Features
As the U.S. General Election Looms, How Will American Jews Vote?
By HENRY SREBRNIK May 5, 2024 First of all, before I go any further, we should get something straight: this whole so-called debate about anti-Zionism vs antisemitism is nonsense on stilts.
Sure, especially before the Holocaust and the establishment of the State of Israel, many Jews were dubious about or even ideologically or theologically opposed to the Zionist project of recreating a Jewish state in the land of Israel. These groups ranged from various socialists on the left, such as the supporters of the Jewish Labour Bund, to haredim like the Satmar Hasidim. The latter still are, but no one thinks of them as “antisemites.”
All of this has virtually nothing to do with today’s so-called “anti-Zionists,” almost all of whom are non-Jewish antisemites making use of a word to confuse people about their desire to destroy a modern sovereign Jewish state, now more than 75 years old. (Yes, there are some misguided Jewish students involved, and the media loves them, but this is mainly a matter of ignorance and “Stockholm Syndrome.”)
Do you remember, not so long ago, that when right-wing Republicans and/or supporters of Donald Trump, made even mild criticisms of one or another Jewish politician or Jewish organization, leftwingers immediately said these were “dog whistles,” implying that this was code for antisemitism.
Now, though, when protestors parade around proudly with placards reading “F—k Zionism,” or ask Jewish students whether they are “Zionists,” this has nothing to do with wondering whether they are a member of a Zionist organization or a person who subscribes to the Jewish nationalist ideology centered on the Land of Israel. They are asking whether these people are Jewish, pure and simple.
“Zionist” has simply become a derogatory slur or abusive term for “Jew,” used by Jew-haters as a synonym, and not all that different from earlier, now archaic, versions such as “kike,” “sheeny,” or “Yid.” The animus is also directed at Hillels, synagogues, and other institutions which are Jewish, not technically “Zionist” as such. Is this really that hard to understand? And we Jews should not play their games by arguing the point.
After all, the word “antisemitism” is itself a euphemism, coined by a German Jew-hater in the 19th century, so as to appear a more “scientific” word for hating Jews. It’s not even accurate – as we know, Arabs and other peoples are also Semites, and no one who hates Jews has them in mind. Judeophobia would be a more accurate term, and we should make more use of it.
Anyhow, we also must stop trying to be “even handed” by trying to equate old-style Jew-hatred on the right with today’s versions, which are coming overwhelmingly from the left, under the rubric of “anti-Zionism.” Remember, anti-Israel demonstrations began the very next days after the Oct.7 massacres, and almost three weeks before Israel even launched its counterattack.
All this is by way of a segue to a very important matter coming our way this November: For whom will American Jews turn out in the forthcoming presidential election? We all know the statistics: For almost a century, a large majority of Jews have voted for the Democratic candidate, beginning with Franklin Delano Roosevelt in 1932. No Republican, including those who were victorious, came even close to capturing a majority of Jewish voters. Over the past several decades, according to data from the Pew Research Center, an average of 70 per cent of Jewish Americans consistently voted for the Democratic Party.
But October 7 has been a genuine zeitgeist shift. Even Jews blinded by an almost-religious loyalty to the party understand that it is being quite quickly captured by its far-left wing. Joe Biden may even be the last “pro-Israel” Democratic president (and he hasn’t exactly shone in that regard of late). The president himself has been unable to really condemn unequivocally and without moral relativism the outrages taking place on campuses.
I have for a long time thought that Israel shouldn’t have put all its defence needs in the U.S. basket. America is changing, demographically and ideologically, in a manner detrimental to Israel. The Democratic Party post-Biden will sooner or later be in the hands of the left-wing Congressional representatives known as the “Squad.” The protesters on the American university campuses should be called “Young Squadniks!”
The Hamas onslaught has left a mark on how Diaspora Jews look at their identity, especially in the United States. A recent survey conducted by the American Jewish Committee found that 78 per cent feel less safe since Hamas attacked Israel. “We are seeing an awakening, a heightened sense of consciousness among Jewish Americans,” asserted Steven Windmueller, professor emeritus of Jewish Communal Studies at the Hebrew Union College in Los Angeles.
