How Safe Districts Turn Fringe Candidates Into Members of Congress

One of the most important political developments in America is happening long before Election Day.

Across the country, congressional districts have become so politically lopsided that the general election is often a foregone conclusion. The real contest takes place in party primaries, where turnout is lower, activists are more influential, and crowded fields can allow candidates to prevail with only a fraction of the vote.

New Jersey’s 12th Congressional District offers a striking example.

The district is one of the safest Democratic seats in the state. Thirteen Democrats entered the race to succeed Representative Bonnie Watson Coleman. When the votes were counted, Adam Hamawy emerged victorious with roughly a quarter of the vote. In most elections, winning 25 percent would mean defeat. In a heavily gerrymandered district where the Democratic primary effectively determines the winner, it may be enough to send someone to Congress.

Egyptian-born Adam Hamawy wins Democratic primary in NJ12 with backing of popular anti-Israel streamer Hasan Piker and alt-left politicians Sen. Bernie Sanders and Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez

That reality changes the type of candidates who can reach Washington.

Candidates who would struggle to build broad support across an entire electorate can succeed by assembling a passionate faction within a low-turnout primary. Once nominated in a safe district, they often face little risk in November.

Hamawy’s victory illustrates the dynamic.

Critics pointed to Hamawy’s testimony as a defense witness for jihadist Sheikh Omar Abdel-Rahman, the “Blind Sheikh” convicted for his role in terrorist plots linked to the 1993 World Trade Center bombing. They highlighted his volunteer work in Bosnia with the Benevolence International Foundation, an organization later shut down after investigators linked it to Al Qaeda. They questioned statements he made during the Blind Sheikh trial and raised concerns about past associations with individuals and organizations connected to radical Islamist movements.

Controversies like these that would likely receive intense scrutiny in a competitive district carried relatively little political cost in a race where winning roughly one quarter of a divided primary electorate may be sufficient to secure a seat in Congress.

The problem is not unique to Democrats. Deep-red districts have produced candidates whose views would struggle in a competitive statewide race. Deep-blue districts increasingly do the same. The common factor is not ideology. It is political geography.

Competitive districts reward coalition builders. Safe districts reward faction leaders.

Every society contains fringe movements. The question is whether political institutions force those movements to persuade a broader public before gaining power.

When candidates must compete for swing voters, controversial ideas are subjected to wider scrutiny. When victory depends on energizing a narrow slice of primary voters, the incentives change. Candidates can thrive by appealing to activists rather than assembling broad coalitions.

This feels much like social media. Inside echo chambers, radical ideas become normalized. As algorithms reward engagement, more extreme ideas ultimately push out the normalized-radical in the quest for eyeballs. Moderation is lost, and dissent is met with expulsion.

Ideological social media communities are the online equivalent of heavily gerrymandered deeply blue or red districts.

That dynamic helps explain a puzzle in modern American politics.

Polls consistently show that overt antisemitism remains a minority view in the United States. Yet some of the most visible antisemitic and anti-Israel voices in American politics emerge from districts where the decisive election is the primary rather than the general election.

Most Americans do not spend their time vilifying Jews, questioning Jewish belonging, or treating the world’s only Jewish state as uniquely illegitimate. Yet politicians can gain prominence by appealing to activist networks – online around the nation and local physically – where those themes carry political currency.

That does not mean those views represent America. It means they do not need to represent America; only enough primary voters in enough safe districts.

The same political system that elevated Adam Hamawy in New Jersey has elevated figures such as Rashida Tlaib and, on the Republican side, Marjorie Taylor Greene. Their ideologies differ dramatically, but the electoral formula is remarkably similar. A candidate builds an intense following within a safe district, wins a primary, and arrives in Congress with little need to appeal beyond that niche radical base.

NOVEMBER 30, 2018: (L-R) Rep. Rashida Tlaib (D-MN), Rep. Ilhan Omar (D-MN) and Rep. Jamaal Bowman (D-NY) take questions during a news conference about Islamophobia. (Photo by Drew Angerer/Getty Images)

The result is a Congress increasingly populated by politicians whose views are more representative of the most motivated primary voters than of the broader American public.

The problem is bigger than any one candidate. It is a system in which winning 25 percent of a primary electorate can matter more than winning the confidence of the country.

ACTION ITEM

Demand a change to primaries.

  • Any election in which the winning candidate fails to receive 40% of the vote automatically requires a run-off between the two highest vote getters
  • Stop radical gerrymandering and mid-decade gerrymandering
  • Enable open primaries in which everyone can vote, regardless of party afiliation
  • Institute ranked-choice voting, especially in races with more than four people running
  • Ban entities that negotiate with municipalities (like teacher unions) from endorsing or donating to candidates

When the Children Climbed Onto the Float

Two years ago at New York City’s Celebrate Israel Parade, Holocaust survivors climbed down from their float and danced with the children marching beside them. This year the children climbed up onto the float and sat beside the survivors.

The change captured something unmistakable: distance in years sometimes requires an inverse relationship in physical space.

As the float moved down Fifth Avenue, Holocaust survivors waved Israeli flags toward the crowd. Around them stood students, children, grandchildren, and thousands of New Yorkers carrying American and Israeli flags. Some of those cheering were the children and grandchildren of Survivors who are no longer here.

Children of Holocaust Survivors march alongside float carrying Survivors (photo: First One Through)

They felt what we saw: how much smaller the group of survivors had become.

An elderly woman sat quietly beneath a blue hat, an Israeli flag resting beside her. Nearby, several other survivors smiled and waved to the crowd. Looking across the float, one could not help noticing who was missing.

Holocaust Survivor at Celebrate Israel Parade 2026 (photo: First One Through)

The men are disappearing.

Every year there are fewer survivors able to spend a day riding through Manhattan. Husbands, brothers, and friends who once shared these memories are no longer there. Increasingly, the survivors are women carrying stories that were once held by entire families and communities.

The Holocaust is passing from lived experience into history.

