Zion: A New Four-Letter Word in American Politics

A story is told of the Rabbi from Brisk, known for his sharp, pithy insights, reflecting on the difference between him and his father, Rav Chaim Soloveitchik. His father could look at a sapling and recognize the great tree it would eventually become. He lacked that same foresight. But he added that when he saw a tree, he at least recognized it as a tree.

That may sound elementary. Yet sometimes our greatest challenge is recognizing what stands directly before us. Familiar assumptions and deeply held loyalties can prevent us from acknowledging a reality we would rather not see.

As America is emerging from an election that some are referring to as a political tsunami, there are a myriad of reactions, including in the Jewish community. Some in our community seem ready to sit shiva over the turn America has taken. Others are just going on as business as usual with bills to pay, children to discipline, and everyday deadlines to meet! With so much to unpack, I will share my thoughts in the spirit of the Brisker Rav of the tree we are looking at.

I think of this as America emerging from an election whose consequences may extend for years, decades, or even generations.

On the one hand, this election campaign followed the same tired playbook of every election campaign. The first step is for the party and candidate out of power to convince you how miserable you are. I don’t recall an election campaign in which a large segment, or even a majority, believed the “country is going in the wrong direction.” The next step is to convince the electorate that only that candidate or party can cure any challenges the voter faces.

On the other hand, this election campaign and subsequent results are anything but what we have been accustomed to. The rapid transition of the Democratic Party into a party that has a growing segment of representatives who are outright anti-Israel, accuse Israel of genocide, and consider the support of Israel an electoral liability. These are not outliers. This is the base of the party, and the growing number of DSA members are becoming more aggressive in their hatred of the world’s only Jewish State.

This was an election season in which “ZION” increasingly sounded like a four-letter word. The worst label one can be accused of in those circles is being a Zionist. This is particularly painful for so many Jews for whom Zion represents the eternal connection to our ancestral homeland. For thousands of years, at the most important times on the Jewish calendar, we would declare, “Next Year in Jerusalem.” The Jewish connection to Zion, which is inseparable from our prayers, history, and identity, became something Jews were expected to explain, defend, or disavow.

Anyone who says this is limited to the Democratic Party is not paying attention. While the scope of the vitriol and fair-weather friends may be smaller on the other side of the aisle, cracks in the armor are hard to dismiss.  In what turned out to be an ominous start to Election Day, President Trump announced that annual American military funding to Israel would end after this year, despite the existing framework extending through fiscal year 2028. Important implementation questions remained unanswered, but the announcement and its political explanation were unsettling. Members of the Progressive Left could not contain their glee at what they perceived as a capitulation by President Trump on a defining issue that is a priority for most Jewish Americans.

The next day, with the votes barely counted, Vice President JD Vance identified the Iran war (which, in his view, was the result of pressure from Israel) and dissatisfaction with America’s relationship with Israel among the reasons voters abandoned Republicans. Citing a pollster’s assessment, he included changing that relationship among the priorities needed to regain their support.

The result is a profound sense of political homelessness. Some Jews watched the party they had supported for generations celebrate victory while feeling the ground shift beneath them. Others, who had found reassurance in the Republican Party, encountered reasons for unease there as well.

Someone recently told me he was making sure his family’s passports were valid. Something profoundly sad about that familiar Jewish instinct: after generations of building lives in a country, the question still surfaces: What if we need to leave?

We should neither ridicule that concern nor allow it to define Jewish life. As always, we look to the ancient wisdom found in the Torah to navigate these complexities.

In this week’s parsha, Avraham describes himself with an apparent contradiction: “I am a stranger and a resident among you” (Bereishis 23:4).

Who was he? A stranger or a resident? A stranger or immigrant behaves one way, and a resident or citizen behaves very differently.

Avraham was teaching us that sometimes we need to lean in and embrace the tension. Too often, we are told things are mutually exclusive or that it’s a zero-sum game. Avraham was not completely a stranger or a citizen. He was a little bit of both, but more importantly, he carried himself in more than a one-dimensional way.

Perhaps that tension speaks to our own position. We can be deeply invested in this country, contribute to its flourishing, and feel genuine gratitude for its freedoms. At the same time, we carry an identity and covenant extending beyond its political arrangements. The Jewish people existed long before either current American political party.​

That perspective requires vigilance. We must recognize troubling developments, cultivate allies, advocate for our community, and take sensible precautions for our safety. When a tree stands before us, we must recognize it.

Another compelling lesson comes from the story of Avraham, which we study during these weeks, and we can learn a lot from it.

G-d directed Avraham toward the heavens and promised that his descendants would be like the stars (Bereishis 15:5). In that promise, we hear a charge: to bring light into the world, even amid darkness. We fulfill this sacred mission through Torah, kindness, and connection to our shared heritage and destiny. We fulfill it by teaching our children, strengthening our institutions, and helping one another.

We don’t have the luxury of postponing these responsibilities until the political climate improves. Our children are growing now. Our communities need us now. Israel needs our support. Fear must not consume the energy we need to build. We will not be bullied and intimidated into believing that Zion and the Jewish connection to Israel is subject to the political winds. Precisely, this very moment is a time to lean in and stand up for our most sacred beliefs and values.

During a heavy rainstorm, we are tempted to remain inside as we don’t want to get wet. Sometimes, we don’t have that luxury, and we have to walk between the raindrops. Sometimes we get soaked.

We keep walking anyway, carrying the light entrusted to us.