They now have seen how elite university campuses like Harvard, Columbia and the University of Pennsylvania, many of which are heavily funded by Jewish donors, have been breeding and spreading a climate of antisemitic hate.
As apparently some 100 university campuses across the United States are aflame with anti-Israel and “anti-Zionist” fervor, and Jew-hatred has now become mainstream in Democratic politics, Jews are reconsidering many of their basic assumptions about their position in America generally and the Democratic Party specifically.
Many liberal Jewish Americans also feel betrayed by some of their alleged allies, those whose causes they had supported throughout the years, from the Civil Rights movement to Black Lives Matter activists. The left doesn’t care about antisemitism if they deem it inconvenient to their cause. They just call it “anti-Zionism” and carry on.
A few weeks ago, a sermon by Reform Rabbi Ammiel Hirsch, the senior rabbi at the Steven Wise Free Synagogue in New York delivered a stern warning to the Democrats. “Do not take American Jews for granted.”
Hirsch explained, “I have spoken to many American Jews in the past few months who have surprised me with their anxiety about developments in the Democratic Party, and their perception that it is becoming increasingly hostile to Israel, and tolerant of anti-Zionism and anti-Semitism in its own ranks.”
Jewish Democratic voters who never considered voting for Republicans have been announcing that they are voting for Trump, or will stay home or vote for independent candidate Robert Kennedy Jr., but will never vote for Biden.
It is true that New York and California have the largest Jewish communities, and they remain firmly in the Democratic column, even if not a single Jew were to vote for them. The Jewish vote for Biden will decrease, and in the very blue states where Jews live, like California and New York, it doesn’t really matter. But four swing states –Pennsylvania, Georgia, Nevada and Arizona — may well be decided by their large Jewish communities. Nowhere is that more apparent than in Pennsylvania, the swing state with the largest Jewish population – about 300,000 voting-age Jews — in a state President Joe Biden won by roughly 80,000 votes in 2020. (We are U.S. citizens who vote absentee ballot in Pennsylvania.)
I’m guessing that many Jews will sit it out. Of those voting, it will be hard for a lot of them to vote for Trump, constantly vilified day after day, but it may still reach 40 per cent. Still others who do vote may just leave the presidential line blank, and vote for Republicans for House and Senate seats.
I think there will be an almost perfect correlation between Jews who feel a deep attachment to the Jewish people — be it religiously, culturally, ethnically, or whatever –and voting Republican this year. For those who are Jewish mainly by “biology and genealogy” and for whom being Jewish is relatively unimportant, they are far more concerned with universal matters that now come under the rubric of terms like social justice, liberalism, diversity, inclusion, and so forth. They will come in at about 85 per cent for the Democrats. But as we don’t know the relative percentages of these two groups of Jews, predicting the overall Jewish vote for each of the two parties is difficult.
Addendum (added May 9):
Since writing this article, there have been two important developments. President Biden has said that he will in effect impose a partial arms embargo on Israel should the IDF complete the defeat of Hamas by capturing Rafah. Secondly, a number of American websites report that they have found evidence that many of the campus protests currently underway in the United States have been funded by foundations and non-profits whose money comes from wealthy donors who are supporters of Biden and numerous Democratic campaigns.
Given this, I’d revise my estimates of Jewish votes in November to predict that the overall vote for Republican candidates might exceed, for the first time in a century, 50 per cent. Even liberal Jews, typically reliable Democrats, will break at only about 75-25 per cent for Biden.
Henry Srebrnik is a professor of political science at the University of Prince Edward Island.
Features
Monitored phone calls and fear of arrest: What life looks like for Iran’s Jews now
This story was originally published in the Forward. Click here to get the Forward’s free email newsletters delivered to your inbox.
Amid the war in Iran, one Iranian Jewish woman who lives in the United States, but whose family remains in Iran, has been wracked with fear. Before the ceasefire, she spoke with her parents once a week for exactly one minute — both because of the exorbitant cost, about $50 per minute, and because of the fear of surveillance.
During one call a few days into the war, she said, something felt off.
“I could see that something is so wrong. It’s as if someone was there,” the woman, who moved to the U.S. in 2008, said in an interview with the Forward. “It seemed like my mom was actually reading from a note.”
