Rebuilding Coalitions toward a Just Future for All
Abigail Levine
Abigail Levine is the CEO of the Jewish Social Justice Roundtable.
Credit: Kurt Hoffman
Is there a place for Jews in social justice movements? Answering that question became newly difficult after October 7. But the answer is not black and white—the truth rarely is.
Stories of antisemitism in American progressive spaces are real, and they must be addressed. Social change and social justice movements are large and diverse networks, with some individuals who are ignorant or believe stereotypes of Jews to be true—and, yes, discriminate against Jewish Americans. This reality has played out in painful ways, particularly as a result of the devastating war in Israel and Gaza.
Some social justice coalitions have made support for Palestinian liberation an implicit or explicit requirement of belonging. Others have made thoughtless, extreme public statements about the war that named the humanity of Palestinians while ignoring the humanity of Israelis. Hateful individuals have sent Jewish social justice leaders missives calling them “Zionist pigs,” threatening death, assault, rape, and much more. Less threatening but still painful are the examples of silence from or avoidance by people we thought were our friends. These actions have made it uncomfortable at best and impossible at worst for individual Jews to be part of some social justice groups and for Jewish social justice groups to be part of some larger coalitions. Many Jews have thrown up their hands and given up on the entire enterprise.
Despite all this, I remain passionately committed to a vision for compelling, relevant Jewish social justice movements that are actively involved in larger coalitions. We are facing a foundational fight for American democracy, and we must participate both as Jews and as Americans. I know it’s tempting to respond to antisemitism by cutting off connections. In my experience, though, while it has always been difficult to engage people who say ignorant or malignant things, it is the most productive response to their words. We need to educate others about Judaism and about antisemitism, and to rebuild bridges across difference. We must do this for the sake of achieving a truly inclusive multiracial democracy, one in which we belong, where we contribute to society and benefit from its protections. An American democracy that includes the Jews in a meaningful way must be one that removes obstacles and extends equal rights and opportunities to all racial and ethnic groups. It was only 60 years ago that our country enshrined equal opportunity into law through the Civil Rights Act, and we have not yet lived up to that vision of equality, equal protection, and voting rights. A democracy that doesn’t extend to all racial and ethnic groups is not a true democracy. It is critical that we insist on and work toward the kind of democracy we envision.
Jewish Social Justice
I’ve dedicated my professional life not only to social justice work but to Jewish social justice work. When I was 23, I created an organization called JERICO: Jews for Equal Rights for Immigrant Communities. With the support of mentors, I coordinated a cohort of a dozen Jews in their twenties to take part in the 2003 Immigrant Rights Freedom Ride, a bus trip across the country to raise awareness about immigrant rights. I was motivated to start that organization because of the values my parents instilled in me, because of my experience at Habonim Dror summer camp, and because of the community of Jews for Justice that I found as a student at the Joseph Slifka Center for Jewish Life at Yale.
As countless Jewish and Israeli leaders have said before me, social justice work is an expression of our foundational values and who we ultimately are as a people. I find three Jewish values to be particularly relevant: (1) the dynamic tension between biblical stories of the Exodus and the revelation at Sinai; (2) the idea that humanity was created in the image of God, b’tselem Elohim; and (3) ahavat Yisrael, love for the Jewish people.
I. Exodus and Sinai
One of the things I love about Judaism is its relentless commitment to both universalism and particularism. As Rabbi Sid Schwartz explains in Judaism and Justice: The Jewish Passion to Repair the World (2008), we are called to social justice work by two biblical events. The Exodus from Egypt calls us to survive as a people, and the revelation at Sinai calls us to apply Jewish wisdom and morality to repairing the world. Throughout my career, I have known many people who argue only for one or the other. But part of the power and possibility of the Jewish social justice movement is that it embodies both motivations.
In moments of crisis, the tension between these two impulses becomes particularly acute. There can be a tendency to turn inwards toward the work of achieving the vision of the Exodus. Taking care of our own has been a core strength of the Jewish people across millennia. It is a tradition I’m proud of, and I know from my own family’s stories that I have benefited from it. And yet, self-preservation cannot be our only response to a crisis like the one we are in now, as we are questioning our place in movements for justice or in America. We must remain confident that we have a place in the larger community, and we must take action to claim it.