Holocaust Survivors at Celebrate Israel Parade 2026 (photo: First One Through)

The banner on the float read simply: “Holocaust Survivors Support Israel.”

For many aboard, Israel is not a political issue. They remember something most Jews today know only from books: a world in which there was no Jewish state. A world in which the doors of country after country remained closed while European Jewry was destroyed.

That reality gave the float a weight extending far beyond the parade itself.

Claims Conference float at Celebrate Israel Parade 2026 (photo: First One Through)

Yet the most moving scenes took place between the survivors and the young people gathered around them.

Some students and families from the Heschel School spent part of the afternoon alongside the survivors. Conversations unfolded between people separated by seventy or eighty years, yet connected by a common story. One survivor leaned over the railing to hand a parent a reference to a book he had written. Others stopped to speak with children standing beside the float.

The survivors can no longer carry these memories alone.

Holocaust Survivor at Celebrate Israel Parade 2026 talking to people from the Heschel School (photo: First One Through)

Others must carry them forward.

Perhaps that is why they continue to come.

Waving for hours on a hot day is not easy at ninety years old. Yet year after year they return because memory survives only when it enters public life and passes from one generation to the next.

Around them, the parade moved forward. Families lined the route waving American and Israeli flags. Children danced in the streets. Chabad volunteers helped Jewish men put on tefillin along the sidewalks. The crowd cheered as marchers passed.


Young men put tefillin on Jewish men
at Celebrate Israel Parade 2026 (photo: First One Through)

The city itself felt different than it had a few years ago.

The parade was peaceful, but the precautions were impossible to miss. Police officers lined the route. Barricades stood farther from the crowd than in years past – perhaps twelve feet this year up from eight in years past.


NY Police watching over the Celebrate Israel Parade 2026 (photo: First One Through)
Enormous twelve foot-plus separation along the Celebrate Israel Parade route on Fifth Avenue (photo: First One Through)

There was another difference as well.

Two years ago New York City’s mayor proudly marched in the parade. This year the mayor made a big show of not showing up because of his anti-Israel opinions. Support for Israel, once treated as an easy civic consensus, now feels more contested amid the ongoing Iranian proxy war on Israel.

The survivors understood such realities better than anyone. They have seen societies become less welcoming before.

Yet as the float rolled down Fifth Avenue, those tensions faded into the background. What remained was something older and more enduring.

Young people sat beside Holocaust survivors. They waved Israeli flags.

The scene compressed centuries of Jewish history. Survivors who remembered Europe before the Holocaust sat beside children growing up in America after the creation of Israel. The last witnesses shared space with those who will soon become witnesses for them.

Soon there will be no Holocaust survivors left to ride down Fifth Avenue.

The children waving beside them will inherit stories they never experienced themselves. They will become the custodians of memories that once belonged to the people sitting beside them.

Holocaust Survivor at Celebrate Israel Parade 2026 (photo: First One Through)

Two years ago the survivors climbed down from the float and danced with the children. This year the children climbed onto the float and sat beside the survivors.

The time distance between those moments is only two years. The physical distance between those generations has shrunk by necessity.


Holocaust Survivor at Celebrate Israel Parade 2026 (photo: First One Through)

Dead and Dying: Joe Lieberman, Ben Sasse, and the Politics We Are Losing

Three people sat beneath words that Jews have been reading for more than three thousand years.

Rabbi Ethan Tucker, Hadassah Lieberman and Rep. Ritchie Torres at SAR High School on May 26, 2026 (photo: First One Through)

Congressman Ritchie Torres (D-NY) held a microphone. Beside him sat Hadassah Lieberman, widow of Senator Joe Lieberman. Next to her sat Rabbi Ethan Tucker, her son and Joe’s stepson. Behind them rose towering Hebrew letters from the Torah, framing a conversation about faith, citizenship, and public life.

The audience at the SAR High School had just watched Centered, a documentary chronicling the remarkable political career of Joe Lieberman. Yet as the discussion unfolded, it became clear that the evening was about something larger than one senator.

It was about a style of politics that increasingly feels as though it belongs to another country.

The film recounts the milestones most Americans remember. Lieberman became the first Jew nominated to a major party national ticket when Al Gore selected him as his running mate in 2000. He served decades in the Senate. Forty years in public office. He championed causes that frequently crossed ideological lines. He possessed a rare ability to frustrate Democrats and Republicans in equal measure.

But Centered is not ultimately a story about elections, legislation, or political strategy.

It is a story about a worldview.

Joe Lieberman belonged to a generation that regarded compromise as a civic achievement. In today’s politics, compromise often carries the stigma of surrender. Politicians fear being labeled weak. Activists reward purity. Social media celebrates confrontation.

Lieberman viewed compromise differently.

For him, compromise was almost a sacred act: imperfect people finding enough common ground to govern a free society. The goal of politics was not personal victory. The goal was preserving a country in which millions of people with competing interests and beliefs could continue living together.

That conviction repeatedly led him down unusual paths. In 2006, after losing the Democratic primary, he successfully ran for reelection as an Independent. In 2008, he endorsed Republican John McCain for president despite decades of Democratic affiliation. These decisions angered former allies and delighted opponents.

Yet they were never acts of political opportunism. They reflected a deeper conviction that principle mattered more than party and that loyalty to country could occasionally require disappointing one’s own side.

As Hadassah Lieberman and Rabbi Tucker reflected on his life, another theme emerged. Joe Lieberman never viewed Judaism and America as competing loyalties.

To him, they were inseparable. Orthodox Judaism did not pull him away from American life. It pushed him deeper into it.

The covenant at Sinai teaches obligations. It teaches that freedom carries responsibilities. It teaches that human beings answer to standards beyond personal preference or political convenience. Lieberman carried those lessons into public service. Citizenship was never merely a collection of rights. It was a series of duties owed to neighbors, institutions, and future generations.

At a moment when religion is often portrayed as a force that divides citizens into competing tribes, Lieberman embodied a different possibility. His faith expanded his sense of responsibility. It compelled him to engage people who disagreed with him. Religious conviction gave him confidence in his beliefs without requiring contempt for those who held different ones.

