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South African Jewish journalist Jeremy Gordin murdered in home burglary at 70
(JTA) — Jeremy Gordin, one of South Africa’s most prominent journalists, wrote repeatedly in recent months about burglaries at his family’s Johannesburg home.
In a weekly column, he expressed dismay at the rampant levels of crime, growing urban decay and regular power outages endured by South Africans as a result of mismanagement and corruption. In one — titled “It is getting dark, too dark to see” after the Bob Dylan lyric — he addressed his two children, both in their twenties.
“I’m not suggesting that you’re going to find yourselves in desperate flight across your own border, that your graveyard may be ploughed up and strewn with garbage. But there comes a time when things are clearly falling apart,” he concluded.
He added, with the allusion to his Jewish identity clear to anyone familiar with Jewish history, “And you, who have your whole lives before you (as they say), need to consider seriously going to live elsewhere. We’ve been doing it for centuries, after all.”
On March 31, Gordin’s worst fears came to pass: He was murdered during a night robbery at his home. He was 70.
South African police described the incident as “a robbery gone wrong” but did not describe the exact cause of death. Seven people were arrested in Johannesburg two weeks later; one was driving a car that had been stolen from Gordin’s residence.
It was a tragic end for Gordin’s 70-year South African story, which, as with so many of his country’s Jews, intersected sharply with both the story of Israel and with the struggle of Black South Africans. As a lifelong journalist, he had at times headed both South Africa’s version of Playboy and its storied working-class Black tabloid, and also ran an initiative that used reporting to prove the innocence of people who were wrongfully imprisoned. He won the country’s annual top journalism prize multiple times.
Gordin was also a friend to many, frequently opening his home in Johannesburg’s Parkview neighborhood to guests. (This reporter was one of them during a stint in Johannesburg for Efe, the Spanish newspaper.)
Gordin was born in Pretoria in 1952, in a Jewish family with Lithuanian and Latvian origins. After a spell in South Vietnam, where his pharmacist father worked for the United States, the family returned to South Africa. Gordin went to high school in Brakpan, a town in the industrial east of the Great Johannesburg emblematic of the country’s white Afrikaner working class to which he often referred in his articles.
Gordin obtained a scholarship to study in Israel and completed a bachelor’s degree while playing rugby at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Back in his country, he did his military service volunteering for the South African Defence Force’s elite 1 Parachute Battalion, then started a prolific career in journalism.
In a breakout moment, he published a book in 1998 based on his conversations with the apartheid government’s death squad leader Eugen de Kock. Then incarcerated, de Kock candidly told Gordin about his deeds, but most importantly about those who had ordered his crimes, for which they were hardly questioned and never tried.
Gordin authored another canonical book of recent South Africa history, his biography of South Africa’s former president Jacob Zuma. Published in 2010, a year after Zuma took power, Gordin’s went beyond the usual assumptions about the Zulu former freedom fighter who learned how to read and write as an adult and was often underestimated by South Africa’s intellectual class.
Zuma left office in 2018 after a tenure marked by charges of corruption, cronyism and incompetence. Gordin’s biography has been criticized for being excessively indulgent with its subject, but it remains essential for understanding Zuma’s psychology and the motivations behind his actions.
In the early 1990s, after a period living in San Francisco, Gordin became the launch editor of Playboy South Africa. (He posed nude, with only a magazine as cover, to promote Playboy’s South Africa launch.) In a recent essay, Gordin recounted trying to land a then-unknown Charlize Theron for the magazine’s first cover. Invoking Yiddish terms, Gordin recalled journalists who had passed away, described the actress’s unembarrassed audition, and also managed to explore changing race and class dynamics in South Africa.
(Around this time, his friend Roy Isacowitz wrote in a remembrance published shortly after his death, the pair had successfully gotten a media executive censured for calling them “pushy little Jewboys” — though he said they accepted the description.)
Jeremy Gordin, at right, stands in front of covers of the Sun, the South African tabloid he oversaw for many years. (Courtesy Gordin family)
In 2012 he was named caretaker editor of the Daily Sun, a South African tabloid wildly popular among the Black working class. The paper lost much of its appeal after the death of its founder, larger-than-life Afrikaner media executive Deon du Plessis. Gordin brought back the pride, the punch and many of the readers to the paper. Or, as a headline made for him by his colleagues when he retired said, he “brought rock’n roll back to the Sun.”
