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When Standards Disappear: What the Mamdani Reversals Reveal About Jewish Political Vulnerability
New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani delivers a speech during his inauguration ceremony in New York City, US, Jan. 1, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Kylie Cooper
When New York Mayor Zohran Mamdani took office, he pledged to “protect our Jewish neighbors.”
Within hours of taking power and very deliberately, he reversed two policies that many Jewish New Yorkers had reasonably understood as core safeguards: New York City’s adoption of the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) working definition of antisemitism, and restrictions barring city officials from participating in boycotts or divestment campaigns against Israel.
The reversals were framed as an administrative reset — a clearing away of a prior administration’s preferences. But their effect was unmistakable. They removed explicit institutional commitments to defining and confronting contemporary antisemitism and to affirming Israel’s legitimacy within city governance.
The public reaction followed a familiar script: condemnation, statements, reassurances, and calls for calm.
What has been missing is a clear-eyed assessment of what this episode actually reveals and what it demands of the Jewish community going forward. This is not primarily a story about tone, intent, or interpersonal trust. It is a story about power, incentives, and institutional design.
As a professor of political science, nothing about this outcome is surprising. Decades of research reveal that democratic governance is often shaped less by stated intentions, than by incentive structures. Elected officials respond to organized pressure, coalition management, and political cost. Policies that are discretionary — rather than embedded in durable institutional constraints — are inherently vulnerable to reversal when political alignments shift. Goodwill is not a governing mechanism. Constraints are.
The IHRA definition mattered not because it resolved every possible case, but because it translated moral concern into an operational standard. It provided guidance to institutions tasked with distinguishing between legitimate political speech and discriminatory conduct. It constrained interpretive drift. It limited the ability of political actors to redefine antisemitism opportunistically when ideological pressure mounted.
Its removal did not merely alter language; it shifted authority. Decisions about what constitutes antisemitism were moved from a widely recognized framework into a discretionary space shaped by coalition politics.
This shift matters, especially because antisemitism today rarely presents itself in its older, easily recognizable forms. Contemporary antisemitism is more often expressed through the delegitimization of Jewish collective identity, through moral exceptionalism applied uniquely to Israel, or through the attribution of collective guilt to Jews as a people.
These forms of antisemitism are harder to name, precisely because they cloak themselves in the language of politics, justice, or critique. That is precisely why definitional clarity matters. Without agreed-upon standards, antisemitism becomes whatever the most powerful actors in the room say it is — and Jews are once again placed in the position of having to prove harm after it has already occurred.
In practice, the removal of IHRA has concrete downstream consequences. City agencies, educators, and law-enforcement officials are left without clear guidance. Complaints become harder to adjudicate. Incidents that previously would have been recognized as discriminatory risk being dismissed as mere political disagreement. Ambiguity does not produce neutrality; it produces inconsistency — and inconsistency predictably disadvantages minorities whose harms are already contested.
Supporters of the reversal argue that definitions like IHRA chill speech. This objection deserves to be addressed directly. Standards do not regulate speech; they guide institutional response once speech crosses into discrimination or harassment. That distinction is foundational to civil-rights law.
Universities, workplaces, and governments have long relied on definitions to enforce equal protection without policing opinion. The alternative to standards is not free expression; it is discretionary enforcement, which is far more susceptible to political bias.
To understand why this matters so deeply in New York, one must take seriously how urban politics actually work. The city is not a neutral forum adjudicating claims in the abstract. It is a competitive ecosystem of organized interests: labor unions, housing advocates, immigrant coalitions, civil-liberties groups, ethnic and religious communities, and pro- and anti-Israel movements, all pressing their claims. Groups that exert influence in this environment tend to be cohesive, disciplined, and capable of imposing consequences — electoral, reputational, or financial — when their core interests are ignored. Groups that rely primarily on access, symbolic recognition, or rhetorical reassurance tend to lose influence over time, even when their concerns are legitimate.
The Jewish community has encountered this structural problem before.
