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What does Marjorie Taylor Greene’s break with Trump mean for Jews? Nothing good
Since her widely-publicized break with President Donald Trump, former Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene has been on a public redemption tour, including with an extended profile in The New York Times — the kind of media source that the far-right firebrand might have shunned for being biased against the right just a few short months ago.
Amid this reputation management tour, a familiar media reflex has kicked in: Pundits have rushed to frame the split between Greene and Trump as a sign of ideological moderation on Greene’s part. Perhaps Greene was “softening,” “repositioning,” or inching toward a more liberal posture. The editor of the center-left anti-Trump publication The Bulwark even declared that Greene’s break with Trump “gives me hope.”
In this telling, any deviation from Trump is assumed to be a move toward the center, or at least away from the hard right. But this framing badly misunderstands both Greene and the political tradition she increasingly represents, with potentially serious consequences for Jews.
Greene is not, in fact, becoming more centrist or less right-wing. Instead, her departure is the most dramatic symptom to date of deepening fractures on the far-right — largely over issues related to Israel, antisemitism and the meaning of nationalism itself.
To understand this, we need to stop thinking of the American right as a single ideological line running from “moderate” to “extreme.”
A political aberration on the right
The contemporary right is a coalition of sometimes incompatible traditions. Trump fused them temporarily, building a coalition of business-friendly Wall Street Republicans; conservative evangelical Christians; conspiracy-minded populists; and a younger, online, nationalist right. But now, after a year of Trump’s final term, the MAGA movement is under greater strain than ever before.
Perhaps the central factor in that strain is Israel.
Trump has loudly embraced Israel, cultivated high-profile Jewish allies, and positioned opposition to a certain kind of left-wing antisemitism associated with pro-Palestinian college student protestors as an essential part of his brand. During his first administration, he moved the United States embassy to Jerusalem, normalized relations between Israel and certain Gulf Arab states, and made support for Israel a litmus test for Republican loyalty.
But the striking philosemitism that characterized Trump’s first term has always coexisted uneasily with his fondness for dog whistles about “globalists” and conspiracy theories about George Soros, and with his early cultivation of a far-right fan base. Still, for a nationalist movement defined by border walls, civilizational rhetoric, and suspicion of cosmopolitan elites, the fact that Jews were rarely at the center of Trump’s list of enemies was rather unusual — in part because the kind of nationalist, closed-border politics Trump embodies has almost always placed Jews at the symbolic center of its animus.
In late 19th- and early 20th-century Europe, nationalist antisemitism was not simply a matter of old Christian religious prejudice, or of personal hatred. Rather, it was a cohesive worldview in which Jews were imagined as the antithesis of the nation-state: rootless, transnational, disloyal and corrosive to organic national unity.
In this ideological framework, Jews symbolized border-crossing itself. They were cast as the people who moved too freely, who belonged everywhere and nowhere, who undermined the stable boundaries that nationalism sought to impose.
This is why antisemitism became so tightly enmeshed in nationalist politics. Jews were not hated merely as Jews, but as embodiments of everything against which nationalism defined itself: cosmopolitanism, international finance, liberal universalism, and the erosion of traditional hierarchies. The figure of the Jew in nationalist antisemitic thought was a cipher for the destabilizing forces associated with modernity itself.
From this perspective, Trumpism’s early philosemitism was not the norm. It was the exception.
Marjorie Taylor Greene, and a different kind of nationalism
Greene has always been different from Trump when it comes to Israel — and to Jews.
Since her election to Congress in 2020, she’s engaged in critiques of U.S. support for Israel and flirtations with antisemitic conspiracy theories. In doing so, she has signaled alignment with a more traditional nationalist logic — one that views Jews, whether in Israel or in the diaspora, as challenges to a purified vision of the nation-state.
She’s not alone. For younger activists on the American right, especially those shaped by online subcultures and post-Iraq War cynicism about an assertive U.S. role in global affairs, Israel has increasingly become seen as a problem, rather than a partner.
In the past three years, the percentage of young Republicans who have a negative image of the state of Israel increased from 35% to 50%, a shockingly rapid change in such a short time. As one young staffer at the Heritage Foundation explained, “Gen Z has an increased unfavorable view of Israel, and it’s not because millions of Americans are antisemitic. It’s because we are Catholic and Orthodox and believe that Christian Zionism is a modern heresy.” During a recent focus group, one young, extremely online conservative said that Jews are “a force for evil.” These younger far-right voters frame Israel not as a civilizational ally but as a foreign state entangling America in unwanted wars.
And in so doing, they treat American Jewish influence as suspect, recycling old tropes about dual loyalty, financial manipulation and media control.