The tabloid’s news largely relied on cases of violence, gossip and sex often featuring “tokoloshes,” fantastic creatures of popular African mythology whose encounters with the Sun’s readers were reported nationwide in the first person to its many correspondents. The readership and the paper’s foot soldiers were 100% Black. They collected the stories and sent them to the Johannesburg newsroom, where a group of experienced white male journalists including Gordin translated their texts in the characteristic Daily Sun language.
Gordin’s world couldn’t be further away from the one his newspaper reflected. But as his colleague at the paper Vincent Pienaar wrote after his death, “Not only did he understand the ethos of the publication, he embraced it.”
The tabloid took on serious stories, too. During his tenure as the paper’s editor the Daily Sun broke the story of the death at the hands of police officers of Mozambican immigrant taxi driver Mido Macias. A reader had filmed his gratuitously brutal arrest and sent it to the newspaper. Eight police officers involved in the victim’s death in custody were ultimately sentenced to 15 years in prison.
After leaving the Daily Sun, Gordin took on a role coordinating the Wits Justice Project, a journalism program focused on the plight of innocent or unfairly treated prisoners. In 2011 he helped secure the release of Fusi Mofokeng and Tshokolo Joseph Mokoena, who had served 19 years in prison for a crime they didn’t commit.
Gordin’s many friends say that his sympathy for the underdog was inextricable from the Jewish traditions and attitudes he inherited.
Although not religiously observant, Gordin peppered his articles with Jewish stories and jokes and Yiddish words and expressions. His sense of humor was strongly influenced by his Jewishness, as it was the combination of principle and humorous compassion that defined his personality. He was extremely well-read and voraciously curious, loved to share what he discovered with friends and indulged in sassy but harmless gossip both in private and in his articles.
Sometimes, his Jewish identity and his journalism entwined as when, in 2016, he reported from Johannesburg about the extradition hearing of a Hasidic rabbi, Eliezer Berland, wanted in Israel on rape charges. His final column, published the day before his death, explained, and condemned, the proposed right-wing judicial reforms in Israel.
Rabbi Sa’ar Shaked of the Beit Emanuel Progressive Synagogue in Johannesburg said Gordin as a friend and “wild spirit” who didd’t regularly attend services but was a repeat guest speaker at the synagogue to discuss weekly Torah portions and a variety of aspects of Jewish history and law.
Despite not attending services regularly, Gordin’s role in the community is described as “very active” by Wendy Ovens, a South African health professional in the NGO sector who served with him on the management committee of Beit Emanuel in 2011.
“His knowledge on Judaism and Jewish history was incredible,” Ovens said. She said his Jewish identity fueled his core mission: “He was community-minded and believed in justice and in what was right.”
Gordin is survived by his wife, Deborah Blake, and his children, Jake and Nina.
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The post South African Jewish journalist Jeremy Gordin murdered in home burglary at 70 appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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How a monument to a Jewish Confederate ended up in a storage unit, next to a vacuum cleaner
Behind an orange roll-up door at a self-storage facility in New Orleans, sits a vacuum cleaner, some lighting gear and a cardboard box.
Inside the box is a Confederate monument, one of the strangest Jewish heirlooms in America.
It is granite, four and a half feet tall, 1,600 pounds and shaped like a thick tombstone. It lies on its side on a crushed wooden pallet because it can no longer stand up. A third of it once sat underground, and when Charlotte, North Carolina, chipped it out of a sidewalk in the summer of 2020, the buried end came out ragged. It carries a few gouges where a protester swung a hammer. Until the city scrubbed it, it also carried three letters in black spray paint: BLM.
“There it sits to this day,” said Kenneth Hoffman, executive director of the Museum of the Southern Jewish Experience, half a mile away in New Orleans, “and possibly will sit forever.”
The stone is one of the last left standing — or, more precisely, lying down — from a century-long campaign in which American Jews built monuments across the South to Judah P. Benjamin, the Confederacy’s Jewish secretary of state, because, for a time, he represented their own acceptance in the South. The monument’s fall tells the story of what changed — not just about Benjamin, but about the Jews who once celebrated him.
