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Two Jewish Moral Worlds: What the Mamdani Election Reveals
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
When a single election lays bare a community’s conscience, it deserves more than punditry.
The recent victory of Zohran Mamdani in New York’s Democratic primary was more than a political surprise. It was a sociological revelation — a moment that exposed the moral divide within American Jewry and the fragility of its civic cohesion.
The Times of Israel exit poll tells the story plainly: roughly 63 percent of Jewish voters supported Andrew Cuomo, while a third backed Mamdani, the far-left candidate known for his fierce criticism of Israel and his support for the BDS movement. But the aggregate numbers obscure something more profound. Beneath the data lies a moral geography that splits the community itself; between Brooklyn’s progressive brownstones and Manhattan’s traditional bastions, between younger universalists and older particularists, between two rival moral languages of what it means to be Jewish in America.
In the brownstone belts of Park Slope, Prospect Heights, and Clinton Hill, Mamdani dominated. His margins in some precincts approached 90 percent. These are neighborhoods filled with young professionals, educators, and creatives: Jews who are largely non-Orthodox, highly educated, and politically left-leaning.
They belong to a generation whose moral formation occurred as much on social media as in synagogue pews. Across the East River, in Borough Park, Crown Heights, and the Upper East Side, Cuomo’s support exceeded 80 percent. These precincts are wealthier, older, and denser, with day-school graduates, Federation donors, and Israel mission alumni. One city, two moral worlds.
Political psychology offers a framework for understanding this divergence.
Jonathan Haidt and Jesse Graham’s Moral Foundations Theory describes human moral reasoning as rooted in several intuitive “foundations.” The first pair — Care and Fairness — orient toward empathy, equality, and the mitigation of harm. The second set — Loyalty, Authority, and Sanctity — prioritize group solidarity, respect for tradition, and the protection of what is sacred.
Liberals, Haidt’s research found, tend to emphasize the individualizing foundations of care and fairness; conservatives draw upon all five, including those that bind the group together. These moral instincts operate beneath conscious ideology, shaping the stories people tell about justice, duty, and belonging.
Applied to Jewish life, this model illuminates the Mamdani divide. The younger, Park Slope cohort embodies the individualizing moral style. Their Judaism is ethical universalism — a faith of empathy, repair, and inclusion. To them, Jewish history teaches solidarity with the marginalized, not tribal defense. Their political commitments — tenant rights, climate action, anti-racism, and Palestinian solidarity — feel like moral extensions of their Jewish conscience.
Supporting Mamdani, in this light, is not an act of betrayal but an act of consistency. The Upper East Side cohort, by contrast, lives in the binding moral register. Their Judaism centers on loyalty to the Jewish people, reverence for institutions, and defense of Israel as a sacred trust. When a candidate denounces Israel as genocidal, they hear not critique but violation. The vote for Cuomo was not a calculation of interests; it was an affirmation of covenant.
Survey data confirm that these moral worlds align with generational and institutional divides. Pew Research Center’s 2024 survey found that only 45 percent of Jews under 35 hold a favorable view of Israel’s government, compared with 64 percent among those over 50.
Yet nearly 90 percent across all ages still view the Israeli people positively, suggesting alienation not from Israel itself but from its political expression.
Pew’s 2021 study showed that 58 percent of American Jews feel emotionally attached to Israel, though that attachment rises to 82 percent among the Orthodox and drops below 60 percent among Reform and unaffiliated Jews. Twenty-two percent now believe the United States is too supportive of Israel — twice the share in 2013 — and that sentiment is concentrated among younger and unaffiliated
Jews. Another 2024 survey by the Benenson Strategy Group found that nearly four in five American Jews still feel close to Israel, and 72 percent say Israel makes them proud to be Jewish, yet 62 percent admit they “sometimes find it hard to support actions taken by Israel or its government.” The picture that emerges is not rejection but tension: enduring identity, waning confidence, moral ambivalence.
This moral bifurcation has deep civic consequences. For much of the 20th century, American Jews reconciled universal and particular obligations through robust institutions. Federations linked philanthropy for the poor to support for Israel. Synagogues fused civic virtue with covenantal belonging. Community centers cultivated the habits of service, dialogue, and shared space.