The discussion in Riverdale felt less like a political event than a remembrance of a disappearing civic culture.

A few weeks earlier, another screen had presented a similarly painful reflection.

On 60 Minutes, former Senator Ben Sasse (R-NE) discussed the devastating illness that has transformed his life. Viewers could see the physical toll. The interview was heartbreaking.

Yet there was another loss visible beneath the medical diagnosis.

Sasse spent much of his public career defending a style of politics that increasingly feels endangered. A committed Christian, a constitutional conservative, and an intellectual by temperament, he repeatedly challenged members of his own party when he believed they were wrong. He valued debate. He welcomed disagreement. He seemed genuinely interested in understanding opposing arguments rather than simply defeating them.

Watching Sasse confront mortality was difficult.

Watching the worldview he represents fade from public life may be even more painful.

Joe Lieberman and Ben Sasse.

One was an Orthodox Jew from Connecticut. The other an evangelical Christian from Nebraska. One progressive frequently frustrated progressives. One conservative frequently frustrated conservatives.

Both believed faith should make a person more secure, more curious, and more capable of engaging opponents with dignity. Both understood politics as a means rather than an identity. Both believed citizenship imposed obligations. Both sought to persuade rather than humiliate. Neither confused cruelty with strength nor public shaming with moral courage.

Most importantly, both loved America in a way that transcended election results.

That form of patriotism increasingly feels like an endangered species.

The disappearance of politicians like Lieberman and Sasse did not happen by accident.

The institutions that helped produce them have weakened. Religious participation among America’s youth has declined significantly. Americans increasingly inhabit separate informational universes. Politicians answer national activist audiences rather than neighbors gathered in town halls, churches, synagogues, and community organizations.

Every one of these changes rewards performance over persuasion.

The result is a politics rich in outrage and poor in trust.

Compromise becomes betrayal. Nuance becomes weakness. Certainty becomes a substitute for wisdom. Political identity expands until it consumes every other identity.

And yet the deepest irony is that many of the figures who shaped America’s democratic traditions understood politics very differently.

They believed vigorous disagreement strengthened democracy. They expected conflict. They accepted that free citizens would hold competing visions of the good society. What mattered was preserving enough mutual respect to continue sharing a common future.

Lieberman and Sasse more than understood this; they lived it.

Sen. Joe Lieberman (I-CT) and Sen. John McCain (R-AZ)

As America approaches its 250th birthday, the nation will spend the coming year celebrating constitutional structures, founding documents, and historical achievements. Those accomplishments deserve celebration.

But republics survive on more than institutions.

They depend on habits of character.

They require leaders willing to lose arguments without losing respect for opponents. They require citizens capable of disagreement without hatred. They require people whose religious convictions deepen their sense of obligation to their country rather than narrowing it. They require men and women who view compromise as an honorable necessity in a diverse democracy.

Joe Lieberman spent his life trying to embody those virtues. Ben Sasse has spent his public career defending them.

One man is gone. The other is fighting for his life.

Watching them forces an uncomfortable question upon the rest of us.

Perhaps what is dead and dying is not merely a generation of public servants.

Perhaps it is the civic faith they carried with them: the belief that America is strongest when principled people of different convictions sit together, argue honestly, listen carefully, and leave the room still recognizing one another as fellow citizens.

As the audience filed out into the night in Riverdale, the Torah verses still stood behind the empty chairs. The conversation had ended and the questions remained.

The country that will celebrate its 250th birthday next year must decide whether those virtues are merely aging – or whether we are preparing to bury them alongside the generation that practiced them.

How Maureen Galindo Became Someone Else’s Story

Imagine a congressional candidate proposing detention camps for members of another minority group.

Imagine accusing that group of criminality, depravity, and collective guilt. Imagine that candidate finishing first in a major-party primary and having a realistic path to Congress.

What would journalists focus on? The candidate? Or everyone around her?

“turn Karnes ICE Detention Center into a prison for American Zionists” – Maureen Galindo, leading Democrat for TX-35

That question hovered over the New York Times coverage of Texas congressional candidate Maureen Galindo. Readers learned about Republican efforts to boost her candidacy. They learned that Democratic leaders denounced her. They learned of fears that she could become a liability for her party.

What they largely did not receive was a full accounting of Galindo herself.

accused her opponent of being “paid by Zionist terrorism and trafficking.” – Maureen Galindo, leading Democrat for TX-35

The article informed readers that Galindo had made inflammatory remarks. It offered a glimpse of the controversy. Yet it spent remarkably little time exposing the breadth and character of the rhetoric that made her candidacy so extraordinary. Galindo’s own words appeared only in fragments. Her worldview remained mostly offstage.

The effect was subtle but significant. Readers were encouraged to view Galindo as a political problem rather than as a political phenomenon.

Jews run Hollywood and worship at the “synagogue of Satan.” – Maureen Galindo, leading Democrat for TX-35

The frame became Republican meddling.

The story should have been why thousands of Democratic voters found her acceptable.

Republican spending may have increased Galindo’s visibility. Democratic leaders may have condemned her. Neither explains why a candidate whose rhetoric would once have ended a political career finished first in a Democratic primary.

“All politicians who have taken Israeli money should be tried for treason” – Maureen Galindo, leading Democrat for TX-35

That is the question the article never seriously explored.

The answer may lie in a reality that many journalists remain reluctant to confront that antisemitism is increasingly treated differently from other forms of prejudice.

When politicians target most minority groups, journalists lead with the offensive remarks themselves. Readers see the words and judge them accordingly.

When Jews or Zionists are the target, the instinct often shifts toward explanation. The discussion moves to grievances, movements, funding, coalitions, and historical forces. The prejudice becomes something to interpret rather than confront.

I don’t care “what any Zionist-owned politician thinks. They’re exposing themselves as Zionists which will backfire on them.” – Maureen Galindo, leading Democrat for TX-35

This pattern has become particularly visible in discussions surrounding Zionism. For years, much of the political and academic world insisted that anti-Zionism and antisemitism occupy entirely separate categories. One concerns a state. The other concerns a people.