In November, at a Turning Point USA event, a young conservative activist asked Vice President JD Vance why the U.S. was expending resources on “ethnic cleansing in Gaza” and declared that Judaism “as a religion, openly supports the prosecution of ours.”
Vance did not challenge him. Vance likewise dismissed leaked chats from young Republican leaders praising Adolf Hitler and joking about gas chambers, commenting: “They tell edgy, offensive jokes, like, that’s what kids do”— even though some of these “young Republicans” were in their thirties.
To interpret Greene’s break with Trump as a move toward moderation is to assume that Trump defines the far-right baseline. In reality, Trump has actually moderated certain aspects of far-right politics, even as he radicalized others. His movement was nationalist, but selectively so. It was anti-globalist, but not uniformly antisemitic. It was populist, but protective of certain elites.
Greene represents a faction that wants to resolve these internal contradictions within the MAGA movement. In her worldview, nationalism should be consistent. All foreign aid, including to Israel, is suspect. All international alliances are burdensome. And groups perceived as transnational — whether immigrants, NGOs, or Jews — are inherently destabilizing.
A perilous future
Greene and Trump didn’t fall out over Israel. Instead, the final breaking point appears to have been related to Greene’s demand that Trump’s Justice Department release all of the files related to the late sex offender Jeffrey Epstein.
But their rupture over the Epstein files exposed the deeper gap between how Trump understands right-wing nationalism, and how Greene does.
Greene framed Epstein as proof of a corrupt, transnational, globalist elite that must be confronted openly, even if doing so means attacking powerful figures within her own movement. Trump, by contrast, prioritized loyalty, message control and coalition management, treating the issue as a political risk rather than a moral crusade.
In that sense, their fight reflected a clash between grievance-driven, anti-elite populism, and a leader-centered nationalism organized around personal loyalty and strategic discipline.
The reasons behind their rift thus helps to explain why Israel has become a flashpoint.
Support for Israel, and for Jews who advocate for it, increasingly feels incoherent to many on the far-right who share Greene’s populist vision. If nationalism is about defending one’s own people, why privilege another nation’s security over domestic concerns? And if elites are corrupting the nation — so the antisemitic thinking goes — why exempt those associated, whether fairly or not, with global networks?
It is telling that younger right-wing activists increasingly view Trump’s Israel policy as a betrayal rather than a triumph. For them, Trump’s philosemitism looks like an accommodation to donors, evangelicals or geopolitical inertia.
Instead, they hold postures like Greene’s: suspicious of foreign entanglements, hostile to perceived cosmopolitan influence, and willing to revive taboos that Trump temporarily suppressed.
None of this means Greene is destined to lead the Republican Party. But it does suggest she may be closer to the future of Trumpism than Trump himself.
That trajectory should concern anyone committed to pluralism and democratic stability. But it should also sharpen our analytical clarity. Calling Greene more moderate because she breaks with Trump obscures what is actually happening.
The conflict is not between right and center. It is between two versions of the right. One is at least marginally pragmatic, transactional and selectively inclusive. The other is ideological, purist and draws deeply from historical antisemitic tropes.
This is what those Jews who cast their lot in with the Trump administration in the name of policing campus protests failed to understand. It was never going to be possible, in the long term, to build a right-wing nationalist movement that was fine with Jews.
Marjorie Taylor Greene is not an aberration. She is a correction. And if the past is any guide, it is her version of nationalism, not Trump’s historically exceptional philosemitism, that more closely resembles where far-right movements end up.
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A Chabad Jew was stabbed in NYC. He returned the next day to continue wrapping tefillin.
(JTA) — Less than 24 hours after he was stabbed in midtown Manhattan, Yosef, a Chabad-Lubavitch man from Crown Heights, was back on the same street where he’d been assaulted, popping into Diamond District businesses as usual to help employees wrap tefillin.
Yosef, 26, who did not share his last name to maintain his privacy, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency that he was back on 47th Street on Thursday afternoon, the day after the stabbing, without missing a beat in his Monday-through-Thursday rounds even as police investigate the incident as a possible hate crime.
A number of the people he visited pieced together that the widely circulated footage of a man being stabbed the previous night was of him.
“They were in shock. They were obviously scared for me,” said Yosef, who has been wrapping tefillin and distributing Shabbat candles to Jewish Diamond District employees for about three years. He started that routine when his father, a Chabad Jew who works in the jewelry business, realized he needed his son’s help to handle the demand for those acts. Yosef told Chabad.org that he was “still shaken” by the attack a day later.
Still, he told JTA, “We can’t allow some hate to stop us.”
