A year ago, more than 300,000 Jews gathered in a powerful display of unity to stand with Israel and demand the release of hostages. Yet just months later, when a rally to support Israel was held at a 40,000-seat baseball stadium, only 3,000 people showed up. What happened to that passion, that urgency? How did we go from an unprecedented outpouring of solidarity to an empty stadium?
The disappointing turnout can partly be blamed on poor planning. A baseball stadium—more suited to home runs than heartfelt speeches—is hardly ideal for rallying spirits. But the broader issue is the pervasive sense of fatigue and frustration. After Oct. 7, when Israel was struck by the darkest day in its history, American Jews rose to support their homeland. We donated. We volunteered. We rallied. Many of us have not relented in our commitment; however, the failure of Jewish leadership to channel collective action into sustained efforts has left many Jews feeling powerless.
The stories continue to pour out of heartbreak and heroism. Former hostages and family members of the remaining captives visit, but we cannot help them. Many Israelis are bitter towards the government and feel that it has abandoned them. Some American Jews share their ire towards Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. They also believe that he is acting more out of personal interest than to protect the nation. Netanyahu is also blamed for signs of eroding support among liberals and young Jews. His solicitous behavior towards Republicans and defiance of President Joe Biden angers them. The carnage in Gaza, haredim refusing to serve in the army, extremists in the government, West Bank behaving badly—and the bugaboo of settlements—run counter to their sensibilities. Israelis have been unable to mobilize support to change their government, and, much as they might like to, American Jews have no role to play.
The explosion of antisemitism here has left many Jews bewildered and frightened. How could things have gotten so bad so fast? How could we have been so naive as to believe that ancient hatreds were not percolating below the surface in America? How could we be so blind to the real feelings of people we thought were friends and allies?
This is our Dreyfus moment. Some Jews have awakened to the realization Theodor Herzl had from the French scapegoat’s trial that antisemitism is ineradicable.
The eldest among us who remember quotas, restrictive covenants and blackballing by high society thought we had moved beyond the tropes and discrimination of those days but now see their children and grandchildren experiencing antisemitism in different guises. Nowhere has this been more apparent than on college campuses, where antisemitic rhetoric has evolved from whispers to open declarations. The seeds for this have been growing for decades. While universities portray themselves as bastions of liberal thought, they have always been the one place in America where antisemitism has been tolerated. As their policing of speech and discriminatory behavior towards other groups intensified, the isolation of Jews has grown. Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) initiatives have meant conformity with antisemitic tropes, inequity and exclusion of Jews.
Now, antisemites need only claim to be anti-Zionist to be given a pass. They have become a new type of Klan, with keffiyehs replacing hoods to hide bigots’ faces. The unwillingness of administrations to take punitive measures and to enforce their own rules allowed radical elements to run roughshod over campuses, vandalizing buildings, harassing students, squelching free speech, creating a hostile learning environment, interfering with the functioning of the university and hypocritically demanding boycotts of the only Jewish state while remaining silent about the atrocities committed by Palestinians, Chinese, Russians and every actual serial violator of human rights on the planet.
Some of us have long warned that faculty were even more dangerous than students. Unlike students who come and go, professors are near permanent fixtures. We have known that many abused their positions to indoctrinate students with biased information driven by personal political agendas rather than scholarship. However, since fellow professors are the ones who police faculty, the proverbial foxes guard the educational henhouse. Administrators have been unwilling to eliminate academic malpractice. The failure to respond to the tsunami of antisemitism after Oct. 7 emboldened the worst of the professorate to normalize bigotry in academic spaces. Jews, most unknowingly, may find themselves in the classrooms of antisemites who proudly affiliate as Faculty for Justice in Palestine.
Watching their children navigate environments where they are marginalized, vilified or even endangered is a source of parental anxiety. Jews are fighting back by withholding donations, filing lawsuits and complaints with the U.S. Department of Education, and starting to consider whether an Ivy League education is worth sending their children into a hostile environment. Still, there is a sense that a line has been crossed and that the academy will never be safe for Jews again. Even if their physical safety is not threatened, they have become lepers to parts of the student body, and Israel is subject to unremitting attacks from many of their peers and professors. Reports from this semester suggest the crackdown on law and rule-breakers has had an impact, but support for Hamas and terrorism is more brazen among certain student groups and faculty.
The political landscape has been even more discouraging. Biden’s “good cop, bad cop” routine with the Israeli government alienated many Jews. The Orthodox and far right are angry over his sanctioning of Israeli settlers, withholding of arms and pressuring of Netanyahu. Progressive Jews are equally disenchanted with his support for Israel and the continuing delivery of arms.
Vice President Kamala Harris did not excite the Jewish community; her commitment to identity politics that increasingly excludes Jews, combined with her pandering for the votes of Arab Americans with expressions of sympathy for Palestinians, was alarming. Outside the Orthodox community, the prospect of a second Trump presidency was even more frightening. While former President Donald Trump’s policies were at times pro-Israel, his flirtation with extremism and divisive rhetoric troubled Jewish voters who fear for the future of democracy. Like most Democrats, the overwhelmingly liberal Jewish community was depressed by Trump’s victory. The silver lining is that the pro-Israel Congress and nominees for the cabinet may mean Israel will only have to deal with a “good cop” for the next four years.
In the meantime, our collective despondency risks turning frustration into apathy and hopelessness into disengagement. The challenges we face—whether in supporting Israel, combating antisemitism, or navigating an increasingly polarized political landscape—require unity and action, not retreat.
Leaders must admit and learn from their failures and create structures that sustain activism beyond moments of crisis. Universities must be held accountable for allowing bigotry to fester and faculty dereliction to metastasize. Politically, Jews must support leaders who reflect their values and concerns, oppose those seeking to weaken Israel and refuse to settle for candidates who merely offer the lesser of two evils.
Despondency is not an option for Jewish survival in an increasingly challenging domestic and international environment. Israelis have demonstrated their resiliency under conditions far more severe than those in the United States. It is past time for American Jews to display similar strength.
