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Ukrainian Jewish life has always taken place in Russian. Now a race to translate is underway.
LVIV, Ukraine (JTA) – The rabbis sat around a breakfast table, discussing Russia’s war on the country where they work in a mixture of Yiddish, Hebrew and Russian. They named their hometowns as Lugansk, Lvov and Dnepr, the Russian names for Ukrainian cities that have vaulted into international headlines since Russia invaded Ukraine in February.
Although they were focused on Ukraine’s progress in the fighting, the rabbis uttered not a single word in Ukrainian. How could they? Like the vast majority of Jews in Ukraine, none of them speaks the country’s official language.
Russian has long been the first language for a wide swath of Ukrainians, including the majority of the country’s Jews. But after the Russian invasion, many Ukrainians decided they wanted to speak less Russian and more Ukrainian. Many Jews, similarly horrified by the sight of thousands of Russian soldiers pouring over Ukraine’s borders and wishing to demonstrate their Ukrainian bonafides, have made the same choice — even as it means disrupting a long linguistic tradition.
So when the rabbis’ successors meet for pancakes and sour cream, they will be far more likely to introduce themselves as the rabbis of Luhansk, Lviv and Dnipro, the Ukrainian names for their hometowns that have become the standard in English. They will also likely be able to hand their students and congregants Ukrainian-language versions of central Jewish texts that simply do not exist now.
“Many of my friends say that they are embarrassed to use Russian as a language. They say that we are Ukrainian Jews, and that Russia is a terrorist country fighting us and that we shouldn’t use their language,” said Rabbi Meir Stambler, from Dnipro. “Others say that [Russian president Vladimir] Putin doesn’t own the Russian language. It is an issue.”
He added, “This is something that people are discussing all the time.”
A decade ago, half of Ukrainians said they spoke Russian as their native language. That number has declined to 20%, fueled in part by resentment over Russia’s aggressions in Crimea, a contested region that it annexed by force in 2014. But Jews have remained predominantly Russian-speaking, even in parts of western Ukraine where Ukrainian has long been the dominant language. (Russian and Ukrainian are related linguistically, but their speakers cannot understand each other.)
Russia’s war on Ukraine has Ukrainian Jews playing catchup. Stambler, who heads the Federation of Jewish Communities, a body affiliated with the Hasidic Chabad-Lubavitch movement that operates a network of 36 synagogues around Ukraine, offers a stark prediction: “Within 10 years, every Jew in Ukraine will speak Ukrainian.”
The dominance of Russian among Ukraine’s Jews, who numbered in the tens of thousands before the war, has deep roots.
“The historical trajectory of Jews in what is now Ukraine led them in the 19th century to adopt Russian rather than Ukrainian,” says historian Natan Meir, a professor of Judaic studies at Portland State University. “That was because Ukrainian was perceived as a peasant language that did not have any high culture associated with it, and because there were no economic advantages to adopting Ukrainian at the time.”
Now, the upside of switching to Ukrainian — demonstrating a national allegiance during a time of war — couldn’t be clearer.
“Jews feel quite integrated into Ukrainian society, but a shift, even if it is a gradual shift, to Ukrainian is going to make that more tangible than ever,” Meir said, calling the Russian invasion “absolutely game-changing” for Ukrainian Jews. “They will be perceived even more strongly than they have been as being wholly Ukrainian and part of the fabric of Ukrainian society.”
Most Ukrainian Jews, especially those educated since the collapse of the Soviet Union, can now speak some Ukrainian. But their ability often depends on where they grew up: Many Jews in traditionally Russophone cities such as Odesa, Dnipro or Kharkiv can struggle with the language, while their grandparents often cannot speak it at all.
Books in both Hebrew and Russian sit on a bookshelf at Medzhybizh. (Jacob Judah)
“Not more than 20% were Ukrainian-speaking at home,” says Stambler. “Take President [Volodymyr] Zelensky. He knew Ukrainian, but he didn’t speak it at home, and he had to polish it up when he became president.”