Yosef said he felt it was important to communicate that message because “we need more mitzvahs in the world, we need more light in the world.”
Yosef was taken to Bellevue Hospital on Wednesday evening around 6 p.m., where medical staff assessed that he had no internal bleeding and would not need stitches. No arrests have been made, but the assailant has been described as a woman in her 40s.
The attack has renewed concerns about security that have faced Chabad adherents and institutions, which often host public events and maintain a visible street presence. But the threat didn’t diminish their presence in midtown Manhattan on Friday.
Multiple Chabad men stood under a bright yellow tent on the sidewalk wrapping tefillin for a steady stream of workers in the heavily Jewish Diamond District.
“The Rebbe says that the way to defeat darkness is only through the addition of light,” said Shmuel Cohen, who was handing out small photographs of the movement’s late leader, the Lubavitcher Rebbe Menachem Mendel Schneerson.
Cohen told JTA that he had not heard about the attack that took place just down the block two days earlier, though his partner under the sidewalk tent had. Cohen said that the best way to respond is through “the observance of Torah and mitzvot without being ashamed of our Judaism but presenting it to everyone.”
Also on Friday, Chabad officials met with New York Police Department representatives for their annual meeting about security ahead of Chabad’s international conference in Crown Heights, the Brooklyn neighborhood where the movement is headquartered. The conference begins on Nov. 5.
Chabad has been targeted in multiple high-profile attacks in the past year, including the deadly Bondi Beach shooting in Australia in December. The following month, a man rammed a car into the doors of the Chabad-Lubavitch headquarters in Brooklyn, raising further questions over how the movement should balance its commitment to making its events accessible with security.
Meanwhile, Jews have been targeted in more than half of hate crimes committed in New York City in 2026, despite making up about 12% of the city’s population.
“Security is our top priority. Our goal is to provide an environment where every participant feels safe and can fully experience the purpose and spirit of the gathering,” said Rabbi Mendy Kotlarsky, a top organizer of the upcoming conference.
In the wake of the attack, Yosef said he is not concerned about going out in public as a visibly Jewish person and doesn’t plan to change how he approaches the world.
“I was wearing the same clothes on Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday,” he said. “I didn’t change my routine.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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They met on a Birthright trip then married. Now this American Israeli couple’s internet fame has turned to infamy.
Ethan and Hila Klein first met at Yad Vashem — Israel’s Holocaust museum — in 2007, a meet-cute they recounted, giggling, years later for their millions of YouTube followers.
“I think I went up to her and said something like, ‘They had it coming, don’t you think?’” said Ethan, known for his edgy humor and infamous internet trends, including Vape Nation and Papa Bless. “No I didn’t say that. I wonder if you would have laughed though.”
They were on a Birthright trip, Ethan an American and Hila an Israeli soldier on leave to join the group. Soon after the trip ended, Ethan moved to Israel to be with Hila, and the two began making videos under the name H3H3 Productions (the H for Hila and the 3 standing in as an E for Ethan). They married, moved to America, and started a popular podcast.
A Jewish love story, until Thursday, when Hila, now mother to their three children, accused Ethan publicly of having a months-long affair.
“The betrayal I feel is immeasurable,” Hila said in an Instagram post. “My only family on this side of the world. How do I even begin to make sense of this?”
Ethan reposted her statement.
Their podcast is run by a handful of crew members who often chime in and participate in various skits and bits. The crew also shared a statement saying they stand with Hila and refuse to work with Ethan, though they added they don’t know what this will mean for the future of the show.
A couple roiled by Oct. 7
The left-leaning, secular couple’s videos and podcasts focused primarily on pop culture, internet drama and general politics, not Jewish or Israeli issues.
Both Ethan and Hila would make statements sometimes when tensions in Israel flared, and they would occasionally speak out against IDF actions that upset them.
In 2021, Ethan started a podcast with political commenter Hasan Piker, a controversial left-wing influencer, called Leftovers, a nod to their leftist politics.
Then came Oct. 7.
Ethan, an American Israeli dual citizen like Hila, was horrified by the attacks but quick to call the IDF genocidal in the aftermath. In their first episode together after Oct. 7, Ethan and Piker said the show would continue through their disagreements. The episode was tense, and it was their last.
As Piker’s rhetoric on Israel intensified and became at times antisemitic, the two began a nasty internet feud, culminating in a nearly five-hour livestreamed debate.
Piker posted about the news of the affair on X, sharing a video of Ethan and expressing disgust for men who cheat.
“Now this is a high caliber man [with] good morals,” Piker said sarcastically. He also posted “Judge me by my enemies” after sharing Hila’s statement.
