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Trump’s dinner with a Holocaust denier draws rare criticism from some of his Jewish allies
(JTA) — Two weeks after feting Donald Trump as America’s most pro-Israel president ever, the Zionist Organization of America had harsh words for the man who aspires to return to the White House.
“ZOA deplores the fact that President Trump had a friendly dinner with such vile antisemites,” ZOA said Sunday in a news release. “His dining with Jew-haters helps legitimize and mainstream antisemitism and must be condemned by everyone.”
The group was referring to Trump’s dinner last week with Ye, the rapper formerly known as Kanye West who came out as an antisemite in recent weeks, and Nick Fuentes, the right-wing provocateur and Holocaust denier. Trump hosted the pair at Mar-a-Lago, his Florida estate, on Tuesday.
Reaction to the dinner was initially muted in the days before Thanksgiving, but over the long weekend, a host of figures denounced Trump for meeting with the two men, though some did so more strongly or explicitly than others. Among Jews, the criticism has come not only from Trump’s longtime detractors but from some of his biggest fans.
“To my friend Donald Trump, you are better than this,” David Friedman, Trump’s ambassador to Israel, said Friday on Twitter. “Even a social visit from an antisemite like Kanye West and human scum like Nick Fuentes is unacceptable.”
Friedman is rarely anything but effusive in praising Trump, whom he once said would join the “small cadre of Israeli heroes” for moving the U.S. embassy to Jerusalem, recognizing Israeli sovereignty on the Golan Heights and exiting the Iran nuclear deal, among other measures. But on Friday, his tone was more pleading as he tweeted to Trump: “I urge you to throw those bums out, disavow them and relegate them to the dustbin of history where they belong.”
Trump for his part said in statements on his Truth Social social media site that he hoped to assist Ye, whom he described as “troubled,” and that he did not know who Fuentes was. (Ye said he had come to Mar-a-Lago to ask Trump to be his running mate in his own nascent campaign.)
“We got along great, he expressed no antisemitism and I appreciated all of the nice things he said about me on ‘Tucker Carlson,’” Trump said of Ye, referring to a Fox News opinion show hosted by Carlson, whose embrace of an antisemitic conspiracy theory has led the Anti-Defamation League to call for his removal. “Why wouldn’t I agree to meet? Also, I didn’t know Nick Fuentes.”
The response was reminiscent of Trump’s swatting-away of criticism after he told the Proud Boys, a far-right group whose founder had made antisemitic comments, to “stand back and stand by” during a presidential debate in 2020, in response to being asked to condemn white supremacists from the debate stage. He subsequently said he did not know who the Proud Boys were. (The group later rebranded as explicitly antisemitic.)
Trump’s contention that he did not know Fuentes raised eyebrows for some. Like the Proud Boys, Fuentes is part of the extremist fringe of the Republican Party that has made up part of Trump’s base. The founder of a white nationalist group called America First, he was a leading organizer of the “Stop the Steal” rallies organized by Trump supporters to try to overturn the election results showing that he lost in 2020; he was also present at the rally that Trump addressed preceding the Jan. 6, 2021, insurrection at the U.S. Capitol that aimed to derail the transition of power.
Fuentes, who routinely rails against Jews on his livestream, also attended the 2017 far-right rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, where Trump famously said there were “very fine people on both sides” and more recently has grown close to far-right lawmakers in Trump’s party, including Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene in Georgia and Rep. Paul Gosar in Arizona.
Nick Fuentes answers question during an interview with Agence France-Presse in Boston, May 9, 2016. (William Edwards/AFP via Getty Images)
But even those who took Trump at his word that he did not previously know Fuentes said that was little excuse for dining with him.
“A good way not to accidentally dine with a vile racist and anti-Semite you don’t know is not to dine with a vile racist and anti-Semite you do know,” the Jewish right-wing pundit Ben Shapiro tweeted on Sunday. (Shapiro’s tweet kicked off a heated exchange with Ye, who recently returned to Twitter as the social media platform’s new owner, Elon Musk, restores many accounts that were suspended for violating the site’s old rules, including Trump’s.)
