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The Real Threat Is Within: What a New Survey Reveals About Jewish Communal Life
Jewish Americans and supporters of Israel gather at the National Mall in Washington, DC on Nov. 14, 2023 for the “March for Israel” rally. Photo: Dion J. Pierre/The Algemeiner
American Jews are facing a storm of external pressures. The past two years have brought a surge in antisemitism; ugly and sometimes violent protests on campuses; hostile city streets; and, abroad, the horrifying October 7 Hamas attack and the brief but intense Iran–Israel war.
For most observers, it would seem obvious that these external threats are the greatest source of stress for Jewish communal leaders and professionals.
After all, these are the people tasked with defending, educating, and sustaining Jewish life in turbulent times. But a striking new report tells a different story — one that should give the Jewish community, and anyone who cares about civic health, pause.
The Hope Study, released this month by M²: The Institute for Experiential Jewish Education, surveyed nearly 950 Jewish professionals across North America and flips traditional thinking on its head.
The report’s findings are sobering. Fewer than one in four respondents reported that they “often” feel hopeful about the future of the Jewish people (24%), a stark contrast with 82% in the general US population.
For the very individuals whose mission is to build that future and who work on the front lines of the Jewish communal world, hope is now the exception rather than the norm.
The most surprising result, however, is what these professionals say is sapping their hope. It isn’t antisemitism. It isn’t the war in Gaza. It isn’t rising security costs or declining synagogue membership.
The single most cited factor is internal communal division — the tensions, mistrust, and open conflict that have erupted within Jewish organizations themselves. As one respondent put it, we are “watching our community tear itself apart.”
This revelation fundamentally upends the common narrative.
For decades, Jewish life in America has been organized around the assumption that our gravest challenges come from outside forces: hostile governments, terrorist groups, bigots, or indifferent neighbors. The classic response has been to mobilize against those external enemies, rallying Jews of all backgrounds in a show of unity. But The Hope Study suggests that this framework no longer matches reality. The greater danger today may lie within our own splintered community.
A Fracture Beneath the Surface
The divides are most visible around Israel. The data show just how deep that fissure runs. A slim majority of Jewish communal professionals (55%) see their connection to Israel as a vital source of hope and meaning, but more than a quarter (26%) say Israel is not important to them at all — the highest rejection rate for any source of hope measured.
That rejection rate is staggering; it means that even within the ranks of Jewish institutions, there is no consensus on whether Israel matters. In staff meetings, classrooms, and boardrooms, this divide lurks beneath every conversation about programming or public messaging.
These tensions extend beyond geopolitics. Generational differences, ideological disputes, and conflicting visions of Jewish identity all play a role. Professionals describe being “caught between competing factions” and “unable to navigate constituency expectations.” This is not just about policy disagreements. It is about who gets to define what Jewish communal life is and whom it serves.
Leadership is supposed to guide communities through such conflicts, but here too the findings are troubling. Executives report higher levels of hope than staff (mean 2.94 vs. 2.77 on a 1–5 scale), a gap that creates a potential leadership blind spot. Many leaders simply don’t see how dire things feel to those on the ground. It is hard to solve a problem you don’t fully perceive.
The consequences are real. When staff feel unsupported or unheard, they burn out, withdraw, or leave the field entirely.
Roughly 10% of respondents fall into what the report calls the “Struggling” category — low hope, low energy, and little sense of connection — with a large share identifying as secular/cultural Jews. If they disappear, the community loses not only workers but perspectives that broaden and enrich Jewish life.
The gender gap is especially striking. Women comprise 78% of the sample and report significantly lower hope than men (mean 2.75 vs. 3.01). This suggests that women may be bearing the brunt of organizational problems and the emotional labor of managing conflict. Any honest reckoning must take this imbalance seriously.
Why This Matters Beyond the Jewish World
It would be easy to dismiss these findings as an internal HR problem, a narrow crisis of a single faith community. That would be a mistake. The dynamics revealed here mirror the challenges facing American civic life more broadly.
Across the country — in churches and schools, political parties and neighborhood associations — polarization has grown so intense that external threats now often feel less destabilizing than internal mistrust.
Sociologist Émile Durkheim warned more than a century ago that societies depend on shared moral bonds; what he called the “collective conscience.” When those bonds weaken, even well-intentioned groups can splinter into factions. The result is exactly what this survey documents: bitterness, exhaustion, and the slow erosion of purpose.
