Return of the Jewish Outsider

There was a time, not long ago, when it felt like the window had finally opened. After generations of exclusion, Jews were no longer just peering in from the outside of American politics. We weren’t merely supporting players — donors, advisors or behind-the-scenes strategists — we were helping to shape the story, in both parties and at every level. 

But since Oct. 7, something fundamental has shifted. The window we thought might stay open is suddenly sliding shut. Not slammed — not yet — but closing, inch by inch. The political embrace we hoped was permanent is revealing itself to be conditional. And those conditions are changing. 

For much of the 19th and early 20th century, Jews were generally excluded from party leadership roles in the American political establishment. While not a universal sentiment, many Republicans in the early 20th century viewed Jews with suspicion, associating them with urban immigrant communities and linking them with socialist and anarchistic movements. Segments of the Democratic Party — particularly the Dixiecrats — promoted segregationist and often antisemitic views rooted in populist rhetoric. Although Jewish voters increasingly leaned Democratic starting with President Franklin D. Roosevelt, their support was driven more by the New Deal’s economic inclusivity than by genuine political acceptance.

After Israel’s founding in 1948, Jewish support for the Democratic Party remained strong, but was often tested by accusations of dual loyalty and discomfort over overt expressions of Zionism. While President Harry S. Truman recognized Israel promptly, much of the U.S. foreign policy establishment — including elements within both parties — was ambivalent or skeptical about close ties with a Jewish state. Jews who engaged politically had to tread carefully, aware that open advocacy for Israel could be weaponized against them. Even sympathetic allies expected discretion. In both parties, we were often included as contributors or advisors, but rarely seen as fully inside the political mainstream.

During this time, liberals embraced Israel as a scrappy, socialist underdog. Israel’s founding generation was led by Labor Zionists who emphasized collective ownership, egalitarianism and secularism — values that resonated with Western leftists who admired democratic socialist ideals. To many on the left, kibbutzim offered a compelling alternative to the extremes of free-market capitalism and Soviet-style communism. More broadly, Israel’s struggle for independence was viewed as an anti-colonial victory against the British Empire. For a time, Israel embodied the left’s ideal of a just, progressive and resilient society forged in the aftermath of a global atrocity.

That perception changed almost overnight in June 1967. Israel’s overwhelming victory in the Six-Day War shattered the underdog image and rebranded the Jewish state as a dominant regional power. The far left, once sympathetic to Israel, began to view it through a postcolonial lens — as an occupier and oppressor. Palestinian nationalism gained ideological traction, and the seeds of modern left-wing anti-Zionism were planted. At the same time, Israel’s success caught the attention of the Republican Party, which began to reassess the Jewish state’s strategic value as a Cold War ally.

The Six-Day War didn’t just alter Israel’s geopolitical standing — it transformed how American Jews were perceived. It gave many Jews the confidence to step more fully into public life, no longer forced to choose between their Zionism and their American identity. For a few decades, we weren’t just accepted — we were welcomed as part of the national conversation to help shape the priorities of both political parties. 

In the Democratic Party, we rose as fundraisers, advisors and officeholders, particularly in urban liberal strongholds. The GOP, drawn to Israel’s anti-Communist posture and its alignment with Evangelical interests, increasingly welcomed Jewish donors, pro-Israel advocates and elected officials. It was a rare period when American Jews didn’t have to choose — their identity, their values and their politics could finally align. 

But the war that began on Oct. 7, 2023 — when Hamas slaughtered more than 1,200 Israelis and foreign nationals in a coordinated invasion and took another 250 people hostage — marked a turning point, reversing the trajectory that begin in 1967. Rather than reaffirming shared values, the attack exposed how fragile the political consensus around Israel and Zionism has become. 

On the left, it revealed how some apply human rights selectively. From U.N. Women to elite universities and legacy human rights groups, the delay in condemning Hamas’ atrocities — especially gender-based violence — revealed a troubling moral blind spot: even the most brutal violence against Jews is subject to debate, delay or denial when it collides with progressive ideology. 

As antisemitic harassment surged from college campuses to city councils, expressions of Zionism were cast as complicity in genocide. In the wake of the deadliest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust, the political embrace many Jews thought was permanent suddenly feels conditional once again.

In Congress, members like Rep. Rashida Tlaib (D-Mich.) and Rep. Cori Bush (D-Mo.) declined to unequivocally condemn the Oct. 7 attacks, instead calling for an immediate ceasefire — language that minimized Jewish suffering and fueled perceptions of moral imbalance among Jewish Democrats. At the Democratic National Committee headquarters in November 2023, Jewish Voice for Peace and IfNotNow activists staged a high-profile protest, directly challenging the inclusion of Zionist Jews in progressive political spaces. 

Meanwhile, Democrats who support Israel have experienced pushback from within their own ranks. Reps. Lois Frankel (D-Fla.) and Ritchie Torres (D-N.Y.) left the Congressional Progressive Caucus due to ideological rifts over Israel and Gaza. Recently, Sen. John Fetterman (D-Pa.) said pro-Israel Democrats have “lost the argument in parts of my party.”

But the right is shifting, too. A rising, though still minority, far-right wing within the GOP has begun expressing hostility toward Israel — not out of concern for Palestinians, but from a blend of isolationism, conspiratorial ideology and old-fashioned antisemitism. You see it in the rise of figures like Nick Fuentes, whose America First movement blends white nationalism, antisemitism and anti-Israel isolationism. Former Fox News host Tucker Carlson invokes dual-loyalty tropes, accusing neocons of dragging America into wars for Israel’s benefit. Online, far-right influencers routinely accuse Jewish conservatives of manipulating U.S. policy. Even Elon Musk gave oxygen to conspiracy theories accusing Jewish groups like the Anti-Defamation League of trying to “destroy ‘the West.” In these spaces, the Jewish state is no longer seen as a strategic ally.

Zionist Jews now face the growing risk of being distrusted by both sides of the political spectrum. In many Democratic circles, our Zionism makes us suspect. In parts of the ascendant Republican right, it’s our Jewishness. 

Zionist Jews now face the growing risk of being distrusted by both sides of the political spectrum. In many Democratic circles, our Zionism makes us suspect. In parts of the ascendant Republican right, it’s our Jewishness. As pro-Israel centrism shrinks in both parties, we may find ourselves returning to a pre-1960s condition: politically active but without a true home. Tolerated at best. Mistrusted at worst.

The window of political inclusion — opened slowly over decades — was never fixed in place. And if current trends continue, it may not stay open much longer. 

Adam Aviv is a former senior editor of The Jewish Journal.