After three years of war, with many Israelis having served hundreds of days in the reserves and the IDF – especially its regular-service soldiers – under unbearable strain, public tolerance for blanket military exemptions has all but vanished. A large majority of Israelis want Haredi men to serve, and polls show broad support for their conscription even among supporters of the current government.

To preserve his alliance with the Haredi parties while reassuring his own supporters, Netanyahu is now offering a formula: “Haredi men who do not study will be drafted.” In practice, the formula is both morally distorted and fundamentally false. Only a universal service obligation will actually bring large numbers of young men from the community into the IDF. Any politician who promises less is effectively giving up on meaningful enlistment. Throughout its term, the Netanyahu-led government has done almost nothing to advance enlistment from the Haredi community. On the contrary, it has invested enormous effort and political capital in promoting a law that would entrench draft evasion, at the unyielding insistence of the Haredi parties. But elections are approaching, and no one reads polls better than Netanyahu. Given Likud’s weakness and the growing demand – including within his own camp – that the burden be shared more equally, Netanyahu and other coalition figures are changing course: away from an evasion law and toward a new formula – “Those who study will be exempt from service; those who don’t will be drafted.”

For Netanyahu and coalition supporters, many of them traditional or religious, the formula sounds ideal. It lets them have it both ways: protect Torah study while expanding the ranks of those who serve. Problem solved.

Except it isn’t. The formula is a convenient illusion that falls apart on closer inspection.

First, there is no moral justification for exempting every Torah student from service. Torah study is an important value in a Jewish state, but it is not an automatic substitute for military service. One can study and serve. Thousands of religious young men do exactly that. Some spend years in yeshiva, perform meaningful military service, return to their studies, and continue to shoulder the burden in the reserves.

Nor is the formula practical. “Those who don’t study will be drafted” requires the state to decide who is really studying Torah, effectively turning the government into the supervisor of the yeshiva world. How exactly is that supposed to work? Will inspectors roam the yeshivot? Take attendance morning and afternoon? Administer Talmud exams? Check who is working off the books after the afternoon study session? And when a finding like that could mean lost funding and years of military service, what incentive would a yeshiva have to report that one of its students is not really studying?

The answer is obvious. Before long, we will discover that “your people are all righteous.” Everyone will be studying Torah. Even the most notorious yeshiva slacker will suddenly become a full-fledged student. There will be lists, certifications, attendance records, and oversight mechanisms. The state will inspect, the yeshivot will report, politicians will tout “enforcement” – and in the end, almost any young man determined to avoid service will find a way to be classified as a “Torah student.”

Anyone familiar with the state’s dealings with Haredi education has seen how this works. For years, the state has struggled to enforce even basic core-curriculum requirements in institutions it funds. To believe that an airtight oversight system will suddenly materialize when military service is at stake is naïve at best.

And that is precisely why the slogan is dangerous. It offers Israelis – especially right-wing voters who want broader military service but also want to preserve the political “bloc” – a comforting solution. One can say, “I support Haredi enlistment,” while simultaneously backing an arrangement that, in practice, perpetuates draft evasion.

There is only one real solution. The next government must adopt a simple principle: everyone serves. Military service can and should be adapted to the needs of the Haredi community. Appropriate frameworks can be created, and a very small quota of exceptional Torah scholars can be allowed to continue their studies. But they must be the exception. Everyone else must serve.

TOI

The post Netanyahu’s false promise of ‘study or serve’ first appeared on The Jewish People Policy Institute.

Last week, I found myself walking through Vienna in the footsteps of two women whose disappearance had transfixed the Israeli public.

Mali Yahalomi and her daughter Liel disappeared during a trip to Europe. Their relatives were desperate for news. Israeli officials became involved, the embassy appealed for help, and people kept asking a seemingly obvious question: How can two women simply disappear in the middle of Vienna in 2026?

I happened to be in the city shortly afterward. By then, the two had been found. I was not searching for them. Instead, I looked at the environment they had moved through.

