Antisemitism tolerated in New York Politics?

During my youth, I lived briefly with a family in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City of Jerusalem, not far from the Jaffa Gate. I spent time with Chris Pyle, whose father Artemis – drummer for Lynyrd Skynyrd – was studying Kabbalah before Madonna made it trendy. That was also my first real introduction to the Confederate flag. I had seen it on Skynyrd album covers and in pop culture like The Dukes of Hazzard. To me and many others, “Southern pride” seemed like just another flavor of youthful rebellion – cool, edgy, and completely disconnected from its roots in slavery and segregation.

It wasn’t until I was older that I began to understand the flag’s real meaning to the communities it had harmed. Because pop culture seemed to recognize the meaning and largely dropped the flag from the public eye – Warner Bros., for instance, banned the Confederate flag from the General Lee in their 2005 movie remake – many who never looked deeper into its past never learned about its adoption by the Ku Klux Klan, its use by the Dixiecrats, or its legacy of racial terror.

The January 6, 2021 Capitol riots reawakened the Confederate flag and all of its impact. Seeing it paraded through the halls of Congress forced it back into public consciousness. For many Americans, it triggered painful reckonings. It reinforced what that symbol represented, especially to people whose families had been victimized by the hatred it represents.

For those who were not able to understand the reaction of the African American community to seeing the Confederate flag displayed in our Capitol, the instinctive reaction might have been to say, “The Confederate flag means different things to different people.” But even those defending January 6 never said that out loud. No one in public office tried to reframe it as misunderstood or harmless. The offensiveness of the symbol was understood.

It was during my time in Jerusalem that I experienced something else I’d never forget. One day, I heard the news that two tourists had been stabbed to death at the Jaffa Gate by PLO terrorists after failing to respond to an Arabic request for the time. I had walked past that exact spot just a day or two earlier, and many times before. I couldn’t help but think that could have been me.

That was my first direct exposure to the First Intifada, a period marked by firebombings, stabbings, and shootings that targeted Jewish civilians. The Second Intifada later brought escalations with suicide bombings on buses and in wedding halls. For Jews with any connection to Israel – even those who never lived there – the word Intifada does not suggest political resistance. It means violence and terror. Random, indiscriminate, and deeply personal. We lived with it because it was as unpredictable as being hit by a car. But it was terror nonetheless.

So when Jews today say that “Globalize the Intifada” feels like a call to globalize terrorism against Jews, it comes from lived memory and personal trauma. And yet one elected official chose not to engage with that pain. Instead, he dismissed it with a shrug: “It means different things to different people.”

And somehow, many New York City Democratic voters seem to find that acceptable. Many of the same people are the first to condemn hateful symbols and language like Confederate flags, “The South will rise again,” calling others “groomers,” referencing “lynch mobs,” shouting “build the wall,“ or “go back to where you came from.”

So why is Jewish pain an exception?

Should antisemitism be held to a different standard than racism, homophobia, or xenophobia? Is the promise of government grocery stores, rent stabilization, and free buses enough to excuse a lack of empathy?

I don’t know Zorhan Mamdani personally. I’ve heard from colleagues that he’s principled and consistent. I respect that. But if he plans to seek executive office in the city with the largest Jewish population outside Israel, he will need to listen, and learn. To rethink what symbols and words really mean, especially when they hurt.

Jewish trauma is real. Dismissing it won’t make it go away. It only deepens the gap between those who feel they must justify their fear and those who feel entitled to ignore it.

We can show some patience toward people who have no personal connection to the Intifada. They may not grasp how frightening and painful that word is to Jews both in Israel and around the world. But like Warner Bros. did in 2005, when it removed the Confederate flag from The Dukes of Hazzard, we also need to draw clear lines. This language should not be accepted in pop culture, in politics, or in any space that calls itself civilized. Empathy must come first, but accountability must follow.

The future is uncertain. But history is not. And we each get to decide which side of it we’re on.