For the Jewish community, this erosion is particularly dangerous. Historically, Jewish organizations have been exemplars of civic engagement. Federations, synagogues, day schools, and service groups have taught generations how to work together across differences, how to give and receive mutual aid, and how to participate in democratic life. If those very institutions now falter, the ripple effects will be felt far beyond the Jewish world.
The broader American story is similar. When our institutions become arenas for infighting rather than vehicles for collective action, we lose the very mechanisms that allow us to face external challenges together. Whether it’s antisemitism, terrorism, or the fraying of our social fabric, no group can respond effectively when it is paralyzed by internal distrust.
A Call to Confront the Real Threat
In moments of crisis, it is natural to fix our gaze outward. And there is no question that the external threats facing the Jewish people are real and relentless. Rising antisemitism, hostile campuses, violent protests, and geopolitical dangers demand vigilance and strong, decisive action.
But The Hope Study makes clear that these external dangers are only half the story and perhaps not even the most urgent half. A community that cannot govern and organize itself cannot defend itself. Ignoring the fractures within Jewish communal life will not make them fade. If anything, outside pressures will magnify them, turning every external attack into another round of internal recriminations.
History shows us what happens when institutions become brittle. Communities that lack internal trust crack under stress. They grow weak, reactive, and paralyzed. The rifts revealed in this report are not mere personality conflicts or abstract debates; they are corrosive forces eating away at the very foundations of Jewish civic and religious life.
Repair will not come through platitudes or surface-level fixes. It will require courage from leaders and from the rank and file alike. Leaders must be willing to see clearly and speak plainly, to set real boundaries and articulate shared ideals. They must foster spaces where hard truths can be spoken openly, not suppressed. Belonging must be rebuilt not as a marketing slogan or membership drive, but as a lived experience of mutual responsibility and solidarity.
Jewish history offers countless examples of resilience in the face of external enemies. The challenge today is to summon that same resolve inward. If Jewish organizations cannot restore their own internal cohesion, they will be poorly equipped to defend against external hatred and even their strongest outward defenses will ultimately ring hollow. This is why so many Jewish students on college and university campuses have felt abandoned and alone since October 7.
The choice is stark. Either we confront the true threat — the one within — or we allow our institutions to fracture beyond repair. The future of Jewish communal life, and by extension the strength of our shared civic life, depends on which path we choose. The time for evasions has passed. The time to act is now.
Samuel J. Abrams is a professor of politics at Sarah Lawrence College and a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.
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BBC draws fire after airing Holocaust cello repair story that does not specially mention Jews
(JTA) — In a Christmas special this year, a BBC One program devoted a quarter of its episode to telling the story of a Jewish child refugee whose cello was damaged while fleeing the Nazis on the Kindertransport.
But while the story itself is steeped in Jewish history, the segment of the program failed to make any mention of Jews, igniting criticism from British Jews who are on high alert for signs of antisemitism from the network.
Now, the BBC has issued a clarification, adding a note to the program description in its iPlayer app explaining that the Kindertransport evacuated Jewish children from Nazi territory.
The production company behind “The Repair Shop,” a popular show where family heirlooms are refurbished, said it believed the historical context of Martin Landau’s cello would be obvious to viewers when Helen Mirren, the famed actress who recently portrayed the Israeli prime minister Golda Meir, brought it in during the episode that aired Dec. 26.
“We were honoured to share the history of Martin Landau’s cello and play a small part in telling an important and emotive story with contemporary resonance,” a Ricochet spokesperson said in a statement. “We felt that Martin’s story was told clearly and succinctly, and we believed the fact that he was Jewish was implicit in the story.”
Born in Berlin in 1924, Landau — who later became a prominent theater director — was 14 when he brought his cello with him on board the Kindertransport, a rescue effort that brought nearly 10,000, mostly Jewish, children to safety in Europe during World War II.
But before getting on the train, the neck of Landau’s instrument was “deliberately snapped in two,” according to a description of the episode on the BBC website.
“Despite this blow, Martin guarded the cello carefully for the remainder of his life, eventually gifting it to Denville Hall, a care home for retired members of the entertainment industries, of which both he and Dame Helen are loyal supporters,” the episode’s description continues. “Sadly, the cello has remained silent for over 80 years, and the residents would dearly love to see it restored so that they can hear it played for the first time.”
