There must be consequences when politicians endorse and campaign for unpalatable candidates for public office in order to court that candidate’s political base. I am just one voter, but I am ready to commit to issuing some.

I am a lifelong Democrat and consider myself a centrist liberal on most issues. The last times I recall voting for a Republican were in 1992 — 33 years ago! — when I supported Bill Green in his unsuccessful campaign for reelection as the U.S. representative from New York City’s largely Upper East Side congressional district, and then in 2001 when I voted for Mike Bloomberg for mayor of New York City.

But, like many other centrist Democrats, I have been watching with ever-increasing concern as the party I once considered my political home has moved further and further away to the left — indeed, often to the extremist far-left — on an issue I care about deeply.

The fundamental right of the State of Israel to exist — its geopolitical and moral legitimacy, as it were — is one such pivotal issue. Bill Clinton, Barack Obama, Joe Biden, Kamala Harris, Mario and Andrew Cuomo, Chuck Schumer, and Kirsten Gillibrand all identified and identify as supporters of Israel even while they may have criticized particular policies of one Israeli government or other.

This is not true of Zohran Mamdani. The Democratic candidate for mayor of New York City is a declared and uncompromising anti-Zionist. He comes by his inflexible antagonism toward the Jewish homeland honestly — his father, Mahmood Mamdani, Columbia University’s Herbert Lehman professor of government, has demanded for years that Israel divest its endowment from companies that invest in Israel, and his mother, filmmaker Mira Nair, pointedly refuses to attend Israeli film festivals.

Zohran Mamdani considers the likes of the anti-Zionist academics Edward Said and Rashid Khalidi as his intellectual mentors. While at college, he founded the Bowdoin chapter of the radical Students for Justice in Palestine.

All this is known. Mamdani never made a secret of his hatred of — as opposed to disagreement, even harsh disagreement, with — Israel and Zionism. As a result, he engages in some of the most extreme, bordering on the absurd, antisemitic conspiracy theories imaginable. In 2023, we learned this week, he told a far-left group that alleged violence on the part of New York police officers is somehow masterminded by the Israel armed forces: “We have to make clear that when the boot of the NYPD is on your neck, it’s been laced by the IDF.”

If ever there was a clear incitement to antisemitic violence, violence against Jews, this is it. And yet a host of prominent New York Democrats, rather than distancing themselves from if not affirmatively repudiating Mamdani, have not only endorsed him but are actively campaigning for him.

Among this lot are New York Gov. Kathy Hochul, State Attorney General Letitia James, U.S. House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries, Rep. Jerrold Nadler, and State Sen. Liz Krueger. All of them purport to be appalled by the surging antisemitism around them, and yet they stand by their candidate.

Mamdani claims not to be antisemitic, only pro-Palestinian and anti-Israel, and his above-listed supporters assist him in threading this particular noxious needle.

I’m not the first Jewish voice to say they’re attempting an impossible task. “Mamdani’s distinction between accepting Jews and denying a Jewish state is not merely a rhetorical sleight of hand or political naivete — though it is, to be clear, both of these,” warned Rabbi Elliot Cosgrove in his courageous sermon. “He is doing so to traffic in the most dangerous of tropes, an anti-Zionist rhetoric.”

But I might be the first Jewish voice to say publicly that I will never again cast a vote for any of the Democrats who have endorsed Mamdani. For me, at least, his supporters have crossed a moral and ideological Rubicon, and they have forced me, with not inconsiderable trepidation and reluctance, to do the same.

While Nadler, who announced that he will not seek reelection in 2026, is a lame duck, many of Mamdani’s other acolytes appear to still want to have a political future beyond Nov. 4. I will not countenance that.

Politicians by definition tend to make strategic decisions they deem to be in their self-interest. The more high-minded, not to say ethical, ones among them draw the line when it comes to issues of principle. More likely, or perhaps, more frequently, they will balance competing considerations and opt for what they consider to be their most advantageous pragmatic option.

It’s true that supporting Mamdani may seem like a rational, if not especially ethical, choice. Numerous polls have shown that support for Israel has diminished, especially among younger voters. Thus, the cynical calculation behind some of the Mamdani endorsements may well have been that the future support of such anti-Israel, pro-Palestinian voters would more than make up for any loss of disaffected pro-Israel Democrats like me.