Its journey from a Charlotte sidewalk to a New Orleans storage unit involves a Yiddish-speaking ex-convict, the United Daughters of the Confederacy, an antisemitic banker, two Polish-born rabbis, a dollar bill pulled from a stranger’s wallet, and a retired lawyer whose wife descends from the man who once hid Benjamin from the Union Army.
What nobody has figured out is what to do with it.
The brains of the Confederacy
Benjamin was a New Orleans lawyer, a sugar planter who owned 140 enslaved people, and a U.S. senator from Louisiana. When the South seceded, Confederate President Jefferson Davis made Benjamin attorney general, then secretary of war, then secretary of state. The two men worked side by side as much as 10 hours a day. Benjamin’s face was engraved on the Confederate $2 bill, likely the only paper money issued in America to feature a Jewish person.
He was known as “the brains of the Confederacy” — a phrase that started as an insult, the old canard of the Jewish puppet master, a way of pinning the Civil War’s loss on the one Jew in the cabinet. He married a Catholic woman, never joined a synagogue and was not a practicing Jew, but none of that mattered. A senator from Ohio sneered that Benjamin was an “Israelite with Egyptian principles.”
When the Confederacy collapsed, Benjamin ran. He disguised himself as a Frenchman who spoke no English, hid in a Florida swamp and slipped out to sea. He made it to London, reinvented himself as a barrister, and died wealthy and free in Paris in 1884, never having answered for any of his past.
That flight is why there are so few monuments to him. Davis went to prison. The generals surrendered and lived out their lives in the South. Benjamin escaped and never came back.
“Some considered Judah Benjamin a kind of traitor,” said Jonathan Sarna, the noted Brandeis University historian of American Jewry.
So the Lost Cause never fully claimed him. Southern Jews claimed him instead.
‘Judah P. Benjamin Nite’
The commemoration campaign that followed has been reconstructed largely by David Weinfeld, an assistant professor at Rowan University who is working on a book called Southern Jews and the Lost Cause. It was indifferent to geography.
Jewish war veterans presented a Benjamin portrait to Atlanta Mayor William Hartsfield in 1954 for the city’s collection of “Confederate Heroes and Statesmen.” Weinfeld found that Alabama’s B’nai B’rith opened its 1962 state convention with a dinner-dance called “Judah P. Benjamin Nite,” and offered to fund a monument at the state capitol honoring him as “a son of the Jewish people.”
Alabama didn’t have a strong connection to Benjamin, which was precisely the appeal there. He “provided a means for southern Jews to prove their southernness regardless of what former Confederate state they resided in,” writes Weinfeld.
Sarna puts the calculation more starkly. Jewish safety in the South depended on being counted as white, and Southern Jews understood the alternative.
“Why did they want to be white?” he asked. “Because the alternative was to be Black.”
The stakes weren’t abstract. In the years around those celebrations, synagogues across the South were bombed and set on fire, and rabbis who backed integration were punished for it. “There were people whose response was, ‘If we want to continue to be here in the South, this is the price we have to pay,’” Sarna said.
It was a bargain, mostly unspoken: stay loyal to the white South and you will be well treated. Many Southern Jews upheld their end of it. Plenty, Sarna said, “had prejudices not different from those of their non-Jewish counterparts.”
The United Daughters of the Confederacy embraced Benjamin right back. “They understood that celebrating a Jew made the Confederacy look tolerant,” Weinfeld told a room of scholars at the American Jewish Historical Society’s conference this June in Cleveland.
The Daughters chartered a Judah P. Benjamin chapter in Bradenton, Florida, in 1914, and after World War I began sponsoring Benjamin markers across the South.
In 1924, the Daughters bought Belle Chasse, Benjamin’s old Louisiana plantation, and a New Orleans rabbi spoke at the dedication, consecrating the house to “the impulse of patriotism.” The next year they bought the Gamble Plantation in Ellenton, Florida, where Benjamin is said to have hidden from Union troops, and gave it to the state. It remains a state park officially named the Judah P. Benjamin Confederate Memorial. With B’nai B’rith’s support, the UDC raised a monument in Sarasota in 1942 — pink Georgia marble, crowned with a bronze sundial — and another in Fayetteville in 1944.
The Sarasota dedication came six weeks after Pearl Harbor, and the Birmingham News found in it a wartime moral. Honoring Benjamin was fitting “especially so right now, when the United States is at war with totalitarian forces whose ringleader, Nazi Germany, proclaims and practices racial and religious intolerance,” the paper wrote. The monument was “in a way a part of the answer of the South, the land of the Confederacy, to Adolf Hitler’s assault upon those freedoms which Southerners and all Americans hold dear.”
