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Things are only going to get worse for Jews from here
I spent last week compiling a summary of news from the past year for the American Jewish Year Book, an annual project that allowed me to zoom out on 2025 — and the results are bleak.
Even as my reporting has often uncovered evidence that the most doomer takes on contemporary antisemitism are wrong, key signals are pointing toward things getting worse for Jews, and antisemitic attitudes growing with few checks.
The country’s largest Jewish advocacy groups are downplaying its rise on the right, afraid of appearing partisan and damaging ties with the Trump administration. At the same time, the Jewish establishment — the Anti-Defamation League, Jewish Federations of North America, the Conference of Presidents and other big institutional players — refuses to acknowledge any distinction between Jewish identity and Zionism, making it difficult to influence the growing share of Americans whose political turn against Israel sometimes slips into antisemitism.
Progressives, meanwhile, tend to view antisemitism as a secondary or tertiary issue — if not a complete distraction from their priorities. And their work on antisemitism is often stymied by an inability to understand the complex relationship that most American Jews have with Israel.
So despite Jewish organizations’ massive investment in combating antisemitism — and huge levels of concern among Jews — there are shockingly few meaningful checks on growing antisemitic sentiment across the political spectrum, and little indication that such checks will emerge in the near future.
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The antisemitic turn on the right has not been subtle. President Donald Trump has repeatedly accused American Jews of disloyalty, and his administration is stocked with high-level appointees who have either espoused antisemitism — Elon Musk thinks Jews are destroying Western civilization, Pentagon press secretary Kingsley Wilson believes Leo Frank was guilty of the crimes he was lynched for and White House official Paul Ingrassia has a self-professed “Nazi streak” — or fraternized with avowed antisemites, like FBI director Kash Patel’s repeated appearances on a podcast whose host called for the mass deportation of Jews.
Prominent Trump supporters in the media — like Candace Owens, Tucker Carlson, Joe Rogan and Theo Von — have either made antisemitic comments or brought on offensive guests.
And data has consistently shown that conservatives hold the most openly offensive views about Jews, and anecdotes suggesting the same continue to pile up. At a recent roundtable of young conservatives hosted by the Manhattan Institute, three of the four responses to the question “What do you think of Jewish people?” included: “They’ve got Hollywood on lock,” “Don’t they own, like, a ton of the media, and, like, just kind of everything?”; and, “I would say a force for evil.”
Yet none of the country’s largest Jewish advocacy groups have directed their energy at addressing conservative antisemitism or the Trump administration’s tolerance of at least certain forms of antisemitism.
Instead, Eric Fingerhut, chief of the Jewish Federations of North America, cautioned his network’s members against signing an April statement criticizing the Trump administration’s approach to antisemitism and urged synagogues to apply for federal security funding, even though it appeared to prohibit them from engaging in diversity work. When asked about Patel, the FBI director who cozied up to an antisemitic podcaster, Fingerhut called on Congress to significantly boost his budget.
I don’t mean to single out Fingerhut — his approach is the same as almost every other major Jewish establishment figure; most have spent the past year focused on opposing progressive groups like teachers unions, student protesters and politicians like Zohran Mamdani.
Paradoxically, focusing on criticizing the left rather than the right helps avoid allegations of partisanship because the Democratic Party and major Jewish leaders are often aligned on Israel. It’s not viewed as an attack on the Democrats for Jonathan Greenblatt, the ADL chief, to compare student protesters to ISIS terrorists; President Joe Biden basically agreed with Greenblatt that the demonstrators were antisemitic, even if he used more restrained language. Kamala Harris refused to allow a Palestinian speaker at last year’s Democratic convention and the party’s top brass dragged their feet or outright refused to endorse Mamdani in the New York City mayor’s race.
Trump, on the other hand, has steadfastly refused to condemn his movement’s antisemitic wing. Carlson delivered a keynote address at the Republican convention last summer and Trump defended him after he interviewed Nick Fuentes, a notorious Holocaust denier. And Vice President JD Vance has dismissed examples of overt antisemitism on the right as “edgy, offensive jokes.”