Thirty-one members of Landau’s family, including his parents, were killed in Bergen-Belsen, Dachau and Auschwitz, according to his obituary in The Times. In London, Landau went on to become a prolific producer of plays and musicals. He died in 2011 at 86.
The Jewish Chronicle was first to report frustration over the show’s lack of explicit mention of Landau’s Jewish identity. It reported that a reference to Jews appeared to be truncated from a sentence by Mirren, who said, “…children were put on the Kindertransport.”
The episode is one of several antisemitism and Israel-related controversies to hit the British public broadcaster in recent months. In October, the BBC was penalized after it failed to identify the narrator of a Gaza documentary as the son of a Hamas government official. Over the summer, it was also criticized for airing a performance by the punk group Bob Vylan that included chants of “Death to the IDF.”
On Saturday, the BBC also reached a settlement with an Israeli family whose home it filmed following the Oct. 7 attacks without consent.
Now, the network has added new language to the “The Repair Shop” episode, too.
“This program is subject to a clarification. The Kindertransport was the organized evacuation of approximately 10,000 children, the majority of whom were Jewish, from Germany, Austria, and Czechoslovakia,” the iPlayer description read. (The initiative was funded largely by Jewish groups, but a small number of the children rescued were Roma, Christian children of Jewish parents or the children of political prisoners.)
During the episode, the repaired instrument was played by the British Jewish cellist Raphael Wallfisch, whose 100-year-old mother Anita Lasker-Wallfisch is the only surviving member of the Women’s Orchestra of Auschwitz.
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At a former driving school, Kehillat Harlem plants roots for Jewish life uptown
(New York Jewish Week) — The “Yes You Can” driving school is no more, but the sign that still hangs over its former storefront in Central Harlem is something of an apt message for the new tenant — a fledgling synagogue that aims to demonstrate the vitality of Jewish life in the neighborhood.
Kehillat Harlem, a non-denominational “shul community,” moved into the Adam Clayton Powell storefront last year after seven years in transit. Since its founding, it has held services in a basement, a local cafe and even outdoors.
Now, Kehillat Harlem is using the space for what its founding rabbi, Kyle Savitch, says is the only option for weekly Shabbat services in the neighborhood, even as a host of new initiatives aim to serve Harlem’s growing Jewish population.
“We’re the only synagogue in Central Harlem that’s meeting every Friday, every Saturday, let alone having meals and everything else, so I definitely think we’re serving a need there,” Savitch said. “For folks who are looking to move or looking to join a new community, sometimes what they want to know is that there is consistency in Jewish life, and so I think we’re able to provide that.”
But Kehillat Harlem isn’t just striving to add a synagogue to the neighborhood. Savitch also aims to leverage the shul into a community hub or even, one day, a restaurant serving Jewish food.
A dress rehearsal came last month on the first night of Hanukkah, when roughly 70 people filled Kehillat Harlem’s storefront space for the shul’s annual Hanukkah speakeasy. To enter the event, which included a jazz band, latkes and kosher tequila from Tekiah Spirits, partygoers used the secret password “Lehadlik ner,” the Hebrew phrase meaning “to light a candle.”
“We’re exploring how our role in the community can expand to infrastructure in terms of kosher food, in terms of space access, in terms of places to gather,” Savitch said.
Kehillat Harlem is hardly the only entity to tackle those questions in Harlem, which once had one of the largest Jewish populations in the world. Once home to roughly 175,000 Jewish residents at its peak in 1917, the neighborhood saw most of them leave as it transformed into a hub of Black culture during the Harlem Renaissance. Some of the neighborhood’s synagogues remain standing, but have been converted into churches.
Over the last 15 years, the neighborhood’s Jewish population has gone from an estimated 2,000 people to 16,000 adults and 8,000 children, according to a 2023 study by the UJA-Federation of New York.
To serve them, a branch of the young professional programming nonprofit Moishe House has opened up, as has a branch of the Upper West Side’s Marlene Meyerson JCC with its own rabbi-in-residence and monthly Shabbat service. Tzibur Harlem, an initiative founded in 2024 by Rabbi Dimitry Ekshtut and Erica Frankel, offers programming including occasional Shabbat services; it recently played a role in getting a Hanukkah menorah added to a local Christmas display.
But when it comes to regular prayer services, the only option until Kehillat Harlem opened was the Old Broadway Synagogue, an Orthodox congregation founded in 1911 that serves families in West Harlem and Morningside Heights.