Reaction to the dinner kept Trump in the spotlight over the course of a holiday weekend, a double-edged sword for the first Republican to declare a 2024 presidential campaign. Trump’s rise was fueled by nonstop media coverage, including of seeming misdeeds that did not doom him with his supporters. Still, one Trump advisor told NBC News that the event was a “f—ing nightmare” for the campaign, which has gotten off to a rocky start.
Also condemning the meeting were Jewish organizations that have not hesitated to criticize Trump’s flirtation with extremists in the past, including the American Jewish Committee, the Reform movement of Judaism and the Anti-Defamation League.
The Biden White House also condemned the incident. “Bigotry, hate, and anti-Semitism have absolutely no place in America, including at Mar-a-Lago,” its statement said. ”Holocaust denial is repugnant and dangerous, and it must be forcefully condemned.” (Asked to comment on Trump saying he didn’t know Fuentes, Biden himself told a reporter, “You don’t want to hear what I think.”)
The White House’s statement did not name Trump, nor did statements from many Republicans, including the Republican Jewish Coalition, at whose annual conference Trump spoke last week. The group did not initiate a statement, but, in response to reporters’ queries, released one.
“We strongly condemn the virulent antisemitism of Kanye West and Nick Fuentes and call on all political leaders to reject their messages of hate and refuse to meet with them,” said the statement, first solicited by The New York Times’ Maggie Haberman. The RJC and its CEO, Matt Brooks, retweeted Haberman.
Why the RJC would not name Trump drew follow-up questions from reporters, including Haberman, as well as a barrage of criticism on social media.
Brooks, evidently stung, called such queries “dumb and short-sighted” on Sunday morning and said on Twitter by way of explanation, “We didn’t mention Trump in our RJC statement even though it’s obviously in response to his meeting because we wanted it to be a warning to ALL Republicans. Duh!”
White nationalist leader Nick Fuentes addresses his livestream audience on the day Roe v. Wade is struck down to attack Jews on the Supreme Court, June 24, 2022. (Screenshot)
Max Miller, a Jewish Republican just elected to Congress from Ohio, and a former wingman for Trump, also did not name Trump and instead appealed to Ye, who at least until recently had become cherished on the right as a Black Christian conservative, to make a course correction.
“Nick Fuentes is unquestionably an anti-Semite and a Holocaust denier. His brand of hate has no place in our public discourse,” Miller said on Twitter. Ye “doesn’t need to keep walking this path. Letting people like Nick Fuentes into his life is a mistake.”
Prominent Jewish Republicans not making statements included David Kustoff, a Tennessee Jewish Republican congressman; Jason Greenblatt, once a top Middle East adviser to Trump; and Trump’s daughter Ivanka and her husband Jared Kushner, who were both top advisers to Trump when he was president. A spokesman for Kushner did not reply to a request for comment.
Lee Zeldin, the Jewish Republican New York congressman seen as having a future in the GOP leadership after performing more strongly than expected in a failed bid to be elected governor of a Democratic state, also did not issue a statement, and his spokesman did not reply to a request for comment. Zeldin has otherwise been outspoken on Jewish issues in Congress and co-chairs the U.S. House of Representatives Black-Jewish caucus.
South Carolina Sen. Tim Scott, who is the only Black Republican in the Senate and who co-chairs its Black-Jewish caucus, also had not commented as of Sunday night. Scott is believed to be a 2024 presidential hopeful and
Other Republican leaders denounced extremism but did not call out Trump by name. Ronna McDaniel, the Republican National Committee chairwoman known for her closeness to the former president, like the RJC, replied only when asked by a reporter — in her case, from Bloomberg — and did not name Trump.
“As I had repeatedly said, white supremacy, neo-Nazism, hate speech, and bigotry are disgusting and do not have a home in the Republican Party,” McDaniel said.
Meanwhile, former Secretary of State Mike Pompeo condemned antisemitism — but without mentioning Trump, Fuentes, Ye or any of the forms of antisemitism they have expressed. Instead, Pompeo spoke of his own role in undermining the boycott Israel movement — a cause that none of the men who dined together has embraced.