This dynamic makes a full frontal assault on the antisemitic elements of the right much more fraught for Jewish groups that want to maintain a working relationship with the Trump administration.
And they do want to maintain that relationship — in large part because the current administration is aligned with the Jewish establishment in going after the anti-Zionist left.
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On the other side of the political spectrum, I’ve seen two problematic tendencies increase over the past year.
The first is that Jews are often thought of as a privileged group. This can minimize concern about antisemitism. (“Sure, it’s bad, but not as bad as other forms of discrimination.”) Or it can fuel suspicion that claims of antisemitism are just a smokescreen for the powerful elite to shield themselves from criticism.
The second factor is a misunderstanding of the Jewish relationship to Israel. Some wrongly assume Jews all support Israel, conflating Jewishness with the Zionism they oppose. Others wrongly insist Israel has nothing to do with Jewishness, making it OK to demonize every Jewish person who refuses to unequivocally denounce Israel’s existence.
These combine to create a perilous climate for Jews, fueling animus toward Jewish targets with only the faintest connection to the Israeli state’s actions in Gaza — a student dinner hosted by Baruch College’s Hillel, a Minneapolis synagogue on the anniversary of Oct. 7, a Cincinnati rabbi slated to speak at an anti-Nazi rally before organizers determined that his liberal Zionism made him a “white supremacist.” These are only a few examples among many small indignities experienced on college campuses and in workplaces by Jews with even slightly complicated views about Israel.
The porous boundary between opposition to Israel and antisemitism is especially stark online. “It was promised to them 3,000 years ago” — a meme originally poking fun at the ancestral Jewish claim to modern Israel — has transformed into a way to mock supposed Jewish entitlement, disconnected from any political valence. (“A video of Jewish content creators joking about bringing free shampoo home from a hotel?” my colleague Mira Fox explained over the summer, “well, they must think those toiletries were promised to them 3,000 years ago.”)
When Jews raise concerns about this rhetoric, the response is often a mix of the factors I mentioned above: A little antisemitism is no big deal because Jews aren’t oppressed, or it’s not antisemitic because it’s only a dig at Zionists. And, in cases where the vitriol is aimed at Jews that have nothing to do with Israel, well, they’re probably Zionists.
Some young leaders on the far-right, including Fuentes, have sought to join criticism of Israel with explicit antisemitism. But, in contrast, young progressives driving the political turn away from Israel remain less likely to agree with classic antisemitic tropes than conservatives, and more likely to say antisemitism is a problem for society.
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This should make them a relatively easy audience to reach.
But rather than wage a battle for the hearts and minds of these progressives, the largest Jewish organizations have opted for blunt force. They’ve joined with the Trump administration to pressure universities to arrest, expel and, in some cases, deport student protesters, and implement strict new rules for demonstrations. And they’ve sought to legislate definitions of antisemitism that include criticism toward Israel, while outlawing school curriculum that they believe is biased.
Some of these policies may be sound. But, with perhaps the sole exception of Robert Kraft’s quixotic public service announcements about antisemitism — one features Shaquille O’Neal calling for a “timeout on hate” — none of these efforts focus on convincing people to change their minds about Jews.
Instead, they effectively aim to outlaw or restrict expression of negative views toward Israel, leaving whatever harmful beliefs about Jews that might be tied to those positions to fester in silence.
There are a variety of projects that seek to explain, first of all, why progressives should care about antisemitism and, second, how to critique Israel without slipping into antisemitism, including The Past Didn’t Go Anywhere, Safety Through Solidarity and PARCEO training.
But these efforts receive little funding. Amid the hundreds of millions of dollars that philanthropists are throwing at countering antisemitism, why are projects made by and for progressives left out?
The reason, I suspect, is that the Jewish establishment is not interested in teaching people how to oppose the existence of a Jewish state in Israel without engaging in antisemitism. To them, opposition to Zionism is itself antisemitism, which erodes their credibility with anti-Zionists who genuinely want to avoid antisemitism.
Nobody is going to listen to a Jewish organization that says, “Your political ideology is always going to be antisemitic — and I’m going to try to get your school to expel you for promoting it — but in the meantime could you please try to be careful about using these slogans because they make some of your Jewish peers feel uncomfortable?”