Hila, who owns a makeup and clothing company, increasingly came under scrutiny by Piker and others after Oct. 7 for her service in the IDF. Artists refused to work with her. One model she hired publicly disavowed her after finding out she was Israeli.
The couple was harassed, sometimes online, sometimes in-person, as they attempted to take what they viewed as a nuanced stance in the aftermath of Hamas’ attack on Israel and the ensuing war in Gaza. The united front seemed to fortify their relationship, as Ethan, ever outspoken, routinely came to his wife’s defense.
Their show lost thousands of subscribers, but loyal fans stuck with them — fans who now say they are gutted and confused by the news of the affair. Many in disbelief noted that Ethan had Hila’s face tattooed on his arm less than two years ago as a surprise for her.
“The greatest thing a man can do for his children is to love their mother,” says the quote surrounding the tattoo.
The Forward attempted to contact the Kleins through their work emails and did not immediately hear back.
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These Jewish college students have some ‘nonnegotiables’ for El-Sayed
At the University of Michigan, first-year student Robert Kashan, 18, and sophomore Jacob Reich, 19, sat behind a large blue sign. “Some things are nonnegotiable,” it declared in all caps.
The sign laid out their requirements for any candidate seeking their support: a commitment to Jewish safety, “including for Zionist Jews,” and supporting Jewish statehood in Israel, among other positions.
“Zionism is a legitimate part of the Democratic coalition, and a lot of us are feeling less represented by the Democratic Party,” Kashan told the Forward.
The students are part of a broader “Nonnegotiable” movement in Michigan, a coalition of Jewish Democrats who are spelling out their dealbreakers for candidates ahead of the Senate election between Democratic nominee Abdul El-Sayed and Republican nominee Mike Rogers.
The movement has attracted national attention, with hundreds of rabbis across 34 states signing on to the “Nonnegotiable” demands. Meanwhile, about 20 students at the University of Michigan have publicly signed, while hundreds more offered support anonymously, according to Reich.
The “Nonnegotiable” supporters aren’t saying whom they’ll vote for if their concerns aren’t addressed — or whether they’ll vote at all. But they are pushing back against the assumption that Jewish voters will, as the saying goes, “vote blue no matter who,” urging El-Sayed to engage with their demands if he hopes to earn their support.
That’s in contrast with two other Jewish political camps, including a group called Michigan Jews for Democracy that endorsed El-Sayed. Their petition, which has garnered almost 1,000 signatures, notes that some signatories hold reservations about El-Sayed but are voting for him nonetheless as a check on President Trump.
“We understand that a vote is not a valentine; it’s a strategic chess move,” the petition reads.
A competing petition, dubbed “Michigan Jews Against Extremism,” has drawn hundreds of signatures from Michigan Jews who plan to vote for Rogers. That petition similarly emphasizes that Rogers voters may still have reservations about the candidate: “Our vote for Mike Rogers does not require that we agree with him on every issue or that we support President Trump,” it reads.
“Nonnegotiable,” meanwhile, rejects the idea that Jewish voters would have to choose between Zionist and Democratic values. Some have criticized the nonnegotiable movement for ignoring the reality of the electoral choice at hand. Others have called it “a veiled attempt to excuse the actions of Jewish Democrats who want to feel validated about voting for Mike Rogers.”
But Kashan and Reich, who met at Hillel and plan to major in political science, said the “Nonnegotiable” movement was the only way they could see themselves engaging in the election, as they felt increasingly pulled between their identities as Democrats and as Jews.
Some Michigan Jews have expressed alarm at El-Sayed’s questioning of whether Israel should exist as a Jewish state and his decision to campaign alongside controversial Twitch streamer Hasan Piker, who has been accused of antisemitic rhetoric. Rogers, who Trump has endorsed, earlier this week called El-Sayed “anti-Jew.”
In a letter to Michigan Jews, El-Sayed has vowed to “stand up against antisemitism and take the threat of violence against our Jewish community incredibly seriously.” He has also hired a Jewish liaison in the final weeks leading up to the election.
This will be the first election when Kashan, who just turned 18, is eligible to vote, and Reich’s first national election after voting in a local primary in his hometown of Palo Alto, California. For both, voting Democratic in their first major election had once seemed like a given.
“I’m a Jewish Democrat, and I want Democrats to take the Senate,” Reich said. “I want to vote for a Democrat in my own state.”
They’re still holding out hope that will happen — and that, with less than two weeks until the Nov. 3 election, El-Sayed will sign on to their petition.
And if he doesn’t? Neither student is ready to say.
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