Comic book legend embraces his Jewish roots in the Holy Land.

By: Boaz Dromi

Michael Netzer, a celebrated comic book artist best known for his work on characters such as Batman, Spider-Man and Wonder Woman, has lived many lives—figuratively and literally.

Born in the United States to a Druze father and a mother with a hidden Jewish past, Netzer’s path led him from a remote Lebanese village to the global stage of comics and ultimately to a spiritual awakening that brought him home to Israel.

“I knew I was a Lebanese Druze,” says Netzer, who was born in Detroit in 1955 and moved to Lebanon at the age of three. “I had no idea there was any connection to Judaism or Israel. In Lebanon, Israel was considered an enemy state.”

His early years were spent in the mountainous village of Deir Kobil, where improvised childhood games, a one-room schoolhouse and rural isolation shaped his worldview. It was there that his gift for drawing emerged.

“One of my first drawings was of a magnificent bird,” he recalls. “I started copying images from encyclopedias and kept drawing non-stop.”

In the aftermath of the 1967 Six Day War, Netzer’s mother, Adel, abruptly decided to return to America with her children—without informing her husband. That decision marked the beginning of a new chapter.

“Seven years passed before I returned to Lebanon, and it felt like an entirely different world,” he said.

Settled in the United States, Netzer entered public school at age 11 and discovered comic books for the first time. The visual storytelling medium captivated him, eventually drawing him into the orbit of legendary artist Neal Adams, who invited the young illustrator to join his New York studio.

By the age of 21, Netzer had become one of the most in-demand comic book artists in America. “I was drawing for all the major characters,” he says. “It was a dream come true.”

Despite his professional success, Netzer found himself spiritually unfulfilled. In his early twenties, he walked away from the industry, embarking on a cross-country journey in search of divine truth.

“I felt the world needed a prophet,” he reflects. “I wondered why there had been so many prophets in the past and none in modern times. I felt I was being called.”

His journey took him through California and ultimately into the desert, where he spent weeks in solitude, reading the Bible and reflecting on his purpose. A passage in the Book of Daniel struck a deep chord: “At that time, Michael, the great prince who stands guard over your people, will arise.”

“It was as if the text was speaking directly to me,” he says. “I realized a great role was waiting.”

When Netzer returned to his mother’s home months later, his grandmother Hania, nearing the end of her life, made a stunning revelation.

“She told me, ‘You won’t find the truth with the Christians, Muslims or Druze—only with the Jews. Because we are Jews,’” Netzer recounts.

According to his family history, Hania had been adopted by a Druze family after her parents were killed in anti-Jewish violence in Lebanon.

The revelation made sense after a lifetime of subtle signs. “In New York, all my professional mentors and collaborators were Jewish,” he says. “I felt an unexplained connection to the Jewish people even before I knew I was one of them.”

Netzer believes his mother may have known the truth but chose to keep it hidden. “She was shocked when my grandmother told me. Maybe it was new to her, maybe not. But she never talked about Israel or Judaism when we were growing up.”

The discovery of his Jewish roots ignited a desire to connect more deeply with the Jewish people—and ultimately led Netzer to make aliyah. “On my way to Israel, I passed through Lebanon during the war. I saw IDF soldiers entering Druze villages. The connection felt real and ancient,” he recalls.

With the help of the Jewish Agency, Netzer arrived at Kibbutz Revivim, a haven for artists. To formalize his Jewish identity and deepen his understanding, he chose to undergo a conversion process. “It wasn’t about doubt—it was about learning and growth,” he explains.

He later moved to Kiryat Arba and then to Ofra, taking a job as a graphic designer at Nekuda, the magazine of the settler movement. It was there that he met his future wife.

“I wasn’t sure at first if marriage was part of my spiritual path,” he says, “but we now have five children and a life rooted in purpose.”

Netzer’s siblings remained in Lebanon, maintaining their Druze identity and expressing little interest in reconnecting with their Jewish heritage. “They don’t feel the pull I did,” he says.

While interfaith marriage is typically forbidden in the Druze community, Netzer notes that such boundaries were not always strictly observed in his village. “Religion is passed through the father, so we were seen as Druze. No one suspected our Jewish background.”

He believes that Lebanon’s remaining Jewish presence, if any, is minuscule. “People say the name ‘Beirut’ comes from ‘Be’er Yehud’—the Jewish well. The city was built by Jewish businessmen.”

When asked how he distinguishes between the cultures he’s lived in, Netzer is candid. “Muslims can be very tough—willing to hurt and be hurt. I was bullied as a child for my limp, even by my brother. In Beirut, the atmosphere was harsh, loud and angry.”

In contrast, he praises Israeli society for its underlying warmth. “People say Israelis are rude, but if you’ve lived in America and then come to Israel, you feel it—a fresh breeze of humanity.”

For Netzer, his journey from a remote Lebanese village to the pages of Marvel and DC Comics—and finally to a life of Jewish faith in Israel—is one of destiny fulfilled.

“There’s no doubt in my mind,” he concludes. “I set out to find something and what I found was that I already belonged.”

(JNS.org)

A version of this article was first published in Hebrew by Olam Katan.