It was a memorial to a slaveholding Confederate, offered as the South’s rebuttal to Hitler.
The Charlotte fiasco
In Charlotte, the arrangement broke down in public.
According to Weinfeld’s extensive research, the local UDC chapter was preparing to host the 1948 state convention and wanted a marker for the spot where Benjamin sheltered for a week in April 1865, in the home of a Jewish merchant named Abraham Weill. The chapter’s historian, Josephine Yarbrough, needed money. She wrote to Harry Golden.
Weinfeld has traced what happened next through Golden’s own account and contemporaneous records.
Golden was about the least Confederate man in North Carolina. Born in what is now Ukraine, raised on the Lower East Side, he had served federal prison time for mail fraud before reinventing himself in Charlotte as publisher of the one-man newspaper the Carolina Israelite.
Golden would go on to become a best-selling humorist and an ally of Martin Luther King Jr. during the civil rights movement. But in 1948, he called Benjamin “one of the greatest Jews America has ever produced.” He signed up the city’s two synagogues, Temple Israel and Temple Beth El, which agreed to buy the granite and present it to the Daughters as a gift.
Then came the letter.
A non-Jewish New York banker with Charlotte in-laws warned UDC members across the state that the Daughters were being used for Jewish propaganda. Charlotte’s so-called good Jews, he wrote, were “good only because they are as yet unrevealed.”
That was all it took. The local Daughters voted to yank their name off the stone, then went to the city council to stop the marker from being erected. They argued it would block passengers boarding city buses. The state and national organizations overruled them, and both synagogues voted to press on.
On Oct. 1, 1948, police blocked off South Tryon Street for the unveiling. The mayor came. A Presbyterian minister delivered the keynote. And the Jewish blessings came from two rabbis — Aaron Tofield of Temple Israel and Philip Frankel of Temple Beth El — both born in Poland. Three years after the Holocaust ended, two immigrant rabbis from the old country stood on a Southern sidewalk and consecrated a monument to the Confederacy.
Hidden in plain sight
The stone did what stones do. It stood there.
Charlotte changed around it — the streetcars, then the skyscrapers, then the FedEx store it eventually fronted. The inscription was right there for anyone who bothered to crouch down and read it. You could ship a package, grab a coffee and walk right past a monument to the Confederate secretary of state.
Charlotte’s Jewish community never forgot, exactly. During her years in Beth El’s pulpit, which ran from 1998 to 2016, Rabbi Judith Schindler used the marker to teach the congregation’s teenagers about Jews in the Confederacy.
In August 2017, white supremacists marched in Charlottesville, Virginia, to protest the planned removal of a statue of Confederate General Robert E. Lee, and a counterprotester was killed. Soon after, Beth El’s board voted unanimously to push Charlotte to move the marker somewhere else — or find some other use for it. The answer was the same every time: North Carolina law barred removing Confederate monuments unless they were relocated somewhere equally prominent.
Then, in June 2020, artists painted a “Black Lives Matter” street mural along South Tryon, directly in front of the stone. The monument looked out over the M in “Matter.”
Days later, somebody spray-painted “BLM” across most of the granite and went at it with a hammer. The granite mostly won. “They probably whacked at it several times,” Hoffman said, “and it really only took out a few chips.”
On June 17 of that year, Temple Israel and Temple Beth El — the same two congregations that had paid for the stone in 1948 — wrote to Charlotte’s mayor, city council and city manager. This time, they demanded the monument be removed.
“We should neither celebrate the Confederacy nor honor the legacy of white supremacy,” they wrote. “The monument does not belong in a place of prominence within our city, just like German cities do not memorialize or erect statues to Nazis.”
A week later, Schindler and Mike Wirth, an artist in her congregation, placed a vinyl wraparound banner over the monument. On it was a quote from Emma Lazarus: “Until we are all free, we are none of us free.”
City workers then pried the monument out of the sidewalk, “sort of to the relief of everyone,” Hoffman said. The city scrubbed off the spray paint, declared the marker damaged and put it in municipal storage.
Then, hundreds of miles away and north of the Mason-Dixon line, a retired lawyer read a book.