She later learned that the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps had come to her parents’ home, questioning why they frequently called an American number. They instructed her parents to download Bale, an Iranian messaging app widely believed to be monitored by authorities, before making any further calls.
“It’s a spy app, and everyone knows that,” the woman said with a wry laugh. Her parents refused. Instead, they were told to call their daughter and read from a script while IRGC members watched.
“Basically, they said to prove that you are with us and not with Israel, read this when you call her,” the woman said. “After that day, they didn’t call for a long time.”
Eventually, she learned that her parents had fled to a safer part of the country to escape bombardment.
Her family are among the estimated 10,000 Jews who still live in Iran, in the largest Jewish community in the Middle East outside of Israel. Once numbering around 120,000, the community has dwindled significantly since the 1979 Islamic Revolution, when life for religious minorities fundamentally changed. Today, Jews who remain in Iran must carefully navigate life under the regime, publicly expressing loyalty to avoid being falsely accused of Zionist espionage.
Amid Iran’s war with the U.S. and Israel, that pressure has intensified.
With an ongoing internet blackout, communication is limited and closely monitored. To understand what life is like for Iranian Jews today, I spoke with several people in the U.S. who remain in sporadic contact with family members inside Iran. Everyone interviewed requested that they not be identified, fearing repercussions for either themselves or their families.
A synagogue vigil for the Supreme Leader
On April 16, Tehran’s Yusef Abad synagogue held a memorial for Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, who was killed on the first day of the war. The event was attended and reported on by several state-affiliated media channels, filming as participants from Iran’s Jewish community shared their appreciation for the deceased Supreme Leader.
Inside and around the synagogue, posters featuring photos of Khamenei were displayed alongside Farsi slogans like “Unity of Iran’s faiths against aggression — condemnation of the attack on the Tehran synagogue by the child-killing Zionist regime and criminal America” and “The Jewish faith is separate from Zionism.”
Regime media pointed to the vigil as evidence of Jewish support for Iran’s theocratic government. But experts say that interpretation misses the reality.
Beni Sabti, an Iranian-born analyst at Tel Aviv’s Institute for National Security Studies, said displays like the synagogue vigil are often a matter of survival. Jews who remain in Iran are frequently compelled to demonstrate loyalty to the regime — and opposition to Israel — in order to avoid suspicion of having ties to Israel. Allegations of such ties have often led to imprisonment and executions following the Islamic Revolution in 1979.
To protect the community, Jewish leaders — especially rabbis — often participate in pro-regime events, including memorials for senior regime figures. In some cases, Iranian rabbis have even sat alongside members of Hamas and Hezbollah to pay their respects to senior IRGC commanders responsible for funding and training terror groups across the Middle East.
The regime exerts significant pressure to stage these displays, Sabti said, “because it’s good for them to show the world, ‘You see, we don’t oppress anyone.’”
Beyond public displays, much of Iran’s economy is tied to the state — what officials often describe as a “resistance economy.” In that system, some say, expressions of loyalty can become intertwined with economic survival.
The woman who left Iran in 2008 said one of her relatives was once pressured to confiscate land from dozens of people and transfer it to the government in order to keep his job — a loyalty test she says was especially harsh because of his Jewish identity. “In the job interview, they told him, you have a Jewish background, so you have to first prove how far you will go,” she explained.
Since the 12-Day War between Israel and Iran in June 2025, the situation has grown even more tense. More than 30 Jewish Iranians were reportedly detained during that conflict because of alleged contact with Israel. While some Jewish community members were arrested during the wave of anti-regime protests that occurred at the beginning of the year, Sabti said he has not heard of a similar wave of arrests during the current war.
Still, the fear remains.
Synagogues as shelter
Some Iranian Jews have managed to stay in touch with relatives via landline phones, although calls are expensive and likely monitored. Most avoid discussing politics, using their limited time simply to confirm they are alive.
“After the 12-Day War, people really didn’t talk on the phone,” said the woman who moved to the U.S. in 2008. “We do talk, it’s not like they literally cannot, it’s just like they realized that the scrutiny was so high that no one has meaningful conversations.”
Even so, fragments of sentiment emerge.