Acting on both universal and particular concerns expresses the idea of circles of community, an early and central lesson in my Jewish education. I remember being asked in multiple settings to define my universe of obligation; it was a powerful prompt for the teenage me, and in 2025, two years after October 7, I am still using the same circles-of-community metaphor to organize my approach to the world.
For me, the first circle of obligation is my family and friends; the second circle is my Jewish community throughout the US and Israel; and the third circle is American, Jewish, Israeli, and Palestinian changemakers. As I look beyond the first three communities, my circles ultimately expand to include all humans, but it is okay to feel a greater sense of obligation to the people with whom I’m in relationship and proximity.
II. B’tselem Elohim
Some might say that the value of b’tselem Elohim, the idea that humanity was created in the image of God, is overused in the Jewish social justice field. That may be true, but it’s for good reason!
B’tselem Elohim resonates with American Jews because it offers a beautiful and compelling premise for Jewish social justice. In a 2024 article in Modern Judaism, Rabbi Yitz Greenberg develops the concept of b’tselem Elohim through a careful commentary on Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5. One particular implication, he writes, is that the life of any individual human being has infinite value:
The Mishnah is trying to communicate the Godlike quality and weight of human life. This is akin to the mathematical term in which one is equal to the whole category—that is, infinity. The Mishnah is stating that any human—by dint of being born a human, an image of God—is of infinite value. If you save a one-time infinite value, you have saved an infinite value. If you save eight billion times infinite value, you have saved infinite value. As a Godlike creature, every human being possesses a fraction of the infinite value and dignity of God. A fraction of the Divine infinity is of infinite value—and should be treated accordingly. This is fundamental dignity number one: every human being is of infinite value.
B’tselem Elohim, understood in terms like Greenberg’s, infuses and motivates the work of Jewish social justice. If every human being is of infinite value, then no one should go hungry, or be denied lifesaving medicine, or be unnecessarily separated from their families. As Jews, we have inherited a beautiful theological framework for building a world where every human being is treated as worthy, valuable, and respected. All 60+ organizations in the network I lead are contributing toward that world in visionary ways.
III. Ahavat Yisrael
Finally, my commitment to Jewish social justice work also stems from an underlying love for all the Jewish people, with no exceptions. I truly love all the Jews: Jews in the United States, in Israel, and across the world, including, yes, even the ones I disagree with. I strive to empathize with them whether or not I agree with them and whether or not I agree with their actions.
The value of empathy has certainly been threatened and even weakened in recent times. There are many American Jews acting publicly in ways that I believe are harming our country, our values, and our people. I may or may not talk with them directly, but using a practice of Rabbi Nahman of Breslov, which I learned from Rabbi David Jaffe, I seek to find points of good in them, however small. The practice of simply calling to mind something good in another person is particularly helpful in communicating effectively with someone who you find annoying, even members of our own families!
This is an important practice because if social justice work creates interpersonal harm, it detracts from the vision of what that work could and should be. No movement or workplace is perfect, and there are countless examples of leaders behaving badly across sectors. We must model and practice our striving for social change in a way that loves our whole people along the way. This is a key function of values: to help us envision and create realities we haven’t seen before.
Ahavat Yisrael is an aspirational horizon towards which we should always be orienting ourselves, especially in times of polarization like now.
The How: Coalitions and Democracy
Though I have chosen to work for social justice in specifically Jewish organizations, I know that the Jewish people alone cannot do enough. We must work in coalition with non-Jewish organizations, and we can do this by focusing on two core goals: building relational rather than transactional coalitions, and seeking an inclusive multiracial democracy in the US.
Relational Coalition Building
Even before we start our coalition (re)building, we must distinguish between home spaces and coalition spaces, as singer, civil rights leader, and professor Dr. Bernice Johnson Reagon defined in a 1983 piece, “Coalition Politics: Turning the Century.” She compares home spaces to a womb:
You don’t do no coalition building in a womb.… Inside the womb you generally are very soft and unshelled. You have no covering. And you have no ability to handle what happens if you start to let folks in who are not like you.
Coalition work is not work done in your home. Coalition work has to be done in the streets. And it is some of the most dangerous work you can do. And you shouldn’t look for comfort. Some people will come to a coalition and they rate the success of the coalition on whether or not they feel good when they get there. They’re not looking for a coalition; they’re looking for a home!
