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After Mamdani’s Victory, Jewish New York Must Wake Up
New York City mayor-elect Zohran Mamdani holds a press conference at the Unisphere in the Queens borough of New York City, US, Nov. 5, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Kylie Cooper
The calls and texts started pouring in well before the race was even called. Friends, colleagues, rabbis, and former students — people who rarely agreed on anything — shared the same sense of shock.
“What happens now?” one message asked. “What does this mean for us?” said another. The tone was not rage, but grief along with fear, sadness, and concern about the Jewish future in New York.
Zohran Mamdani is now the mayor-elect of this city and presented a harsh and uncompromising vision of the future in his acceptance speech. These ideas would have been unthinkable only a few years ago. Yet here we are. The question before Jewish New York is not whether the election was fair (it was), or whether we can wish the results away (we can’t), but whether we will have the courage to respond with clarity, unity, and purpose.
This was no fringe contest decided by radicals. Many Jews — especially in Orthodox and older communities — backed former governor Andrew Cuomo, drawn to his long record and his familiarity with Jewish institutions. But roughly a third of Jewish voters, disproportionately younger and more secular, cast their ballots for Mamdani.
They did so despite his open anti-Zionism, his refusal to condemn the slogan “globalize the intifada,” calls to end the Cornell-Technion partnership on Roosevelt Island, and his repeated portrayal of Israel as a colonial project.
That division tells a story larger than one election. It tells of a community that has mistaken assimilation for acceptance, comfort for civic strength, and political quietism for peace. Mamdani’s rise is a mirror. What it reflects is not only the left’s growing hostility to Jewish identity, but our own complacency.
For decades, many Jews in New York assumed the city’s liberalism was a shield; that education, affluence, and civic reputation would protect us from the oldest hatred. October 7, 2023, should have shattered that illusion. Mamdani’s victory should bury it.
This is a man who proudly calls himself anti-Zionist, who has justified slogans glorifying violence against Jews, and who has described Israel’s existence as a moral failure. His final campaign message had a Palestinian flag prominently displayed behind him to further cement those statements.
That such a candidate could not only run but win in a city once called the modern capital of Jewish life speaks volumes. It reveals how profoundly the moral vocabulary of our politics has changed and how hesitant too many Jews have become to defend our own legitimacy in public life.
Too many Jewish institutions were slow to react, slow to mobilize, and slow to sound more than vague alarms. That hesitation cost us ground and voices. It revealed that for all our communal infrastructure, the reflex was to retreat, not rise. Engagement is no longer optional, it is imperative.
The fragmentation of the Jewish vote reflects a generational and cultural drift. Many younger Jews, alienated from synagogues and federations, are drawn to movements that speak in the language of justice and belonging, the very language our tradition helped shape but we’ve allowed others to monopolize.
Their support for Mamdani is not betrayal so much as a symptom of neglect: of education, of meaning, of connection. We taught the Holocaust, but not covenant. We taught survival, but not sanctity. We taught tolerance, but not purpose. We let Jewish identity become a lifestyle brand instead of a moral calling.
If Mamdani’s election jolts us awake, it will have served one sacred purpose: to remind us that continuity requires more than nostalgia and philanthropy. It requires conviction: a belief that being Jewish in New York is not an accident of history but a mission in itself.
New York’s Jewish community has been tested before. In the 1970s, when the city teetered on bankruptcy and neighborhoods burned, many families fled. Yet those who stayed built anew: schools, community centers, newspapers, and cultural networks that became models for the nation. Jewish New York did not survive by retreating. It survived by rebuilding.
We face another such inflection point. The test is not whether we can out-organize a political movement, but whether we can rediscover the courage and confidence that once made this community indispensable to the moral life of the city.
The temptation in moments like this is to withdraw — to build higher walls, add more guards, host more closed-door meetings. Security matters. But civic withdrawal is suicide. Jewish life flourished in New York not because we hid, but because we built. Our response to hostility must be institutional vitality: new leadership, deeper partnerships, serious investment in Jewish education and culture.
We must engage Mamdani’s administration on issues of safety, education, and fairness — but engagement must never mean erasure. Jewish organizations should meet him firmly and respectfully, insisting that antisemitism be confronted, religious freedom protected, and Jewish schools and synagogues treated as full partners in civic life. If he governs all New Yorkers, he must prove it.
Every political earthquake exposes what is fragile and what endures. For all our anxiety, Jewish New York remains vast, creative, and resilient. There is an extraordinary opportunity now to rebuild communal strength; not in fear, but with faith. That means reclaiming Jewish education as the beating heart of continuity, alive with history, text, and moral reasoning, not rote or apologetic.
It means reinvesting in culture, music, art, and literature that express pride, humor, and belonging. It means reconnecting generations, letting older Jews teach courage and younger Jews teach empathy. And it means redefining leadership: raising voices who are intellectually serious, civically engaged, and unafraid to say that Jewish life has something vital to offer America.
As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks reminded us, “The test of faith is whether I can make space for difference — can I recognize God’s image in someone who is not in my image, whose language, faith, and ideals are different from mine?”
That must be our standard, not fearlessness as denial, but courage rooted in identity. New York has long been a proving ground for Jewish civic imagination from the Yiddish presses of the Lower East Side to the philanthropies that built hospitals and universities. The task now is to channel that same creative energy into a new era of pluralism without passivity.
In the short term, Jewish institutions must ensure that the mayor-elect’s administration guarantees security for synagogues and day schools, protects kosher and Sabbath accommodations, and confronts antisemitic hate crimes with the urgency they demand.
In the longer term, our challenge is civic and spiritual: to fortify a community that has grown affluent but unanchored, visible but unsure of its message. We cannot outsource Jewish identity to politicians or assume our moral credibility will be recognized automatically. It must be earned anew through learning, living, and leadership.
If Mamdani’s tenure tests us, let it also refine us. The health of Jewish New York will depend less on his rhetoric than on our resilience.
New York has always been more than a metropolis. For Jews, it is a covenantal space: a place where our story and America’s intersect. That story is now being rewritten, and we have a choice: to fade quietly into the background, or to remind the city that Jewish life is not a relic but a living force. Mamdani’s victory was democratic. Our response must be democratic too and rooted in persuasion, education, and courage. We will work with any administration that governs fairly, but we will speak plainly when Jewish dignity is at stake.
If this moment pushes us to strengthen our institutions, deepen our learning, and reassert our moral voice, then Jewish New York will emerge stronger, not weaker. The covenant did not end on election night. It begins again each morning — in our classrooms and sanctuaries, in our courage to speak, and in our refusal to disappear. That is how Jewish New York will endure: not by hiding, but by leading.
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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‘We’re saying ‘no’ to Mamdani’: Orthodox teens demonstrate outside Gracie Mansion
In a sea of kippot and black skirts, more than 200 Orthodox middle school and high school students gathered outside Gracie Mansion on Friday, conducting morning prayers and giving speeches.
“I like protesting against Mamdani,” Rami Fishman, a 16-year-old student, told the Forward. “He’s not a great guy. I’ll take an opportunity to speak out against him.”
Prominent Modern Orthodox preparatory schools Ramaz and SAR organized the gathering with Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun, the synagogue that sponsors the institutions. Organizers said that comments Mayor Zohran Mamdani made over the summer attacking AIPAC and Israel drove their efforts. Rabbi Bini Kraus, principal of SAR, said the experience was also intended to teach students about “their civic responsibilities.”
“It’s fun,” Fishman said. “We’re praying and we’re saying ‘no’ to Mamdani.”
Fishman, a junior at SAR, said he liked waking up late and he was enjoying meeting students from another school. Kraus told the Forward students were missing three periods by participating, but noted prayer is part of the school’s curriculum and the gathering wasn’t taking away from their studies.
Students and parents could opt out, with Kraus noting some declined to participate. Nearly 400 alumni and members of Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun signed a petition against the gathering.
In their speeches, students touched on fears of antisemitism, being proud Jews and supporting Israel openly. One 8th grader called on Mamdani to prioritize the safety of the Jewish community.
Neturei Karta, a Haredi group that opposes Zionism, protested against the student group by waving Palestinian flags, chanting and holding signs in support of Mamdani. The NK group chanted “Antizionism is not antisemitism,” and called for Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to be arrested during his visit to New York next week. Mamdani, who campaigned on arresting Netanyahu, recently acknowledged he does not have the authority to do so.
Michael Rapaport, an actor and staunch supporter of Israel, came to support the students saying it was “moving,” and “not a political statement.”
“These are kids,” Rapaport told the Forward, “they can’t even vote. This is a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful prideful thing.”
Vigil? Demonstration? Protest?
Organizers did not describe the gathering as a form of protest, instead referring to it as a vigil or communal prayer. However, the event involved classic hallmarks of a protest. A handful of participants waved or wore Israeli flags, and organizers acquired a permit for noise amplification.
“Our students have been going out for decades, really, when things matter,” Kraus said.
He noted he demonstrated for Soviet Jewry when he was a student at the school.
A reporter asked Mamdani about the demonstration at a press conference Wednesday.
“I welcome them,” he said. “They can have a vigil, or I’ve heard some describe it even as a ‘protest.’ Whatever it is intended to be, they have the room and space to do so outside of Gracie Mansion. I think that at the time that they are there, I will probably be somewhere else across the city.”
Rabbi Chaim Steinmetz, senior rabbi at Kehilath Jeshurun, said Thursday, “That’s the right response.”
Kraus, however, said he hoped the mayor would change his mind and attend. If he did, he would hear singing, praying and concerns “expressed respectfully.”
“Maybe that will move him,” Kraus said.
Some alumni and parents opposed the demonstration
The petition against the demonstration stated, “This gathering needlessly inflames tensions between the mayor and the Modern Orthodox Jewish community, as opposed to inviting him into conversation as a potential ally working for the shared safety of all New Yorkers.”
Much of the signatures are anonymous, with only school and class year listed.
The petition also said the schools risked portraying the Modern Orthodox community “as a political monolith opposed to the mayor.”
“They don’t want it to look like the Modern Orthodox community is a monolith, but the Modern Orthodox community really is a monolith on this,” Steinmetz said. “The Modern Orthodox community is, by and large, quite Zionist and really takes the security and safety of the state of Israel very seriously.”
A 2024 poll conducted by Nishma Research found 94% of the Modern Orthodox community identifies as Zionist, compared to 51% of Haredi Jews.
Halachic Left, an observant organization that says its members have “deep connections” to institutions in the Modern Orthodox community, helped circulate the petition. In a statement to the Forward, the organization insisted there is a “full range of views in the Modern Orthodox community on Israel, Zionism, and Mayor Mamdani.”
“The mayor has shown a willingness to respect and speak with our community,” read the statement. “We should be partnering with and engaging the mayor rather than castigating or insulting him.”
The post ‘We’re saying ‘no’ to Mamdani’: Orthodox teens demonstrate outside Gracie Mansion appeared first on The Forward.
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I love ‘Seinfeld’ — why doesn’t the rest of my generation?
Seinfeld had a mythic presence in my childhood. The show went off the air three years before I was born, but that didn’t stop it from permeating my psyche.
When I was little, growing up in Bethesda, Md., my parents would regale me with summaries of their favorite family-friendly episodes. There’s the one where George quits his job in a huff, then shows up the next day and simply pretends he never quit. Or when Elaine runs out of toilet paper, only to have the woman in the next stall refuse to “spare a square” — a scene that prompted my mom to start carrying tissue paper in her purse.
Around middle school, I finally became old enough to watch Seinfeld myself. I recorded the reruns that aired on TBS on our DVR and set out to watch every episode, eager to see the stories that had become a part of my family lore.
Suddenly, all the times my dad warned me against the perils of “double dipping” made more sense. (See: Season 4, Episode 19, “The Implant,” when George gets into a fight at a funeral reception for putting a half-eaten chip back into the communal dip).
I had never felt quite so represented by a piece of media: the dry humor, the cynical outlook, the blunt banter, the overbearing parents. It all felt like home.
The Jewishness of Seinfeld was undoubtedly part of the appeal. It wasn’t just that Jerry was Jewish; it was the sensibility — the neuroses, the kvetching, finding the comedy in life’s everyday absurdities. The characters felt like caricatured versions of my craziest relatives.
My affection for the show was strong enough that I skipped a classmate’s bar mitzvah party to see Jerry Seinfeld perform stand-up live at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C. I don’t remember any specific jokes he told that night, just how wowed I was that Seinfeld was just as funny in person as on TV.
But explaining my newfound obsession to my peers, I was often met with blank stares. Few of my friends had watched Seinfeld at all. Those who tried an episode on my advice reported back that they found the show dated. Yet the lack of interest could not be explained by a lack of nostalgia for ’90s TV; those same friends came to love Friends and Sex and the City.
This Gen Z disinterest in Seinfeld seems to extend beyond my inner circle: A 2022 YouGov survey of 1,000 adults found a generational divide in the Seinfeld fandom: 14% of 18- to 29-year-olds said they loved the show, versus 22% of those 30 to 44, 27% of those 45 to 64 and 32% of those 65 and older.
To be sure, Seinfeld still has its young fans, as evidenced by the show’s continued life in memes and modern riffs on the plots. But that enthusiasm seems to stop short of the broad, mainstream appeal the show once commanded. Today, shows like The Office or Parks and Recreation seem like the cultural touchstones that Seinfeld once was.
So why hasn’t Seinfeld caught on more with my generation? I have a few theories.
For one, much of the humor in Seinfeld revolves around awkward situations: a date gone wrong, an annoying friend you can’t get rid of, a social obligation you can’t escape. Whether trapped in conversation with a “close talker” or endlessly waiting for a table at a Chinese restaurant, the characters are constantly stuck in situations they’d rather avoid.
But modern technology has made it increasingly possible to live a frictionless existence. Awkwardness has become less relatable and more readily labeled “cringe.” Instead of asking someone on a date in person, just use the apps. Instead of breaking up, ghost. Want to avoid the Soup Nazi’s wrath? Just order Uber Eats.
Indeed, Kramer’s entire character is more difficult to imagine today. He’s constantly barging into Jerry’s apartment unannounced, eating out of his fridge and answering his landline phone. But Americans have grown less connected to their neighbors over time; only a quarter of young adults regularly interact with those who live around them — a sharp drop from 51% of young adults in 2012.
Another reason may have to do with how my generation watches television. Today, the entire series is on Netflix, alongside thousands of other shows competing for our attention. Contrast that with my parents, who watched Seinfeld one episode at a time as it aired, every Thursday night over Chinese takeout.
Famously dubbed the “show about nothing,” Seinfeld isn’t especially suited to binge-watching. There’s no need to watch the episodes in order. There are no major cliffhangers, and any romance is fodder for jokes rather than character development.
Some of the disconnect may also be cultural. When Seinfeld first aired, NBC Entertainment President Brandon Tartikoff — a New York Jew himself — famously worried that the show was “too New York, too Jewish” to connect with a wider American audience.
“Who will want to see Jews wandering around New York acting neurotic?” he asked.
Evidently, many people did. But amid rising antisemitism, I wonder whether Jewishness has lost some of its cultural cachet.
These days, it seems increasingly difficult to enjoy a Jewish artist’s work without being asked to account for that artist’s views on Israel. Seinfeld’s outspoken support for Israel after Oct. 7, along with his inflammatory comments comparing the pro-Palestinian movement to the Ku Klux Klan, have prompted calls to boycott his acts. Ironically, the exception to this rule seems to be the invincible Larry David, who has managed to escape cancellation perhaps because his comedic persona is built around being the butt of every joke.
Of course, it’s also possible that Seinfeld is just old. The laugh track is annoying. The production quality looks unmistakably ’90s. Its references are dated.
But I’d hate for a new generation to write off Seinfeld. So if you’re under 30 and not already a fan, watch a few episodes. You can start with my favorite: “The Marine Biologist.” Once you get to the punchline, maybe you’ll see some of what I see in the show.
Or, maybe, I’m just an old soul. Not that there’s anything wrong with that!
The post I love ‘Seinfeld’ — why doesn’t the rest of my generation? appeared first on The Forward.
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An Israeli poet was scheduled to do a reading in New York. Then her publisher called.
It was supposed to be a party to celebrate the revival of a nonprofit poetry press and to welcome a beloved Israeli poet back to an America quite different from the one she visited decades ago.
But politics in that new America intervened, canceling the party.
Hamutal Bar-Yosef, a contemporary icon of Israeli poetry, had planned to be in New York City this week to read from the new English translation of her collection The Miraculous Mistake.
Bar-Yosef’s book is one of three volumes coming out this fall by Sheep Meadow Press, an American nonprofit that had been dormant since its founder, renowned Jewish poet Stanley Moss, died in 2024.
The scheduled reading was also part of a new chapter for Poets House, a national poetry library and meeting place in Manhattan, which, after a four-year hiatus sparked by the pandemic, reopened in 2024 and began offering rental space.
But as conversations about the upcoming event unfolded, Greg Miller, the new head of Sheep Meadow, grew concerned. Bar-Yosef, who is 86, had just received one of Israel’s most prestigious literary awards, the Bialik Prize for a lifetime of achievement in poetry. But not everyone at Poets House seemed enthusiastic about welcoming her, he told the Forward.
Given her elevated profile and the anti-Israeli climate now pervading the literary world, Miller called off the event. He said select staff from the Poets House offered to help him find a new venue in the spring.
“As a result of this conversation and others it was important for someone who is representative of Israel right now to have security,” Miller said. “And so I made the decision we were going to postpone and find a more appropriate venue, the right spot for her that will give her the audience she deserves.”
Poets House did not respond to the Forward’s inquiries. Bar-Yosef declined to be interviewed for this story.
Sheep Meadow and Poets House have a long history, going back 40 years since Sheep Meadow founder Moss also helped found Poets House as a place that “exists to create a welcoming home for poets, poetry readers and for those who are exploring poetry.”
Moss, whose Almost Complete Poems won the National Jewish Book Award for Poetry in 2016, founded Sheep Meadow Press in 1977 as a nonprofit press with a particular focus on international poets in translation.
Thursday’s event was going to feature a reading of poems from Soon, Moss’s final collection of poems completed in his 99th year. Miller also planned to share the stage with Bar-Yosef to read from his own new collection Green Runs Through It.
Moss and Bar-Yosef appeared together for a reading at the 92nd Street Y when Sheep Meadow published an English translation of Night, Morning, one of her nine poetry collections.
But much has changed for Israeli and Jewish authors since then and especially since the Israel-Hamas War began on Oct. 7, 2023. According to a PEN America report published in July, editors have increasingly ignored submissions, rejected them outright or asked agents not to submit Israeli authors in the future.
Miller said it comes down to what the word Zionism means for audience members. Bar-Yosef believes in a homeland for the Jewish people and the state of Israel, Miller said. For years, she has helped transport Palestinian children from the West Bank to hospitals inside Israel. She has Palestinian family members. A prolific prose writer, literary scholar and translator, at least three of her poetry books have been translated into Arabic. She also has published in journals that include Arabic and Hebrew writers.
But because others have imposed their own meaning on the Z-word, finding a safe and welcoming space in the U.S. for an Israeli to read poetry free of indictment has become a challenge.
“I don’t want to be the shillelagh of the left or the right,” Miller said. “I don’t want Hamutal to be that either.”
Bar-Yosef’s latest collection of verse, originally published in Hebrew in 2020, explores grief through the various losses in her life including the death of her older brother in the War of Independence, the suicide of one of her sons, the murder of family members in the Shoah and choices that have become clear long after the fact and too late to right the wrongs.
“It is poetry that addresses harsh realities directly, eschewing pathos and sentimentality, and refusing to hide behind musicality or fluidity—qualities that can otherwise veil the blemishes and scars of reality,” one reviewer wrote in Haaretz when the original Hebrew edition was released in 2020.
A description of the collection by its distributor, Wesleyan University Press, describes it as “a glimpse of holy solidarity, of a time, perhaps some 500 years in the future, where there will be no need for steel doors and bomb shelters” – a reference to the poem Five Hundred Years, which opens with: “It’s hard to believe, but five hundred years ago people like us had slaves.”
It ends with: “That is how they will talk about wars and terrorist attacks as a way of settling disputes or salvaging pride after five hundred more years, perhaps even less.”
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