Even as we begin to exhale as the ceasefire between Israel and Hamas in Gaza seems to hold for now, we know that something essential remains unsettled. The last two years have not only reshaped the State of Israel but also transformed the relationship between it and the Jewish world.
What began as a moment of shared mourning with Jews everywhere—united in grief after the Hamas-led terrorist attacks in southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023—has, over time, turned into estrangement. Israelis felt abandoned by Diaspora Jews who publicly criticized it in the midst of abject trauma and loss. Meanwhile, Diaspora Jews felt alienated from a country they love but could not defend without betraying their conscience. What was once a bond of mutual pride and responsibility has frayed into suspicion and pain.
The release of hostages last month not only marks a humanitarian milestone, but also a spiritual one. This moment can be used as a turning point for renewal. It gives us the chance to ask: What still binds us? And how do we begin to heal?
In the immediate aftermath of Oct. 7, Jewish solidarity surged. Around the world, Jewish communities mobilized. They raised funds, sent medical teams and volunteers, and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Israelis under fire.
However, as the war dragged on, something shifted. Criticism of Israel’s military actions intensified, even among lifelong supporters. Sobering images of destruction in Gaza circulated widely abroad—images many Israelis never saw. The moral discomfort this caused in the Diaspora was profound. And while Israelis continued to grieve their dead and defend their homes, Jews abroad faced a different kind of attack with a global wave of antisemitism.
In two years], nearly 14,000 antisemitic incidents were reported worldwide—an average of 18 per day. Israelis traveling abroad encountered open hostility simply for being Israeli. Suddenly, the line between anti-Israel sentiment and antisemitism vanished. Hatred of Jews and hatred of Israelis became indistinguishable.
This experience changed us. Israelis now understand viscerally what Jews across the Diaspora have endured for centuries. But even as empathy deepened, new divides appeared. Diaspora Jews began asking why they had to pay the price for Israel’s decisions. And Israelis, weary and defensive, often replied: “Then make aliyah.”
Neither response will do. Both stem from pain, not partnership. It is time for a new conversation grounded in honesty, humility and mutual care.
In 1950, Israeli Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion and Jacob Blaustein, president of the American Jewish Committee, signed an agreement in Jerusalem that defined the terms of this relationship. It affirmed mutual respect, outlining that Israel would not speak for world Jewry, and world Jewry would not dictate Israel’s policies. But both sides would stand together for the flourishing of the Jewish people. That covenant, like all living relationships, must be renewed and upheld.
We are the state. We hold political and military power. And therefore, we must wield it with conscience, aware that our choices spread through Jewish communities worldwide. As the late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks once said, “I don’t need you to agree with me. I need you to care about me.” The question before us is whether we, Israelis and Diaspora Jews alike, still care enough about one another to listen, to learn and to rebuild what has been broken.
The bridge between Israel and world Jewry cannot be rebuilt on politics alone. It must rest upon the values of justice, compassion, peoplehood and the pursuit of peace, which have anchored Jewish life for millennia. Reform Judaism, in particular, has long championed these principles. It reminds us that Israel must remain both Jewish and democratic as a state guided by law, equality and moral purpose—a state that embodies Jewish sovereignty, but also Jewish ethics.
Albert Einstein once wrote: “The bond that united the Jews for thousands of years—and still unites them today—is, above all, the democratic ideal of social justice, combined with the ideal of mutual aid and tolerance among all human beings.” That vision is our common inheritance and our roadmap for renewal. If we are to heal, we must teach our children—whether in Jerusalem or New York, Tel Aviv or Toronto—that belonging to one Jewish people is not an abstract idea. It is a lived commitment to one another’s well-being, and we need to consciously make that decision every day.
At Hebrew Union College, we educate and send out new rabbis into this complicated world—rabbis who will lead with courage, empathy and faith. Their task is not only to build communities but to rebuild bridges. These generations of leaders must help us rediscover a shared language of hope, values and peoplehood.
The Jewish world of 2025 is not the same as it was in 1950. Israel has become strong, and the Diaspora, especially in North America, has become more diverse and more morally outspoken. Both have evolved, and both are right to expect more from each other. It is now Israel’s time not only to receive but also to give because with power comes moral responsibility. In our decision-making, we must consider how our actions affect Jewish life everywhere and how our wars, our rhetoric and our policies shape the safety, dignity and identity of Jews abroad.
The war may have scarred us, but it also reminded us who we are. Israelis and Diaspora Jews must stand together because all Jews are responsible for one another. Now, in this fragile moment, that ancient truth must once again become our guiding light. We have no other land. And we have no other Jewish people.
The opinions and facts presented in this article are those of the author, and neither JNS nor its partners assume any responsibility for them.