This approach has convinced some progressives that “antisemitism” just means criticism of Israel — in part because prominent Jewish leaders describe it this way — rather than a genuine form of bigotry.
Ostracizing Israel’s harshest critics might have worked when anti-Zionism was a fringe belief. But the aftermath of Oct. 7 heralded a near-consensus among liberals, including many Jews, that Israel is a villain on the world stage. Attempting to simply ban people from expressing these views — or taking away their phones — is not going to help address the antisemitism that can get mixed in with animus toward Israel.
The good news is that things are still not as bad as some would have you believe. Mamdani, who became a fixation for many Jewish leaders during the race for mayor, has been remarkably conciliatory to the Jewish establishment, modeling a version of anti-Zionism that mostly avoids some of the pitfalls I’ve outlined. And Jews still have a place in the mainstream conservative movement, which has directed most of its ire toward other minorities — after all, it was Somali immigrants, not Jews, who Trump recently referred to as “garbage.”
For now, this explosion of antisemitism remains mostly — though, tragically, not entirely — confined to feelings of social alienation rather than violence or systemic discrimination.
But that only buys time to find meaningful remedies that, to date, have been few and far between.
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In Trump’s assault on democracy, echoes of Nazi Germany but new glimmers of hope that America will be different
In the final, tumultuous years of the Weimar Republic, a succession of arch-conservative chancellors ruled by emergency decree rather than go through the Reichstag, the German parliament. Germany had become a democracy in name only, as reactionary power brokers steered the nation deeper into totalitarian waters, ultimately opening the door for Hitler.
As we approach our mid-term elections, America too is at a pivot point — with the burning question being whether Donald Trump’s grip on MAGA lawmakers can be broken so that Congress, feckless like the Reichstag of the late Weimar Republic, can resume its constitutional role as a check on the executive.
It’s a matter of life or death for American democracy as it nears its 250th birthday.
As Trump’s poll numbers tank while GOP lawmakers’ support for him endures, I find myself musing about the Weimar Republic and the self-immolation of its national legislature.
In the final months before they came to power on Jan. 30, 1933, Hitler and the Nazis were actually on the ropes. After they had become the largest party in the Reichstag in July elections a year earlier, two million Germans abandoned the Nazis in an election that November. Many Germans were less enamored of the Nazi leader, fatigued by a sense that the Nazis thrived on disorder. The spell seemed to be breaking. Does this ring a bell? Economics also played a role: Germany was finally emerging from the Great Depression.
But the German republic had already been brought to a breaking point by street fighting, political chaos, the Great Depression, and a coterie of arch-conservative power brokers who schemed and maneuvered to scrap Germany’s first democracy. They included Chancellor Franz von Papen.
Papen was unable to form a majority coalition after the July 1932 election because of huge gains by the Nazis and losses by other key parties, so he continued to govern by emergency decree with the consent of President Paul von Hindenburg, relying on the broad emergency powers of Article 48 of the constitution that had already hollowed out parliamentary rule.
More internal scheming resulted in Papen’s ouster after the November 1932 election. He was replaced by General Kurt von Schleicher, a master of intrigue. But Schleicher lasted only two months, as disagreements raged over whether to give Hitler a role in the government, and what that role should be. The reactionary schemers eventually reached a consensus: Let Hitler have the chancellorship but keep him in check by loading the cabinet with archconservatives like Papen. Once Hitler became chancellor on Jan. 30, 1933, it didn’t take him long to outmaneuver all of the other schemers, who became puppets of the Nazi leader instead of the puppet masters.
Germany’s political establishment — all but the Social Democrats and the banned Communists — ceremoniously handed the keys over to Hitler on March 23, 1933, when the Reichstag passed the Enabling Act, dismantling parliamentary democracy and giving Hitler dictatorial powers.
Which brings us to the question: Whither American democracy?
Under Trump, our Congress has been reduced to a shell of its former self, an American analog of the toothless Reichstag. As Trump has launched assault after assault on the pillars of American democracy — on the judiciary, on higher education, on free speech, our election system, the rule of law, and even on unflattering but true chapters in American history — Republicans have kept quiet, fearing Trump’s wrath and retribution.