Galindo’s rhetoric collapses that distinction.

Her remarks are not primarily arguments about settlements, borders, military policy, or diplomatic arrangements. They concern Zionists in the United States. They assign collective characteristics to an enormous population. They transform a political identity into a moral category. They depict entire groups as uniquely dangerous and deserving of extraordinary treatment.

That is why her candidacy matters.

Not because she is representative of all progressives. She clearly is not.

Not because every critic of Israel shares her views. They plainly do not.

She matters because she demonstrates how rhetoric that would be instantly recognized as bigotry in almost any other context can find an audience when directed at Zionists and Jews.

And that audience is no longer hypothetical.

Galindo finished first because real voters chose her. That fact should have been the center of the story.

Instead, the NY Times coverage drifted toward a more comfortable explanation: Republicans boosted her campaign because they wanted to embarrass Democrats.

Perhaps they did.

Political parties routinely try to elevate weak or extreme opponents. There is nothing novel about the tactic.

What is novel is the assumption that the tactic itself explains the outcome. It does not.

A campaign contribution can buy advertising. It cannot manufacture belief. A mailer can increase awareness. It cannot create enthusiasm where none exists. Electoral manipulation may shape margins, but it does not explain why a message resonates.

To understand Galindo’s success requires examining the movement that produced her supporters rather than the operatives who noticed them.

That inquiry would lead into uncomfortable territory. It would require asking why anti-Israel activism increasingly attracts rhetoric that once belonged on the fringes of political life. It would require examining how language once considered antisemitic is repackaged as moral virtue. It would require acknowledging that hatred can emerge from the left no less than from the right.

Instead, the Times watered down the belief system of Galindo’s voters. It argued that the bile had “significantly less attention in Texas’s 35th congressional district.” It claimed that “most were unaware of the controversy,” and “knew little about the specifics.” It quoted a progressive who heard about Galindo’s smears “but brushed them as a political attacks.”

In other words, the Times deliberately sought to portray the progressive voters for Galindo as NOT antisemitic nor anti-Israel, just unaware.

This is journalistic malfeasance. It would never happen for any other minority group, and certainly not one experiencing a wave of hate crimes.

Journalists are trained to recognize certain forms of extremism instantly and warn readers about their implications.

The danger is not only the prejudice they recognize. It is also the prejudice they explain until it begins to sound normal.

Maureen Galindo may or may not win her race. What matters is that a candidate who trafficked in rhetoric that would have dominated headlines if directed at almost any other minority group finished first in a Democratic primary.

Yet the discussion focused elsewhere: Republican strategy, Democratic embarrassment, campaign spending, electoral tactics.

Everything surrounding the candidate became the story.

The candidate – and her supporters – became someone else’s story.

The Covenant and the Constitution

As America approaches its 250th birthday and Jews prepare to celebrate Shavuot, two anniversaries separated by more than three thousand years arrive together.

One commemorates the acceptance of a covenant at Sinai. The other celebrates the creation of a constitutional republic in Philadelphia.

Different eras, different peoples, different purposes. Yet both rank among history’s most successful experiments in ordered liberty. Each rests upon the belief that freedom flourishes when people willingly bind themselves to enduring principles.

Shavuot marks the giving of the Torah. According to Jewish tradition, an entire nation accepted a shared framework of law, responsibility, and purpose. The defining moment of Jewish history centered on a covenant that applied equally to shepherds, merchants, judges, priests, and kings. Every Jew inherited both privileges and obligations. Every Jew stood beneath the same law.

America’s Founders pursued a similar aspiration. They sought to create a republic governed by laws rather than personalities, sustained by citizens willing to shoulder responsibility for the common good. The Constitution would provide the framework. The character of the people would determine whether it endured.

For American Jews, those two traditions have complemented one another for nearly two and a half centuries.

A Nation Built on Obligations

The Torah places responsibility at the center of communal life.

Parents teach children. Judges pursue justice. Business owners conduct themselves honestly. Communities support widows, orphans, and the poor. Neighbors help one another. Citizens participate in communal affairs. The Hebrew word mitzvah means commandment, reflecting a worldview in which obligation occupies a central place.

Jewish life developed around institutions that required participation and commitment. Synagogues, schools, charitable organizations, burial societies, study groups, courts, and community councils depended upon ordinary people investing time, resources, and energy into a shared enterprise.

Across centuries and continents, Jewish communities learned how to govern themselves, educate their children, care for vulnerable members, settle disputes, raise funds, preserve traditions, and maintain communal cohesion across generations. Those habits became deeply ingrained. They traveled wherever Jews traveled.

A constitutional republic depends upon many of the same qualities. Elections require voters. Courts require jurors. Communities require volunteers. Public institutions require trust. Civil society depends upon citizens who contribute more than they consume.

The connection between liberty and responsibility appears throughout Jewish tradition. The Exodus brought physical freedom. Seven weeks later, the Israelites arrived at Sinai and accepted the responsibilities that would transform a collection of former slaves into a nation. Freedom acquired meaning through purpose, discipline, and commitment.

That lesson remains profoundly relevant in every generation.

Why America Worked

For nearly two thousand years, Jewish communities navigated a recurring dilemma. Security often required accommodation. Opportunity frequently depended upon the goodwill of rulers. Rights expanded and contracted according to the decisions of monarchs, church authorities, political parties, and shifting public sentiment.

The American republic introduced a different model.

Rights flowed from citizenship.

The promise appeared almost immediately.

In 1790, George Washington wrote to the Hebrew Congregation of Newport, Rhode Island, home of Touro Synagogue, offering a vision unlike anything Jews had encountered in centuries of Diaspora life. The government of the United States, Washington wrote, gave “to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance.” More importantly, he described Jews as possessing “alike liberty of conscience and immunities of citizenship.”

Those words represented far more than tolerance. Tolerance implies permission granted by those in power. Washington described Jews as citizens whose rights derived from the principles of the republic itself.