I find the tension Reagon names here in my work all the time. When I walk into a coalition space, I know and feel that I’m not at home. Stepping into a room of other faith leaders, usually convened around a shared justice goal, I understand that each person is bringing with them an entire theological, emotional, and personal world that motivates them to show up in this way. Most, if not all, faiths engage in complex discussion of issues like immigration, the natural world, the role of women, and our rights to bodily autonomy, but they do so in their own respective terms. Each person around the coalition table has made decisions and told stories—just like me—about how and why their faith calls them to justice work. There isn’t enough time in the day (or on the day’s agenda) for us all to discuss the different backgrounds we bring. And so, we do the best we can, offer each other grace, and manage expectations of what’s possible to achieve together.
But the combination of the many legacies of Jewish social justice work—history that I know well—plus the real relationships I have with individuals in those settings, has at times made me wish that a particular coalition space would also feel like home. I don’t think I’m the only Jewish leader who’s had that experience, and I suspect this may go a long way toward explaining our experience in social justice coalition spaces over the last two years. In fact, I would argue that it's specifically because many Jewish Americans thought progressive coalition spaces were Jewish home spaces that the combination of confusion, chaos, fear, and ignorance we experienced in these spaces after October 7 left many of us feeling sad, disappointed, even betrayed. The nature and size of our expectation of “at-homeness” made the reality of feeling unwelcome all the more painful. But coalition spaces are not Jewish home spaces, and we should not expect them to be. We can expect them to be places that respect and honor our identity and culture—the ways we eat, our schedule of holidays, and yes, our relationships with the state and people of Israel—but even when we have years of experience at the table, we still should remember that these spaces are not our homes. This kind of work doesn’t get done at home—and the whole purpose of a coalition is to work toward a shared goal.
Once we remember that, we will be more prepared to work effectively across difference. And, pragmatically, we should also remember that in doing Jewish social justice work, we are countering commonly held antisemitic tropes of Jewish clannishness.
We need coalitions that are not only transactional but also relational, effective, and liberatory. This requires certain things of non-Jewish social justice partners and of Jewish partners in other sectors.
Moving forward, relational coalition building means that we must ask our social justice partners to:
Engage in open, honest conversations with Jewish leaders, even when it is difficult.
Stay focused on the shared goal of the coalition, even while acknowledging connections with other movements.
Learn about antisemitism and Jews in America.
Will all coalitions be open to this? Certainly not (yet). There are many examples of leaders and organizations lacking the orientation, resources, or will to do this work, which has led, especially over the last two years, to painful exclusion of Jewish communities from larger social justice coalitions. Some of these rejections have played out publicly or garnered a lot of attention to the point that it can seem like this has happened everywhere.
And yet, all these criteria for healthy, liberatory coalition building are happening in parts of the liberal, progressive, and left ecosystems, often quietly, in a variety of ways. What happens loudly, publicly, is usually not the full story.
These are just a few of the quieter, behind-the-scenes stories I’ve heard since October 7:
In the months after October 7, a domestic-focused American justice coalition received a strong request from a key stakeholder group to take public action supporting Palestinians. After considering it, the coalition decided instead to make a statement defending civil liberties and nonviolent protest in the domestic sphere, which are more germane to the coalition’s core purpose.
Within a year of October 7, a progressive organization hosted a workshop for social justice partners to hear directly from Israeli and Palestinian changemakers in order to cut through the noise and media bias and to learn from real-life issues and people on the ground. They invited Jewish leaders with whom they had longstanding relationships to offer opening reflections.
In late 2023, a local coalition drafted a statement on their approach to issues surrounding the war in Gaza and asked Jewish and Muslim members of the coalition for feedback before bringing it to a wider audience.
In 2025, a Diversity, Inclusion, and Equity network of organizations invited a presentation on Jewish Americans and antisemitism so that the human resources staff members from their affiliates could learn about who Jews are, how antisemitism works, and how workplaces can take concrete actions so that Jewish employees feel included.
Efforts like these are not easy. They are emotionally challenging, risky, and endlessly complicated—and they require leaders who have the skills, relationships, and courage to step into the fray. There are many ways these efforts could get messy or simply fail to create productive conversations. And social justice leaders are doing it anyway.