Many observant Jews in the neighborhood were looking for something different, said Savitch, who was ordained at Yeshivat Chovevei Torah, a liberal Orthodox seminary, in 2021.
Kehillat Harlem, he said, “came out of the need for a Jewish community in the neighborhood, which was inclusive and welcoming to everyone who walked in the door. Our community is very diverse. There’s folks who are observant, there’s folks who aren’t observant, there’s queer folks, there’s folks in interfaith relationships, and there wasn’t really a place in the neighborhood for all those people to go and feel comfortable.”
Arielle Flax, a 32-year-old Jewish Harlem resident and co-president of Kehillat Harlem, described the shul’s ethos as “socially progressive but halachically traditional,” meaning that she seeks to follow Jewish law.
While Kehillat Harlem has a mechitza, the gender partition that separates men and women in Orthodox synagogues, it also has a third section for genderfluid or nonbinary participants. Unlike at most Orthodox synagogues, where reading from the Torah is restricted to men, people of all genders are invited to read from the Torah.
“We want to be as inclusive as possible, while still keeping that bar for those who do want to fulfill the more stricter obligations for Judaism,” said Flax. “We try to empower people of all genders, all backgrounds, to participate, to feel like they are contributing and involved and not just spectating.”
Before Flax joined Kehillat Harlem in 2017 for its inaugural Shabbat, she had hesitated to move to the neighborhood because of its sparse Jewish infrastructure, but the presence of the fledgling congregation had helped tip her decision.
“I immediately felt like I had a place to go as soon as I moved up to New York, which is great, but before we moved up we were a little concerned,” said Flax.
Since then, Flax said she had seen the neighborhood’s Jewish population grow.
“I think by having Kehillat Harlem and other organizations in the area, I think more Jewish people are kind of coming out and getting involved in Jewish life in Harlem,” she said. “I think that’s a really beautiful thing.”
Laura Lara, a 50-year-old Argentinian native who moved to Rego Park, Queens, in 2022, said that she had struggled to connect to a Jewish community in the city until attending Kehillat Harlem’s Purim party last year.
“Being an emigre from another country and another language, finding the right place was a little bit hard for me at the beginning,” said Lara. “Finally, I found a place, and I went to a celebration of Purim in Harlem, and I found the diversity, everyone has a voice, everyone has a place, and that is what I like.”
After making the “schlep” to services and community events at Kehillat Harlem over the past year, Lara said that she and her husband are considering making the move to Harlem.
“I am also thinking of moving to the area,” said Lara. “I feel like I live in a bubble in my neighborhood, my community and the values and the place is far away from my home.”
In August, Kehillat Harlem marked a milestone — and another journey from Queens to Harlem — by dedicating a Torah that had been rescued during the Holocaust from Germany in 1940 and donated by the former Bayside Jewish Center.
“By bringing this Torah into Kehillat Harlem and returning it to use, we’re literally carrying it into the next generation,” Savitch said at the dedication ceremony. “We’re weaving together its survival through the Holocaust, its history in Queens and its future here in the neighborhood of Harlem, so we’re marking not just the dedication of this Torah, but the renewal of Jewish life in Harlem.”
Savitch said his dream is for Kehillat Harlem to become a one-stop shop for services, classes and communal gatherings and kosher food in Harlem.
Doing so could help hack the high cost of real estate in New York City. In neighborhoods with dense Jewish infrastructure, small synagogues have begun sharing space with Jewish organizations, but that’s not as much of an option in Harlem.
“The dream is really to have a fully multi-purpose space, especially as costs are going up and synagogues are having a hard time paying rent, and restaurants are closing left and right, especially kosher restaurants,” said Savitch.
While other parts of the city boast dozens of Jewish and kosher restaurants, Harlem has fewer options for its Jewish neighbors, including Silvana, a restaurant that serves Israeli cuisine, and Tzion Cafe, a kosher and vegan Ethiopian-Israeli restaurant.
To fill the gap in kosher offerings, Savitch transformed Kehillat Harlem into a makeshift restaurant in 2024 for Passover, and hosted a weekly program called “Shtiebel Sundays” last year where kosher pastries and coffee were for sale.
While Savitch said that Shtiebel Sundays hadn’t garnered revenue for the shul, he said it was “successful as a community-building model.”