The distinction proved historic.

America offered Jews something extraordinary: equal citizenship while allowing them to remain fully Jewish.

By the early twentieth century, American Jews had produced judges, industrialists, labor leaders, scholars, entrepreneurs, military officers, and public servants. No figure better embodied the synthesis of Jewish identity and American citizenship than Supreme Court Justice Louis Brandeis.

At a time when some questioned whether Jews could maintain a distinct identity while remaining devoted Americans, Brandeis dismissed the concern entirely.

“To be good Americans, we must be better Jews.” – Louis Brandeis

Brandeis understood that Judaism and American citizenship drew strength from many of the same sources. Both relied upon educated citizens. Both depended upon moral self-restraint. Both valued participation over passivity. Both asked individuals to contribute to a larger community.

He also celebrated America’s ability to unite diverse communities while preserving their distinct identities.

“America has believed that in differentiation, not in uniformity, lies the path of progress.” – Louis Brandeis

That insight echoes one of the Torah’s earliest political arrangements. The tribes of Israel maintained distinct identities, histories, and responsibilities while participating in a common covenant. Judah remained Judah. Levi remained Levi. Ephraim remained Ephraim. Diversity existed within a framework of shared purpose.

America has often operated in much the same way. Citizens arrive from every corner of the globe carrying different languages, traditions, and family histories. They become Americans through allegiance to constitutional principles and civic participation. Unity emerges through commitment to a common enterprise.

America’s Founders understood the importance of civic character as well. John Adams famously observed that the Constitution was made “only for a moral and religious People.”

The statement reflected a practical reality. Institutions matter. Laws matter. Their effectiveness ultimately depends upon citizens capable of exercising self-restraint, accepting responsibility, and participating in public life.

Those qualities occupy a central place in Jewish tradition.

The Miracle of Compatibility

The story of American Jewry reflects something deeper than economic opportunity or social mobility.

America and Judaism developed complementary understandings of freedom.

Both traditions place law above rulers. Both value education. Both encourage active participation in communal affairs. Both rely upon citizens capable of governing themselves. Both recognize that liberty carries responsibilities.

The partnership has been extraordinarily successful.

American Jews have served in every war, sat on the Supreme Court, led major corporations, founded universities, advanced scientific discovery, built charitable institutions, served in elected office, and contributed to nearly every aspect of national life. At the same time, Jewish communities have built thousands of synagogues, schools, charities, cultural institutions, and communal organizations across the country.

The result has been one of the most successful relationships between a religious minority and a democratic republic in modern history.

As Shavuot approaches and America prepares to celebrate a quarter millennium of independence, the convergence feels especially meaningful.

At Sinai, freedom became joined to responsibility. In Philadelphia, liberty became joined to constitutional government.

Both moments reflected the same enduring insight: freedom survives when citizens willingly accept obligations to something larger than themselves.

Three millennia later, Jews celebrating Shavuot and Americans celebrating 250 years of independence continue to draw from that same well. A covenant and a Constitution, each in its own way, call upon free people to govern themselves, serve a higher purpose, and build a society worthy of being passed to the next generation.

Nobody Protests the Military Bases in Germany

Every year, the United States spends tens of billions of dollars protecting foreign countries. Not during wars. Not during emergencies. Every single year.

American taxpayers fund enormous military infrastructures across the globe: bases in Japan, Germany, South Korea, Qatar, Italy, and dozens of other nations. The United States maintains air bases, naval facilities, missile defenses, hospitals, schools, intelligence hubs, fuel depots, and entire support systems overseas. Hundreds of thousands of American personnel have rotated through these countries over decades.

Those expenditures serve American interests too. America protects trade routes, deters adversaries, stabilizes key regions, and projects power abroad. The postwar security architecture benefited both the United States and its allies.

But it is still true that Americans spend staggering sums every year defending allies and preserving peace abroad.

And nobody protests it.

There are no mass encampments demanding America close bases in Germany. No demonstrations condemning the billions spent protecting Japan. No chants against the enormous costs of deterring North Korea. Few activists march through campuses denouncing America’s sprawling military infrastructure across Europe, Asia, and the Persian Gulf.

Which is precisely the point. Peace is expensive. Deterrence is expensive. Preventing large wars is expensive.

Estimated Annual U.S. Military Presence Costs By Country (2025)

CountryEstimated Annual CostNature of Presence
Japan$12B–$15BMassive naval, air and Marine presence
Germany$10B–$13BNATO logistics and command hub
South Korea$6B–$8BConstant deterrence against North Korea
Qatar$4B–$7BCENTCOM and Middle East air operations
Italy$3B–$5BMediterranean and Africa operations
United Kingdom$2B–$4BNATO, intelligence and airpower support
Estimated Overseas Total$60B–$80B+ annuallyHundreds of global installations

When wars erupt, the spending surges even further. The United States has already committed over $188 billion to Ukraine following Russia’s invasion because Washington understands that instability among major powers carries enormous strategic consequences, weakening Russia among them.

Yet when the discussion turns to Israel, the framework suddenly changes. Protesters and politicians often speak as though Israel represents the centerpiece of American military spending abroad – the singular foreign country siphoning money away from struggling Americans.

Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez has argued that America should be investing in housing, healthcare, education, and climate action — not “endless war.” Representative Rashida Tlaib has asked “Why is it that our government always has enough money for bombs, to bomb people, to kill people, but never seems to have money to provide people with healthcare, with housing, enough food for their families?”

On its face, this sounds like a broad critique of American military spending but that is not how the rhetoric is actually deployed.

The slogans are overwhelmingly attached to Israel. Protest signs do not read “Housing Not Germany.” Student encampments are not organized around shutting down bases in Japan. Activists do not chant about the billions spent maintaining troops in Korea, Qatar, or Europe. The largest permanent American military expenditures abroad are treated as background noise – accepted features of the international system.

Only Israel is singled out as the foreign country supposedly taking food, housing, healthcare, and education away from Americans.

The actual numbers tell a very different story.