Still, Hochul’s early endorsement of Mamdani’s candidacy could well end up being an albatross around her neck next year when she seeks reelection. Especially if the now prevailing anti-Israel sentiment recedes once the Israel-Hamas war is in the rearview mirror. The same goes for Mamdani’s other cheerleaders. Pendulums have a way of swinging back toward the center.

I, for one, will not vote for Hochul again. And yes, that means that I am open to supporting a palatable Republican nominee for New York governor. It’s not an easy conclusion for me to reach or decision to make, but I don’t see how I can do otherwise — and while I might be the early in declaring it publicly, I hardly think I will be alone.

I am writing in advance of the Tuesday’s election, which I hope may yet turn out to be a surprise, come-from-behind win for Andrew Cuomo. I am also doing so in advance of the inevitable attempts at fence-mending that will follow, regardless of the result.

I know New York’s centrist Democrats will try to win me back, and I know that the forces acting on Republicans may well make a return attractive. But I am making this vow now because I am distressed that while Mamdani’s mainstream allies may not have consciously written off the New York Jewish community, they are hoping for collective short memories on our part. I know, even if they do not, that Jewish security and survival have always depended on remembering.

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The post I won’t vote for Democrats who backed Mamdani. I know I’m not the only one. appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.

The sheer number of letters by rabbis circulating about Zohran Mamdani’s New York City mayoral campaign is “mind numbing,” a rabbi friend texted me earlier this week.

There’s the public letter decrying Mamdani, the Democratic candidate, sponsored by The Jewish Majority, which as of this writing has 1,138 signatures from rabbis, cantors and rabbinical students. But two or three other letters are also making their way through her circles. (One affirms a belief that Mamdani’s support for Palestinian rights comes from “deep moral convictions”; the others have not yet been made public.) “Make it stop,” she wrote.

The last two years have been unbelievably difficult for American Jews, and particularly so for rabbis. Rabbis have been tasked with counseling congregants deeply affected by the trauma caused by Oct. 7 and the rise in antisemitism, as well as the global outcry against Israel’s brutal bombardment of Gaza. Not to mention navigating efforts by certain political actors to weaponize Jewish pain in order to silence pro-Palestinian activists, remake higher education and accelerate an aggressive deportation agenda.

Now, the ceasefire between Israel and Hamas has created something of a vacuum, leaving rabbis to channel the complexity of the last two years into an unrelenting, disproportionate and often negative focus on Mamdani.

The old joke goes “two Jews, three opinions.” It’s rare to find Jewish consensus on where to get the best bagels, let alone a political issue. Yet rabbis from states as distant as Nevada, Illinois, Georgia, Indiana, New Mexico and Tennessee have signed the Jewish Majority letter, which calls out “rising anti-Zionism and its political normalization,” publicly affirming their opposition to a potential Mayor Mamdani. While the letter boasts 1,138 signatures, only around 100 of them actually live in New York City and would be directly affected by a Mamdani administration.

Isn’t it a bit strange that no cause has apparently rallied more American rabbis — not a devastating humanitarian crisis in Gaza; not an antisemitic AI chatbot developed by the richest man on Earth; not the Department of Homeland Security sharing antisemitic dogwhistles; not Immigrations and Customs Enforcement kidnapping people off the street — than opposition to a Muslim, Democratic socialist mayoral candidate who is not pro-Israel?

I find it hard to believe that New York City’s next mayor is truly the most vital issue facing American Jews outside this specific city. So why this level of focused condemnation?

I think there’s an answer in the striking timing of these letters. Mamdani won the Democratic primary overwhelmingly in June. Where were the letters then? If anything, his victory seems less assured than it did a month or two ago — recent polls suggest that former Gov. Andrew Cuomo, running as an Independent, has cut Mamdani’s lead in half following Mayor Eric Adams’ withdrawal from the race.

So what changed? With the ceasefire and the return of the last living hostages, I think that diaspora Jewry is suddenly unsure about our political role. Now that the living hostages — the one issue most of us agreed on in the last two years — are home safe, whom do we advocate for? What are we supposed to talk about now?