“Anti-Semitism is a cancer. As Secretary, I fought to ban funding for anti-Semitic groups that pushed BDS,” Pompeo said on Twitter. “We stand with the Jewish people in the fight against the world’s oldest bigotry.”
Trump was the ghost in the Republican machine last weekend at the Republican Jewish Coalition’s annual conference in Las Vegas: the declared candidate who party leaders believe still commands the unswerving loyalty of at least a third of the base. With his capacity for lashing out at critics, taking on Trump directly is seen as a fool’s game by many in the party.
A handful of Republicans already known for their open criticism of Trump, including Arkansas Gov. Asa Hutchinson, and New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie, did denounce him by name.
“This is just awful, unacceptable conduct from anyone, but most particularly from a former President and current candidate,” Christie tweeted on Friday.
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The post Trump’s dinner with a Holocaust denier draws rare criticism from some of his Jewish allies appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Why The 36 Award
Antisemitism is, unfortunately, a fact of life in the United States and around the world. Jewish people continue to experience harassment, discrimination, and violence. Antisemitic tropes and conspiracy theories exacerbate the problem.
Antisemitism does not exist in isolation; it both reflects and accelerates the erosion of democratic norms, institutions, and trust, emerging alongside other forms of hate and prejudice that collectively weaken the social fabric and the shared commitments on which all communities depend.
And while naming antisemitism and its impact is necessary, what truly matters is our shared responsibility to confront it.
This is a moment to push back collectively, within and beyond the Jewish community. No single organization, community, or ideology can meet this challenge alone. The pursuit of solutions requires acknowledging what we do not yet know, remaining open to learning, and committing to the collective effort.
Nathan Cummings Foundation (NCF) approaches this work as part of a broader justice journey and our commitment to Racial, Economic, and Environmental Justice (REEJ). As an institution rooted in the Jewish tradition of tikkun olam, repairing the world, our commitment to social justice and Jewish values has long guided our work across our focus areas, which includes being in partnership with leaders across REEJ.
We believe that our pursuit of justice is incomplete if it does not also address antisemitism. Antisemitism is oppression and is inseparable from broader struggles against bigotry, exclusion, and threats to democratic life. Addressing it strengthens movements, deepens solidarity, and reinforces the conditions necessary for collective progress.
Recognizing and engaging this challenge is essential to building a more just, inclusive, and democratic society and advancing our pursuit of REEJ.
With all of this in mind, NCF, in collaboration with the Jewish Social Justice Roundtable and supported by a growing coalition of partners across the country, created The 36 Award. The award takes its name from a powerful concept in Jewish tradition: the belief that in every generation there are 36 righteous individuals whose actions help sustain the world.
Across the country, there are people confronting antisemitism in ways that do not always attract headlines. They are building relationships across lines of race, faith, geography, and ideology. They are helping communities navigate difficult conversations. They are creating new models, narratives, and pathways toward understanding. In many cases, they are demonstrating that combating antisemitism and advancing broader justice are not competing goals but mutually reinforcing ones. The 36 Award is designed to find those individuals and elevate and support their work.
The challenges before us are significant. Yet history reminds us that lasting progress often begins with people willing to see possibilities others overlook. The search for those people is what The 36 Award truly represents.
We believe that new ideas matter and that solidarity can be built through courageous leadership, which often emerges where few are looking. We are excited to announce the inaugural winners of The 36 Award. Please visit 36award.us to learn about these inspiring individuals.
Sincerely,
Rey Ramsey, President & CEO
Amy Sorensen Ben-Dov, Chair, Board of Trustees
Nathan Cummings Foundation
The post Why The 36 Award appeared first on The Forward.
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The 36 Award Winner: Building a Public Health Response to Antisemitism
Myrieme Churchill, Executive Director of Parents for Peace (P4P), has been named an inaugural recipient of The 36 Award, honoring a decade of work building what may be the first confidential intervention program in the world focused specifically on antisemitism.