But now there are glimmers of hope. Trump’s broken promises, self-aggrandizement, megalomania, corruption, utter indifference to everyday Americans’ economic suffering, and relentless catering to the country’s wealthiest are finally catching up with him. New polls put his approval rating at a dismal 37%. In a New York Times/Siena poll, just 28% of voters approved of how Trump is handling the cost of living, while only 31% approved of his war with Iran. Even Fox News had him at 39% approval. That same poll showed GOP support for Trump weakening considerably on his handling of the economy.
Economic pain is driving the collapse. The soaring costs of the war in Iran, Trump’s vanity projects, and his proposed $1.8 billion slush fund for the Jan. 6 insurrectionists, coupled with his push for lifetime immunity for himself and his family to commit tax fraud, have incensed voters who are already struggling to afford groceries, gas, housing and health care.
As Americans make impossible choices, the 47th president touts the glitzy White House ballroom he wants to build and his plans for an arch that would dwarf the Arc de Triomphe, all while prosecuting a war that has closed the Strait of Hormuz and driven up prices worldwide. The widening gap between Trump’s self-indulgence and the country’s hardship is finally producing something late Weimar never managed: a meaningful break in the habit of submission to an aspiring strongman.
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This Jewish artist hadn’t painted in more than 5 decades. Then came Oct. 7.
Sid Klein has finally found his subject. More than half a century after he scrambled to pick a topic for his senior art project at Brooklyn College—and settled on exploring the porcelain curves of a toilet bowl in a 20-painting series—he’s discovered a purpose.
Klein, 78, took a five-decade hiatus from art between college graduation and retirement. He picked his brushes back up just a few months before the events of Oct. 7.
Upon hearing of the Hamas attacks, Klein processed the news with acrylics. Soon, he began looking back to the Holocaust. He felt compelled to render contemporary and historical victims of hatred on paper and ultimately take on the mantle of combatting antisemitism, not with words or weapons but with images.
“For the first time in my life, I’m so motivated in my art,” Klein told me over Zoom from his home in South Florida. “All of a sudden I went from, ‘I don’t know what I want to paint,’ to, ‘I’ve got to make a record of this so people can look at these paintings and see what does antisemitism naturally lead to.’”
Born and raised in Brooklyn, Klein noticed at a young age that he could depict objects in three dimensions. “I started drawing with Crayola crayons with paper that my mom would pick up [at] the local five and dime,” he said.
But his mother died when he was seven, leaving his father to raise three children on his own. Though they weren’t particularly religious, Klein said, he attended yeshiva. The extra-long school day helped his working single father make sure he was safe. Klein continued dabbling in art through elementary and high school.
The Holocaust was not part of his education, as far as he remembers, not at the yeshiva and not later in college, where he flitted from pre-law to economics to philosophy before settling on fine art. “I’d never been exposed to it,” he said. “I’d never seen the photographs. I consciously avoided the photographs.”
“I was living in this bubble so I could pretend that antisemitism did not exist,” he said.
He remained in that bubble through business school and a long career in marketing. During that time, “painting didn’t even cross my mind,” Klein said. “For 55 years, I focused on the business and totally ignored the art.”
It wasn’t until his career drew to a close that he thought he might try again. “I wanted to give it a try and see what was left,” he said. But he wanted to keep painting only if he had a worthy subject, which he found in the wake of the Hamas attacks.
“That murder affected me in a profound way,” said Klein, who has two sons and five grandchildren living in Israel. “I started painting in my mind what these 1,200 people would have looked like. And that was my return to art.”
The segue from the horrors of Oct. 7 to those of the Holocaust felt natural to Klein. “For me, all of those are one of the same. They’re all Jew hatred at different times in history,” he said. “The amount of evil in our world is just—I don’t know how to measure it.” There are endless tragedies, he said, “but I’m focusing on our people.”
Klein paints in a corner of the family room he’s designated as his studio. He regularly pores over hundreds of black-and-white photos taken in ghettos and camps, looking for his next subjects to call out to him.