The dollar
Barrett Freedlander was reading a biography of Judah Benjamin when he hit a half-page passage about a monument in Charlotte. He was shocked. He was also, he realized, related to the story.
Freedlander, 84, is a retired Baltimore attorney. His wife, Laura, is the great-great-granddaughter of Abraham Weill — the merchant who sheltered Benjamin, and whose name is misspelled “Abram Weil” on the stone.
“The only reason I cared about it,” he said, “is because of the family connection.”
That connection runs deeper than Benjamin. Richmond was days from falling. Confederate President Davis, worried about the “disorganized bands of troops roving about the country,” put his wife and their four children on a southbound train — and handed her a pistol and “showed me how to load, aim and fire it,” Varina Davis wrote.
When they arrived in Charlotte, the rented house was packed up and nobody in town would help a family everyone assumed would be arrested.
Except one man.
“The agent, Mr. A. Weill, an Israelite, came to meet us there and gave us every assistance in his power,” Varina wrote in her memoir, “and when he found there were no conveniences for cooking, he sent our meals from his own house for several days, refusing, with many cordial words, any offer to reimburse him.”
Freedlander thinks he knows why the Confederate first lady reached for the word “Israelite,” and why a Jewish merchant was the only person in Charlotte willing to take in a family the rest of the city was shunning. “Only the persecuted would appreciate her issues,” he said.
The Weills prospered. Weill helped found the synagogue in Wilmington, North Carolina, where relatives still belong. His granddaughter Laura married Julius Cone, a Greensboro textile tycoon. The family fortune allowed sisters Claribel and Etta Cone to buy the Matisses and Picassos that are the crown of the Baltimore Museum of Art.
So when Freedlander learned the marker had disappeared into municipal storage, he started making calls. A staffer in the mayor’s office said the city had no use for it and was willing to let it go. But the manager of the warehouse where it sat called Freedlander back with a complication: the city couldn’t simply hand over public property. He was obligated to charge for it.
“How much?” Freedlander asked. One dollar. Freedlander offered to send a check. The man said not to bother and paid it himself, out of his own wallet.
Freedlander’s original idea was to put the monument in his own backyard. “My wife didn’t want it,” he said.
A friend mentioned the new Museum of the Southern Jewish Experience in New Orleans. Another friend of Freedlander’s, a Baltimore executive whose company hauls computer equipment around the country, priced out the job, got into four figures, then called back and said he’d do it for free. It was history, he said.
Monument vs. museum
The stone arrived in New Orleans via truck in November 2022. It was lowered onto the pavement outside the Museum of the Southern Jewish Experience’s offsite storage with a jack lift, and has not moved since.
Hoffman’s first instinct had been to display it. The stone, he realized, tells three tales at once: the Civil War, when Benjamin rose to the Confederate cabinet; 1948, when the two Charlotte synagogues paid for a monument to him; and 2020, when it was defaced during the summer of Black Lives Matter protests.
Last October, when the Southern Jewish Historical Society held its conference in New Orleans, Hoffman and Weinfeld convened a roundtable of historians to figure out what to do with the monument. One idea floated that seemed to gain consensus was to display the marker alongside a light projection restoring the graffiti.
For now, the monument remains in storage. Hoffman said that if and when it goes up, it will be “with its full context. Not like it’s a historical marker.”
Samantha Baskind, an art historian at Cleveland State University, thinks the museum should not wait to display it.
“Yes, originally the statue commemorates Benjamin as a distinguished Jewish American and Confederate statesman,” she said. “But the fact that it was defaced during Black Lives Matter protests makes it acquire a second history. The graffiti isn’t merely vandalism in a conventional sense. It documents a moment when Americans were publicly reevaluating Confederate symbols.”
Which means the object now holds a double meaning: why Benjamin was honored in the 20th century, and why so many people rejected that honor in the 21st.
Baskind knows firsthand the cost of institutional flinching. In 2022, she curated an exhibition of 19th-century Jewish American artists for a gallery at Princeton, including work by Moses Jacob Ezekiel, a Jewish sculptor who spent part of his career producing Confederate monuments. Baskind, who wrote a book about Ezekiel, had written labels confronting Ezekiel’s Lost Cause loyalties head-on. Late in the process, the venue that was planning on showing the exhibition canceled it.