It will not be simple for the Jewish community to suddenly switch to Ukrainian, the most widely spoken European language without a standardized translation of the Torah.
Two years ago, a team of translators working in Israel, Austria and Hungary began working to produce Ukrainian-language Jewish texts. But before the Russian invasion, the effort had so far produced only a Ukrainian book of psalms, or tehillim.
In May, two months into the war, a decision was made to accelerate work on a daily prayer book. A Torah could follow.
“The chumash is difficult,” said Stambler, who oversees the half-dozen-strong team of translators from his base in Dnipro, using the Hebrew word for the printed form of the Torah. “We are working on it.”
While translating sacred texts can take years, other changes have come faster. The leaflets, brochures and calendars that are a fixture at any Jewish center in Ukraine were quickly swapped out Russian for Ukrainian, at least at the federation’s headquarters. Before February, these had often been produced and printed by Russian Jewish communities and shared with those in Ukraine, for simplicity’s sake.
“This differentiation from Russian Jewry is going to be huge,” said Meir, the historian. “Up until this point they have essentially formed one linguistic and cultural space that all Jews, whether they were in Ukraine, Russia or Belarus could move freely between.”
Now, the ties between those communities are both logistically complicated to maintain — trade routes have been ruptured — and also potentially a liability at a time when anyone in either Russia or Ukraine showing an affinity for the other country can face suspicion or penalties.
“This shift, if it actually happens, is going to be marking out a totally new cultural space for Ukrainian Jews and almost a declaration of independence,” Meir said “Or at least that is the aspiration, because there is so much of their heritage which is still based in the Russian language that it is going to be a long time before they can fully separate.”
That separation process, which began to take shape most clearly after 2014, has quickened. “We started doing things ourselves,” said Stambler. “We used to do about 20% in Ukrainian for the Jews in western towns like Lviv, Ivano-Frankivsk and Uzhhorod, but we are making a much stronger push now.”
He estimates that some 75% of material being distributed to Ukrainian Jewish communities by the Federation of Jewish Communities was in Ukrainian by September, up from 20% to 35% in January.
Young rabbis who come from the United States or Israel to serve small Jewish communities across Ukraine now say that they have had to add Ukrainian alongside their Russian classes.
“I began with Russian,” said one of those rabbis who works in Vinnitsya, until he decided over the summer that he had to learn Ukrainian. “I realized that I had to learn Ukrainian because I needed it on the street. I needed it to speak with the government and with the media.”
Signs in a synagogue in Ukraine are written in both Ukrainian and Russian. (Jacob Judah)
Some Ukrainian Jews are voting with their voices.
“My whole life, I spoke only Russian,” said Olha Peresunko, who before the war lived in Mikolaiv in southern Ukraine. “But after the 24th of February I am speaking only Ukrainian.”
Peresunko was speaking outside a Lviv synagogue this fall, where she and other refugees were waiting for food parcels. She had fled Mikolaiv, which has sustained repeated assault by Russian troops, for Lviv with her mother and two children while her husband is on the frontlines.
Her children are finding it hard to adjust to the exclusive Ukrainian environment in Lviv, but she is confident that they will make the shift. “They will speak Ukrainian as their first language,” Peresunko said.
Exactly how much the shift to Ukrainian will change local Jewish communities is a matter of debate. Rabbi Shalom Gopin, who fled to Kyiv in 2014 from his home community in Luhansk, an overwhelmingly Russophone city seized by Russia-backed separatists at that time, said he, too, believes that Ukrainian will displace Russian as the lingua franca of Ukrainian Jewry.
A Ukrainian woman displays her Ukrainian-language Jewish calendar as a source of pride, September 2022. (Jacob Judah)
“They are starting to slowly speak Ukrainian,” he said. “It is no problem. There are lots of Jews in America who speak English. We live here, and we speak the languages of the places that we live. It is normal.”