What struck me was the ubiquity of surveillance. At Vienna’s main railway station alone, dozens of security cameras were plainly visible. Cameras were also visible in shops and public spaces. Like virtually every major European capital, Vienna is a city in which movement through transportation hubs leaves digital traces.

That made me reconsider the Israeli reaction.

Many had wondered why the Austrian Federal Police could not locate the two women more quickly. With cameras, mobile phones, digital payments and transportation records, how difficult could it be to reconstruct the movements of two people?

Walking through Vienna, however, I began to wonder whether this was the wrong question. Perhaps the more interesting issue was not what a modern state can discover but what a liberal democracy is entitled to do with information about adults who may be acting voluntarily.

Important limits remain to what can be said about this investigation, and parts of the case remain subject to legal restrictions. It would be wrong to speculate about what the Austrian police knew, when they knew it, or which tools they used. Public reporting suggests circumstances more complicated than a simple case of two people seeking privacy. The case should not be forced into a neat philosophical parable.

But the questions it raises remain.

For many Israelis, the assumption was straightforward. A mother and daughter had vanished. Their relatives were terrified.

The two had failed to return home as expected. Surely the police should find them and say where they were. There is something recognizably Israeli in that assumption.

Israel is an intensely familial society. Parents remain involved in the lives of adult children. Children assume responsibility for aging parents. Extended families mobilize during crises. When someone disappears, this can rapidly become a family emergency, a community emergency, and sometimes a national one.

Israel’s security culture reinforces that instinct. Israelis routinely accept intrusions into privacy in the name of safety that many Europeans might find uncomfortable. We open our bags at entrances, answer questions at airports, and encounter security checks in everyday life. In an emergency, we expect the state to use the tools at its disposal. When someone goes missing, our instinct is simple: find them.

European law and political culture often act from a different premise.

Privacy and data protection occupy an unusually prominent place in European law and political culture. European political systems remain deeply conscious of the dangers created when governments possess extensive information about individuals with too few restraints on how it can be used.

The distinction matters. A city can possess extensive surveillance capabilities without assuming that the resulting information belongs to relatives, the press, or the public. The ability to determine where someone is does not automatically entitle others to know.

The question becomes particularly uncomfortable when an adult disappears voluntarily. If someone has been kidnapped, attacked, or coerced, the responsibility to intervene is clear. But what if an adult chooses to leave and does not want to be found? Does her family have a right to know where she is? Does the public? Does the press? At what point does the obligation to search end and personal autonomy begin?

Such questions can sound almost offensive in an Israeli context when frightened relatives are involved. Our instinct is that their anguish should outweigh almost every competing consideration.

If the police have information, tell them. If technology can locate someone, use it. The idea that an adult might possess something approaching a right to disappear can clash with a culture built around unusually strong bonds of family and collective responsibility.

Yet on one crucial point, I think the European instinct is correct.

An adult who is competent, safe, and acting freely does not lose her privacy because those who love her desperately want information. Even the strongest bonds do not give us an unconditional claim to another adult’s whereabouts or reasons for leaving. In this sense, the right to disappear is not the right to obstruct a lawful investigation; it is the right to go against the notion of automatic disclosure.

But privacy should not require cruelty.

Once police establish that a missing adult is alive, safe, and acting voluntarily, there is a strong case for telling loved ones precisely that, so long as doing so creates no further safety risk. Police need not reveal the person’s location or other information she wishes to keep private. The family deserves reassurance, not necessarily disclosure.

That distinction offers a way to reconcile two values that need not be absolute rivals: the understandable need to know that someone we love is safe and the individual’s claim to autonomy.

None of this means that Europeans care less about family or that Israelis care nothing about privacy. The difference emerges when legitimate values collide.

Israeli’s collective reponsability

Israel gives exceptional weight to family solidarity and collective responsibility, reinforced by a security culture in which protecting life can justify intrusions into personal autonomy. European institutions and political culture often give greater formal weight to privacy, individual choice, and restraints on state power.