Churchill leads P4P, a national public health organization serving families, schools, and communities across the United States and Canada. Through its Antisemitism Intervention and Recovery (AIR) Program, P4P brings together licensed psychologists, peer interventionists, and a team that includes former neo-Nazis and former jihadists. Its central argument once sounded unlikely to many in the field: extremism is not just a security issue, but a public health crisis that demands early intervention, education, and community-based support. The need has grown sharply. P4P says it saw a steep rise in anti-Jewish hatred after October 7, 2023, both in its own caseload and across society. In 2025, 70 percent of its helpline cases involved antisemitism, spanning far-right white nationalism, jihadist networks, and far-left movements.
Churchill’s path to this work began in Morocco. The daughter of a Black Moroccan Muslim father and a white French Christian mother, she grew up biracial and rarely felt she belonged anywhere. As a child, she was excluded and targeted by other children who misidentified her as Jewish and often used the word “Jew” to insult her.
“That history gives me a deep appreciation for how identity, exclusion, and belonging shape people’s lives,” Churchill said.
Those early experiences left her with questions that have stayed with her ever since: Why do people hurt one another? Where does hate come from? Why have Jews so often been made the scapegoat? The questions led her to a career as a therapist. Her early work took her to the streets of Marseille, where she worked with young immigrants targeted by traffickers, and later to Boston, where she treated people with mental illness and addiction. Both jobs, she said, taught her how vulnerable people are at risk for abuse, self-destruction, and harming others.
Over years of clinical work in addressing addiction, Churchill began to notice a pattern. For some people, extremism seemed to work the way a drug does, offering relief from pain along with a sense of identity and purpose. People could get hooked on hate the way others get hooked on substances.
That insight became the foundation of the P4P model. Rather than treating extremism of any kind, including antisemitism, as a set of beliefs to argue with, the organization treats it as a maladaptive way of coping with grievance, isolation, and trauma. In P4P’s framing, extremism works like a psychological addiction, offering belonging at the cost of truth, safety, and humanity. Instead of relying on shame, public condemnation, or debate, P4P helps families recognize warning signs and assess escalating behavior, and helps their loved ones build healthier sources of identity, belonging, and purpose, while working with public safety resources when necessary. The goal is to replace hate with resilience, education, and genuine connection.
AIR, which P4P bills as the world’s first antisemitism helpline, builds on the organization’s existing public health approach and helpline model. It offers free, confidential support from trained interventionists to worried families, educators, and community members, as well as to people who are trying to step away from anti-Jewish beliefs themselves. P4P is also developing trainings for families, schools, and religious organizations on recognizing early warning signs, navigating online risks, and responding with evidence-based intervention.
The model was tested on the very first call to the AIR helpline in 2016. A mother had found several rifles under her son’s bed, along with a manifesto describing his plan to attack a synagogue. She was terrified and reluctant to contact law enforcement. Churchill stayed on the line and worked to earn the mother’s trust enough that she would call 911. The FBI later confirmed that the guns had been confiscated and that the young man had been hospitalized for treatment of psychosis.
“Courage sometimes means entering the worst moment of someone’s life and not looking away,” Churchill said.
P4P says its early intervention work has since helped prevent potential attacks on synagogues and violence against Jews, and has helped hundreds of people repair relationships, return to school or work, and rebuild lives no longer governed by extremist ideology.
Sagit Sade Attia, a member of the P4P board, described that work as a deliberate moral choice. “Rather than writing off people consumed by hate as beyond redemption, Myrieme has chosen the far more difficult path of engaging directly with individuals and families affected by radicalization, while never losing sight of the needs and safety of those targeted by hate,” she said.
The choice has not always been easy to explain. When Churchill first began describing extremism as an addiction, she recalled, people looked at her as if she had three heads. Public health framing has since moved closer to the mainstream, but an approach that begins with compassion for people who hold antisemitic views can still invite skepticism at a moment when Jewish communities feel under threat. Churchill answers by pointing to outcomes like the hundreds of families supported.