But Gopin said the linguistic shift “means nothing” amid other issues facing Jews in Ukraine, where Russia’s war is threatening to undo 30 years of Jewish community building, largely though not exclusively led by Chabad, Gopin’s Orthodox movement.
“The problem for the Jews of Ukraine is not language,” he said. “It is about how much they are going to synagogue, or how many children are going to Jewish schools, not about what they are speaking.”
Natalia Kozachuk, 45, a Jewish businesswoman in Lviv, sees only upside to shedding Russian, her native language. She has started to speak to her children only in Ukrainian.
“It will be hugely positive if Jews speak more Ukrainian,” Kozachuk said. This is the only way that Jews can truly “learn more about the Ukrainian people,” she said, “about their history and the positive qualities and strengths of Ukraine.”
“Only good can come of it,” she added. “We will understand each other better.”
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Young Jews aren’t disengaging, they’re finding Jewish meaning in different ways than their parents and grandparents did
The Jewish community for years has worried about young adults drifting away. It’s true that people in their 20s and 30s are less likely to go to synagogue regularly or belong to a congregation or other Jewish communal institutions, which can make it look like young adults are disengaging from Jewish life.
But new research suggests that many of them aren’t abandoning Jewish life at all. They’re practicing it at home with friends and family, often through food, culture, and meaningful conversation. This development speaks to a broader evolution that will shape the Jewish future. While young adults still crave Jewish meaning, identity, and belonging, they increasingly expect to find them in ways and places different from their parents and grandparents.
The Jim Joseph Foundation recently commissioned Project Prism, a study of more than 2,000 Jewish Americans ages 22 to 40 in 49 states over 40 weeks, conducted in partnership with Sense Worldwide, and with NORC at the University of Chicago. The research included a nationally representative survey alongside qualitative and cultural research, and included many people whose lives rarely, if ever, intersect with Jewish institutions.
What we found complicates the conventional story about religious disengagement. Three out of four Jewish young adults say they do something Jewish regularly. But 45% of all respondents say their Jewish participation occurs exclusively in informal settings. That includes celebrating Jewish holidays with friends and family, engaging in Jewish cooking and food traditions, and discussing Jewish topics or current events with people close to them. Others express their Jewish identity through music, books, humor, and media, or by observing Jewish rituals and traditions at home.
In other words, a young adult who rarely sets foot in a synagogue or other Jewish institution may still consider Judaism a meaningful part of their life. They aren’t abandoning Judaism; they’re simply engaging in it in places and ways that are comfortable for them, reflect the home-based component of Jewish ritual, and bring them meaning.
What communities can do
The research is the starting point for understanding how young adults navigate life. For example, many Jewish young adults feel that they have a strong sense of purpose or direction in their lives, but a much smaller percentage say that being Jewish plays a strong role in creating that sense of purpose. Instead, they draw meaning from helping others, personal growth, their careers, and family. So rather than wondering why young adults are not going to existing Jewish spaces, families and community leaders might ask how Jewish tradition can deepen the things they already find meaningful. Helping a neighbor, caring for family, sharing a meal, and contributing to one’s community are deeply embedded in our teachings and rituals. Thankfully, our community has many existing organizations committed to these experiences. There is more work to do to help young adults find and connect with these existing offerings, and our community should also strive to design new, innovative offerings that don’t yet exist.
At the same time, the research shows that participation alone isn’t enough to create positive outcomes. When a young adult feels a sense of belonging, an experience is much more likely to have a lasting positive impact. Immersive and socially intensive experiences are especially effective. As people are increasingly worried about loneliness and social isolation, it’s important to recognize that simply getting people through the door cannot be the end goal. We need to think about how we help them build relationships and feel a part of something bigger once they arrive.
