Despite and Because: Israel-Diaspora Reimagined
On October 7, something shattered. And in the days that followed, the shattering echoed far beyond Israel’s borders.
It echoed in synagogues in Montreal, where rabbis held emergency prayer gatherings. In candlelit vigils across Sydney, where Jewish and Christian leaders stood shoulder to shoulder. In Columbia, Harvard, and NYU, where campuses erupted in protests and counter-protests, forcing Jewish students to reassess their place in institutions they once called home. And in the quiet of WhatsApp chats between cousins in Haifa and Upstate New York, sending blue hearts and checking who’s been called up for reserve duty.
It trembled in the hearts of every Jew who instinctively felt that this wasn’t just an Israeli wound. It was a Jewish one.
Despite the distance. Because of the bond.
For decades, Israel–Diaspora relations have been caught in a complex dance. Admiration mingled with criticism, support laced with frustration. American Jews debated judicial reform, the Nation-State Law, and religious pluralism. Israelis rolled their eyes at what they called “Diaspora naivety.” The arguments were often real, heartfelt, and painful. But they were family arguments.
And when the sirens wailed on October 7, the arguments fell silent. What rose instead was something more primal: a visceral understanding that the fate of Jews anywhere is never entirely separate from the fate of Jews everywhere.
In New York and Miami, volunteers packed thousands of care packages for IDF soldiers through grassroots initiatives like Brothers and Sisters for Israel. At the Jewish Community Center in London, crowds gathered to donate winter gear. Over $850 million in emergency aid poured in from Jewish Federations, philanthropies, and private donors. Prayers were said in over 100 countries. Global Shabbat services recited Psalms for the kidnapped.
And still—there was fear.
Because while Israel buried its dead, Jewish schools in Paris, London, and Vienna went under police protection. In Berlin, Stars of David were spray-painted on Jewish homes. In Sydney, a crowd outside the Opera House chanted “Gas the Jews.” In Brooklyn, Orthodox Jewish teens were attacked while walking to shul. In Toronto, synagogues were vandalized. According to the ADL and CST, antisemitic incidents skyrocketed by over 300% in the weeks following October 7.
Suddenly, the “safe” Diaspora didn’t feel so safe. And the “strong” Israel didn’t feel so invincible.
Despite the miles. Because of the mirrors.
We saw ourselves in each other’s grief. And we saw what we had failed to see before.
That Israel is not just a headline or a government. It is our collective project. A home not only for those who live within its borders, but for every Jew whose identity is shaped, at least in part, by the miracle and the messiness of Jewish sovereignty.
And Diaspora Jews are not just donors or guests. They are thought leaders, artists, scholars, advocates, and dissenters. They raise their children Jewish in the face of assimilation and rising hate. They are not lesser for living elsewhere. They are vital.
But this moment demands more than solidarity in crisis. It demands maturity. A willingness to show up for each other—not just when rockets fall or when rallies turn violent, but in the slow, imperfect work of listening, challenging, and building a shared future.
We will not always agree. We shouldn’t. But if this year has taught us anything, it’s that disconnection is a luxury we can no longer afford.
Despite the divides. Because we are still one people.
Our enemies do not differentiate between Israeli, American, French, or Argentinian Jews. Neither should our solidarity.
Let us rebuild this relationship not out of guilt or nostalgia, but out of conscious choice. A fierce, grown-up, sacred choice to be bound together.
Despite everything.
And because of everything.