The proof of this was evident in the public reaction to the horrific antisemitic attacks in Washington, DC last May and in Boulder last June. Dozens of progressive leaders and organizations made public statements of support, demonstrating the kind of humanity, courage, and sophistication that many Jewish leaders have been asking for:
Faith in Action: “People of faith and moral courage must stand together against these senseless acts, and condemn this hatred unequivocally. We recommit ourselves to building a world where every person can live and worship in safety and dignity.”
Indivisible: “This is a moment to reject antisemitism and bigotry in all its forms, and to stand in solidarity with all communities who live in fear of violence. Everyone, no matter their background, faith, or identity, deserves to live in safety and dignity.”
The Islamic Networks Group: “We want to be absolutely clear: No matter how outraged we may feel about the suffering in Gaza or the policies of the Israeli government, there is no justification—ever—for targeting Jewish individuals or communities. Holding Jewish Americans collectively responsible for the actions of a foreign state is both morally wrong and deeply dangerous. Such thinking echoes the very logic of bigotry and collective blame that has harmed countless innocent people throughout history, including Muslims.”
MoveOn: “We are heartbroken by the deadly shooting of Yaron and Sarah and our thoughts are with their loved ones. We unequivocally condemn political violence in all forms. This horrific act must not be used to justify antisemitism, Islamophobia or any further violence here or abroad.”
Western States Center: “Targeting a Jewish institution and its patrons on the basis of their perceived national, ethnic, or religious identity is antisemitic. Furthermore, it is never okay to exploit the suffering of Palestinians to justify murder. These actions fuel more hate, bigotry, and the erosion of democracy.”
In addition, 67 civil rights organizations signed a Joint Statement on Antisemitic Hate Crimes led by the Leadership Conference on Human and Civil Rights, which said in part:
The targeting of Jews because of the actions of the Israeli government, or because of their real or perceived relationship with Israel, is antisemitic. And it is unacceptable. There is an urgent need for more resources at the national, state and local level for prevention, for protection, and for cross-community and multi-faith responses.
We cannot simply call out this hate. All of us who support civil and human rights have an obligation to collectively act to address the horrific rise in antisemitism and the broader rise in hate plaguing our country, which leaves all of our communities vulnerable. Jews and all of our communities deserve to live free from hate. We unequivocally unite against this rising antisemitism.
At the same time, we also condemn the increase in hate and violence targeting the Arab American and Muslim communities. We fight for the safety of the LGBTQ+ community as we celebrate Pride Month. And we reject growing anti-disability, misogynist, anti-Asian, anti-Black, and anti-Latino bigotry.
Eric Ward, Executive Vice President of Race Forward, and Patrisse Cullors, artist, abolitionist, and author of the book When They Call You a Terrorist, wrote in an April 2025 op-ed: “To our Jewish kin: you are not alone. You never were. Even when it didn’t look the way you hoped. Even when it was hard to see. What we’re building together is not allyship. It is survival through principled partnership.”
I’m listing all these examples to make the point that support for American Jews is becoming more of a norm than we might realize if we only consider one or two cases. These declarations represent tremendous progress and should be celebrated and shared widely. Behind each of these statements are values-driven human beings, many with authentic personal or professional relationships with Jews. Perhaps it was a Jewish staffer, or a coalition partner, or a set of communal partnerships who took the initiative to make these public statements happen. Together, they demonstrate a wide swath of social justice leaders embodying relational, liberatory coalition building.
Just as we ask our partners to be open and honest, so must we. Successful coalition building requires all participants to bring curiosity and empathy into working across differences for a shared goal. In my thirteen years of observing coalition dynamics in the Jewish community, I’ve seen patterns that make this particularly challenging when it comes to antisemitism.
Some of us have a tendency to respond loudly when a non-Jewish public figure makes an ill-informed or inaccurate statement about Jews. This sort of negative criticism tends to be more intense when a person of color makes an antisemitic statement, which is especially problematic for progressive coalition building. But swift, digital, hugely public backlashes create a whirling chaotic moment for the people at the center of, leading to fears that the person who made the initial comment may ultimately be fired or suspended. Instead of acknowledging that every human makes mistakes and can make amends for them, powerful executives mete out punishments that far outweigh the misstep.