In the late 1960s and 1970s, formal Jewish quotas in elite universities were dismantled. Many Jewish leaders understandably celebrated what appeared to be the end of explicit discrimination. What replaced quotas, however, were “holistic admissions systems” that sounded neutral and humane — yet operated with enormous discretion.
Over time, and without enforceable constraints, Jewish representation declined in some institutions — not because of overt hostility, but because the rules no longer anchored Jewish inclusion in durable standards. Once discretion expanded, Jewish objections carried less weight.
This is not to claim that history repeats mechanically. The analogy is not that today’s New York mirrors yesterday’s campuses. It is that the same structural error — substituting discretion for durable standards — predictably produces vulnerability over time. When protections are treated as administrative preferences rather than institutional commitments, they become reversible.
What, then, should the New York Jewish community do?
First, it must reorient its strategy away from reassurance and toward institutionalization. Executive orders and informal commitments are inherently fragile. Jewish leaders should be pressing for protections embedded in municipal law, administrative code, and binding procedures that cannot be undone unilaterally by a single mayor. Standards that survive political turnover matter more than promises offered in moments of controversy.
Second, the community must move beyond consensus statements to coordinated escalation. Unity is valuable, but unity without consequences signals disappointment rather than resolve. Effective political actors develop escalation ladders: clear benchmarks for action, followed by predictable increases in pressure if those benchmarks are ignored. That means legislative engagement, legal review, donor accountability, voter mobilization, and sustained public argument — not episodically, but over time.
Third, Jewish leaders must be clear-eyed about coalition politics. Coalitions are not moral communities; they are transactional alignments. When interests diverge, coalitions realign. Coalitions that require Jews to accept weakened protections in exchange for continued inclusion are not partnerships; they are asymmetries. Participation in pluralistic civic life does not require surrendering the authority to define antisemitism or abandoning institutional safeguards that Jews have repeatedly said they need.
Fourth, the community should frame this issue not as a narrow Jewish concern, but as a rule-of-law problem with broader implications. A city that abandons clear standards for identifying and addressing bias weakens protections for all minorities. Discretion may feel humane in the short term, but it is precisely discretion that allows enforcement to be politicized when pressure mounts. Equal protection requires standards that do not fluctuate with ideology.
Finally, Jewish institutions must invest in long-term political capacity rather than episodic crisis management. This moment exposes a collective-action problem, not a moral failure. Influence is cumulative. It is built through persistence, clarity, organizational discipline, and a willingness to tolerate conflict when core protections are at stake.
This is not a moment for panic, but for sobriety. The lesson of the past weeks is not that Jewish concerns lack legitimacy, but that legitimacy must be secured through structure.
Protections that rely on tone, trust, or reassurance will fail under pressure; protections that are codified, enforced, and defended endure. For Jewish communal leaders in New York, the task is clear: stop treating safeguards as favors, stop confusing access with influence, and build constraints that survive political change. In democratic politics, what is not institutionalized does endure.
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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Cameron Kasky embodies rising Gen Z Jewish criticism of Israel. Can it get him to Congress?
(JTA) — He’s running for Congress on Manhattan’s West Side, but lately Cameron Kasky has been focused on the West Bank.
Kasky, a 25-year-old Jewish progressive, recently went on a solidarity mission to the West Bank. He has shared experiences from the trip on social media, including chats with Palestinians who face security checkpoints and incursions by Israeli settlers, as well as videos of Kasky playing sports with Palestinian children. He joined Mehdi Hasan, a vocal critic of Israel and founder of the progressive media outlet Zeteo, for a live Q&A Thursday afternoon about the trip.
Among the pool of nearly a dozen candidates running in New York’s 12th Congressional District, Kasky is steering left of the Democratic establishment. His platform includes calling for sanctions on Israel, whom he accuses of committing genocide.
It’s a stance that could alienate some voters in one of the country’s most Jewish districts. The district covers the Upper West and East Sides as well as Midtown Manhattan, and has long been represented by Jerry Nadler, Congress’ most senior Jewish member.
But Kasky, the Jewish Parkland school shooting survivor and gun control activist, said in an interview that his stance on Israel doesn’t make him an outlier.