We also need to remember that these immersive experiences, as powerful as they are, attract only a minority of Jewish young adults. The vast majority are engaging on their own or in smaller groups. For Jewish families and organizations seeking to reach them, the research offers some practical guidance.
Young adults say Jewish experiences would be more appealing if they were more cultural and less religious, offered low-pressure opportunities to participate without a major commitment, fit their schedules, and allowed them to engage alongside people they already know. That could mean a casual Shabbat dinner, a Jewish cultural event that welcomes friends and family, or a gathering where participants can explore Jewish identity without feeling judged or pressured to participate in a particular way. These approaches recognize that young adults are navigating busy schedules, competing demands, and a polarized environment, while still seeking connection and meaning.
At their best, Jewish communities and institutions can provide exactly what these young adults are looking for — relationships, opportunities for meaning, and places where they feel part of something larger than themselves. But doing so may require thinking differently about how and where Jewish life happens. A generation that celebrates a holiday around a friend’s dinner table, talks about Jewish identity with family, and seeks community outside traditional institutions is constructing Jewish life differently than previous generations did, and can still create a meaningful Jewish life.
Rather than expecting young adults to come to them, Jewish organizations can help support the experiences young adults are already creating, whether by providing resources for home-based celebrations, partnering with informal groups, or making existing programs more flexible and welcoming.
Our community can continue offering the powerful immersive experiences that resonate with some while also embracing the more informal expressions of Jewish life that resonate with many others. In doing so, we can help more young adults experience Judaism as a meaningful part of their lives — wherever and however they choose to engage.
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Kristallnacht survivor calls on German police to stand firm against hate
(JTA) — One of the last surviving Jewish witnesses of Kristallnacht told German police leaders they have an “enormous responsibility” to learn the lessons of the past.
George Shefi, 94, this week returned to the city of his birth to share his story with senior law enforcement representatives from Germany, the United States, and other European countries at the city’s New Synagogue, a target of the Nazi-spurred mobs on Kristallnacht. The event held Thursday, titled “Not on Our Watch: Operationalizing Never Again,” marked the 88th anniversary of the pogrom.
“I have come here at this time to say that Germany’s responsibility to preserve the memory of the Holocaust is eternal,” Shefi told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency in an interview before the event. He does not believe today’s generations of Germans are “guilty of what happened,” but nonetheless said they “have an enormous responsibility and a duty to learn from the past to ensure that it never happens again.”
Shefi was almost seven when the Nazis unleashed violent pogroms across Germany on the night of Nov. 9, 1938, in which the Berlin synagogue that housed his school was burned to the ground.
Months later, his mother sent him alone to safety in Britain on the Kindertransport. He would never see her or her sister again. They were murdered at Auschwitz.
The New Synagogue, like many others across Germany, was set on fire that night, but it was not completely destroyed thanks to the bravery of Wilhelm Krützfeld, the head of the local police precinct, who called the fire brigade. One of the few Germans to stand up to the violent antisemitism on Kristallnacht, his memory was honored at the event on Thursday night.
The event was an initiative of the International March of the Living, in collaboration with several other partners including Germany’s largest police trade union. It is part of a wider international educational program which sends senior police representatives on the annual march in Poland to deepen their understanding of the Holocaust and protect global Jewish communities.
Shefi, who immigrated to Israel in 1949, has shared his personal story with more than 12,000 German students over the past two decades and also spent years volunteering with the Israeli police. Last year he received Germany’s Federal Order of Merit for his commitment to Holocaust education.
“There is special significance in giving my testimony before them [the police] in the very synagogue that was saved from burning on Kristallnacht thanks to a police officer who did the right thing. He was a human being. He did not stand by, and he did not allow the flames of hatred to spread,” Shefi told JTA.
“I call on police officers in Germany to learn from him and draw inspiration from his courageous act,” he said. “If he could act that way under Nazi rule, police officers today must also act and refuse to stand by in the face of hatred.”
