The Moral Challenge Behind Mamdani’s Critique
In a recent interview with ABC News, New York City Mayor, Zohran Mamdani, raised a question that Israel finds increasingly difficult to answer. Mamdani, who explicitly affirmed his support for Israel’s right to exist, asked how a state that defines itself as a “Jewish State” can simultaneously guarantee full civic equality to all of its citizens.
This is neither a new critique nor an outlier in modern political thought. In fact, it echoes a classic critique of the nation-state model: that granting preferential status to one ethnonational group can inherently undermine the civic equality of other groups within society. There is a profound historical irony in Mamdani’s challenge. For generations, Jews were the victims of states that defined themselves along national, ethnic, or religious lines – definitions used to justify their exclusion from the civic sphere. Yet, the very state founded to protect Jews from national exclusion has itself adopted legal and political structures that privilege one national group over others.
The response from Israel’s Consul General in New York, Ofir Akunis, was predictable. Rather than engage with Mamdani’s argument, Akunis chose to discredit the speaker instead, dismissing the Mayor’s remarks as a product of “ignorance” while waving the principle of equality enshrined in Israel’s Declaration of Independence. This is a hollow argument: the Declaration of Independence, despite its profound historical and moral significance, carries no binding legal weight in the Israeli judicial system. Furthermore, when the Knesset enacted the “Basic Law: Israel as the Nation-State of the Jewish People”, the governing coalition consciously chose to omit the principle of equality, despite persistent appeals from legal experts, public figures, and representatives of minority communities. This omission was neither technical nor accidental; it reflected a foundational worldview in which the state’s Jewish identity takes precedence over the shared citizenship of all its residents, thereby validating the very critique Mamdani intended to highlight.
One need not remain in the theoretical realm to grasp the implications of this approach. Since the state’s founding, hundreds of new Jewish communities have been established, while the Arab population has been largely excluded from new development initiatives. Conversely, it has frequently faced land expropriation. Disparities in planning, infrastructure, and resource allocation persist to this day. Politically, the mere prospect of a full partnership with Arab parties in government is still viewed by large segments of the Israeli political establishment as illegitimate. Consequently, a full fifth of the citizenry is required to repeatedly prove their loyalty, while being systematically excluded from shaping the nation’s future.
The issue of public safety is similarly inseparable from this discriminatory paradigm. When the current Minister of National Security chose to rename his office from “Public Security” to “National Security”, it signaled a symbolic shift in emphasis – from the language of public security to the language of national security. For many Arab citizens, that shift has come to symbolize a broader sense of exclusion.
This further reinforces the perception that the state is sensitive only to the security of one privileged group.
However, the deeper question is not merely whether Israel favors Jews, but rather which type of Judaism enjoys this preferred status. The definition of Israel as a “Jewish State” often suggests an embrace of Jewishness in all its diversity. In reality, the favored status is reserved for a very specific iteration of Judaism: Orthodox, nationalist, and increasingly religiously exclusivist. Reform, Conservative, and Liberal Judaism – to which millions of American Jews belong – do not enjoy such status. Often, they are portrayed by prominent Israeli rabbis and public figures not merely as a deviation from “authentic” Judaism, but as a different religion altogether.
Here lies a deep historical paradox: a state founded in the name of the entire Jewish people is growing increasingly alienated from large parts of that very people. While American Jewry has largely embraced the values of pluralism, liberalism, and civic equality, official Israel is moving in the opposite direction – expanding the power of the religious establishment, promoting sectarian legislation, and deepening the fusion of religion, nationalism, and state power.
This trend is most visible in the West Bank, where the question of national supremacy shifts from theoretical debate to daily reality. Over the years, numerous documented incidents of settler violence, attacks on Palestinian farms and herds, and systematic pressure on local communities have been recorded. Even if perpetrated by small groups, it is impossible to ignore the political atmosphere that facilitates them. When government ministers openly speak of encouraging Palestinian emigration, re-settling Gaza, or expanding Jewish sovereignty, they help create a climate in which ideological violence becomes easier to justify – all the more so when such acts face neither condemnation nor effective law enforcement.
Perhaps this is why Mamdani’s words ignited such a sharp reaction in Israel. It is not because they stem from ignorance, but precisely because they expose the yawning gap between the Israel that aspires to be seen by the world and the reality that is perceived by the liberal international community.
Ultimately, this is not merely a political or diplomatic question; it is, first and foremost, a Jewish one. For centuries, Jews fought against regimes that based rights on origin, religion, or nationality. They demanded recognition of the dignity of every human being. Jewish thinkers such as Hermann Cohen, Martin Buber, Leo Baeck, and Hans Jonas viewed the Jewish tradition primarily as a source of moral responsibility. To them, the greatness of Judaism lay not in its power, but in its ability to set moral limits upon power.
This is where the deepest crisis lies. When Judaism is transformed from a language of morality into a language of governance, and when it is identified with exclusion, discrimination, and violent nationalism, the damage is not just political; it is spiritual and cultural. The silence of many religious leaders in the face of injustices committed in the name of Judaism is not just a moral failure; it wounds the moral standing of Judaism itself.
After World War II, Leo Baeck reflected on the moral failure of large parts of the Christian world during the years of Nazi persecution and genocide. His concern was not only with what was done, but also with what was left unsaid. For Baeck, the true test of a religious tradition lies not in its ability to preserve institutions, rituals, or doctrines, but in its willingness to confront injustice when moral courage is most needed. A faith that remains silent in the face of suffering, he argued, risks betraying its own deepest principles.
His warning retains a striking relevance today. “A religion that is content with maintaining its institutions but avoids raising its voice in a moment of moral test buries part of its soul. A religion that, in days that demand its word more than ever, condemns itself to silence, negates itself. A religion that does not demand justice in a time of crisis will, sooner or later, be called to account by world history”.
The real question Mamdani poses to Israel, even if he did not phrase it in these terms, is this: Is the Jewish State intended to be an expression of the Jewish people’s power, or of its conscience? The answer to this question will determine not only how the world views Israel, but what kind of Judaism future generations will inherit.