One 25-year-old Iranian Jew from Los Angeles said his Jewish cousins in Iran cried tears of joy when they heard of the Ayatollah’s death.
He said his great uncle and cousin told him over the phone, “I don’t care, whatever the cost. If you can eliminate Khamenei, if you can eliminate Mojtaba, his son, if you can eliminate any threat… do it.” He added, “Most Persian Jews in Iran are happy, is what I hear.”
Amid the current ceasefire, a 64-year-old Iranian Jewish woman from LA said her Jewish friends in Iran have expressed relief. “They are happy that the situation is calm, but on the other hand, nobody is happy. They all want it to get finished,” she said, adding that they hope for “regime change.”
For Nora, an Iranian Jew living in New York, the war has come at a time of crisis for her family in Iran. She says her aunt has been focused on caring for her son, who is suffering from bone marrow cancer. Because the family keeps kosher, her aunt has had to leave the house — even during bombardments — to ensure he has food and other necessities.
Around three weeks into the war, her house in Tehran was destroyed after a nearby police station was struck. She briefly moved into a local synagogue; now, she lives with another Jewish family who opened their home to her. Her son remains too sick to leave the hospital.
A synagogue destroyed
Nora’s aunt is not the only Iranian Jew to find shelter in a synagogue. Sabti heard from another Jewish family inside Iran that Jewish communities have been using synagogues as bomb shelters throughout the war. He recalled doing the same during his youth at the time of the Iran-Iraq war that began in 1980.
Beyond using the space for physical safety, synagogues have also become a place for Jews to be together during the difficult time. “They come just to gather there, passing the time, meeting and having a little bit better time together,” he said.
For members of the Rafi’ Nia synagogue, a 150-year-old religious institution in Tehran, this sense of comfort has disappeared. On April 6, the community gathered there for Passover services. The next morning, they learned the building had been destroyed by an Israeli strike.
The Israel Defense Forces said that the target of the strike was not the synagogue, but rather a top commander from Khatam al-Anbiya, Iran’s military emergency command. But Iranian media suggested that the IDF had intentionally targeted the building. The head of the synagogue made a statement condemning the attacks and wishing the Iranian regime success in the war.
The woman who immigrated in 2008 had visited the Rafi’ Nia synagogue during Passover around 10 years ago. She described it as a beautiful old building. Seeing images of its destruction brought back painful memories of her family’s past.
She and her family were forcibly converted to Islam around 70 years ago, she said, with one uncle publicly hanged after he refused to convert. Her family continued practicing Judaism in secret — celebrating Shabbat behind locked doors and in her grandmother’s basement, always afraid.
She believes her family became a target for conversion after the synagogue in their area was destroyed, leaving them without formal affiliation to a recognized religious institution. On two occasions, she said, the IRGC raided their home during Jewish holidays, searching for evidence of religious practice. When they found a menorah, her father was detained. “When my dad came back, he was a ghost.” She fears that members of the destroyed synagogue could now face a similar vulnerability.
In Iran, certain religious minorities, including Jews, are constitutionally recognized. But she says that their protection is closely tied to existing institutions.
“When we talk about the lack of protection, it has a very nuanced meaning. In Iran, this doesn’t mean that the synagogues cannot exist, but it means that the existing synagogues are the only legal protection that Jews do have,” she said. “Good luck with rebuilding that place. Good luck with asking for a new synagogue.”
Sabti said the regime has already used the synagogue’s destruction as propaganda, publicly condemning the attack while reinforcing the state narrative of religious inclusion. “The head of the Islamic clerics condemned Israel and paid condolences to the Jews,” he said. “Everyone pays condolences and says, ‘Oh, sorry, we are in this together’ … but everyone knows that the other one also is lying.”
An American Jewish detainee
For one Iranian American Jew, the war has made a dire situation worse.
Kamran Hekmati, a 70-year-old Iranian American from Great Neck, New York, traveled to Iran in June 2025 and was detained during the 12-Day War. According to advocates, his alleged crime was traveling to Israel 13 years earlier for his grandson’s bar mitzvah.
Kieran Ramsey of the Global Reach advocacy group, who represents Hekmati’s family, said in an interview that Kamran being the Iranian regime’s only Jewish American prisoner puts him in a particularly precarious position. “There can be risk of retribution or reprisals against him at any moment,” Ramsey said, “from prison guards or other prisoners…his identity certainly puts him at higher risk.”
