Like a lifelong Dodgers fan watching the Milwaukee Brewers celebrate their first World Series championship, I found myself of two minds about the midterm election.
Who could begrudge a small-market team its moment of glory? And yet, I could hardly forget that the Brewers’ road to victory came at the expense of my beloved Dodgers. Happy for the winners, but unable to celebrate their victory.
As a liberal Zionist, that is more or less how I felt waking up November 4 to the results of the midterm elections.
A sweeping Democratic victory returned control of both houses of Congress to the party that has historically been the political home of most American Jews. Jewish voters have long identified with Democratic commitments to civil rights, reproductive freedom and immigrant rights, among others. According to a J Street-sponsored survey, 72% supported Democratic congressional candidates this week.
There was reason to celebrate, too, the record-breaking number of Muslims elected to Congress. It was not so long ago that Jews faced barriers to full participation in American political life. Representative democracy should be just that - representative.
And yet, for many American Jews the celebration was muted. Even as one set of commitments emerged victorious, another set, held no less dear, appeared to take a hit.
Most prominently, there was the election in Michigan of Abdul El-Sayed to the Senate. My concern is not El-Sayed’s Muslim faith, but his politics - specifically his positions regarding Israel and the American-Israeli relationship.
El-Sayed has declined to affirm Israel’s continued existence as a Jewish state. Following the terrorist attack on Michigan’s Temple Israel synagogue, he condemned the violence but added that “hurt people hurt people,” a remark for which he subsequently apologized.
But he is hardly an isolated case. At least five members of the Democratic Socialists of America, all advocating an end to military assistance to Israel, won seats in the House. Longstanding congressional supporters of Israel were defeated.
Even within the Democratic establishment, America’s relationship with Israel is increasingly being reconsidered.
To be sure, Israel’s own policies and rhetoric have contributed to this shift, as has the American Jewish establishment’s longstanding and self-defeating conflation of support for Israel with support for its government’s policies.
But for American Jews who cherish the special relationship between America and Israel, who believe there to be a porous line between anti-Zionism and antisemitism, for whom Israel is no less integral to Jewish identity than God or Torah, and who hold that Jewish self-determination and progressive values need not be in conflict, the results were cause for considerable concern.
Republican party support for Israel waning
If that were not disorienting enough, the Republican Party offered little comfort either.
On Election Day, US President Donald Trump announced that the United States would end nearly $4 billion in annual military assistance to Israel by year’s end. Whatever the merits of the decision, the timing and political framing were unmistakable: Support for Israel was being treated as a political liability.
Vice President JD Vance immediately reinforced that impression. Attributing his party’s defeat principally to the war in Iran, Vance also pointed to voters’ demands to put America first and, in his words, “change our relationship to Israel.”
We are seeing the horseshoe forces of politics in real time: Different parties, with opposing ideological premises, bending toward the same direction – a distancing from the Jewish state and in some cases the Jewish community itself. The result: an unsettling feeling of political homelessness.
Where does one turn when neither side of the political aisle offers comfort? How does one remain faithful to particular Jewish commitments without surrendering an inch of one’s stake in the American project?
The Torah offers an ancient formulation that has shaped Jewish political thought for centuries.
In Genesis, Abraham, seeking to purchase a burial plot for his late wife Sarah, describes himself as “ger v’toshav” - a stranger and a resident. Having lived in Canaan for more than six decades, built a family and established himself among his neighbors, Abraham nevertheless understands himself as both belonging and standing apart.
Abraham was a resident, invested in the welfare of his neighbors, loyal to the institutions of the society in which he lived. But he was also a stranger, bound by a covenant and obligations that distinguished him from the surrounding culture. His civic belonging did not require surrendering his religious identity.
Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, the towering 20th-century Orthodox theologian, understood “ger v’toshav” as describing the perennial condition of the Jew living in a non-Jewish society.
From Abraham in Canaan, to Moses Mendelssohn in Enlightenment Germany, to Soloveitchik in America, Jews have confronted variations of the same question: How can Jews participate fully in the societies they call home without compromising the commitments that make them Jews?
Recognizing historical precedent does not resolve our contemporary predicament. But it suggests three principles for navigating it.
Do not surrender either identity
First, resist the temptation to surrender either side of our identity.
An ancient teaching in the Talmud compares the pursuit of sacred knowledge to a path between two extremes: fire on one side, snow on the other. Veer toward the fire and you burn; toward the snow and you freeze. What is one to do? “Yehallekh ba-emtza” - walk in the middle. Not because the middle is easy, but because abandoning the path means losing something essential.
Jews must not surrender our parochial commitments for the comfort of political acceptance, nor abandon our civic responsibilities because political belonging has become uncomfortable. Our calling is to be both ger and toshav - unapologetically Jewish and unapologetically invested in the American project, even when the path between them is narrow and difficult to navigate.
The importance of perspective
Second, take the long view.
Near the end of the film Charlie Wilson’s War, Philip Seymour Hoffman’s character tells a story about a boy who receives a horse for his 14th birthday. The villagers celebrate; a Zen master responds, “We’ll see.” Two years later, the boy falls from the horse and breaks his leg. The villagers lament his misfortune. Again: “We’ll see.” Then war breaks out, and every young man is called to fight except the boy with the broken leg. The villagers rejoice. Once again: “We’ll see.”
The lesson is not indifference, but perspective. How many imagined Trump’s victory in 2016, his defeat in 2020, his return in 2024, or this latest reversal of congressional control? Political fortunes shift; coalitions evolve. Today’s reality is not tomorrow’s destiny. Elections matter, policies matter, and the midterm’s victories and defeats are consequential. But no election, no political realignment, no single moment in the life of a democracy is the final word. History is still being written and we must do our part to write it.
Live Jewish lives in America with confidence
Third, and most importantly, live proudly and publicly as American Jews.
When Abraham first received his calling, he was told not merely that he would be blessed, but that he would become a blessing to others. Jewish distinctiveness was never intended solely as an inheritance to be protected; it was also a responsibility to contribute to the larger world.
Supreme Court Justice Louis Brandeis famously understood that American citizenship, Jewish identity, and Zionism could be mutually reinforcing commitments. More than a century later, that proposition deserves renewed attention. We can speak with conviction, engage with courage, treat one another with civility, build relationships across differences, contribute to the common good and live our Jewish lives with confidence rather than apology. Our distinctiveness is not a liability to be managed but a blessing meant to be shared.
For some American Jews, the election sparked celebration. For others, quite the opposite. For me, the competing emotions have brought into focus a tension generations of Jews have long faced: how to remain rooted in society while retaining the independence to stand apart from it. Our responsibility is not to eliminate that tension, but to live constructively within it, and to remain faithful to who we are while contributing fully to the country we call home.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of JTA or its parent company, 70 Faces Media.
Follow us on GoogleSource: The Jerusalem Post · RABBI ELLIOT COSGROVE/JTA
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