The United States does not maintain giant permanent bases in Israel. There are no sprawling American military cities resembling Germany, Japan, or Korea. No 50,000-troop deployments. No vast permanent occupation-sized infrastructure funded by U.S. taxpayers.

Al Udeid Air Base – Qatar

Israel largely fights its own wars with its own soldiers. Unlike many American allies, it maintains a large, technologically advanced military capable of defending itself rather than depending on permanent U.S. troop deployments for day-to-day security.

American assistance to Israel instead surges during major conflicts, particularly after attacks from Iranian-backed jihadist organizations openly committed to Israel’s destruction.

After the October 7 Hamas massacre – which included mass murder, kidnappings, sexual violence, and the burning alive of civilians – the United States accelerated weapons shipments and missile defense support to Israel as it simultaneously faced threats from Hamas, Hezbollah, the Houthis, Shiite militias, and Iran itself. American funding has helped defang the largest state sponsor of terror in the world which has also threaten the United States.

Even including the wartime surge, total U.S. military support for Israel in the two years following the October 7 massacre was just over $20 billion, including traditional military aid, missile defense replenishment, emergency weapons transfers, naval deployments tied to regional deterrence, and supplemental wartime appropriations.

That is a large figure but it pales beside the recurring long-term costs of America’s military architecture elsewhere. The United States spends more every two years defending Japan and Germany – EACH – than it spent supporting Israel during one of the largest Middle East wars in decades.

And unlike Europe or East Asia, Israel exists in an environment where multiple armed movements and regimes openly call for its elimination.

American forces remain in Germany because Europe once descended into catastrophic war. American bases in Japan exist because Washington concluded lasting peace in Asia required permanent deterrence. Korea remains heavily militarized because North Korea still threatens annihilation.

Nobody claims those alliances make Germany, Japan, or South Korea illegitimate states. Nobody demands those countries lose American protection. Only Israel is treated as uniquely immoral for receiving defensive support while fighting organizations openly committed to genocide.

If the protests were truly about opposing American military expenditures abroad, the largest demonstrations in America would target Germany, Japan, Korea, and the vast global network of permanent U.S. bases that cost taxpayers tens of billions every year.

They do not.

Instead, the outrage fixates on the one major American ally fighting for survival without large U.S. troop deployments, without permanent American bases, and while carrying the overwhelming burden of war itself.

That contradiction reveals something important: for many activists, the issue was never primarily military spending. It was Israel.

Mamdani Is Coming For Yeshivas

When New Yorkers hear “private schools,” many still picture the old stereotype: elite Manhattan prep schools, hedge-fund families, sprawling campuses, and tuition bills that rival college.

That image is politically useful for progressives. It makes any fight over “private school funding” sound like a fight over privilege.

But in New York City, that is no longer the reality.

The largest private-school system in the city is not Dalton, Horace Mann, or Trinity School. It is the yeshiva system.

More than 100,000 students in New York City attend Jewish day schools and yeshivas (45% of the total in private schools), making them the largest single bloc in the city’s private education sector. Catholic schools, once the backbone of private education in the city, now rank second with 29% of the total. The political image of private education has not caught up with the demographic reality.

Buses in front of yeshivas in Brooklyn

And that reality matters.

Because when politicians like Zohran Mamdani talk about cutting back the flow of public money into private education, yeshivas are not a side issue. They are the center of the story.

The latest battleground is special education reimbursement.

These are not subsidies for luxury education. They are legal remedies for families of children with disabilities whose needs the public-school system failed to meet. Under federal law, when the city cannot provide an appropriate education, parents can seek private placement and reimbursement.

That system has grown dramatically in cost. Critics argue it disproportionately benefits families with the resources to hire lawyers, navigate hearings, and front tuition costs. And White families in particular.

The rising cost is a legitimate policy concern.

But the answer cannot be to jump to the conclusion that yeshiva kids are taking too much; it must be to evaluate the various needs of children and figure out how to provide for them.

Unfortunately, we are living in a time and with a mayor in New York City who prefers class and racial warfare and is portraying this as a matter of “equity” and confronting “private-school privilege.” It is not. It would primarily target students with special needs at Jewish and Catholic schools.

The charts are misleading because the demographics of public and private schools are dramatically different; There are 940,000 children in public school of which 43% are Hispanic and 23% are Black – generally in line with the disability figures above

It would hit communities that already shoulder the cost of religious education while also paying taxes into a public system they largely do not use.

It would hit families with children who need specialized services.

And it would hit institutions that serve as the backbone of Jewish continuity in New York.

Because yeshivas are not just schools. They are where tradition is transmitted, where Hebrew is spoken, where Torah is learned, where identity is formed, and where Jewish continuity is secured across generations. It is civilizational infrastructure.

And once government begins treating private educational alternatives as a fiscal problem rather than a parental right, the pressure rarely stops with one category. First special education reimbursements. Then transportation. Then security funding. Then textbooks. The pattern is familiar: reduce the supports, increase the burden, narrow the choice.

Zohran Mamdani built his politics around redistribution and expanding public provision. His next target seems to be thousands of Jewish children with special educational needs.

Normalized Violence

This was the third assassination attempt against Donald Trump. He survived but the deeper story lies elsewhere. By the third attempt, the country barely pauses. The first attack should have shaken a nation to its core; the second should have deepened the sense of alarm. By the third, something more dangerous has taken hold: familiarity. Political violence begins to feel woven into the atmosphere, another storm system passing through.

That is the shift in American life. Political violence has moved from rupture to expectation. The country has grown accustomed to the possibility that power will be contested through force.

The evidence stretches across the last several years. There was the attempted kidnapping of Gretchen Whitmer, where executive authority itself became the target. There was the hammer attack on Paul Pelosi, where proximity to political authority was enough to invite violence. There was the arson attack on the home of Governor Josh Shapiro. There was the assassination of Charlie Kirk.

Each attack carried its own political coloration. Different grievances, different ideologies, different enemies.

Yet they share the same underlying grammar. The human being is transformed into an idea.