The flurry of these rabbinic anti-Mamdani letters less than a month before the mayoral election in November has been framed by some as an extraordinary expression of rabbinic unity in the face of a dangerous candidate. “Look at how many American rabbis have ever signed a letter,” one commenter on r/Jewish wrote on Reddit. “This is one of the largest rabbinic sign-on letters in history.”

But I worry this proliferation is a sign of insecurity in our community, not health.

In a time when it has felt so impossible to express nuance and to allow for a multiplicity of truths, Mamdani represents, for many, an easy opportunity to align against a figure whose position on Israel departs from the long-accepted political norm of vocal support.

A recent poll conducted by The Washington Post shows that nearly 40 percent of American Jews believe Israel has committed genocide. That number jumps to 50 percent between the ages of 18 and 34. Synagogue leaders, who are always trying to grow their community with new, younger members, must appease older, more pro-Israel congregants while remaining in touch with the changing views of the new generations — a balancing act that is increasingly untenable.

For a rabbi who is attempting to negotiate the tensions of differing political beliefs within their congregation, it is far easier to sign a letter than it is to reckon, both personally and communally, with the profound generational divide on Israel.

Mamdani’s campaign is not the only time that rabbinic leaders have spoken out since the Hamas attack of Oct. 7, 2023 — or this year. On Feb. 13, 350 American rabbis took out a full-page ad in The New York Times to oppose President Donald Trump’s plan to remove all Palestinians from Gaza. “Jewish people say NO to ethnic cleansing!” it read in bold letters. In July, 1,200 rabbis and Jewish leaders from around the world signed a letter urging Israel to open Gaza to humanitarian aid, followed by a letter in August from over 80 Orthodox rabbis, led by the former mashgiach ruchani of Yeshiva University, Rabbi Yosef Blau.

But the Jewish Majority letter has made by far the biggest impact. And I wonder at the usefulness of its signatories expending limited political capital against a candidate who, by all accounts, is likely to become mayor. When historians write about this charged era of American Jewish life, when authoritarian power is aggressively taking hold, I doubt that this letter will be regarded as a worthy use of their considerable communal power.

In the end, the anti-Mamdani letters say very little about Mamdani and everything about American Jewry. Instead of coming together based on a shared commitment to Jewish values, American rabbis are choosing an enemy to ally against. Instead of drawing “a line in the sand,” as one commentator framed the letter, I fear it is simply a line that will further divide us.

Since Oct. 7, American Jews have been buffeted by anti-war protests, antisemitic attacks and institutional strife. The Hamas attacks and Israel’s war in Gaza have unleashed a profound internal and external reckoning about the previously sacrosanct relationship between the U.S. and Israel. With the tenuous ceasefire coming soon after the start of a new Jewish year, and the traditional pro-Israel consensus irrevocably cracking under the strain of war and religious extremism, American Jews have an important opportunity, now, to look inward.

What have we learned over these painful years? How can we heal, while also taking responsibility for the ways in which we did not use our power for good? How do we want to use our communal power, period? If the party line on Israel has changed, how do American Jews want to change with it?

The conversations within the Jewish community are just beginning, and will last long past the New York City mayoral election on Nov. 4. I pray that our rabbinic leaders will have the courage to help us have them.

The post The rabbinic backlash against Zohran Mamdani isn’t about Mamdani at all appeared first on The Forward.

The most striking artifact in the Judaica collection at Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts isn’t from Yemen or Galicia, or any other far-flung Jewish community that’s long since dispersed; it’s from Chelsea, Massachusetts.

The magnificent wooden Torah ark is just shy of 12 feet tall, and until 1999 it was the centerpiece of the Orange Street Synagogue, in Chelsea, a suburb that once teemed with so much Jewish life it earned the nickname ‘Little Jerusalem.’

But with American synagogues now closing at a record pace, the arks and facades and stained glass windows that testified to American Jewry’s dynamism face an unsettled future.

Indeed, to make the short hop from Chelsea to northeast Boston, the MFA’s ark took a rather scenic — even biblical — route. There’s a last-gasp reprieve as destruction looms; an extended stint in a wilderness of sorts (Texas); and a healthy sprinkling of rabbinic wisdom.

All the same, it illuminates an often forgotten chapter in Boston’s Jewish story.