On March 16, almost three weeks into the war, Secretary of State Marco Rubio designated Hekmati as wrongfully detained, a status that allows the federal government to deploy all possible levers — diplomatic, legal, and economic — to secure his release. Ramsey says that change in designation is helpful, but only goes so far.
His organization is now pushing for the release of all American prisoners in Iran to be an integral part of the U.S.-Iran negotiations to end the war.
“Our hope is that Kamran Hekmati and the other Americans that are being held are put to the front of the list in terms of issues to decide, and not as a deal sweetener,” he said adding, “We know the U.S. negotiators have a list of American names. We know Kamran is at the top of that list…. We also know there are some very rational actors inside the regime, and we are trying to convince them that you have a no-cost way to open doors. Use Kamran as that no-cost way.”
The last time the woman who emigrated in 2008 visited Iran was two years ago. Even then, she worried that photos taken of her in the U.S. wearing a Jewish star necklace might draw the regime’s suspicion.
Now, she believes whatever space existed for quiet concessions from the Iranian government to Jews may disappear. The regime’s efforts to retain a firm grip on the Iranian people following January’s massive anti-regime protest wave and the war pose new risks.
“Just because of everything that has happened… I’m sure that any type of like ‘OK, let this go,’ ‘Let this person go,’ will end,” she said.
“Now I know that I could not go back,” she added. “I really feel if the Islamic Republic stays — and they probably have a good chance of staying — I feel like I lost Iran.”
This story was originally published on the Forward.
Features
‘Don’t give up on us now’: Israel peace summit convenes thousands to aim for elusive progress
By Rachel Fink April 30, 2026
This story was originally published in the Forward. Click here to get the Forward’s free email newsletters delivered to your inbox.
TEL AVIV, ISRAEL — On Thursday’s bright, sun-drenched morning during a rare pause in the multi-front war Israel has been locked into for nearly three years, in between the protests, funerals and steady drumbeat of violence and trauma, something decidedly more hopeful was taking place.
In one of the city’s largest conference centers, thousands gathered for the third annual People’s Peace Summit under the banner “It must be. It can be. It will be.” The event was organized by the It’s Time coalition, a partnership of more than 80 grassroots peacebuilding and shared society organizations.
Young activists in T-shirts representing their various causes stood alongside older attendees, some in kippot, others in hijabs. Diplomats in business attire moved through the crowd, as did the handful of Israeli politicians still publicly associated with the peace camp – familiar faces in a political landscape where their ranks have thinned considerably. Outside the main arena, Hebrew mingled with Arabic and English as participants strolled through art installations and an organizational fair showcasing the work of It’s Time’s partners.
While previous events took place at the height of war — while hostages remained in captivity and Gaza endured devastating destruction — this year’s summit unfolded during a fragile lull in fighting, the tenuous ceasefires with Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps allowing, however briefly, for conversations to move beyond issues of immediate survival. Speakers tackled settler violence in the West Bank, looming elections, the immense challenge of rebuilding Gaza and the broader question of how to move Israel and Palestine beyond its default state of perpetual conflict. Inside the packed sessions, the tone was equal parts practical, sober and hopeful.
After a quick coffee break, the thousands of participants came together for an evening of stirring speeches and raucous musical performances. When Israeli pop icon Dana International took the stage with a familiar anthem of peace, the crowd rose to its feet, wrapping their arms around one another and belting out the words.
Despite the joyous atmosphere, the event — and the coalition behind it — is not immune from criticism. Some critiques appear to have been internalized: this year’s programming leaned more heavily into policy, strategy and the hard realities of war than previous gatherings. Other issues remain unresolved. Palestinian participation, while present, was still markedly limited, which organizers attribute largely to government-imposed restrictions on movement rather than a lack of interest. Still, the question of whether a civil society movement like this can translate hope and optimism into concrete political change remains to be seen.
That tension between aspiration and reality extends well beyond Israel. In the United States, support for Israel, particularly among younger American Jews, is waning. A 2024 Pew survey found that fewer than half of American Jews under 30 say they feel “very attached” to Israel, while a JFNA poll released in February 2026, found that just 37% of all American Jews identify as Zionists. Both numbers represent a sharp decline from older generations.
