In recent days, several rabbis and Jewish leaders have expressed deep anguish over the public support that Democratic mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani is receiving from segments of the Jewish community, including rabbis. It’s not hard to see why. Mamdani has minimized or excused unspeakable violence against Israelis, questioned Israel’s legitimacy as a Jewish state, and aligned himself with movements hostile not only to Israel, but to Jewish communal safety in New York and throughout North America.
Though a small minority, these Jewish voices have become increasingly prominent – invoking Torah, invoking justice, and in the process, aligning themselves with a candidate whose vision poses a real threat to the Jewish future.
The outrage is real. I share it. And in a time of existential fear – amplified by a digital culture that rewards public shaming and viral indignation – it’s entirely natural to want to lash out, to name and expose, to issue sharp moral judgment.
But I want to raise a concern – not about the moral critique, which is fully warranted, but about where we’re choosing to direct our energy. At this point, the alarm has been sounded. Most people have chosen sides. Repeating the same condemnations – no matter how justified – will not move the needle. What we need now is not more fury – but clear-minded direction.
That clarity means shifting our efforts from reaction to construction, from venting to building. Parashat Mattot offers a striking model for that kind of leadership.
When the tribes of Reuven and Gad ask to settle outside the Land of Israel, Moshe initially responds with outrage. He accuses them of betraying national unity and repeating the sin of the spies. But when they clarify their intention – to fight alongside their fellow tribes before returning east – Moshe doesn’t double down. He listens, recalibrates, and negotiates. The result is not ideological compromise but strategic clarity. Moshe leads by building, not by scolding.
The Torah doesn’t just caution against anger; it offers a vision of leadership that channels conflict into purpose. That’s the kind of leadership we need now: sober, disciplined, and deeply strategic. After all, our community’s safety is at stake.
Judaism takes anger seriously – so seriously that it warns of its profound moral and spiritual cost. The Gemara teaches that “one who becomes angry is like one who serves idols” (Shabbat 105b). Rambam writes that while most traits should be held in balance, anger must be avoided entirely. Even Moshe lost the right to enter the Land of Israel because of a moment of unrestrained rage. Why? Because anger seduces. It clouds judgment. It poses as clarity but often leads to destruction. Moshe’s greatness in Parashat Matot lay in recognizing his initial anger at the tribes – but refusing to let it rule him this time around.
Unfortunately, the current moment often rewards the opposite. A performative “antisemitism outrage economy” has emerged – thriving on alarmism, driven by headlines, and incentivized by viral indignation. Its champions often conflate emotional reaction with political power. And while their concerns are frequently valid, alarm alone does not build Jewish influence. It does not win elections or strengthen our institutions. When outrage becomes a business model, it replaces strategy with spectacle.
To be clear: I am not suggesting we partner with Jews who support Mamdani. I am suggesting we stop centering them. Giving them disproportionate attention risks amplifying their voice rather than diminishing it. It also draws our focus away from the larger – and quieter – majority of allies who are aligned with our values and open to building something together.
If we care about the Jewish future in New York and elsewhere, we must shift from critique to construction. That means investing in voter registration, communal education, and civic partnerships. It means backing candidates who support our values – not just on Israel, but on public safety, realistic economic policy, and education. It means resisting the lure of culture war battles that offer emotional release but little in return. And it means showing up consistently, strategically, and long before – and after – any single election.
None of this diminishes the urgency of our moment. But urgency without strategy is noise. It may feel righteous, but it leaves us unprepared.
There is a seductive power in outrage – especially when it’s justified. But Matot reminds us that real leadership is not about reacting; it’s about guiding. It’s about choosing the long road over the loud road.
The Jewish future will not be secured through indignation alone. It will be built by those willing to stay level-headed, organize, and lead with responsibility and wisdom.
We don’t need to soften our principles. But we do need to sharpen our strategy. Like Moshe in Parshat Matot, we need the self-awareness to acknowledge the anger – and the courage to rise above it.
