In the aftermath of October 7, we have seen increased calls for that elusive ideal, Jewish unity. Some call for it on the theory that in unity there is strength. Editor and columnist David Suissa has suggested that the “weakness Israel showed on October 7” has led to a “shared menace” and that if this “doesn’t unite Jews, nothing will.” But this idea is nothing new.
As far back as 1977, the Conference of Presidents of Major Jewish Organizations, the so-called umbrella group for Jewish leaders, opined that dissent must not be made public, as Jewish unity is “essential for the security of Israel.”
Some Jewish professionals argue that October 7 did increase Jewish unity. Rabbi Rick Jacobs of the Reform movement notes that “people who once saw Israel distantly now feel a personal connection.” There is some hard evidence for this. A survey by the Jewish Federations of North America found that 37 percent of post-October 7 donors are new. Rabbis have attested to increased synagogue attendance, and Hillel directors tell of overflowing crowds at the group’s activities. Chabad has noted “an increase of over 40 percent of new students coming through a Chabad house since October 7.” Even the number of converts “taking the plunge” has reportedly spiked.
But whether these larger post-October 7 numbers actually constitute an increase in Jewish unity is an open question. Does “unity” simply mean identification with the Jewish people, or does it imply unified support for Israel and its policies? Rabbi Ammiel Hirsch of the Stephen Wise Free Synagogue in New York, who used to run the Association of Reform Zionists of America, has lamented that Reform teachings about tikkun olam, repairing the world, have led Jewish youth to join post-October 7 college encampments. And even before October 7, the Jewish Electorate Institute found that 43 percent of Jews under 40 agreed that “Israel’s treatment of Palestinians is similar to racism in the United States” (anticipating a main theme in Ta-Nehisi Coates’s new book The Message). I somehow doubt that the events in Gaza have reversed those sentiments.
Much of the historical focus on “unity” comes from the Jewish federation movement, whose extraordinary success in fundraising has been spearheaded by the slogan “We are one!” But this “unity” is largely a myth—or at best an illusion born of repressing dissent. Thus we see Jonathan Tobin of the conservative-leaning Jewish News Syndicate arguing that “Jewish anti-Zionists can’t be part of our ‘big tent’ community.” Others would keep them in the tent but shun them: Jonathan Greenblatt, CEO of the Anti-Defamation League, has derided Jewish and Palestinian Gaza protesters as “Iranian proxies.”
This policing is not a new phenomenon. In 2014, the Conference of Presidents of Major Jewish Organizations refused to admit J Street (an avowedly Zionist and progressive organization) to membership. Their crime: They dared to criticize the Israeli government of the day. In the 1970s, the Jewish establishment hounded a fledgling peace group called B’reira out of existence. Its crime: supporting a two-state solution.
All this is not surprising. Calls for unity usually work as an enforcement mechanism to police the boundaries of a movement and eliminate marginal viewpoints—to tell us who are the real Jews and who are the fake (let alone self-hating) ones. By asserting the principles that you must believe to be part of a belief system, you purge the movement of dissenters—especially dissenters closest to the reigning orthodoxy. The Bolsheviks hated the Mensheviks more than they hated the old Russian regime; the MAGA movement targets the establishment conservatives it derides as RINOs (Republicans in Name Only).
Even while the Jewish community polices its ideological borders, it also worries about a dropoff of interest in Judaism itself, particularly among youth. And so it should. Gen Z-ers do not worry much about excommunication. Nor do they think much of required articles of faith, be they the Anglican Communion’s 39 Articles or Maimonides’s 13 Principles of Faith.
Articles of faith matter if you see Judaism as a religion in which each branch has its requirements, however rigid or flexible. But a large swath of the Jewish population (particularly younger Jews) understand Judaism not as religion but as peoplehood. If you want to attract those Jews, you would be wise to take a more inclusive view. While I have no doubt, for example, that Zionism is a core constituent principle of Judaism and that most Jews today are Zionists of one sort or another, do we really want to purge dissenters—whether over theology, doctrine or land—from the Jewish people? Is such rigidity a sign of strength or of weakness? Elliot Abrams admits in his new book If You Will It that for young Jews, the Jewish religion “became a barrier to entry into identification as Jews.” (He argues instead for offering “immersive Jewish experiences.”) For young Americans generally, dogma does not sell.
It would be much better, I think, to take the view of the great Jewish philosopher Franz Rosenzweig, who wrote in a 1920 letter to Eduard Strauss about his project to encourage German Jews to engage in Jewish learning, urging that they should take Jews where they are. “Nothing Jewish,” he wrote to Strauss, “is alien to me.”
Marshall Breger is a professor of law at Catholic University.