Those integrative structures made it possible to balance empathy and loyalty within a single communal framework. But as institutional participation has declined, moral formation now occurs in fragmented spaces — online, on campuses, within activist networks — where individual conscience replaces institutional mediation. The result is that empathy and loyalty, once twin pillars of Jewish civic life, now compete rather than complement.
When moral authority fragments, politics becomes identity by proxy. The universalist moral vocabulary of younger Jews often renders Jewish power suspect; the particularist vocabulary of their elders renders dissent heretical. The two sides no longer disagree over policy; they inhabit different moral cosmologies. That is why the Mamdani election felt seismic to the Jewish community and New York City more generally. It revealed, not created, the split between what might be called the “individualizing Jew” and the “binding Jew” — one who sees Judaism as a moral compass for humanity, the other who sees it as the covenantal anchor of a people.
The consequences are not merely internal. A cohesive Jewish community has long served as a vital civic intermediary, connecting minority experience to national ideals. Fragmentation weakens that role. When a third of Jewish voters champion a candidate who accuses Israel of genocide and two-thirds recoil in outrage, institutional consensus becomes nearly impossible. Jewish organizations struggle to articulate shared positions on campus speech, antisemitism, or Israel policy because the moral foundations beneath those debates differ.
The binding moral language of loyalty and sanctity, once the lingua franca of Jewish life, now strikes many younger Jews as exclusionary or even coercive. Yet without it, solidarity itself erodes.
This tension certainly mirrors the broader democratic malaise. Across the West, younger generations are shifting from binding to individualizing moral frameworks — from “who we are” to “whom we protect.” That shift, born of compassion, often dissolves the collective bonds that sustain civic trust. The Jewish community’s fracture is thus a microcosm of the American one. If one of the nation’s most institutionally successful minorities cannot sustain moral coherence across generations, the prospects for the larger democracy are sobering.
Still, Jewish tradition offers a path forward. The Hebrew Bible itself balances competing moral imperatives: love the stranger (Care), pursue justice (Fairness), remember you were slaves in Egypt (Loyalty), honor your parents (Authority), and be holy (Sanctity). The moral genius of Judaism has always been its capacity to integrate rather than choose. A renewed Jewish civic life would recover that synthesis — not by diluting conviction, but by translating between moral dialects.
Doing so requires moral bilingualism. Jewish leaders must learn to speak both the language of empathy and the language of obligation. They must show younger Jews that loyalty need not mean blind allegiance, and show older Jews that care need not mean disavowal. Institutions that can bridge those vocabularies — pairing service projects with Jewish learning, coupling justice work with covenantal memory — will thrive. Those that cannot will wither into echo chambers. The task is to rebuild spaces where the moral foundations overlap, where the passion for fairness coexists with respect for continuity, and where dissent strengthens rather than fractures community.
The Mamdani election dramatized the challenge. It showed that American Jews are not divided between left and right so much as between two moral imaginations.
The future of American Jewish life — and perhaps something of American civic life itself — depends on reuniting those halves. The task is not to pick sides between the moral foundations, but to recover their harmony. That would mean re-embedding compassion within community and rooting loyalty in moral reflection. It would mean building institutions capable of moral translation rather than moral policing. It would mean acknowledging that Jewish flourishing and democratic stability alike require both conscience and covenant.
The Mamdani election did not create this divide, it exposed it. The challenge now is whether American Jews can build a third moral script, one that joins care to continuity, justice to responsibility, empathy to endurance. That work begins by recognizing that not all differences are merely moral styles. Mamdani’s campaign trafficked in ideas that crossed into antisemitism — denying Jewish self-determination, vilifying Israel as inherently criminal, and normalizing hostility toward Jewish identity itself.
A community committed to moral dialogue cannot ignore such realities; tolerance cannot mean the abdication of judgment. Yet if Jews can still hold fast to both conscience and covenant — defending themselves without surrendering compassion, seeking justice without erasing solidarity — they can model for the nation how moral diversity becomes democratic strength. Democracy, like Judaism, survives not on unanimity but on the hard, often uncomfortable work of moral conversation and that work begins with the courage to confront hatred without forfeiting humanity.