This is what stayed with me as I walked through Vienna. Israelis had looked at the disappearance primarily as a practical problem: Where are they, and why have the police not found them? I began to see a harder question beneath it: How much are we entitled to know about an adult who does not want to be found?

Israelis and Europeans frequently speak of their shared democratic values. But sharing values does not mean ranking them in the same order. Both value security, privacy, family, freedom, and human dignity. Their differences emerge most clearly when those values collide.

Here, I believe the balance should be clear. The state should establish that a missing adult is safe. The family deserves to know that much.

After that, the right to disappear may indeed be a right.

Published in the Jerusalem Post

The post The right to disappear: What Israel can learn from Europe about privacy first appeared on The Jewish People Policy Institute.

AI may not change what it means to be Jewish. But it could profoundly change the institutions through which Jewish life has been transmitted from one generation to another.

At a recent Deloitte event, “The AI Bottom Line,” Ilan Birnfeld, chairman and CEO of Deloitte Israel, made an observation that stayed with me. “Artificial intelligence (AI),” he argued, “will not change us as human beings. But it will completely change our companies.”

As I listened, I wondered what would happen if we replaced “company” with “the Jewish people.” AI may not change what it means to be Jewish. But it could profoundly change the institutions through which Jewish life has been transmitted from one generation to another. And once those institutions change, can the people they sustain really remain unchanged?

Birnfeld’s point about companies is more radical than the familiar argument about efficiency. If AI allows an employee to complete in 10 minutes something that previously took three hours, the important question is not simply how much time has been saved. It is why the company should continue organizing itself around a task that once required three hours. AI therefore forces organizations to reconsider not simply how people work, but what particular jobs, hierarchies, and institutions are for.

THE JEWISH world should begin asking the same question.

How AI can impact Jewish life

Take Jewish education. For centuries, meaningful access to Jewish knowledge depended heavily on access to people. You needed a teacher to learn Hebrew, a rabbi to guide you through religious texts, a scholar to explain Jewish history. Geography mattered enormously. So did language, money, and the accident of being born into a community large enough to provide those resources.

AI is beginning to lower those barriers. A Jewish child in a small community without a Hebrew teacher can have a private AI tutor available every day. Someone who has never studied Aramaic can ask for an explanation of a passage of Talmud, compare interpretations, and then ask follow-up questions. A secular Israeli curious about Maimonides can enter that intellectual world without entering a yeshiva. Jewish texts that were once accessible mainly to specialists can increasingly be approached by almost anyone.

This does not make the teacher or rabbi obsolete. It does something more interesting: it changes what we need them for.

If information and explanation become abundant, the value of the teacher increasingly lies elsewhere: judgment, interpretation, intellectual discipline, example, and human relationship. Abundance, after all, does not guarantee reliability. The question shifts from “Who has the knowledge?” to “Whose judgment do I trust?”

The same disruption may reach one of the foundations of Jewish identity: memory.

Jewish civilization has placed memory close to the center of collective existence. “Zakhor,” remember, is not simply an instruction to preserve information. Jewish civilization repeatedly transforms memory into obligation.

Now imagine a Jewish teenager 20 years from now conversing with an AI system built around a verified archive of thousands of hours of Holocaust survivor testimony. She does not simply watch a recorded interview. She asks questions. The system answers on the basis of the words, experiences, and historical record left behind by those who are no longer alive. There is enormous educational potential here. But there must also be a clear boundary.

AI should help us interrogate testimony; it should never be permitted to manufacture testimony. The distinction is fundamental. A survivor’s recorded words belong to history. A plausible sentence generated by an algorithm but never spoken by that survivor does not. The temptation to make memory more vivid could inadvertently make it less truthful.

For the Jewish people, that danger is particularly acute. We have spent generations documenting the past precisely because historical truth matters. AI should make archives more accessible, searchable, and conversational. It should not turn the dead into fictional characters capable of saying things they never said. In the age of AI, “Zakhor” will therefore require something additional: remember honestly.