In one photograph, he recalled, he saw lines upon lines of women and children, standing near cattle cars, waiting, exhausted. He distilled the scene to one row of imminent victims in “Innocents.” They’re “going to be taken to a gas chamber and they’re going to be dead in 20 minutes or a half hour, and they don’t know that,” he said. On the right, a boy tugs at his mother’s coat. The woman on the far left balances the small child in her arms alongside her pregnant belly. In the middle, another grasps a toddler’s hand. Their eyes implore the viewer to grapple with their fate.
Several of Klein’s Holocaust works were displayed earlier this year at the Gross-Rosen Museum in Rogoźnica in Poland, on the grounds of the concentration camp system of the same name, where an estimated 120,000 people were imprisoned and 40,000 died.
“As employees of a Memorial Site, we have constant access to disturbing historical photos and documents; these are undeniably important, but viewing the victims through the eyes of an artist is an entirely different, more intimate experience,” Bartosz Surman, who works for the museum’s education department, told me. Surman estimated that approximately 4,000 people saw Klein’s work there between January 27 and March 31. “For a Memorial Site located in a village of fewer than a thousand people, we consider it a significant success and a testament to the power of Mr. Klein’s work,” he said.
Four thousand miles away, “My Zaidy” hangs on the wall at the Dr. Bernard Heller Museum in downtown Manhattan as part of the exhibition “Proverbs, Adages, and Maxims.”
The man in the painting wears a star under his heart. The bright yellow patch and pearlescent and gold shimmer of his face contrast with the matte blue of his coat and hat. But turning the corner of the exhibition, it’s the eyes that catch you. “I left them blank, so you can put in his eyes, any eyes you want,” Klein said—his zaidy’s or yours or a stranger’s.
The eyes may be missing but the gaze is powerful, as though this old man, as he approaches his cruel end, is staring and saying, “Look at me. Do you see what’s happening? Why are you just standing there?”
“A lot of bubbes and zaides were exterminated,” Klein said, including his paternal grandfather. But the zaidy in the painting isn’t Klein’s, exactly, he said. He can’t recall ever seeing a photo of him. Instead, he painted another elderly man in a photo that struck him: This is what a zaidy selected for the gas chamber looks like. This is what Klein’s zaidy could have looked like.
“I decided I was going to do a painting, and fill that hole in my heart,” Klein said.
“There’s something very haunting about the hollowed, empty eyes,” museum director Jeanie Rosensaft told me over the phone. “We were very touched, because although [Klein] has not had a long resume of art production, we felt that the image that he provided was very compelling.”.
Klein is one of 58 artists in the exhibition, and his work will be included in a tour the museum is organizing following its New York run, which ends June 24. “We hope that he continues on this path,” Rosensaft said. “It’s really essential that art bear witness to the past and provide a bridge to the future.”
Seeing the pain
Klein’s next painting, he told me, was inspired by a photo of two small children, empty bowls in hand, begging for food.
“If I had more working space, I would make my paintings bigger,” said Klein, who says he hopes to one day create life-size portraits. “Right now you’ve got to get pretty close to see what the hell is going on,” he said. “I want size to be part of your experience seeing the pain.”
Spending his days sifting through Holocaust photos and painting its victims takes a toll. “When I paint, I become emotionally involved. But when it’s done, I listen to my music for a couple of hours, and that gives me the emotional strength to continue,” says Klein, who puts on Vivaldi, Mozart, or Brahms, for example. “After I do a painting, I need this music to settle my nerves.”
“Sometimes I say, ‘Klein, try something else!’” he said. But he can’t imagine abandoning his subject or newfound mission for any others. Which means he’ll need more of that music in the years to come, as might those viewing his paintings.
“A lot of my work is grotesque,” Klein said, and that’s intentional. “I want to shake you up.”
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How can I explain to my 93-year-old mother why it suddenly seems ok to hate Jews?
My mom — 93 years old, still sharp, a lifelong Democrat, a woman who has read The New York Times nearly every day for the last five decades — called me this week, in something approaching shock, to tell me she had read Nicholas Kristof’s latest op-ed.