“It was almost devaluing what your students are capable of thinking about,” Baskind said. “And isn’t that what we do in an educational environment?”
Her verdict on the Charlotte stone is unambiguous. The city should never have cleaned it. “I wouldn’t see it as damage. It’s part of the object’s history.” The graffiti “deserves interpretation and not concealment.”
And the question a museum ought to ask, she said, isn’t whether Benjamin was good or bad. “The more interesting question is: Why did different generations understand him so differently?”
Early in the 20th century, American Jews saw a success story. Today most see a man who helped run a slaveholding rebellion that waged war on other states. “Neither perspective should replace the other,” Baskind said. “A museum explains how and when those shifts occurred.”
Then she offered the distinction she believes the argument comes down to. “A monument exists to honor,” she said. “A museum or gallery exists to explain.”
Visitors to the Museum of the Southern Jewish Experience can still find Judah Benjamin there. He’s in a display case in an exhibit about Jews, slavery and the Civil War: two Confederate $2 bills bearing his portrait, one from 1862, one from 1864. Both are blank on the back.
“Which tells you something about the financial solvency of the Confederacy,” Hoffman said. “Save money. Just print it on one side.”
Half a mile away, one of the last monuments American Jews built to the highest-ranking Jew in the Confederacy, and to the standing he seemed to promise them, lies in a cardboard box in the dark, its graffiti scrubbed, its chips intact, waiting for somebody to decide what it means.
Freedlander hopes to take a trip to Wilmington later this month with some of his grandchildren to visit family graves — including that of Abraham Weill, the man who helped a fleeing family when nobody else in town would, and got a monument he never asked for.
“I’m a bystander to all this,” Freedlander said. “I’m just the messenger. But I did want to preserve it.”
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Iran appoints AMIA bombing suspect to National Security Council
(JTA) —
For the second time this year, Iran has named a wanted suspect in the 1994 bombing of the AMIA Jewish community center in Buenos Aires to a top security role.
A spokesman for the Islamic Republic’s president, Masoud Pezeshkian, said Monday that Mohsen Rezaei had resigned as an adviser to the supreme leader, Ayatollah Mojtaba Khamenei, and would assume the role of secretary of Iran’s powerful Supreme National Security Council. Rezaei is a former commander of the Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps.
Rezaei is wanted by Argentina and is subject to an Interpol Red Notice issued at Argentina’s request over his alleged role in the 1994 attack, which killed 85 people and remains the deadliest terrorist attack in Argentina’s history.
Earlier this year, Ahmad Vahidi, another suspect in the AMIA case and also the subject of an Interpol Red Notice, was appointed IRGC commander.
In a landmark ruling in 2024, an Argentine court held Iran and its proxy in Lebanon, Hezbollah, responsible for the bombing, setting the stage for international legal action.
In June 2025, Argentina’s federal judiciary ordered that 10 Iranian and Lebanese suspects accused in connection with the deadly 1994 AMIA bombing be tried in absentia. Rezaei and Vahidi are among them.
The eight other suspects accused by the late AMIA special prosecutor, Alberto Nisman, are: former Iranian Intelligence Minister Ali Fallahijan, former Iranian foreign minister Ali Akbar Velayati, former Iranian ambassador Hadi Soleimanpour, former Iranian cultural attache in Buenos Aires Mohsen Rabbani and former Iranian diplomat Ahmad Reza Asghari, as well as suspected Hezbollah operatives Salman Raouf Salman, Abdallah Salman and Hussein Mounir Mouzannar.
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Israel and AIPAC on the ballot in the Minnesota Senate and U.S. House races
(JTA) — A pair of Democratic primaries in Minnesota on Tuesday are among a string of high-profile battles between progressive and moderate candidates, where Israel and the pro-Israel lobby serve as key wedge issues.
The state’s highest-profile race is the U.S. Senate primary between Rep. Angie Craig, who has been endorsed by the pro-Israel lobbying group AIPAC, and Lieutenant Gov. Peggy Flanagan, who says she would reject AIPAC’s money and accuses Israel of committing a genocide.
The most recent data gathered in late July through early August has Craig with a 2-percentage point lead, within the 5.3% margin of error. Another poll, conducted in late July by a group supporting Flanagan, shows her with a 14-point lead. The Democratic nominee, whether it be Flanagan or Craig, is expected to win the general election in November.