Shefi recalled the immediate aftermath of Kristallnacht in an onstage interview with Revital Yakin Krakovksy, the March of the Living Israel CEO. He said that when he woke up the following day, his mother told him there was no school but gave no explanation.
It was only three days later that he saw the result of the carnage. He recalled seeing the remains of a vandalized hat shop close to his house.
“The windows were broken,” he said. “Glass was everywhere. Hats were thrown around, and half of them were probably stolen. That’s one picture I’ll never forget.”
He also recalled antisemitic graffiti daubed on the side of a store belonging to a Jewish man and his Christian wife. “The Nazis didn’t break their store, but on the sidewalk they wrote in big letters: ‘This store belongs to a Jewish pig who is married to a German swine.’” He said that while someone tried to clean up the abuse, dozens of people stood around “yelling and screaming.”
A day before the event, Shefi returned to the area where he was brought up to see the stolpersteine, memorial stones, laid for his mother and aunt. Last month a town in Germany voted to ban the stones, something which Shefi said had to be “fought tooth and nail.”
“That’s the way things start,” he said. “You start out with a law which looks very mild and very quickly grows, and people have to wake up to it. If you want to keep this country democratic, you have to start immediately to fight against such situations.”
Stressing the importance of the stones, which have become a feature of remembrance in Germany and other countries that had been occupied by the Nazis, he said: “That’s the only symbol we have that there was a Jewish community here, and they always will be if the police protect that right.”
The event came at a time of heightened antisemitism globally. According to a new report published by Israel’s Ministry of Diaspora Affairs and Fighting Antisemitism, 244 incidents targeting synagogues, Chabad centers and worshipers in their vicinity were documented across 34 countries between Oct. 7, 2023, and Oct. 21, 2026.
Phyllis Greenberg Heideman, the president of the International March of the Living, told JTA that remembering Kristallnacht is important because it was a “critical warning sign of what was to come”.
“Had the world acted to stop the violence and persecution at that time, the devastating consequences might have been different. We do not see Kristallnacht merely as a lesson in history, but as a reminder and a warning about antisemitism today,” she said.
“This year, we chose to hold the event in Berlin, where the pogrom took place, in a synagogue that survived thanks to the courage and humanity of one police officer, Wilhelm Krützfeld, who prevented the mob from setting it on fire,” Heideman said. “Our message to the senior police officials attending this event is clear: learn from his example. Do not stand by in the face of antisemitism and hatred. Do what is right, and protect those who need your protection.”
Jochen Kopelke, the federal chairman of the German Police Union (GdP) and president of the European Federation of Police Unions, lit a torch dedicated to combating antisemitism at this year’s march in April.
“The Federal Republic of Germany bears immense guilt,” he said. “It cannot absolve itself of that guilt, now or ever. Our enduring obligation is to remember the unimaginable atrocities of the Holocaust.
“In view of the alarming increase in antisemitic acts in Germany, I feel compelled, as a citizen, as a democrat, as a trade unionist, as a police officer and, above all, as a human being, to use every means at my disposal to confront the terrible, deeply troubling and unmistakable rise of homegrown German antisemitism,” Kopelke said
Paul Goldenberg, who served as a police officer in New Jersey for more than 25 years, heads up the “Operationalizing Never Again” initiative.
He said its lessons apply not just to German police but also to their colleagues worldwide. Livestreaming of the event was made available to a majority of major police associations across North America.
“It would be a serious mistake for police leaders elsewhere to regard these lessons as Germany’s responsibility alone,” he told JTA. “No country is immune from the politicization of policing, prejudice, or an institutional culture in which people stop questioning improper decisions. As an American police leader and chair of this international delegation, I believe we must bring the same scrutiny to our own institutions that we ask of others.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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Thousands of students, many Jewish, are joining the Young DSA on campuses across the country. Here’s why.