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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How YIVO and Max Weinreich Americanized the Yiddish project
װי אַזױ האָט ייִװאָ געפֿונען אַ נײַע הײם אין אַמעריקע נאָכן חורבן? קלמן װײַזער (יאָרק־אוניװערסיטעט אין טאָראָנטאָ) דערצײלט די דאָזיקע דראַמאַטישע געשיכטע אינעם נײַעם בוך „ייִדיש־װיסנשאַפֿט קומט קײן אַמעריקע“.
לכתּחילה איז דער דערפֿאָלג פֿון ייִװאָ ניט געװען קיין זיכערער. װײַזער דערקלערט: „עס איז װײַט ניט געװען קלאָר פֿאַר די שטיצער און מיטאַרבעטער פֿון ייִװאָ אין די 1940ער יאָרן, צי אַן אָרגאַניזאַציע װאָסער ציל איז געװען צו באַדינען די אינטעלעקטועלע און קולטורעלע באַדערפֿענישן פֿונעם אַלװעלטלעכן ייִדיש־רעדנדיקן פֿאָלק קען זיך אײַנװאָרצלען אין די ביז גאָר פֿאַרשײדענע באַדינגונגען פֿון אַמעריקע נאָך דער מלחמה.“
פֿאַר דער מלחמה האָט ייִװאָ געהאַט אַן „אַמעריקאַנער אָפּטײל“ אין ניו־יאָרק. זײַן ציל איז געװען צו זאַמלען געלט פֿאַרן װילנער אינסטיטוט, כאָטש אײניקע זײַנע מיטגלידער האָבן זיך אָפּגעגעבן אױך מיט פֿאָרשונגען פֿון ייִדישער קולטור און געשיכטע — דער עיקר, אין מיזרח-אײראָפּע.
אָבער דאָס רובֿ אַמעריקאַנער ייִדן האָבן געהאַט אַ קנאַפּן אינטערעס צו ייִדיש און בכלל ניט געהאַלטן פֿון ייִדיש־פֿאָרשונג.
נאָכן חורבן איז ייִװאָ געשטאַנען אױפֿן שײדװעג: צו װערן אַ מין אַרכיװ געװידמעט דעם אַמאָליקן חרובֿ־געמאַכטן ייִדישן לעבן אין מזרח־אײראָפּע אָדער װײַטער צו אַנטװיקלען ייִדיש־װיסנשאַפֿט לטובֿת אַ ייִדישן המשך אין אַמעריקע.
װײַזער ברענגט דעם לײענער אַרײַן אין די הײסע װיכּוחים צװישן די מיטאַרבעטער פֿון ייִװאָ װעגן דער ריכטונג פֿון דער אַרבעט. יודל מאַרק האָט געהאַלטן אַז ייִװאָ דאַרף זיך אָפּגעבן דער עיקר מיטן חורבן־פֿאָרשונג, בעת אַמאָליקע בונדיסטן האָבן געטענהט אַז ייִװאָ דאַרף שטודירן דעם מצבֿ פֿון די ייִדישע מאַסן אין אַמעריקע.
מאַקס װײַנרײַך, דער אינטעלעקטועלער מדריך פֿון ייִװאָ, האָט געהאַט אַן אַנדערע װיזיע. ער האָט געגלייבט, אַז דאָס אַמעריקאַנער ייִדנטום איז מסוגל צו שפּילן די פֿירנדיקע ראָלע אין דער ייִדישער װעלט נאָכן חורבן. אָבער לױט זײַן מײנונג זײַנען די אַמעריקאַנער ייִדן ניט געװען גרײט אויף אַזאַ שליחות. און צוגרײטן זײ דערצו האָבן געדאַרפֿט די פּליטים פֿון מזרח־אײראָפּע.