“I can’t believe what they’re saying,” she said of the piece, whose claims — particularly one, questionably sourced, involving the alleged rape of a prisoner by a dog — drew accusations of serious journalistic malpractice. To me, this felt like more than flawed reporting. It bore the unmistakable contours of a modern blood libel.
“How can they print this?” my mom asked. “What’s happening in the world?”
Sometimes we encounter an unexpected threshold, and suddenly the familiar world appears altered. The Kristof column was such a threshold for my mother. Her parents were immigrants; her mother left a Romanian shtetl as a child, crossing the Atlantic with her younger brother when they were 12 and 9 years old. They came because Jews were fleeing rapes and murder. If you are an American Jew of Eastern European descent, there is a decent chance your family history contains some version of this story — that of people fleeing pogroms.
You may remember the most recent example of such an attack. It happened on Oct. 7, 2023 — the first pogrom carried out in the age of smartphones.
To say that things have felt strange and frightening for many Jews worldwide since that horror is like saying clouds produce rain or honey is sweet. Strangest of all is the speed with which, in many quarters, people sought to not just explain the atrocity, but actually justify it.
What has tormented me almost as much as the violence itself is the astonishing pace at which animus toward Jews, or toward “Zionists,” has become normalized in spaces where one might once have expected understanding. And yes, I know, people are weary of hearing Jews explain why hostility directed at the overwhelming majority of Jews who believe in Jewish self-determination often bleeds into hostility toward Jews themselves. I know all the caveats. I know all the disclaimers. I have read them too. Still, it increasingly appears that anti-Zionism in many quarters has become not merely tolerated, but a litmus test.
The range of what can be said aloud has changed. So have the categories of people toward whom contempt may be openly directed. Prejudice against Jews that can once again — as in an era many thought was gone forever — pass as a kind of moral sophistication.
Each week there is a new reason to think about all this. A Democratic congressional candidate in Texas named Maureen Galindo has crossed yet another Rubicon of human foible and weakness. Galindo reportedly proposed transforming a detention center into a prison for “American Zionists” and described it as a place where many Zionists would undergo “castration processing.”
I cannot say categorically that Galindo represents a new political era. She may not. Fringe figures have always existed. But that a candidate seeking office within one of America’s two major political parties — a candidate who advanced to a Democratic runoff after finishing first in a crowded primary field, with roughly 29% of the vote — used this grotesque language is notable.
Maybe she’ll lose badly. Maybe she’ll vanish from the political stage. That wouldn’t change the fact that her statements did not produce immediate and universal condemnation.
Every era contains extremists. But sometimes institutions cease to treat extremism as radioactive, and begin treating it first as eccentricity, then as another perspective deserving “consideration,” then activism, then orthodoxy.
Is that happening here? I’m wondering. So is my mother.
I have spent much of my life among artists, intellectuals, musicians, progressives — a cohort that once seemed animated by an instinctive suspicion toward ethnic hatred in all forms. Increasingly, Jews appear exempt from that instinct. “Galindo is just another crazy person,” I’ve heard people say. I see. Just another crazy person competing seriously in a Democratic primary after proposing internment camps for “American Zionists.”
This is not about Galindo alone. It is also about institutions. About The New York Times, whose reporting and opinion pages remain, for millions, a moral compass. My mother did not call me outraged after reading Kristof. She called bewildered. She called sad. This was the newspaper she’d followed through wars, assassinations, civil rights struggles, and presidents of every variety. Her confusion and grief now pains me more than I can say. When exactly, she seemed to be asking me, did this happen? When did support for Israel become, in some circles, evidence of moral defect? When did “Zionist” become a slur, not a description of a legitimate ideology?
When did suspicion toward Jews become newly accessible, provided it arrived draped in the language of liberation?
All of this feels both cosmic and deeply personal. I have yet to meet a Jew who does not feel some shift beneath their feet.
And to them I say: do not cower. Do not hide your Jewishness. Do not keep your love for Israel or for Jews a secret. Go and do something singularly Jewish. Reorient yourself toward whatever you understand God to be. And if God feels impossible, then orient yourself toward the continuity of the Jewish people.
May we go from strength to strength. Mom, if you are reading this, that goes especially for you.
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