As early results streamed in on Election Day, many democrats felt hope and excitement, but the night was more complicated for Maria Franzblau, the Jewish 24-year-old co-chair of the Miami chapter of the Democratic Socialists of America, who began her foray into socialist politics in the DSA’s youth movement.
In Florida’s Senate race, former state Rep. Angie Nixon, a DSA member, lost narrowly to Republican incumbent Ashley Moody. The state’s voters also approved Amendment 3, a property tax cut that DSA members opposed.
“It was a bit of an emotional roller coaster at first with the Florida results, that quickly gave way to a lot of exuberance and excitement as we saw how the rest of the country had gone,” Franzblau told the Forward.
DSA backed candidates won at least six seats in the House, wins that are expected to grow the organization’s influence within the Democratic Party’s progressive wing.
Franzblau took an interest in socialist politics at an early age, during Sen. Bernie Sanders’ 2016 run for president. When she enrolled in Florida International University in 2020, she knew she wanted to join a political student club; the question was which one. A few months into her first year, she found the Young Democratic Socialists of America.
YDSA is the youth and student wing of the DSA. The organization has grown rapidly in recent months from 1,800 members last year to 5,200 dues-paying members now across 169 chapters, according to YDSA co-chair James Hernández. The largest chapters are based at University of Maryland at College Park, which has one of the largest Jewish student populations; Georgia State University; University of California, Berkeley; University of Oregon; University of Cincinnati and Binghamton University.
Hernández, who uses all pronouns, leads YDSA with their co-chair Mae Bracelin. They credit the increased interest to the “Zohran moment,” the rise of DSA-backed New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani.
What is the YDSA?
YDSA is based primarily on high school and college campuses, though it also has citywide chapters, and you don’t have to be a student to join. It started in the early ‘80s with a small presence at private schools, then interest spiked during Sanders’s first run for the presidency, and by 2020, the organization had grown to more than 130 chapters across the country.
Membership requires paying dues to the DSA, with a “pay what you can” model. The DSA directly funds YDSA, providing chapters with support for flags, buttons, and pamphlets, and the parent group pays the youth organization’s national leaders.
The DSA is a staunchly anti-Zionist organization, and YDSA members who spoke to the Forward said that Palestinian rights issues are core to the movement.
“It’s been so central to us because of how it’s played out on our universities,” Franzblau said. “Questions of safety on campus, questions of academic freedom and free expression, questions of how our universities use our money, all can get viewed or analyzed through this lens of Israel and Palestine.”
Current and former members of YDSA said that affordability, LGBTQ+, labor organizing and reproductive rights issues initially spurred their interest in the organization. Today, YDSA campaigns range from pushing universities to provide free laundry services to forming sanctuary campuses to protect undocumented students from Immigration and Customs Enforcement.
But current and former members of YDSA who spoke with the Forward said they were also all active in their schools’ pro-Palestinian encampments and campaigns. And that was complicated — because many of them are Jewish.
Jewish involvement in YDSA
The co-chairs said young Jews are active in the movement, and many participated in the pro-Palestinian encampments following Oct. 7 and the ensuing war in Gaza. Bracelin, who attended the University of Oregon and spearheaded the university’s YDSA chapter there, said there is often overlap in its membership and involvement with Jewish Voice for Peace.
“YDSA chapters have become sort of like homes for anti-Zionist Jews on campus who are seeking a community,” Bracelin said.
Franzblau noted that at first, she didn’t feel inclined to involve her Jewish identity in her political activism, but that changed after Hamas’ Oct. 7 attack and the war in Gaza, when YDSA’s central organizing became focused on the Palestinian cause.
At one point, a Jewish community leader at FIU told Franzblau that the pro-Palestinian groups were using her as a “token Jew.” She was also doxxed after Oct. 7, when someone found out she helped draft a campus ceasefire resolution. These reactions led her to start sharing that she is Jewish when speaking on Palestinian issues, in an effort to show that Jews are not a monolith.
