This week marks the second anniversary of the Hamas-led October 7, 2023 attack on Israel—the deadliest day for Jews since the Holocaust, resulting in over 1,200 deaths and hundreds taken hostage. Across Israel and the global Jewish community, the date is now commemorated with a mixture of grief, anxiety, resilience, and reflection. While the trauma of that day continues to echo, hostages remain in captivity and the persistent conflict in Gaza dominates headlines, leaving countless families still searching for answers and justice.
In the United States, the aftermath of October 7th has coincided with a sharp rise in antisemitism. Hate crimes, threats, and anti-Jewish rhetoric have surged in public spaces, online platforms, and even college campuses. For many American Jews, these recent experiences echo a long history of marginalization, fears for personal safety, and concerns about being misunderstood or targeted simply for being Jewish. As we remember the events of October 7th, the urgent need for real understanding and true allyship between Jews and their neighbors is clearer than ever.
As I have mentioned before, I am an avid consumer of podcasts. I drive an hour each way to and from work, and podcasts are a great way to pass the time. Back in November 2024, I was listening to one of my favorite podcasts, “Wondering Jews with Mijal and Noam,” which was recorded live from the General Assembly (GA) of the Jewish Federations of North America (JFNA). Their guest was Meghan McCain, daughter of the late Senator John McCain of Arizona. Meghan McCain has become an outspoken activist against antisemitism and is a strong ally of the Jewish people. While I may disagree with her politics, I admire that she is a non-Jew willing to call out antisemitism wherever she sees it.
About halfway through the podcast, the hosts and Meghan discussed what it means to be an ally. Noam Weisman, one of the hosts, jokingly asked, “Why don’t you hate us?” This led Meghan to turn the question back on the hosts and the audience, asking if they felt supported by the Christian community. Only about a third of the audience raised their hands. Meghan was genuinely surprised and had difficulty understanding why two-thirds of the room did not feel supported.
Since listening to that episode, I’ve come to realize that a core issue between Jews and non-Jews is that non-Jews often fundamentally misunderstand Jews. Meghan McCain was surprised that most Jews in the room did not feel supported by their Christian neighbors—just as I was surprised by her surprise! Jews and Christians have a complicated history. Antisemitism, in fact, can be traced back to teachings in early Christianity, including the claim that Jews killed Jesus and deserved collective punishment. Although relations have improved in modern times, antisemitism has persisted, often flaring up throughout the past century. Given this long and difficult history, why would it be assumed that Jews would feel universally supported by their Christian neighbors?
Meghan McCain’s surprise likely stems from her personal connections—she grew up with Jewish friends, and her father, Senator John McCain, was close with Senator Joe Lieberman. For Meghan, being Jewish and being Christian are simply differences of religion.
This brings me to the first of three examples of how, in my view, non-Jews often misunderstand Jews. First, Judaism is not just a religion—it is also a nationality. Judaism began as a nation with the Exodus from Egypt as described in the Hebrew Bible. After wandering in the desert, the Israelite nation conquered Canaan and established the Kingdom of Israel, later splitting into Israel and Judea. The latter endured until the Bar Kokhba revolt in 136 CE, after which the Romans destroyed much of Judea and renamed the land Syria Palaestina. Unlike other conquered nations, the Jews did not assimilate. Jewish communities continued, especially in Babylonia, where rabbis creatively re-interpreted biblical texts and developed the Talmud, ensuring both the religion and the people endured. Throughout history, even after Judea’s destruction, Jews maintained a distinct identity and a continuous—if sometimes small—presence in the land of Israel. For a brief time in the early seventh century CE, a Jewish leader even governed Jerusalem.
Second, Israel—the land of Zion—cannot be separated from Judaism. Jews are a nation whose homeland is ancient Israel, and a large portion of the Torah’s commandments are tied to the land itself. Even though some mitzvot are not currently performed due to the absence of the Temple, many remain relevant and observed. From the Babylonian exile on, Jews have prayed both for and toward Jerusalem. The land of Israel is a pillar of Judaism, inseparable from the faith. Most non-Jews do not realize that when they are anti-Israel—not simply critical of government policies, but opposed to Israel’s legitimacy or calling for boycotts—they are venturing into antisemitism. Protest of government policy is fair, but denying Jews the right to self-determination, or holding Israel to standards not applied to other countries, is antisemitic. The same logic would not be applied to, for example, the French people and their homeland.
Israel and Judaism are inextricable.
The third example of misunderstanding is more nuanced. In the 1930s, in response to rising fascism and communism, the term “Judeo-Christian values” gained popularity in the U.S. to promote tri-faith unity among Jews, Catholics, and Protestants. While the idea that both traditions share ethical roots in the Hebrew Bible has some merit, it is also based on a misunderstanding of both faiths. The phrase originally described converts from Judaism to Christianity or the earliest followers of Jesus who remained Jewish. Since the 1930s, it has often been used politically to differentiate “American values” from those of other societies, historically fascism and communism, and more recently Islam.
But the theological differences are significant. Christianity centers on faith and belief—accepting Jesus as the path to salvation. Judaism, by contrast, is grounded in mitzvot (commandments) and how one lives, not just in what one believes. As Rabbi Dr. Eliezer Berkovitz wrote, “Judaism is Judaism because it rejects Christianity, and Christianity is Christianity because it rejects Judaism.” Or as Jacob Neusner put it, “The two faiths stand for different people talking about different things to different people.” Shared text does not mean identical values or ethics.
In short, if asked what I wish my non-Jewish neighbors understood about Judaism, it would be these three points. Our practice is clearly very different from others, but that diversity is what defines any national group.
Understanding Judaism takes patience, humility, and a willingness to move beyond stereotypes. At its core, Judaism carries unique layers of history, identity, and faith that shape how Jewish people see themselves and their place in the world. When non-Jews approach these differences with curiosity and respect—rather than assumptions or simplifications—the possibility for real understanding and friendship grows.
In a world where misunderstanding so often fuels division and prejudice, nurturing deeper awareness of Judaism’s distinctiveness is not just a matter of historical accuracy—it’s a foundation for true community. By recognizing Judaism as both a religion and a people, inseparable from the land of Israel and distinct from Christian tradition, neighbors can move from misunderstanding to genuine allyship. This kind of understanding may not resolve every difference, but it brings us closer to the empathy and mutual support that sustain a diverse society.