לױט זײַן װיזיע, האָט זיך ייִװאָ געדאַרפֿט אָפּגעבן ניט סתּם מיט װיסנשאַפֿט, נאָר מיט „װיסן װאָס שאַפֿט“, דאָס הײסט, ייִדיש־װיסנשאַפֿט מוז דערמעגלעכן אַמעריקאַנער ייִדן אָפּצוהיטן זײער ייִדישן מהות און פֿאַרזיכערן ייִדישע המשכדיקײט.
דער שליסל צום דערפֿאָלג פֿונעם ריזיקן פּראָיעקט איז געװען די ייִדישע שפּראַך. ייִדיש האָט געדאַרפֿט דינען װי אַ בריק צװישן דורות ייִדן, אַ גײַסטיקע פֿאַרבינדונג צװישן דער אַלטער און דער נײַער הײם.
צוליב דעם, האָט װײַנרײַך געהאַלטן, דאַרף מען „אױסגױיִשן“ די אַמעריקאַנער ייִדישע אינטעליגענציע און העכערן דעם פּרעסטיזש פֿון ייִדיש אין דער אַמעריקאַנער אַקאַדעמישער װעלט.
אָבער ניט געקוקט אױף װײַנרײַכס באַמיִונגען איז ייִװאָ לכתּחילה פֿאַרבליבן אױף די ראַנדן פֿונעם אַמעריקאַנער ייִדישן הױפּטשטראָם און האָט באַקומען אַ קנאַפּע שטיצע מצד די גרױסע ייִדישע פֿילאַנטראָפּישע אָרגאַניזאַציעס. די באַציִונגען צװישן ייִװאָ און דער אַמעריקאַנער ייִדיש־סבֿיבֿה זײַנען אױך ניט געװען קײן גלאַטיקע.
די נאָרמאַטיװע ייִדישע כּלל־שפּראַך, װאָס ייִװאָ האָט געװאָלט פֿאַרשפּרײטן, האָט אַרױסגערופֿן קריטיק מצד אײניקע ייִדישיסטן. זײ האָבן געטענהט, אַז דער „ייִװאָ־ייִדיש“ איז װײַט פֿונעם עכטן נאַטירלעכן מאַמע־לשון.
אין זײַנע אַרטיקלען אין פֿאָרװערטס האָט יצחק באַשעװיס אױסגעלאַכט אַזעלכע נעאָלאָגיזמען װי „קדמן־ייִדיש“ און „בראשית־ייִדיש“, װאָס װײַנרײַך האָט צוגעטראַכט װי לינגװיסטישע באַגריפֿן פֿאַר פֿאַרשײדענע היסטאָרישע תּקופֿות אין דער אַנטװיקלונג פֿון דער ייִדישער שפּראַך.
אין תּוך איז דער קאָנפֿליקט צװישן ייִװאָ און די ייִדישע ליטעראַטן געװען אַרום דער פֿראַגע, „צו װעמען געהערט ייִדיש?“, דערקלערט װײַזער. דער ציל פֿון ייִװאָ איז געװען צו שאַפֿן אַ נאָרמאַטיװע שפּראַך, װאָס מען קען אױסלערנען װי מען לערנט אַנדערע פֿרעמדע שפּראַכן. אַזױ קען מען פֿאַרזיכערן דעם המשך פֿון ייִדיש אַפֿילו װען קײן לעבעדיקע ייִדיש־רעדנדיקער סבֿיבֿה איז מער ניטאָ.
די סאַמע געשפּאַנטע קאַפּיטלען אין דער געשיכטע פֿון ייִװאָ אין אַמעריקע דערצײלן װעגן דעם קאַמף פֿאַר צוריקבאַקומען די מאַטעריאַלן, װאָס האָבן אַ מאָל געהערט צום װילנער ייִװאָ.
טײלװײַז האָבן די נאַציסטן זײ געבראַכט קײן דײַטשלאַנד פֿאַרן אַרכיװ פֿונעם אַנטיסעמיטישן „אינסטיטוט פֿאַר פֿאָרשונגען פֿון דער ייִדן־פֿראַגע“”. נאָך דער מלחמה זײַנען די דאָזיקע מאַטעריאַלן אַרײַנגעפֿאַלן אינעם רשות פֿון דער אַמעריקאַנער מיליטערישער אַדמיניסטראַציע אין דײַטשלאַנד.
כּדי צוריקצוקריגן די דאָזיקע מאַטעריאַלן איז געװען אַ גװאַלדיקער אױפֿטו פֿון װײַנרײַך און זײַנע מיטאַרבעטער, צװישן זיי — לוסי שילדקרעט (דאַװידאָװיטש), װאָס האָט שפּעטער זיך קונה־שם געװען װי אַ חורבן־פֿאָרשערין. לױטן געזעץ האָט די אַמעריקאַנער מיליטערישע אַדמינסטראַציע געדאַרפֿט צוריקגעבן די געראַבעװעטע מאַטעריאַלן צו פּױלן אָדער סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד. אַן אַנדער פּרעטענדענט איז געװען דער העברעיִשער אוניװערסיטעט אין ירושלים.
װײַנרײַך האָט אױסגענוצט זײַנע קאָנטאַקטן אין די אַמעריקאַנער הױכע פֿענצטער און אין 1947 האָט ייִװאָ צוריקבאַקומען זײַנע מאַטעריאַלן. עס האָט זיך אים אױך אײַנגעגעבן פֿאָרצושטעלן ייִװאָ װי אַ יורש פֿון אַנדערע קולטורעלע אַנשטאַלטן אין װילנע, און ייִװאָ האָט אױך באַקומען די אוצרות פֿון דער סטראַשון־ביבליאָטעק און דער „ווילנער יידישער היסטאריש-עטנאגראפישער געזעלשאפט אויף דעם נאמען פון ש. אַנ־סקי.
דאָס צװײטע קאַפּיטל פֿון דער דאָזיקער געשיכטע איז פֿאָרגעקומען נאָכן פֿאַנאַנדערפֿאַל פֿונעם סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד אין די 1990ער יאָרן. דעמאָלט האָט מען אַנטדעקט אַ היפּשע זאַמלונג פֿון פֿאָנדן פֿון ייִװאָ אין ליטע, װאָס אַ ליטװישער ביבליאָגראַף האָט פֿאַרבאַהאַלטן אין אַ מאַגאַזין פֿון דער מלוכישער ביכער־קאַמער.
דאָס מאָל האָט ייִװאָ געדאַרפֿט פֿאַרהאַנדלען מיט דער רעגירונג פֿון דער ליטװישער רעפּובליק, װאָס איז אָקערשט געװאָרן אומאָפּהענגיק. סוף־כּל־סוף איז מען געקומען צו אַ פּשרה, און איצט קען מען נוצן די דאָזיקע מאַטעריאַלן אינעם דיגיטאַלישן פֿאָרמאַט.
װײַזערס געשיכטע פֿון ייִװאָ איז אַ געשפּאַנטע און באַלערעװדיקע לעקטור. מאַקס װײַנרײַך איז ניט געװען דער אײנציקער צװישן די אײראָפּעיִשע ייִדישע פּליטים װאָס האָט געפֿונען אַ נײַע הײם אין אַמעריקע און אױפֿגעבױט דאָ אַ הצלחהדיקעע קאַריערע. אָבער ער איז אפֿשר געװען דער אײנציקער, װעמען עס האָט זיך אײַנגעגעבן ניט נאָר ממשיך צו זײַן זײַנע אײגענע פֿאָרשונגען, נאָר אױך װידער אױפֿצובױען אַ גאַנצע װיסנשאַפֿטלעכע אינסטיטוציע אױפֿן נײַעם אַמעריקאַנער באָדן, װאָס פֿאַרבלײַבט אַקטיװ ביזן הײַנטיקן טאָג.
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Hasan Piker causes new trouble for Democrats — especially in key Senate race
Hasan Piker, the popular pundit who most recently suggested American Jews are making themselves targets of violence by supporting Israel, may speak for far-left progressives, but he doesn’t speak for one of the movement’s highest-profile candidates in a closely watched swing-state race, the candidate said.