For Shira Ben Sasson, Israel director of the New Israel Fund, it is precisely the peace camp which could hold the answer to this growing disillusionment. If the state itself no longer reflects the values that once anchored many American Jews’ connection to Israel, she suggests, perhaps their more natural partner is the small but determined coalition of Israelis working to change it.
“I appreciate how difficult it is to be a Jew who cares about Israel right now,” she told the Forward as the conference, which New Israel Fund helped support and coordinate, got underway. “People are struggling with what they are seeing — the way Israel is conducting itself. Its policies. They are watching the value set that once connected them so strongly to the Jewish state disappear.”
Her response is one of both reassurance and redirection.
“Thank you for continuing to care,” she said. “But remember — the Israeli government is not your partner. We are. Pro-democracy civil society is your partner. Those of us who are fighting for equality here, for the rights of non-Israeli Jews and the rights of non-Jewish Israelis are your partners. This is where those shared values still live.”
If that message feels unfamiliar to those in the diaspora, Ben Sasson suggests the reason ultimately comes down to lack of exposure.
“We, the Israeli peace camp, need to be in many more places than we are right now,” she said. “We must get the word out that while we might not be the majority here, we are not only growing in number, we are expanding our diversity as well.”
She pointed to the rising number of Orthodox Jews, like herself, who have joined the movement as one example.
Ben Sasson also emphasized that, as with any strong partnership, the relationship must move in both directions. Israeli peace activists, she said, must make themselves more visible to American Jews. But American Jews also need to be willing to open their eyes.
“The mainstream Jewish community has to challenge itself,” she said. “They have to be able to voice their concern for Israeli democracy, for the violence in the occupied territories. And they have to be willing to engage in an honest discussion about peace.”
She is less worried about reaching individuals whose support for Israel may be wavering — many of whom, she believes, will connect with the movement’s vision — than she is about the institutions that have long shaped American Jewish engagement with Israel. Those institutions, she said, have been slow to open themselves to this kind of messaging.
“I think there’s fear,” Ben Sasson explained. “The word ‘peace’ has come to sound political. And once something is labeled political, these legacy institutions don’t want to touch it.”
But that avoidance, she warned, comes at a cost.
“They cannot afford to just stick with the same old stale perception of Israel,” she argued. “If you aren’t willing to talk about the real-life issues that Israelis are facing, you simply won’t be relevant anymore — particularly for the young people in your community.”
“Do not be afraid of controversy,” she added. “Do not be afraid to invite an Arab and a Jew to your event, where there may be disagreement. That’s okay. Struggling and wrestling is a core part of our identity.”
While Ben Sasson contends there is a critical mass of people who are hungry for an alternative way to relate to Israel, the question of feasibility remains; the same question that follows the peace movement inside Israel: Does its growing visibility reflect real political momentum, or is it simply too late to reverse course?
To those who are ready to walk away altogether, Ben Sasson points out that Israel stands to lose not only their support, but also the values and organizing traditions American Jews have long brought to the relationship.
“You’ve helped us achieve so many things in Israel for decades,” she said. “You helped us get a state. And now we need a different kind of support. The Jewish values that you offer — the concept of tikkun olam, which is not at the heart of Israeli Judaism but is at the heart of American Judaism — this is the support you can offer us right now.”
Her final plea was simple.
“Do not give up on Israel,” Ben Sasson said. “There have been so many times when things felt insurmountable and you did not give up on us. Don’t give up on us now.”
Rachel Fink is a Tel Aviv-based journalist covering Israel and the Jewish world. Her work has appeared in Haaretz, The Times of Israel, The Jerusalem Report, and Kveller.
This story was originally published on the Forward.
Features
The complete story of the delusional Winnipeg con man who duped people all over the world
By BERNIE BELLAN I have been publishing different chapters from a book I have written about a Winnipeg man who has been telling people for years that he is someone of great wealth who wants to invest in various projects in which those people are engaged.
I’ve now compiled those stories into one large pdf file, which you can read here – or download as a pdf. Simply click on the image below to open the pdf:
