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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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On El-Sayed, Michigan’s Jewish Democrats aren’t all ready to unite behind nominee
Following Abdul El-Sayed’s narrow win of the Democratic nomination for Michigan’s open Senate seat, the state’s Jewish Democrats are reflecting on whether the divisions El-Sayed’s candidacy brought to the fore can be bridged before November.
Jewish voters make up just 1.4% of the electorate in Michigan. But the community had become deeply invested in the race, with Jews both in fierce opposition and fiery support of El-Sayed in an election that had become a proxy fight over the Gaza war and the U.S.-Israel relationship.
Jewish former Michigan congressman Andy Levin, who had endorsed El-Sayed, believes Democrats will get behind the nominee in the interest of defeating Republican Mike Rogers — a race that could determine which party controls the Senate. Pre-primary polls found Rogers leading El-Sayed by single digits.
“Shame on any Jewish Democrat if they’re going to go vote for Mike Rogers and put our democracy at risk because they can’t find their way to supporting Abdul El-Sayed, who is such a brilliant person, just because he doesn’t share their exact beliefs on Israel and Palestine,” Levin told the Forward. “That’s ridiculous.”
Levin lost his Senate seat to Rep. Haley Stevens after heavy spending against him by AIPAC, the campaign fundraising group advocating for unrestricted U.S. aid to Israel. An AIPAC-associated super PAC spent some $32 million in a failed attempt to get Stevens the Senate nomination.
Stevens endorsed El-Sayed for the general election Wednesday morning. But some Jews who voted for Stevens see no possibility for reconciliation. Rabbi Asher Lopatin of the modern Orthodox synagogue Kehillat Etz Chayim in suburban Detroit had endorsed Stevens in the primary, alarmed by El-Sayed’s association with the controversial Twitch streamer Hasan Piker and condemnation of Israel as a genocidal and apartheid state.
In a TV interview Wednesday, El-Sayed used the term “bloodthirsty” to describe Israel.
“To have so many people vote for someone who is so hurtful to the Jewish community, the things that the Jewish community values — I think it’s depressing,” Lopatin told the Forward.
Lopatin has made up his mind that he will not vote for El-Sayed in the general election, but he also isn’t yet sold on Rogers, the Republican nominee.
“I have to study him more,” Lopatin said. “But I will not vote for Abdul El-Sayed, definitely, and I would tell people they should not.”
Lopatin said he wishes Stevens would condemn El-Sayed rather than endorse him.
Still, others see El-Sayed as the best candidate to face Rogers in the general — and don’t want him to pull back on the issues that won him the nomination. Barbara Weinberg Barefield, a photographer outside Detroit who helped organize the group Jews for Abdul, said she has confidence El-Sayed will win the general — attributing the close primary race partly to the influence of outside money supporting Stevens.
“He was able to win this election in the face of close to $70 million of outside funding going to bolster his opponent,” Weinberg Barefield said. “This election is showing us, and elections around the country are showing us, that elections are not to be bought — they’re to be earned.”
Roslyn Schindler, a retired professor who taught Holocaust studies at Wayne State University, was also among El-Sayed’s Jewish supporters, even as she disagreed with him on his lack of support for a two-state solution. She stressed the importance of beating Rogers in November irrespective of disagreements on Israel.
“My motto is and will be: vote blue, no matter who,” Schindler told the Forward. “I am hoping that all Democrats realize that to do otherwise will be self-destructive and just plain wrong.”
Others are taking a wait-and-see approach. Decky Alexander, chair of the Michigan Democratic Jewish Caucus — which endorsed Stevens in the primary — isn’t issuing an endorsement in the general election yet.
She said the close margin El-Sayed won by, about 15,000 votes, gives her hope that El-Sayed will see the need to unify his party. A start, she said, would be focusing less on AIPAC during his general election campaign.
“There’s a lot of opportunity on Abdul’s side to be a better bridge maker versus kind of a bridge burner,” Alexander told the Forward. “The cards are his. It’s his responsibility to initiate.”
In his election night speech, El-Sayed didn’t mention AIPAC by name, instead speaking more generally about getting money out of politics.
On Wednesday, he addressed Jewish Michiganders directly: “I want you to know that my commitment to your safety, my commitment to Jewish safety, is the same commitment that I have to the safety of my own daughters.”
The post On El-Sayed, Michigan’s Jewish Democrats aren’t all ready to unite behind nominee appeared first on The Forward.
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‘The Yiddish Teacher’ (Poem)
One thing about the late Forverts staff writer and critic Miriam Hoffman — she cooked a heavenly eggplant in tomato sauce.
And why do I know this about one of our writers? Hoffman, a veritable lexicon-caldron of Yiddish sayings and terms she’d archived from her own mother’s distinct poylish dialect, was many things: A distinguished long-term professor of Yiddish at Columbia University; a theater critic turned playwright who turned the New York Public Theatre’s founding director Joseph Papp into a serious supporter of Yiddish culture; a child survivor of Siberian exile, and so much more.
As she encountered immigrant American life in da Bronx, the tiny dynamo that was Hoffman delighted in becoming American, freely advising everyone on the best consumer goods this country had to offer. A country that was a home and refuge to her, her parents, her husband and so many in her vast circle of Yiddishist friends, students, fellow writers, educators and chosen family. And then, once upon a time, she welcomed me into her Florida home for an overnight stay, so that I could record her jaw-dropping tales of how she and her beloved mameloshn Yiddish both survived the khurbn, the Holocaust. And talk into the video camera she did.
But first, there was lunch.
Rest in all your ferocious deliciousness, Miriam Hoffman, and thank you. For the eggplant, the advice on the best toothpaste, the stories — and for doing everything, everything, everything possible, to transmit your Yiddish to another generation.
The Yiddish Teacher
The Yiddish teacher bending saying:
In my book you’ll learn
the alefbeys through pictograms like so:
The gimel is a camel
The beys a house
You see?
The Yiddish teacher has an archive
in her bedroom closet
The folding doors open revealing:
shoeboxes filled with
stories and
poems and
songs she
wrote as a child
in the displaced persons camp
on paper donated to Jewish refugees
The Yiddish teacher was once
seated in back
of a transport truck
with all the other refugees
Trying to go over the Swiss Alps
to Mandate Palestine
The Yiddish teacher was born
in a Siberian prison camp
“people were starving, sure,
but there was sex”
The Yiddish teacher was the only
woman writer on staff
at the Forverts Yiddish newspaper
The Yiddish teacher remembers
the first time her family ate
Chef-Boy-Ar-Dee spaghetti and
meatballs
from a can
in the Bronx
We go shopping together
The Yiddish teacher loves Rao’s tomato sauce
“it’s the best”
The Yiddish teacher recommends
“Mavis Toothpaste”
It’s the best
The Yiddish teacher loves to
go fly fishing
The Yiddish teacher is short and slim
and round
I think
if I cup my hands together
I can
carry her around always
— Chana Pollack
The post ‘The Yiddish Teacher’ (Poem) appeared first on The Forward.
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Christopher Nolan’s ‘Odyssey’ is a Talmud-quoting, Tisha B’Av epic
“Before there were Jews… there was ‘The Odyssey,’” a theater manager infamously posted on a marquee in Portland, Oregon.
While the mythic, Bronze Age events recounted in the blockbuster film likely never transpired, Homer’s epic poem is by any measure younger than the Jewish people. And Christopher Nolan’s Odyssey, now a proxy for a pitched battle over the essence of Western civilization, could not exist as it is without the Jews. Indeed, whether it knows it or not, it is telling a foundational story of our history.
Much of the criticism surrounding the film, which managed to agitate classicists from its first set photos of Matt Damon in a crested Grecian helmet (not a period-accurate Mycenaean boar-tusk ensemble) and bigots of all stripes with its casting of a trans man and people of color, has shifted since its release just before Tisha B’Av, taking aim at the film’s ideas and how they may clash with those of antiquity’s.
“Did you Christianize The Odyssey?” podcaster Zhong Shu asked Nolan in a now-viral interview.
Nolan explained that he was drawn to the ancient ethic of “xenia,” called “Zeus’ Law” in the film. In the Greek conception, this means welcoming guests because you never know if they may be a God. In Nolan’s blockbuster it’s described as treating others how you would be treated. When the law is breached, society as we know it comes undone, leading to our hero’s atonement and qualms that seem at odds with his traditional characterization.
While Nolan’s understanding mirrors the Christian Golden Rule, which itself is antedated by statements in the Torah and by Hillel, his vision of civilizational ruin when it is trespassed is more central to Judaism. Odysseus laments that, by creating the Trojan horse, and exploiting the code of hospitality to launch a massacre, he has broken something.
“To burn the walls of Troy is to burn the world entire,” Damon’s Odysseus tells Anne Hathaway’s Penelope. This is more or less a paraphrase from Talmudic wisdom: “To destroy one life is to destroy the world entire,” and its more recognizable corollary, “to save one life is to save the world entire.”
The Hebrew Bible is rife with examples of hospitality in extremis. In Sodom, Lot offers his daughters to a mob of rapists rather than have them violate his heavenly guests. The result: a destroyed city and a wife reduced to a table condiment. (Just before, Abraham fed these visitors, plus another angel of God.)
But watching the film Tuesday, I was reminded of another story. Remember when I mentioned Tisha B’Av, the holiday marking the destruction of Judaism’s ancient capital?
Our tradition teaches that the second temple fell because a man holding a banquet in Jerusalem kicked out his enemy, a fellow by the name of Bar Kamtza. Humiliated by his host, Bar Kamtza plots his revenge. He goes to Caesar and tells him the Jews are conspiring against his rule. To prove it, Bar Kamtza, like the wily Odysseus, concocts a ruse, suggesting the Romans send a sacrifice to the rabbis and see if they offer it.
They don’t, as Bar Kamtza blemishes the animal, making it unfit for offering.
In The Odyssey, the famous gift horse is presented as a tribute to Athena. Its blemish is the fighting force it hides inside, ready to sack the city.
The upshot of the rejected temple sacrifice was the razing of Jerusalem at the hands of the Romans. The temple is desecrated, in much the way the temple of Athena is in the film.
Christian theology doesn’t argue quite so forcefully that the violation of the Golden Rule augurs a civilizational collapse. Quite the contrary today, where xenophobia and whispers of Great Replacement — akin to the trade-wind rumors of sea peoples in Nolan’s film — have taken root in the Evangelical right. (Ezra Klein, and really anyone attuned to commentary as subtle as IMAX subwoofers, picked up on this tension.)
Jewish history tells us we fare poorly in places where the stranger isn’t welcome.
In a departure from the text, Nolan ends Odysseus’ wandering with his voluntary exile. He sails west, predicting a benighted age to come, where his exploits will be sung as men lose the ability to write.
Our story ends on a similarly bleak, yet hopeful note.
When Jerusalem fell, Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai devised his own deception, sneaking past the city walls in a casket (before he was let out, zealots wanted to stab the bier, recalling the Trojans’ stabbing of the horse).
But before Yohanan can make his escape he’s intercepted by the general Vespasian, who he mistakenly refers to as the emperor. Vespasian offers a correction, but almost instantly a messenger confirms this designation, telling him Caesar died and named him his successor. Regarding Yohanan’s mistake as prophecy, he offers him a request.
Jerusalem had fallen, self-determination was unrealistic, and so Yohannan asks for the city of Yavneh and its sages. From there our modern history began, literacy thrived and a dark age was subdued.
The Temple and Troy have yet to be rebuilt, but their legends live on.
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