I was recently asked a question so many Jews must also be asking themselves right now: How do we move on from here? How do we reconnect with the progressive groups and causes that Jews and Jewish institutions supported for so many years that have so disappointed us since the Hamas attack on October 7?
My answer was: You don’t have to. Many groups have benefitted from the generosity of Jewish advocates and donors yet failed to reciprocate in our hour of need. Jews who are wondering how to rebuild bridges and reestablish alliances must accept that some are permanently severed. And that’s okay; there are many alternatives within Judaism and the Jewish community itself.
Take Canadian real estate billionaire Sylvan Adams. Last December, when American college campuses were rife with antisemitism, Adams gave $100 million to Ben Gurion University in the Negev Desert town of Beersheba. It was one of the largest gifts of its kind ever—not just in Israel—and offered a viable alternative for U.S. billionaires outraged by Ivy League leaders who failed to take care of Jewish students.
This time has not been easy for me. I may be Jewish—very Jewish in many ways—but I’ve always been a bit of an unlikely Jew, and an even unlikelier Zionist. I’m also African American. I don’t “look” the way most American Jews are expected to look, and I’ve spent my entire life—at least here in the U.S.—almost always as the darkest Jew in the room. I’m someone most other Jews rarely think of as Jewish. And this has hurt. Often intensely, but mostly as background noise—a cost of doing business, one might say, when the business is being me.
Due to my unique circumstances, I haven’t always been into the whole “Jewish community” thing. I was raised part of a synagogue but don’t belong to one now. I’m far more of a “Jew” than merely Jewish—part of a tribe that exists beyond the confines of space and time and memory.
But the horrors of October 7 have changed all this. Like so many Jews out there, I have never felt more Jewish. We must now lean into this heightened sense of Judaism when considering the bridge-building or reparative work that is ahead of us.
Before October 7, a collective sense of white guilt propelled many Jews and Jewish institutions into funding various other identity movements. But we must also turn our money and attention and passions inward. I certainly have. And I’ve discovered a whole new world filled with Jews—all kinds of Jews. At a time of rising assimilation and antisemitism, assuming that Jews look or act or pray a certain way is no longer a luxury our community can afford. Let’s face it: We need all the Jews we can muster right now. And they are there to be found. Built into Judaism itself are the queers and Blacks and Latinos and Asians and feminists and social justice fanatics that we’ve supported outside our community all these years.
And guess what? They’re all Jews, too. We don’t need to look outside of Judaism for diversity or intersectionality—we have plenty of it here already. Just look at me.
Recent estimates put the number of Jews of color, like myself, at roughly 15 percent of the entire U.S. Jewish population. That’s more than one million people.
We must expand the definition of what it means to be a part of our community. It means claiming the diversity that is everywhere within Judaism today.
American Jews who are committed to uplifting and elevating marginalized voices, go uplift and elevate marginalized Jewish voices. The folks who have been standing in the background, quieter than most, darker than most, poorer than most, but who are very much still Jews.
We can and should retain our commitment to inclusive principles—which are noble, just, Jewish—but apply them to Jews and Jewish environments. Seek connection with Jews who may not look or speak like you. Ensure that Jewish institutions no longer merely reflect an outdated, Eurocentric Ashkenazi view. Make concrete efforts at getting more “seats at the table”—but also make them Jewish seats. A Jewish table.
In my case, stepping into a larger Jewish world that has not always welcomed me and often refused to acknowledge me has been scary. But also liberating. Revolutionary. An embrace of an authentic me I never knew existed. And I’ve only just begun.
DAVID CHRISTOPHER KAUFMAN is a New York Post editor and columnist; a frequent contributor to Air Mail, the Spectator, the Telegraph, and the Forward; and an adjunct fellow at the Tel Aviv Institute.