Dr. Abdul El-Sayed, the Michigan Democratic nominee for Senate, released a statement Monday saying he disagreed with Piker’s latest remarks and that he is opposed to “any rhetoric that puts the community at risk.”
“If Jews in America keep putting this idea out there that they are singularly invested in Israel, eventually someone is going to come around and take action,” Piker said during a Twitch stream on Thursday, “not against the state of Israel, mind you, but against American Jews.” He claimed American Jews who support Israel are bringing violence on themselves by tying their identity to what he called “Jewish ISIS.”
Piker added in an interview published Monday in Haaretz that, “I don’t think that me calling Zionism a Nazi ideology is fomenting violence towards Jews broadly. I genuinely don’t believe that.”
In Monday’s statement, El-Sayed sought to move past the controversy, shifting the conversation back to his campaign’s economic message as he remains in a close race with GOP nominee Mike Rogers. “While politicians and pundits try to make this race about a Twitch streamer, we’re going to be talking about gas, groceries, good schools and healthcare,” Sayed said. “Nobody speaks for this campaign besides me and my campaign spokespeople.”
Piker’s influence
The episode comes as Piker appears to be expanding rather than retreating from Democratic electoral politics.
He campaigned with El-Sayed and other insurgent progressives, including Adam Hamawy, a fierce Israel critic who served as a trauma surgeon in Gaza and won the Democratic primary in New Jersey’s 12th District. In Florida, Rep. Jared Moskowitz made Piker himself part of the closing argument against his socialist primary challenger, Oliver Larkin, whom Piker supported. After Moskowitz easily defeated Larkin, the Jewish congressman offered Piker his “condolences.”
On Monday, even as the controversy over his remarks about American Jews was unfolding, Piker used his Twitch platform to offer an exclusive look at new polling commissioned by the IMEU Policy Project, a pro-Palestinian advocacy organization, and conducted by YouGov among more than 4,000 likely Democratic primary voters in the six states picked as early contests in the 2028 Democratic presidential primary: South Carolina, Nevada, New Hampshire, New Mexico, Michigan and Virginia.
The results showed broad support among those Democratic voters for presidential candidates who commit to reducing U.S. aid for Israel. Piker commands an enormous platform among precisely the younger voters progressive candidates are looking to court. “These numbers are making it undeniable,” Piker said on the stream. “This is an issue that is untenable.”
Earlier in the stream, Piker said the backlash over the weekend has “been a lot” to endure. “I’m going to continue doing what I’m doing,” he added. “I’m not going to feel discouraged. I’m not going to stop saying the truth… someone has to do it.”
The risk for El-Sayed
For El-Sayed, separating himself from some of Piker’s comments but still embracing him reflects the difficult political balance he has been trying to maintain since narrowly winning the primary.
El-Sayed has struggled to build support among Jewish Democrats while holding on to the progressive and pro-Palestinian coalition that helped carry him through the primary. He has assured Jewish voters that his fierce criticism of Israel — and his political relationships with figures such as Piker — should not be seen as hostility toward Jews. “I love and revere Judaism and the Jewish people,” he said in a recent TV appearance. “My commitment to the well-being of the Jewish community, their safety, their children, their future in Michigan is the same commitment that I’ve got to the well-being of my own daughters and all of our kids,” he said in another interview on Sunday.
At the same time, he resisted calls to distance himself from Piker, who has been embraced by Democratic Party progressive candidates. He appeared with El-Sayed on the campaign trail even as Piker has championed terrorist groups as righteous fighters against Israel — leading to accusations he traffics in antisemitism. In a recent speech to college students, Piker blasted Democrats who “fund ICE” and “fund Israel.”
El-Sayed’s Republican rival has already begun courting those voters, launching a “Democrats for Rogers” effort and highlighting El-Sayed’s relationship with Piker.
Speaking to Fox News’ Jesse Watters on Monday night, El-Sayed said that Rogers “thinks he’s running against Hasan Piker.”
An AARP poll released this month had El-Sayed at 48% and Rogers at 47%. Jewish voters account for only about 1.4% of the state electorate, but the defections among Jewish Democrats could matter in a race that close.
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‘Have a problem, call the PM,’ says Netanyahu as he gives out his number in campaign video
(JTA) — TEL AVIV – Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu on Sunday posted what he described as his personal phone number and invited Israelis to contact him with their questions and problems.
It was an election-season stunt that drew such a flood of responses that the number’s WhatsApp account was blocked within minutes and those calling received a busy signal.
It also drew suspicions that it was a ploy to collect voter data.
In a video posted to social media, Netanyahu is seen with longtime adviser Topaz Luk, who asks the prime minister whether he can publish his phone number. Netanyahu initially reacts with disbelief, saying, “Topaz, have you gone crazy?” before agreeing.
“I want to hear from you. Your suggestions, your questions, your problems. I want to hear, so leave me a message,” Netanyahu said. He added that he could not promise to answer everyone but would respond to as many people as possible.
Hundreds of messages and calls arrived within minutes and the WhatsApp account associated with the number was blocked. Luk later posted on X that the account had been disabled because of the volume of calls and said Netanyahu’s team was working to restore it, directing people to Telegram in the meantime.
Kan political correspondent Michael Shemesh questioned whether the number belonged to Netanyahu at all and suggested on X that the exercise was “probably designed to harvest the phone numbers of potential voters.”
Other users pointed to another clue that the handset seen in the video was unlikely to be Netanyahu’s personal phone. One of the WhatsApp groups visible in Luk’s video was a synagogue updates group whose latest message appeared to back political rival Naftali Bennett, the former prime minister who now heads the Beyachad party.
“Something tells me that Bibi isn’t signed up to the ‘Menachem’s House Main Shul Updates’ group,” one X user wrote, “especially not when the latest message there is ‘yalla, it’s time for Bennett.’”
The Likud spokesperson had not responded to a request for comment on the accusations by the time of publication.
It was not the first time Netanyahu handed out what he presented as his personal number during an election campaign. In August 2022, little more than two months before the vote that returned him to power, the then-opposition leader published another number and invited Israelis to video call him.
“Why should only some people have my phone number? Everyone should have it,” Netanyahu said at the time, joking that the move was a “dramatic, world-changing decision.” He told supporters who sent proof they had joined his Telegram channel that they would have a better chance of receiving a video call from him.
The response was similarly intense. Likud said Netanyahu received 9,420 calls within the first 30 minutes, while follow-up videos showed calls and messages flooding the phone.
Netanyahu’s rivals mocked the stunt. Then-Finance Minister Avigdor Liberman released a parody video saying Netanyahu “has not picked up the phone in 12 years,” while Yair Lapid’s Yesh Atid dismissed it as a “fictional phone operated by Netanyahu’s aides.”
The episode comes as Netanyahu faces a difficult reelection campaign, with roughly 20% of voters remaining undecided, many of whom are disillusioned Likud voters, according to pollsters and researchers cited by Reuters.
A Channel 13 poll released earlier this month put Gadi Eisenkot’s Yashar party at 23 seats, ahead of Likud with 21, and Netanyahu’s current coalition projected to win just 49 of the Knesset’s 120 seats. Eisenkot also led Netanyahu 47% to 34% when respondents were asked who was better suited to serve as prime minister.
The phone-number appeal is the latest in a series of efforts to put Netanyahu directly in front of voters, including a blitz of highly publicized appearances. Last week, the prime minister visited a restaurant in Hadera, a Likud stronghold, where owner Simo Shtivi said his arrival was “like hoisting the World Cup,” as diners lined up for photos and a chance to speak with him.
Netanyahu also made a surprise appearance with his wife Sara at a concert by Israeli pop star Eden Ben Zaken. A few days earlier, he filmed a campaign video at Jerusalem’s Malha Mall meeting shoppers, including children. The Central Elections Committee later ordered the video removed because election law bars the use of children in campaign propaganda.
Likud also rolled out billboards showing New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani alongside the leaders of Iran, Turkey and Hezbollah under the slogan, “They want Netanyahu to lose. Don’t let them win.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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