The race, and the candidates’ sparring over AIPAC, comes as the lobby and Israel under the leadership of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu have become increasingly unpopular among Democratic voters. Israel is also an issue in the Democratic gubernatorial primary in neighboring Wisconsin taking place on Tuesday.
Flanagan has referred to Craig as “AIPAC’s candidate” in the Senate race, which prompted Craig to distance herself from the group’s spending during a TV debate in June.
“AIPAC has not contributed at all, the PAC, to my Senate campaign,” said Craig, whose wife, Cheryl Greene, is Jewish. “Not one penny.”
Flanagan countered that, while AIPAC itself has not donated to Craig’s campaign, it has held fundraisers for the four-term congresswoman. AIPAC did not respond to a request for comment.
Just last week in Michigan’s Democratic Senate primary, progressive Abdul El-Sayed defeated the moderate Rep. Haley Stevens, whose AIPAC endorsement was the frequent target of opposition attacks.
Flanagan has drawn the support of American Priorities, a pro-Palestinian super PAC that aims to counter AIPAC. The group spent about $54,000 on ads boosting her candidacy, according to FEC filings.
Flanagan’s platform includes blocking offensive weapons sales to Israel — a position that all but seven Senate Democrats voted for in April — and advancing a two-state solution that “allows for a secure Israel and Palestinian self-determination.”
Craig, who also backs a two-state outcome, voted against the recent amendment proposed by Kentucky Rep. Thomas Massie that would have halted $3.3 billion in military aid to Israel.
In a statement explaining her vote, Craig panned Netanyahu and the war in Iran, but wrote that the amendment would endanger Israelis and American troops and allies in the region. After the vote, Flanagan wrote, “A vote to send $3.3 billion of taxpayer money to fund additional weapons of war to Benjamin Netanyahu is unconscionable. Enough.”
Craig has the endorsement of a number of Democrats in Congress and the Senate, including House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries. She is also endorsed by lobbying group Democratic Majority for Israel, former Democratic presidential contender Pete Buttigieg, and Minneapolis’ Jewish mayor, Jacob Frey, who rose to national prominence for his response to the deadly results of the deployment of immigrant enforcement officials in his city.
Flanagan has drawn endorsements from a swath of major progressive figures including Vermont Sen. Bernie Sanders, Massachusetts Sen. Elizabeth Warren, and outspoken pro-Palestinian Reps. Ro Khanna of California and Ilhan Omar of Minnesota. Flanagan is also endorsed by the state’s Democratic Party affiliate, the Democratic Farmer Labor Party.
On Sunday Sanders posted on X,”There is a reason why the super PACs and billionaires are flooding Minnesota with $20 million to defeat Peggy Flanagan. Same thing as Michigan. They do not want somebody in the Senate who will stand up for the working class.”
Spending by political action committees affiliated with AIPAC has also come to the fore in the Democratic primary race for the House seat that Craig is vacating.
The most moderate of the three leading candidates is State Sen. Matt Klein, who has expressed support for the U.S.-Israel relationship and is endorsed by DMFI. Last-minute spending by outside groups has sparked accusations that AIPAC is indirectly involved.
“AIPAC is coming after me,” said former Lakeville mayor Matt Little, one of Klein’s opponents, in a video.
Klein’s two opponents — Little and state Rep. Kaela Berg — both accuse Israel of committing a genocide, and have both speculated that AIPAC is behind some of the Klein spending.
Berg supports placing conditions on U.S. aid to Israel and halting weapons sales, and Little says the U.S. must end all military aid and weapons sales to the country. On the policy page of his campaign website, Little refers to Hamas’ Oct. 7 attack as “an act of wanton slaughter against innocent civilians” and says that people should condemn “the anti-Semitism that followed.”
Berg is listed as “primary approved” by the liberal Jewish Middle East advocacy group J Street, while Little has been boosted by American Priorities, which has spent about $64,000 in his favor. He is also endorsed by the DFL and Congressional Progressive Caucus leader Rep. Pramila Jayapal.
The latest polling in the district — conducted at the end of May by a group that favors Klein — found Little leading Klein with a 7-percentage point lead, and Berg trailing by another 3 points. 39 percent of voters were undecided, and Little and Klein were about even after voters received more information about the three candidates.
Craig has declined to endorse any of the candidates to replace her.
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