“I am not some anomaly,” Kasky told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “The next generation of Jewish Americans is changing their tune on the State of Israel and how it operates.”
In a year when Israel is expected to play a central role in a number of midterm races, Kasky’s candidacy will be a test of how going all-in against Israel resonates with voters. But Israel isn’t his only Jewish issue: He also spoke about plans to improve Holocaust education and address rising antisemitism on the right.
He’s also not wrong about shifting sentiments among younger Jews. A 2024 Pew Research Center survey found that Americans ages 18-29 were the only age group more sympathetic to Palestinians than to Israelis. Half of Jewish Americans ages 18-34 believe Israel has committed genocide in Gaza; that percentage number is hovering in the 30s among older groups, according to a September 2025 poll by the Washington Post.
While this shift on Israel is occurring in the electorate, Kasky said he’s not aware of likeminded Jewish Gen Zers who are running for office — but he expects that to change.
“I imagine we’ll be seeing plenty more soon, especially given that far more Jewish Americans in our generation are aligned with the foreign policy positions on peace to which I’ve committed,” he said.
Gen Z has not quite reached the age of typical candidates in national elections. Young progressive Jews with staunch pro-Palestinian views are, however, starting to appear in politics, and win races.
Across the Hudson River from Kasky’s district, a Jewish democratic socialist named Jake Ephros was elected to Jersey City Council last month. Ephros has been a vocal pro-Palestinian advocate. In October 2023 he co-organized an open letter titled “Not in Our Name! Jewish Socialists Say No to Apartheid and Genocide,” which compared Israel to Nazi Germany.
And a 26-year-old Jewish political strategist, Morris Katz, has made a splash behind the scenes, helping run the victorious mayoral campaign of Zohran Mamdani in New York City. He is now advising the U.S. Senate campaign of another anti-Zionist progressive, Maine’s Graham Platner. Katz has said he was “radicalized” by AIPAC, the pro-Israel lobby.
“This is something that we are seeing all over the place,” Kasky said, of his sentiments about Israel.
In the aftermath of Mamdani’s election success, progressive candidates are starting to emerge as primary challengers to more moderate Democrats in this year’s midterm elections, and the topic of Israel figures to play a role in those congressional races. That may prove especially true in the race for Nadler’s soon-to-be vacant seat, where Kasky’s many opponents include several other Jews.
The 12th district includes younger neighborhoods such as Chelsea that voted strongly in favor of Mamdani, where Kasky, a democratic socialist and Mamdani supporter, could be well aligned with voters’ politics. But even for those who feel represented by his policies, Kasky’s youth and inexperience may prove too large an obstacle for getting their vote.
“I look at his positions — if he was an experienced guy, I would be very enthusiastic,” said Arlene Geiger, coordinator of the Upper West Side Action Group.
Geiger, who is Jewish, said she is also in a Signal group chat with about 15 other progressives in the district, including Democratic Socialists of America members who are “really enthusiastic” about Kasky.
“But he’s still too young and untested, so I don’t know,” said Geiger.
Eric Alterman, a journalist and author of the 2022 book “We Are Not One,” which looks at American Jews’ growing divide over Israel, said he doubted that Kasky could win the race, even as people’s views on Israel are shifting.
In the general election, Alterman pointed out, Mamdani was able to win the Upper West Side with similar views to Kasky on Israel.
“But Mamdani’s issue was not Israel, it was affordability,” said Alterman, who lives on the Upper West Side. “A lot of DSA types were there [supporting Mamdani] because of Israel, but most people were not there for Israel. They were there saying, ‘OK, I sort of agree with some of what he says, not all of it,’ or, ‘Who cares about the mayor’s foreign policy?’”
Brad Lander, another progressive Jewish congressional candidate and Mamdani ally, is challenging incumbent Rep. Dan Goldman on his support from AIPAC, and Israel figures to play a major role in their primary. But Alterman pointed to a key difference between Lander’s messaging on Israel and Kasky’s, which centers the charge of genocide.