The governor becomes the state. The executive becomes capital. The politician becomes the regime.

That transformation is the hinge upon which violence swings. A person who stands as an abstraction for a hated system becomes easier to strike. Violence acquires moral clothing. The blow feels righteous because the target has already been converted into a symbol.

That is why the public reaction to United Healthcare CEO Brian Thompson’s killing mattered so much. The killing itself was one event. The social response revealed the deeper current. The alleged killer, Luigi Mangione, became a hero in corners of the internet. Memes spread. Fundraisers appeared. Admiration followed. A killer became an instrument of vengeance against a hated system.

It felt like the movie Joker come to life. In Joker, an unstable man carries the plot forward, but the real engine is the crowd waiting to celebrate him. The mob grants moral legitimacy to the violence. The killer becomes a vessel for collective resentment.

That is the deeper American drift. Violence increasingly invites sympathy, reinterpretation, and applause. The act becomes secondary to the story society tells itself about why the victim represented something worth destroying.

This can be seen in the Middle East as well.

Palestinian political culture offers a longer and starker example of how this process unfolds. For roughly twenty-five years, polling by the Palestinian Center for Policy and Survey Research has repeatedly shown majority support for violence against Jewish civilians inside Israel. This stretches back before the Gaza blockade and before the present war. The permission structure came first.

PCPSR poll from October 2003 asking whether Palestinian Arabs supported armed attacks against civilians in Israel

Then politics followed.

In 2006, Palestinians elected Hamas to a parliamentary majority, fully aware of its openly antisemitic and eliminationist charter. October 7 emerged from that political soil. The massacre fit within a culture that had long accepted the killing of Jewish civilians as part of political struggle.

That is why it was celebrated.

And the celebration reached far beyond Gaza. American campuses, Western cities, and activist spaces erupted with demonstrations that folded the massacre into broader narratives of liberation. The same reduction had already taken place. Jews had been recast as symbols of systems: colonialism, finance, whiteness, Western power, institutional dominance.

Rep. Rashida Tlaib (D-MI) goes on antisemitic rant at Democratic Socialists of America conference, invoking Nazi imagery of Jews “operating behind the curtain… to make money off of racism.”

This is the ancient machinery of antisemitism. Jews become the human face of structural resentment.

The FBI hate-crime statistics show the physical consequences of that social logic. Americans often picture hate crime through property damage: a swastika painted on a synagogue, a church defaced, a mosque vandalized. Yet for more than a decade, the majority of hate crimes in America have been crimes against persons.

In 2019, 62.6 percent of hate-crime offenses targeted people. In 2020, the FBI recorded 7,750 crimes against persons, with nearly half involving direct physical assault. The figures jumped to over 11,000 in 2023 and 2024, with Jewish accounting for the vast majority of hate crimes by religion.

The reason sits in plain sight. Jews occupy a permanent place in political imagination as concentrated power: finance, media, institutions, influence. Even when stated softly, the accusation remains the same: too much influence, too much reach, too much control.

Once power itself is treated as morally suspect, violence against those imagined to embody it starts to feel cleansing. Society begins teaching itself that rage against elites is a form of justice. Institutions become enemies. Authority becomes corruption. Violence becomes political purification.

That moral structure echoes the French Revolution. The crowd gathers. The elite are marched into the square. Their status dissolves. Their destruction becomes public theater.

That is the destination of normalized violence.

The warning sign is larger than the incident. The warning lies in the crowd, in the cultural ecosystem that grants permission, supplies applause, and tells itself that the target stood for something hateful enough to justify blood.

Society has normalized violence as the media and school systems falsely rebranded America as a deeply unfair caste system. In the masses attempt for a complete redistribution of power and wealth, those with or with perceived power – politicians and Jews – will be open game for the angry mob.

Related:

The Broke-n Generation (December 2024)

NYC, Now It’s at Your Front Door

It looked like a technical vote. In New York City, a proposed buffer zone around houses of worship. A few feet of space so people could enter synagogues, churches, and mosques without confrontation.

And the Democratic Socialists of America bloc on the City Council voted no.

Shahana Hanif (District 39), Alexa Avilés (District 38), Tiffany Cabán (District 22), Chi Ossé (District 36), and Kayla Santosuosso (District 47) held the same line. Protect protest at all costs. Treat any restriction as a threat to speech. Keep the sidewalks open, no matter what is happening on them.

Shahana Hanif (District 39)

On paper, that sounds principled. In practice, it lands somewhere else entirely.

Because in this city, right now, protests are not showing up randomly. They are showing up outside synagogues in growing numbers. The line between Israel and the Jew has been erased, and the synagogue has become a stand-in.

This is where ideology stops being abstract.

For years, the DSA has defined itself through opposition to Israel. That posture has moved from foreign policy into local reality. When Zionism is framed as uniquely illegitimate, and most Jews see it as part of who they are, the translation is inevitable. The target shifts.

No manifesto is needed. The pattern speaks for itself.

Vote against a resolution recognizing hatred against Jews. Argue about the sponsors instead of the substance. Reject a minimal buffer around houses of worship at a moment when Jewish institutions in New York are under visible pressure.

That movement is no longer adjacent to power in New York City; it has the power. With Zohran Mamdani as the city’s new mayor, the worldview is moving from activist circles into the city’s governing core.

New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani is a member of the DSA

And the expansion is already underway.

On Tuesday April 28’s special primary day, Mamdani has backed Lindsey Boylan, a member of the DSA to take another seat on the City Council. Jewish City Council Speaker Julie Menin has endorsed Carl Wilson in an effort to stop the radical left gaining even more power in New York.

In the June primaries, NYC-DSA is backing a coordinated slate:

  • Darializa Avila Chevalier (Upper Manhattan/Bronx)
  • Claire Valdez (Brooklyn/Queens)
  • David Orkin (Queens)
  • Diana Moreno

—alongside a broader Assembly slate backed by the same network.