Certainly, we should react to comments that cross the line into ignorance, and sometimes, hatred. But our reactions should honor every person’s humanity and demonstrate empathy, curiosity, and learning. This means giving people some grace by trying to understand their perspective before publicly leaping to conclusions or making denunciations.
We must also be humble. Who among us has not let elements of racism or sexism or other oppressions seep into our language? Were we dismissed and demonized in those moments, or did those we harmed give us another chance? Rather than jump on people and hold them to an unfair standard, let’s bring grace and compassion to the conversation. Rather than rush to public condemnation in response to a single tweet or statement, we should seize such moments as opportunities to build open, curious partnerships and educate partners and future friends about the complexities of antisemitism.
If we don’t build curious partnerships with others, we risk falling into old, tired patterns that turn people off not only from talking about antisemitism but from engaging with Jewish Americans at all. After making inaccurate comments in January 2022 about the Holocaust, race, and Jews, Whoopi Goldberg said in an interview on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert: “Don’t write to me anymore, I know how you feel. I’m going to take your word for it and never bring [the Holocaust] up again.” That’s not the sort of result we want, or what we need to build coalitions across lines of difference for the sake of a world where we can all belong.
Further, research on antisemitism in modern America demonstrates that non-Jewish messengers are particularly effective in addressing and countering antisemitic tropes to their communities. Building more allies in the effort to address antisemitism is necessary, and is not served by this old, tired pattern.
I also want to note that there are important exceptions to the pattern I’ve outlined. Nick Cannon, actor and television presenter, was fired by Viacom CBS in 2020 after his negative comments about Jews generated the typical public response. Despite those repercussions, Cannon demonstrated what leadership and learning looks like by inviting a group of multiracial Jewish leaders into a learning conversation. His example can serve as a model for us.
Strengthening Democracy
The next part of my vision for Jewish social justice after October 7 is that Jews must work to achieve an inclusive, multiracial democracy in the US. This will allow America to flourish and ensure that we can thrive here as a people.
A diverse, tolerant, democratic society is good for us as a minority—and a majority of Jewish Americans agree. As Rabbi David Saperstein said in his March 2025 Congressional testimony:
Any attempt to secure the rights and safety of Jews that undercuts the rule of law, weakens our public schools or higher education or that further divides our nation and college campuses—undermines the very principles and institutions—the democracy—that have made it possible for Jews to flourish in America with more rights, more freedoms, more opportunities and achievements than Jews have ever known in Diaspora life.
Similarly, three dozen former leaders of prominent American Jewish organizations signed a May 2025 letter published in the New York Times urging: “History has taught us that Jewish safety and democracy are inextricably linked. The Jewish people have flourished in democratic societies and have been repeatedly persecuted in authoritarian regimes. Today, democracy in our country is being assaulted as never before. It’s time for Jewish leadership to act.”
There are untold numbers of stories that demonstrate how a multiracial inclusive democracy has allowed Jews to thrive in America. Mine is one of them. As a white Jewish woman, the opportunities I have had were made possible by social justice movements, including civil rights and affirmative action. As a child, I attended the most racially diverse public high school in Washington, DC, which offered its students significant academic and social opportunities, all made possible by school integration. I graduated from Yale University 29 years after the first woman undergraduates earned their degrees there.
I’m also endlessly grateful that from that very first social justice project, Jewish leaders and organizations invested heavily in my leadership. I’m the product of six Jewish leadership cohorts: the Professional Leaders Project, Bend the Arc’s Selah Leadership Program, the Schusterman Fellowship, Kirva’s Ovdim Fellowship, UJA-Federation of NY’s Institute for Jewish Executive Leadership, and Elevate (in chronological order). By supporting me throughout my career, they have not only made me feel like I belong as a Jewish professional but also that the work of social justice belongs in Jewish life.
The work is not finished, for me or for us. I’m one of the millions of American Jews with multiple targeted identities. My Jewish extended family includes lesbian parents, a trans person of color, and a person in a wheelchair, to name a few. I desperately want to see my loved ones thrive in America in their full identities. Understanding and embracing the complexities of modern Jewish families opens doors to building coalitions in even stronger, more authentic, and generative ways.
We are in a difficult moment. But our values, history, tradition, and experiences are stronger than this moment. As we face a crisis in America with the fundamentals of democracy crumbling around us, there has never been a more urgent time for the holy, joyful, compelling work of Jewish social justice.