“That’s also part of what we’re doing,” he said. “In a community that can’t necessarily yet support a fully functioning kosher cafe, restaurant, whatever it is, we’re providing that as a nonprofit.”
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Teens, seniors explore Ashkenazi traditions at Yiddish New York festival
A group of klezmer musicians was jamming in Lower Manhattan, when its fiddler suddenly stopped and encouraged a preteen clarinetist to lead a tune. After a moment, the young musician began playing a traditional Yiddish dance melody known as “der shtiler bulgar,” and the other musicians joined in.
This was one of many scenes at the 11th annual Yiddish New York festival that took place last month at the New York City campus of Hebrew Union College.
The size of the festival was impressive: Over 100 speakers, 700 participants and 200 workshops and sessions on various aspects of Yiddish culture.
Yiddish New York began after KlezKamp, a storied Yiddish cultural festival that had been held in the Catskills for three decades, made its decision to shut down. “It was 2014 and KlezKamp had announced its last festival,” said Pete Rushefsky, executive director of the Center for Traditional Music and Dance and one of the lead organizers of Yiddish New York. “A bunch of us got together and said ‘we can’t bear to face the world without our Yiddish festival.’”
Now that the college has announced the sale of its Manhattan campus to nearby New York University, the five-day festival will be searching for a new home for 2026. “We’re going to have to find a new venue,” said Rushefsky. “It will be a challenge we will have to overcome. I’d love to see a residential component moving forward — I think there’s an interest.”
When he wasn’t helping out with administrative tasks, Rushefsky spent much of the day behind a tsimbl (an Eastern European hammered string instrument with a long history in the klezmer tradition), leading informal klezmer jams.
The festival’s offerings were wide-ranging within the scope of Yiddish culture: practical workshops, lectures, concerts, film screenings and informal music jams. And, of course, plenty of schmoozing.
Concerts included an evening of music by the versatile Yiddish playwright and performer Mikhl Yashinsky whose setlist included original Yiddish tradaptations (adapting a text from one language to another to make it culturally relevant for a new audience) of Tom Lehrer’s “Hanukkah in Santa Monica” and Bob Dylan’s “With God on Our Side.” Yashinsky also performed, together with a group of collaborators, several original songs and scenes from his Yiddish stage works Feast of the Seven Sinners and The Gospel According to Chaim.
Cantor Sarah Myerson and Dr. Avia Moore led a Yiddish Dance Fellows program featuring four fellows from around the country: Hannah Mira Friedland (Chicago), Sarah Horowitz (Albuquerque), Yael Horowitz (NYC), and Rachel Linsky (Boston). All were already leading, teaching and in some cases even choreographing Yiddish dance in their communities.
But the training that Myerson and Moore gave them wasn’t just about learning dance steps. They also role-played typical scenes where dance sessions might not go so smoothly. “Avia and I offered the most common ‘disruptions’ we experience on the dance floor: ignoring the leader, talking loudly, doing the wrong steps, etc. The fellows adjusted with generous grace!” Myerson said.
There were also programs for younger audiences. Teens learned about a 1950s music group, the Jewish Young Folksingers, affiliated with the International Workers Order, a mutual aid organization targeted during the Second Red Scare. Yiddish folk singer Ethel Raim, who was a part of the Jewish Young Folksingers herself, taught songs from the group’s history and shared her experiences in it. On the last day of the festival, the teens presented a skit based on all they had learned.
“It was really exciting to have that many generations in one room; we were spanning almost eight decades,” said Ozzy Gold-Shapiro, one of the teen program’s organizers. The youngest was 10; the oldest — in her eighties. “I was especially moved watching the Teen Program kids express and perform their version of cultural exploration and participation,” said Raim, who is herself in her 80s.
On the last evening of the festival, people gathered for the awarding of the 14th “Adrienne Cooper Dreaming in Yiddish Award” to musician and researcher Michael Alpert, known affectionately by his Yiddish name, Meyshke. Cooper, a singer and Yiddish cultural activist who passed away in 2011, played a leading role in the contemporary revival of Yiddish music.
“I was inspired and touched by Adrienne’s ability to make the Yiddish tradition accessible,” Alpert said. “There was a time when I thought I’d be the last person in the world who knew how to sing old Yiddish ballads and obviously that’s not the case. The younger cohort of this remarkable intergenerational community is one of the great joys of my life.”
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