This may be where Birnfeld’s corporate analogy becomes uncomfortable.

When AI can perform functions that once justified particular jobs, companies must ask what those jobs are actually for. Jewish institutions will increasingly face the same test. If knowledge, translation, and even sophisticated interpretation become instantly available, what exactly are the institutions that once provided them for?

Consider relations between Israel and Jewish communities in Europe. Language remains one barrier separating Jewish worlds. Israelis inhabit a Hebrew political and cultural universe that many Diaspora Jews encounter only indirectly, while Jewish communities across Europe conduct debates that most Israelis rarely hear.

Increasingly seamless translation can lower that barrier dramatically. A Jew in Berlin may be able to follow an Israeli television debate naturally in German; an Israeli may listen to a Dutch Jewish communal discussion in Hebrew. “But translation solves access, not shared experience.”

An Israeli and an Italian Jew can understand every word the other says and still experience October 7, antisemitism, Gaza, religion, democracy, or Jewish security in profoundly different ways. AI can remove the linguistic wall. It cannot determine which questions Jews consider important, much less make them agree on the answers.

And then there is the institution AI may find hardest to disrupt: the Jewish community itself. A synagogue distributes knowledge, but that is not why a synagogue exists. Jewish communities teach, organize, and communicate, but those functions do not exhaust their purpose.

Their deeper purpose is belonging. An AI can explain the laws of shiva, but it cannot sit beside a mourner. It can teach the prayers, but it cannot make a minyan. It can generate a sophisticated interpretation of the weekly Torah portion, but it cannot accept responsibility for another human being. It can describe Jewish solidarity perfectly. It cannot practice it.

AND HERE the question of trust returns.

Trust is not simply deciding which source provides the most accurate answer. Jewish trust is relational. It is built by showing up, sharing obligations, arguing, remembering, and accepting responsibility for one another. That is a question of relationship, not information.

If a Jewish school understands its purpose principally as transmitting information, AI will challenge it. If a rabbi’s authority depends primarily on possessing knowledge unavailable to others, AI will challenge it. If a Jewish organization exists mainly to transmit information between distant communities, AI will challenge it too.

Perhaps that is not something to fear. Perhaps AI’s greatest contribution to Jewish life will be forcing Jewish institutions to identify what cannot be automated. And the answer may be surprisingly traditional: presence, responsibility, obligation, and belonging.

For much of Jewish history, Jewish institutions helped solve a problem of scarcity. Books and teachers were scarce. Knowledge of Hebrew and Aramaic was scarce. Communication across continents was difficult. Access to Jewish knowledge depended heavily on where one lived and whom one knew.

We are moving toward the opposite world: one of extraordinary abundance. The great Jewish question of the AI age may therefore change. For generations, we asked: How do we give Jews access to Jewish knowledge?

Soon, the harder question may be: Why should they want it?

AI may make it easier than at any previous moment in history to study Judaism, encounter Jewish history, and communicate across the Jewish world. But access is not belonging, information is not memory, and intelligence is not responsibility.

Those still require other human beings. Perhaps this is the real lesson of Birnfeld’s observation. AI will force companies to reconsider the value of human contribution. It may force Jewish institutions to do something even more consequential: rediscover what Jewish community is for.

And the answer to that question, more than the technology itself, may shape the next chapter of the Jewish people.

Published in the Jerusalem Post

The post AI will not change the Jews – or will it? first appeared on The Jewish People Policy Institute.

This week, I met two European friends, a gay couple based in Brussels. One is a teacher; the other works for an international organization in the city. They spend every summer in Israel. For them, Tel Aviv remains the perfect vacation destination, even today.

“The moment we arrive at the El Al check-in counter and people realize we are a couple, the red carpet is rolled out for us,” they told me.