“His position is, ‘I love Israel and I wish it would behave better,’” Alterman said of Lander.
In his race, Kasky has positioned himself as the democratic socialist candidate in a crowded — and decidedly Jewish — field that includes state Assembly members Micah Lasher, who is Jewish and considered Nadler’s preferred successor, and Alex Bores, whose wife is Jewish; John F. Kennedy’s grandson Jack Schlossberg, who has said he’s “at least 100% half Jewish”; civil rights lawyer Laura Dunn; LGBTQ rights activist Matthew Shurka, who is a Jewish Israeli-American; broadcast journalist Jami Floyd; ex-Republican lawyer and anti-Trumper George Conway; and Alan Pardee, who previously worked in finance.
Kasky said he wants to strike a dialogue with voters who may have liked much of Mamdani’s platform but were uncomfortable with the now-mayor’s harshly critical views on Israel.
“I intend to talk to them in their places of worship, I intend to talk to them in their community meetings, and just have a conversation about this,” Kasky said. He also said that, if people were against Mamdani solely because of Israel-Palestine, he found this “ridiculous” since the mayor does not have a say in foreign policy.
“Yes, he said he’ll arrest Netanyahu — Netanyahu can prevent that by going to the Hague himself and facing justice,” Kasky said, referring to the Israeli prime minister whom Mamdani has pledged to arrest if he enters New York.
Kasky, unlike Mamdani, would have a say in American foreign policy if elected to Congress. His platform on Israel includes opposing “sending money or weapons to the State of Israel, ‘defensive’ or otherwise,” and backing “meaningful sanctions against Israel and the UAE for their continued support of genocides in Gaza and Sudan.”
Kasky has drawn criticism from pro-Israel figures like Adam Louis-Klein, who recently launched the Movement Against Antizionism. Louis-Klein called Kasky a “young token” who “recently realized the political benefits of the anti-Jewish hate grift.”
On the other hand, Ro Khanna, the progressive California congressman, praised Kasky on X. “Thanks for the boldness you are showing @camkasky! You are inspiring a lot of folks,” he wrote.
After Kasky’s recent trip to the West Bank, he said in a video that he witnessed the “devastating human toll of the illegal actions that are encouraged right here” in the 12th district.
“This hell that our government and the State of Israel have created for the people living there — it is so much worse than you think,” Kasky said following his trip.
Kasky has said he will share more about the visit; he has so far shared videos of him playing sports with Palestinian children and photos from a Christmas peace march in Bethlehem. He has written that “we must end the settlements that violate international law and stop encouraging New Yorkers to move there. It is cruel.” He also recorded a video speaking to the camera, which he said he filmed at 5 a.m., during a night shift to look out for Israeli settlers.
His platform doesn’t only center on Israel: He also cites as priorities establishing Medicare for all, abolishing ICE, fighting artificial intelligence oligarchs and preventing gun violence.
Kasky said he gradually came to his current views on Israel after being raised with a rosy picture of the country.
“It was a slow drip over the years, following the news closely and seeing strikes in Gaza, where I learned that the reality of the situation was not the simple ‘milk and honey land’ narrative I was raised to believe,” he said.
He was raised in a Jewish area of South Florida, which he described as “basically just Long Island II.” He attended a Reform synagogue, Congregation B’nai Israel, and attended a heavily Jewish private school in Boca Raton before his family moved to Parkland.
He also attended Hebrew school, which Kasky said was a seminal experience — though he complained that he was cast as Haman what felt like “every single year in the Purim spiel,” and wished he could’ve played Vashti.
Kasky said the Hebrew school curriculum included things like learning about Jewish holidays and traditions. But it also meant learning about the Holocaust at a young age — an experience that he contrasted to the curriculum of his public school history classes in middle and high school.
“The Holocaust education in at least the Florida public school system is not very in-depth,” Kasky said, adding the caveat that he had dropped out of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School before he would have taken their dedicated class on the Holocaust. (Kasky had dropped out to focus on March for Our Lives with his classmates after the shooting.)
