I want to learn from everybody, because you can learn from everybody, and be open to the discussion.”