Former YDSA member Gabe Karsh, who has continued as a DSA member since graduating, was also active in Macalester College’s Mac for Palestine and IfNotNow chapters in 2023.
After Oct. 7, Karsh found themselves in the position of mediating between YDSA members and other pro-Palestinian groups on one side, and the school’s Jewish community on the other.
Karsh, who has family in Israel, would talk with pro-Palestinian groups about how “de-emphasization of the hostages” was “problematic.” Talking with those in the Jewish community, Karsh would share why they thought Israel’s prosecution of the war in Gaza was a genocide that needed to be protested. Though some were “unhappy” with Karsh during this time, they said, the conversations often proved productive.
“Rather than being the ideological bulwark of my side, I found myself much more inclined to try to find a workable solution for everybody,” Karsh said. “I think I still needed that outlet to express my politics and my rage and grief and fear about what was happening in Gaza, and that’s when YDSA and Mac for Palestine became an outlet for that, when doing that work inside of the Jewish community became much more fraught and less appealing.”
Jewish YDSA member Roxy Satowitz, who serves on the organization’s National Coordinating Committee, worked alongside Karsh at Macalester. She pointed to the history of Jewish socialists in the Labor movement, particularly the General Jewish Labour Bund, as something that inspires her work.
Being Jewish, she said, grounds her approach.
“I think knowing your story and knowing your family history is really important as an organizer, because I think the way that human beings communicate is in a narrative, and the way that we learn, like the way that we talk to ourselves, is in a narrative,” she said.
How big is the tent?
Members often describe YDSA as a “big tent organization,” noting that ideological dissension is allowed in the organization, to a point. Hernández noted expulsions from the organization do happen if members drift too far from the core tenets of the movement, but declined to list examples.
Recently, internal disagreements took center stage in New York. Two days before the third anniversary of Oct. 7, multiple New York City YDSA chapters shared a social media post promoting a protest against Mamdani for, in their view, failing the Palestinian cause.

The New York City chapter of the Democratic Socialists of America told the student groups to take down the posts and threatened to cut their funding, according to the student groups. The posts disappeared, but multiple chapters later reposted the protest flyer.
The protest, which included numerous other organizations, began outside City Hall and culminated with a march to Union Square, where demonstrators crashed a vigil held by the progressive organization Israelis for Peace, recognizing the victims of both Oct. 7 and the war in Gaza. Mamdani attended the vigil and stood silently as protesters called him a traitor and chanted, “Mamdani, you can’t hide. We charge you with genocide.”
The next day, five YDSA chapters shared an online statement accusing the NYC-DSA of trying to stifle their participation in the protest.
“Our commitment is to Palestine, not any elected official,” the statement read. It concluded with the words “Long live the intifada.”
The organization United Jewish Teachers was outraged over the use of the word “intifada,” and took issue with it being shared by a YDSA chapter at New York City’s prestigious Stuyvesant High School. The post has since been deleted by Stuyvesant’s YDSA but remains up on the pages of chapters at Hunter College, Lehman College, City College of New York and The New School.
Hernández said there had been a misunderstanding between NYC-DSA and the YDSA chapters that has since been resolved.
“I don’t necessarily politically agree with the aims of that protest,” Hernández said. “I think that’s a political decision the chapter had the right to make, even if I disagree with it. There’s room for people who are more to the right of even me, and there’s room for people who are more to the left of me.”

For Hernández, the disagreements are part of the give-and-take of fostering a diverse movement, but the divisions are something the DSA at large will have to contend with, especially as it gains power while growing a pipeline from the YDSA. What concessions and compromises — especially on Israel — will it be asked to make by younger, newer members? Will it continue to hold standards that even Mamdani, some believe, can’t reach?
For now, they’re united in celebration.
“In a time when many were losing hope, these victories are a brilliant light,” Hernández said of the midterm elections. “Our task now is to build a movement capable of confronting the institution to deliver on our working-class agenda.”
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