P4P doesn’t do this work alone. It has partnered with the Combat Antisemitism Movement, the ADL, the American Muslim and Multifaith Women’s Empowerment Council, and the Department of Homeland Security, as well as Bangladeshi and other immigrant communities. It has worked with the Harvard School of Public Health and Georgia State University to evaluate its work and to train former extremists as interventionists. Churchill has spoken at Eradicate Hate following the 2018 Tree of Life shooting, briefed Congress as part of a bipartisan effort, and testified before the Massachusetts Special Commission on Combating Antisemitism, where she urged antisemitism trainings in schools. Churchill puts it simply: “Antisemitism is not a Jewish problem alone; it is an all-of-us problem, and everyone pays the price when it spreads.”
The post The 36 Award Winner: Building a Public Health Response to Antisemitism appeared first on The Forward.
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Building the Legal Case Against White Nationalism
David Brody, founder of the Alliance of Jewish Americans, has been named an honorable mention for The 36 Award in its inaugural year. Brody has spent his career in courtrooms and coalitions confronting hate, and he believes Jewish safety in the United States depends on standing with every community that white nationalism targets.
Brody traces his commitment to his family and to the South. “As a Jew from Georgia, my Jewish identity was defined against the backdrop of the Black-Jewish shared struggle in the South,” he said. His great-grandmother fled pogroms, arrived in the United States as an unaccompanied minor with no English or education, and became a union organizer. His father registered voters for the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and spent four decades researching how poverty and discrimination affect the health of rural Black families. “My family taught that being Jewish in America means fighting for social justice,” Brody said.
Before launching the Alliance in 2026, Brody founded and led the Digital Justice Initiative at the Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights Under Law, the first tech policy program at a legacy racial justice organization. There, he built the first case applying public accommodations law to online harassment, representing Taylor Dumpson, the first Black woman to serve as student government president at American University, against a neo-Nazi website’s publisher who targeted her. Brody co-led the team representing Metropolitan AME Church in Washington, D.C., in its case against the Proud Boys after the group vandalized the church. He helped draft and championed what became the AI Civil Rights Act of 2025, which more than 80 civil rights, privacy, consumer, and labor groups have endorsed. His nominator, Erin Simpson of the Ford Foundation, said Brody coined the phrase “privacy rights are civil rights” at a time when many did not yet see the connection. She described him as “the engine that powered an entire community of racial justice and technology policy organizations.”
Brody said Jewish civil society is robust but has lacked a dedicated national legal organization, similar to the NAACP Legal Defense Fund or Lambda Legal. The Alliance is meant to fill that gap. It uses open-source investigative techniques to collect and preserve evidence of civil and human rights violations and white nationalist threats, with the goal of making that evidence admissible in court.
From his years litigating against white supremacists, Brody saw that few organizations take on litigation against white nationalism systematically, and that most investigative work in the field produces research reports rather than evidence that can stand up in a legal proceeding. He argues that white nationalism, which has motivated deadly attacks ranging from Pittsburgh’s Tree of Life synagogue in 2018 to a Buffalo grocery store in 2022, poses the greatest threat to Jewish safety in the United States in generations.
The Alliance’s work includes both near-term and longer-term legal investigations. Part of this work involves leveraging AI tools responsibly, such as using them to accelerate needle-in-a-haystack investigations of white nationalist activity or other threats that would not be cost-effective for human researchers. Other work is meant to provide evidentiary foundations for long-term efforts to research, document, and seek accountability for rights violations in the U.S. Brody said he is focused on what the field needs now and what it will need in five years.
Brody’s approach to coalitions is grounded in patience. He spent six years drafting model bills, persuading allies with different priorities, and testifying twice before Congress in support of privacy protections. In 2024, when a bipartisan privacy bill in Congress was stripped of its civil rights protections, Brody gathered signatures from more than 50 organizations on an opposition letter in under 24 hours, and the bill died. “Those groups did not sign because I told them what to do,” he said. “They signed because I spent years working with them, earning their trust, and advocating for their interests.”
Brody credits the courage of his clients for putting their names and faces on high-profile cases against violent white supremacists. He arranges his work so that, by the time a moment of risk arrives, “we have friends at our side.” He resists the idea that this takes a special method. “Building bridges does not require a special approach,” he said. “One should show up for everyone, listen with empathy, and do the work.”
The post Building the Legal Case Against White Nationalism appeared first on The Forward.