Kasky, who co-founded the gun-control activist group Never Again MSD after surviving the shooting, said he did not learn “that America was turning away Jews” until he was “much older.” He said his classes were fairly black-and-white, and did not include anything about Nazi collaborators in the U.S. government, which he said he had come to believe was important after reading a book on the topic.
Florida has required some form of Holocaust education in public schools since the 1990s, and was one of the first states in the union to adopt such requirements. Today 30 states mandate Holocaust education. The Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School gunman had fired into the school’s Holocaust class, killing two students and wounding four, as part of his killing spree; he had also scrawled a swastika onto one of his ammunition magazines.
Now, Kasky wants to expand Holocaust education, and said he is meeting with education policy experts and Jewish community leaders about the issue.
In an email, he wrote that his positions include expanding funding for the Never Again Education Act of 2020; working to “develop and advocate for K-12 teacher training on combating antisemitism and preventing Holocaust denialism from reaching our children, who are already being exposed to skyrocketing Jew hate around the world, especially on social media”; and expanding “federal grants for states who are leading the way in the development of Holocaust/genocide education standards.”
He also expressed concern about far-right figures like Nick Fuentes, who themselves speak to Gen Z audiences highly critical of Israel, but blend such criticism with sympathy for Hitler and Nazi Germany. Kasky said “dangerous antisemitic actors” like Fuentes “exploit the suffering of the Palestinian people as a way to spread Jew hatred, while having no real sympathy for Palestinians.”
Still, Kasky cautioned against Sen. Chuck Schumer’s resolution to officially condemn Fuentes in Congress, saying it would bear “unintended harmful consequences.”
“Fuentes’ base thrives on the idea that they are being attacked because they are right, and because the establishment and the Jews and the Zionists hate seeing how right they are,” Kasky said. “The idea that Fuentes’ name will even be uttered in the halls of Congress, I think only reinforces Fuentes’ message to his followers.”
Kasky said he and his family had been the subject of antisemitic conspiracy theories online in his time as a gun control activist. He has criticized pro-Israel organizations like the Anti-Defamation League for doing “everything they can to avoid indicting the Right and MAGA.”
Kasky has also blasted moderate Democrats including Goldman and New York Rep. Ritchie Torres, who’ve both received funding from AIPAC (and are both facing primary challengers calling out that support). Kasky, meanwhile, has been endorsed by Track AIPAC, the X account that posts candidates’ AIPAC donation numbers in order “to end AIPAC and the Israel lobby’s stranglehold on American Democracy,” according to its website.
Alterman noted that, since Oct. 7, American politics around Israel have changed in a way that he “could not have imagined” while he was writing his book, particularly among Jews. Before Hamas’ attack on Israel and the war in Gaza, the election of Mamdani as an anti-Zionist mayor of New York would have been “inconceivable,” he said.
“So things are moving so rapidly that I’m not here to predict the future,” Alterman said, of Kasky’s fate in this primary. “But there’s definitely a base there to begin a political career.”
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The ICE shooting in Minneapolis shattered my Holocaust survivor father’s’ American dream
Last fall, I visited a train platform in Zbaszyn, Poland, where my father saw his parents for the last time.
There, he and his brother boarded a Kindertransport to seek refuge in England in 1940. They survived the Holocaust; my grandparents and my aunt were murdered by Nazis. The years before that separation were marked by profound betrayals by the German government, which lied to them, their neighbors and the rest of the world about the violence being enacted against them, and what their future held.
I recalled that visit early Thursday morning, as I stood in front of the Whipple Federal Building in Minneapolis, less than a mile from Bdote — the unceded land, sacred to Minnesota’s Dakota people, where the Minnesota and Mississippi Rivers meet.
That land is where Minnesota’s earliest white settlers displaced, brutalized and killed the Dakota before building Fort Snelling, one of the first United States military outposts in the American West. Later, in 1862, the federal government set up a concentration camp in the same area. Some 1,600 Dakota were sent there, and hundreds died from disease and the harsh conditions.