A thriving Jewish enclave 

Around the turn of the 20th century, tens of thousands of mostly eastern European Jewish immigrants arrived in Chelsea, transforming a provincial Protestant outpost into a chiefly working-class center of Jewish cultural, religious and economic life. By 1920, it had between 15 and 20 synagogues; a Hebrew School that graduated over 400 people a year; and dozens of clubs and organizations that held their meetings in Yiddish.

One of its more well-known inhabitants was Sam Katz, a Galician immigrant who was, for a time, Massachusetts’ pre-eminent woodcarver. Katz was born in 1884 in Veshnevets, modern Ukraine, and emigrated to the US in 1910. He lived briefly in New York before settling in Greater Boston, where, even though he lacked formal training, he built an estimated 24 synagogue arks during the 1920s and 30s. “These immigrant wood carvers, in general, learned from their father and their grandfather,” said Simona Di Nepi, curator of the MFA’s Judaica collection.

Still, Katz found his own style. “When I see vine leaves and grates and these kinds of lions,” Di Nepi told me, pointing to a pair of gilded lions affixed to either side of the MFA’s ark, “I know that it’s Sam Katz.” Perched on top of the ark is a bald eagle, jostling for position with a Torah crown. Taken together, said Di Nepi, the sculptures are a kind of shorthand for the burgeoning Jewish-American culture Chelsea represented. Indeed, this is one of the gallery’s abiding themes: the various ways artists have combined age-old Jewish iconography with time- and place-specific motifs.

The ark needs a hero 

By 1950, Jewish Chelsea had entered a terminal decline. Many of its inhabitants had moved to tonier Boston suburbs like Brookline or Newton, propelled by improving socio-economic mobility, though the construction of the Tobin Bridge between 1947 and 1950 also pushed out some 250 families and effectively split the Jewish community in two. In early 1999, the Orange Street Katz Torah ark closed for a final time, its fate uncertain.

That’s when rabbi David Whiman, a congregational rabbi in nearby Newton, and an avid Judaica collector, stepped in.

Whiman salvaged the ark alongside a small crew of friends. A small screen in the gallery plays grainy footage of Whiman in an oversized white T-shirt, smiling broadly. Though the Orange Street shul pews are empty, and the work laborious, Whiman and his group appear noticeably upbeat. The opportunity to preserve such an invaluable link to Chelsea’s Jewish past is, clearly, a happy one. (Whiman, rabbi emeritus at North Shore Synagogue, did not respond to an inquiry.)

Whiman kept the ark with him as his rabbinical career took him first to Houston, where he stayed for the better part of decade, and, later, to Syosset, Long Island. And then, at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, he emailed Di Nepi. He had heard the MFA was establishing a permanent Judaica collection. “He initially said, ‘I’m a collector, and you can have anything you want,’” Di Nepi recalled. In 2022, she went to Syosset, and was immediately taken with the ark. “There were other things that I might have been interested in,” she said, “but this was so much a Boston story — a local story.”

The ark bore the scars of nearly 20 years in storage. “All the attached pieces were in a box,” Di Nepi said. “And the wood had marks all over it.” Over six months, the MFA’s Conservation department, led by Christine Storti, restored the ark’s original flourishes: On top, an eagle and a torah crown; just below, two golden lions and three Magen Davids; and, in the middle, two gilded hands of Kohanim clasped together in prayer. Di Nepi then placed the renovated ark on a bimah-esque plinth, where it remains today, resplendent in the dim gallery light.

For every rescued Torah ark, however, are dozens that couldn’t overcome the demographic and cultural changes that have reshaped American Judaism during the past half-century. “There used to be a high demand for Torah arks,” Di Nepi said. “But now, we have the inverse situation, where there is mass demand for finding homes for arks that are closing.”

The Sam Katz ark is therefore a monument to a community that’s largely slipped from view. Yet there’s one fragment of Jewish Chelsea that’s proved remarkably durable. The glass light bulb Katz hung from the ark more than a century ago still works, Di Nepi told me, though she and Storti opted against displaying it, given its obvious fragility, and commissioned a replica. I am nevertheless consoled by the thought that somewhere in the Museum of Fine Arts’ storage there’s a tiny piece of Jewish Chelsea, waiting to shine again.

The post How a curator and a rabbi joined forces to keep a piece of Boston’s Jewish history alive appeared first on The Forward.