Why Do Some Jews Support Those Who Hate Them?

In one of the more astonishing developments in recent political history, Zohran Mamdani — a New York City assemblyman with a well-documented record of anti-Israel and arguably antisemitic positions — has just won a Democratic primary in a district with a significant Jewish population. More surprising still: among his vocal supporters were Jewish voters, and even a number of rabbis.

This is not merely paradoxical. It is perilous — and painfully familiar.

Mamdani, a member of the Democratic Socialists of America, has openly aligned himself with the BDS movement, refused to condemn Hamas terrorism during the October 7 massacre, and reportedly mocked Hanukkah by lighting “intifada candles.” He voted against Holocaust education funding and described Israel’s existence as a colonial enterprise. And yet, Jews helped him win.

The question begs to be asked: How can members of a community support a man who aligns with movements and ideologies hostile to their very existence?

This is not the first time in Jewish history that such self-defeating alliances have emerged. We saw it in the 1930s — in Germany. We saw it again in the 20th century — in Soviet Russia. And we are seeing it now.

In the early days of Adolf Hitler’s political ascent, certain German Jews tried to downplay or deny the danger. Some even collaborated with the Nazi party, believing that if they distanced themselves from Judaism — or at least from Zionism and Orthodoxy — they would be spared.

Dr. Max Naumann, leader of the Verband nationaldeutscher Juden (“Association of German National Jews”), advocated for complete assimilation and actively opposed Jewish nationalism. He believed that German Jews could demonstrate their patriotism and loyalty to the Reich, and thereby earn Hitler’s trust. He was tragically mistaken. In 1935, his organization was banned by the Nazis and he was briefly imprisoned. He died shortly thereafter — a victim of the very system he had sought to appease.

Other prominent Jewish voices sought accommodation. Werner Cahnman, a noted sociologist, documented how some German Jewish intellectuals, fearing Bolshevism more than fascism, saw Hitler as a lesser evil. The Allgemeine Zeitung des Judentums, a major German Jewish newspaper, initially counseled calm and restraint, warning against “hysteria” even as Nazi rhetoric grew more violent.

This historical blindness wasn’t limited to fear or delusion. It stemmed from a deeper pathology that still afflicts segments of the Jewish community today.

Philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre, in “Anti-Semite and Jew,” argued that some Jews internalize the hostility directed at them, rejecting their own identity in hopes of gaining acceptance. “The anti-Semite creates the Jew,” Sartre wrote, “and the Jew, in turn, may become the mirror of that fantasy.”

Theodor Adorno, co-author of “The Authoritarian Personality,” explored how minority groups, including Jews, sometimes adopt the values of dominant cultures — even when those values are hostile — in an attempt to survive through mimicry or moral superiority.

Sigmund Freud, in “Moses and Monotheism,” described the ambivalence within Jewish identity as a struggle between chosenness and alienation — a tension that, when unresolved, can lead to rejection of one’s own heritage.

In today’s context, that same psychology may help explain why progressive Jews — often alienated from tradition, memory, and peoplehood — align with figures like Mamdani who cloak antisemitism in the language of “social justice.”

The pattern repeated itself tragically under Soviet Communism. Although the USSR officially espoused anti-racism, it also declared war on religion and national identity — two pillars of Jewish continuity. And yet, many Jews joined the revolution.

Leon Trotsky (Lev Bronstein), a key architect of the Red Army, rejected his Jewishness and actively supported the suppression of religious life. The Yevsektsiya, the Jewish section of the Communist Party, was created to dismantle Jewish schools, synagogues, and cultural institutions. Jews — in the name of “progress” — led campaigns to destroy their own spiritual infrastructure.

Even in the United States, Jewish intellectuals like the anarchist Emma Goldman critically supported communist ideology, despite its clear hostility to religion and national identity. They believed that by embracing universalism, they would transcend antisemitism. Instead, they found themselves stripped of both tradition and protection.

What links these eras — from Hitler’s Germany to Stalin’s Russia to Mamdani’s New York — is a tragic pattern: Jews, often in pursuit of assimilation or moral superiority, support movements that endanger their survival.

History reveals a tragic pattern: Jews, often in pursuit of assimilation or moral superiority, support movements that endanger their survival.

Today, radical anti-Zionism, particularly within elite academic and progressive circles, serves as a respectable cloak for ancient hatreds. And yet, young Jews, especially those disconnected from tradition and history, are joining those very movements. They march in rallies where “From the river to the sea” is chanted, failing to realize that the slogan calls not for peace but for their erasure.

This is not political disagreement. It is historical amnesia.

The Jewish tradition teaches that memory is redemptive. “Zachor” — remember — is not just a commandment; it is a survival strategy. When Jews forget who they are, they become vulnerable not only to their enemies, but to themselves.

“Zachor” — remember — is not just a commandment; it is a survival strategy. When Jews forget who they are, they become vulnerable not only to their enemies, but to themselves.

The lesson of Mamdani’s victory is not just that dangerous ideologies can win elections — but that they can win them with Jewish help. That makes them even more dangerous.

It is time for Jews to remember: who we are, what we have survived, and what history has taught us about those who promise utopia while threatening our existence.

Rabbi Benjamin Blech is Professor of Talmud at Yeshiva University.