Now, the thousands of ICE and Border Patrol agents sent by our federal government to terrorize Minneapolis gather and stage at the Whipple Building. And yesterday, an ICE agent named Jonathan Ross left that building, traveled a couple of miles west to South Minneapolis, and murdered Renée Nicole Good.
Good, 37, was a beloved community member. I didn’t know her, but I have friends who did. Their grief is devastating.
Renee was a treasured wife, they tell me. A mom to three children. A poet, an artist, and a community caretaker.
Her unjust death is horrific. And the resonances between our federal government’s bad faith response to it, and the kinds of stories I grew up hearing about the authoritarian government under which my father was raised, are terrifying.
Within hours of Good’s killing, President Donald Trump was spreading false claims about how it happened, claiming that Good ran over the ICE agent who shot her. Multiple video analyses have shown how inaccurate his words are. Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem claimed Good, who was driving at the time of shooting, was engaged in “domestic terrorism.” It has been sickening to hear these leaders not only desecrate Good’s memory, but also try to weaponize it to further energize their campaign against our immigrant neighbors and loved ones.
LIke many American Jews, I was raised to believe in the American dream, and in a government that was here to represent me, care for me, and be a force for good in the world. And as the daughter of a Holocaust survivor, I always knew how fragile principles of liberty and equality can be.
I have known for a long time that the U.S. government has never equally defended the lives and rights of all people — and that it has too often, as in the case of the Dakota and other Indigenous Americans, actively destroyed those lives. But amid the Trump administration’s campaign against immigrant communities, it’s the tragedy of Good’s death that has most completely shattered the vision of what my Holocaust survivor father had taught me to hope for in the U.S.
Our current federal government lies to us, and lies about us. They blur the lines between fact and fiction. They gaslight. They have specifically tried to foment discord within the Jewish community, and between us and our allies. They try to divide us because they’re afraid of the strength and power that we have when we rise up as one.
That is why we gathered at the Whipple Federal Building today to honor Good’s memory, and to protest ICE’s ongoing assault on our fellow Minnesotans. This is the place where some of our neighbors go to be detained, and never come back. Instead, they are deported — sometimes to countries where they have never before set foot — and ripped from those they love, just as my father was ripped from his parents.
As Jews, we remember our family histories not to make us fearful or to isolate ourselves, but rather to prepare us for moments just like this one. Our history is not meant to be forgotten. It is not meant to sit neatly on museum shelves or be tucked away in old family albums. We are meant to carry it. We are meant to learn from it. And we are meant to act because of it.
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AUDIO: What does the Sydney attack mean for Jews in Australia?
ס׳איז לעצטנס אַרויסגעלאָזט געוואָרן אַ ראַדיאָ־אינטערוויו אויף ייִדיש וועגן דער שחיטה פֿון ייִדן דעם 14טן דעצעמבער, בעת אַ חנוכּה־פֿײַערונג אין באָנדי־ביטש, אויסטראַליע.
פֿופֿצן מענטשן זענען דערהרגעט געוואָרן אין דעם טעראָריסטישן אַטאַק, אַרײַנגערעכנט אַ 37־יאָריקן רבֿ און טאַטע פֿון פֿיר קינדער, ר׳ יעקבֿ לעוויטאַן, און אַ 10־יאָריק מיידעלע.
דעם שמועס, פּראָדוצירט פֿון דער באָסטאָנער ראַדיאָ־פּראָגראַם „דאָס ייִדישע קול“, האָט דער דיקטאָר פֿון דער פּראָגראַם, מאיר דוד, געפֿירט מיטן מעלבורנער ייִדישיסט אַלעקס דאַפֿנער.
דאַפֿנער, אַ ייִדישע ראַדיאָ־פּערזענלעכקייט אין מעלבורן, אַנאַליזירט עטלעכע מעגלעכע סיבות וואָס האָבן מסתּמא אומדירעקט דערפֿירט צו דעם טעראָריסטישן אַטאַק. ער באַשרײַבט אויך די פּאָליטישע שטימונג אין לאַנד לגבי ישׂראל און דעם הײַנטיקן זיכערהייט־מצבֿ פֿאַר די אָרטיקע ייִדן.
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