Endorsements from figures like Jamaal Bowman and Mamdani for radical anti-capitalists, anti-west, anti-Israel DSA members like Aber Kawas reinforce the same ideological through-line—where opposition to Israel is no longer one issue among many, but a defining filter.

Aber Kawas has long supported the dismantling of the Jewish State, now running as part of the DSA to gain a seat in the New York State Senate. She is backed by Zohran Mamdani and Jamaal Bowman

This is how local elections stop being local.

When protests move from slogans to synagogue doors in Brooklyn, Queens, and Manhattan, who holds the line?

Will NYPD treat intimidation outside Jewish institutions as a line to be enforced—or a situation to be managed?

Power shapes behavior. When activists see their worldview reflected in City Hall and Albany, boundaries loosen. What once felt marginal begins to feel sanctioned. The distance between protest and confrontation narrows.

The question is no longer what DSA believes about Israel where they believe every man, woman and child is a fair target for violence. The question for New York voters is what they are comfortable normalizing here.

On sidewalks outside synagogues. At the doors of people trying to pray. In the space between protest and intimidation.

The City Council vote on buffer zones answered part of that question.

The rest will be answered this coming Tuesday and in June—at the ballot box, and on the sidewalks outside your door.

ACTION ITEM

Support Carl Wilson in the primary on April 28.

Support opponents to the DSA candidates in the June elections.

Related:

Bring Israel Into NATO’s Orbit

Wars do not simply end; they force institutions to confront whether they still address the world they are meant to secure.

As the regional war against Israel recedes from its most intense phase, one conclusion is increasingly difficult to ignore: Israel has been operating inside the West’s security perimeter while remaining formally outside the principal institution designed to defend it.

That institution is the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, NATO.

This gap is structural—and increasingly consequential.

When Iran shut down the Strait of Hormuz, crippling access to one-fifth of the global oil supply, the countries inside of NATO barely budged. Spain went so far as to send the United States a big middle finger.

Only Israel worked together with the U.S. in managing this global threat.

Israel already maintains deep bilateral ties with key NATO members, particularly the United States. Intelligence sharing, joint exercises, and technological collaboration are well established. The problem is that this cooperation remains fragmented, dependent on individual relationships rather than embedded within NATO’s institutional framework. In an era defined by interconnected threats, fragmentation is a liability.

Those threats no longer arrive neatly organized by geography. For more than two decades, Europe has experienced the effects of Islamist extremism within its own borders. Attacks tied to networks such as ISIS in Paris, Brussels, and Berlin were not isolated events. They reflected a broader system—ideological, financial, and operational—that crosses borders with ease. That same ecosystem includes actors such as Hamas, whose attacks triggered the current war.

These are not separate challenges. They are different manifestations of two networks confronting the western world: the jihadi axis of Iran, Hezbollah, Hamas and Houthis, as well as the national threats from Russia, China and Iran.

Israel has been confronting the jihadi network as a whole—mapping it, disrupting it, and adapting to it in real time. Europe, by contrast, has often encountered it in fragments.

Memorial for people killed from jihadi bombing at Ariana Grande concert

The two confrontational axis are linked by Iran. A NATO established to be a defense against Russia and communism must adapt to the new reality that the Russia-China-Iran alliance is buttressing jihadi regimes and terrorist groups to destabilize the west.

NATO, as currently structured, is positioned to respond to effects—naval patrols, sanctions, diplomatic signaling—but lacks a formal mechanism to integrate with the actor most deeply engaged in countering the source.

Israel is not a peripheral partner. It is a central node of capability.

Its missile defense systems operate under continuous pressure. Its counter-drone technologies are refined in live environments. Its intelligence capabilities integrate multiple theaters into a single operational picture. Its cyber operations are embedded directly into conflict environments that NATO is still working to fully integrate.

This is a partner NATO needs.

Geography reinforces the argument. NATO’s traditional focus on its eastern flank remains essential, particularly in relation to Russia. But the critical infrastructure of modern security—energy routes, maritime corridors, and digital networks—runs through the Eastern Mediterranean, the Red Sea, and the Gulf. Stability in these regions is now directly tied to European and transatlantic security.

Israel sits at that intersection with capability, proximity, and alignment.

At the same time, pressures within the alliance itself are becoming more visible. U.S. political leaders—most notably Donald Trump—have underscored a structural imbalance: the United States continues to underwrite a disproportionate share of European defense while facing expanding global demands. That pressure reflects a broader need for NATO to adapt—both in burden sharing and in how it structures partnerships to address evolving threats.

Parallel to this, U.S. policy has begun to shift in the Middle East. Efforts to draw regional actors, including emerging leadership in Syria, away from Russian influence and toward Western engagement signal a changing geopolitical landscape. The region is no longer peripheral to transatlantic security. It is central to it.

Against that backdrop, integrating Israel into NATO’s partnership structure is not an isolated step. It is part of a broader realignment responding to the growing influence of Russia and Iran across multiple theaters.

This does not mean that Israel should join NATO as a full member with Article 5 protections. This proposal refers to formal integration within NATO’s Enhanced Opportunities Partner framework. It does not create automatic military obligations, nor does it commit NATO forces to regional conflicts.

It creates structure where there is currently fragmentation.

NATO should take three immediate steps.

  • First, designate Israel as an Enhanced Opportunities Partner, formalizing its integration into NATO planning, intelligence, and interoperability frameworks.
  • Second, establish a standing NATO–Israel coordination mechanism focused on counter-drone warfare, missile defense, cyber operations, and maritime security.
  • Third, integrate Israel into NATO’s southern and maritime operational planning, particularly in relation to the Eastern Mediterranean, Red Sea, and Gulf energy corridors.

These steps would not expand NATO’s defense obligations. They would enhance its operational effectiveness.

Wars clarify.

This one has clarified that European security is shaped by forces operating far beyond its borders and that the countries are not up to the task of dealing with their own security needs. That terrorism, energy coercion, and hybrid warfare now form a single continuum. That regional boundaries no longer define strategic risk.

And that Israel is already operating at the center of that reality.

NATO was built to defend the system. It now needs to include those already defending it.