It was heartening to hear, especially now. Since the October 7 massacre, a growing rift has emerged between Israel and influential segments of organized LGBTQ activism across Europe. The disagreement is no longer simply about the war in Gaza but about solidarity, moral consistency, and the meaning of universal values.

For decades, Israel was widely regarded as part of the liberal democratic family to which Europe also belongs. Tel Aviv became one of the world’s leading Pride destinations and a symbol of openness in a region where same-sex relations remain criminalized in many states and LGBTQ people face persecution.

Israeli and European organizations worked together to advance equality, combat discrimination, and protect minority rights. Even when they disagreed over the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, they still regarded one another as partners committed to the same democratic ideals.

That sense of partnership has been badly shaken.

The war in Gaza has caused immense civilian suffering, which deserves sustained attention and public debate. Yet for many Israelis, another striking feature of public discourse has been the relative silence surrounding the atrocities that precipitated the war: the October 7 massacre, the widespread sexual violence documented by United Nations investigators, and the prolonged captivity of the hostages, some for more than two years.

The issue is not whether Israel should be criticized. Democracies invite scrutiny, and Israel is no exception. The issue is whether empathy has become selective. When public discourse recognizes only one side’s suffering, it loses the moral complexity required to understand a conflict in which civilians on both sides have paid a terrible price. The modern LGBTQ movement achieved remarkable victories by insisting that rights belong to every individual, regardless of political opinion, nationality, religion, or ethnicity. That principle transformed societies, changed laws, and expanded liberty for millions.

An advocacy movement need not endorse every political position. It should, however, distinguish criticism of Israeli policy from treating Jewish or Israeli identity as prima facie evidence of culpability or complicity. When participation is conditioned on repudiating one’s nationality or communal ties, inclusion becomes a political loyalty test. The consequences extend beyond politics. Universities, cultural institutions, civil society organizations, and Pride events have become arenas where Israeli and Jewish participation is contested, and Jewish organizations have at times been expected to distance themselves from Israel before being accepted as legitimate partners.

During WorldPride Amsterdam this August, unauthorized flyers bearing the logos of the city, WorldPride, and the anti-discrimination platform RITA displayed the names, photographs, and locations of Israeli and Jewish artists, as well as people described as IDF soldiers. Readers were urged to “watch out for war criminals.” WorldPride organizers, the municipality, and RITA disavowed the flyers, and the police opened an investigation. In Berlin, a participant at a Christopher Street Day march reported being harassed over Israeli symbols. Whether viewed individually or as part of a broader pattern, these incidents raise an uncomfortable question: Why has the presence of Jews and Israelis in spaces intended to foster inclusion begun to attract suspicion and, at times, intimidation?

Political coalitions often unite unlikely partners, and shared opposition to one issue – Israeli policy – can eclipse disagreements on other matters. But when universal principles become subordinate to political alignment, something essential is lost.

Selective defense of rights

A movement that asks society to defend rights without qualification cannot defend those same rights selectively. This is not simply a question of political consistency. It is a moral challenge.

How can organizations dedicated to protecting minorities overlook antisemitism within coalitions they otherwise embrace? Israeli organizations are not immune from criticism. The test is whether Jews and Israelis can participate without being treated as representatives of a government or required to prove their political innocence. In some places, simply being visibly Jewish or Israeli is enough to make people feel unwelcome in a movement founded on inclusion.

The incidents in Amsterdam and Berlin do not prove that an entire movement has abandoned its ideals. But they do show why Jews and Israelis in some LGBTQ spaces increasingly fear that visibility will bring suspicion rather than solidarity.

This tension also reflects a broader divide between Israel and Europe. Israeli public discourse often begins with the security trauma of October 7, while European debate often begins with the humanitarian devastation of Gaza. Both speak the language of human rights but are rooted in different wounds. Each perspective becomes morally incomplete when it erases the other. The debate, therefore, extends far beyond Israel. It is ultimately about whether liberal societies remain capable of defending their principles consistently, including when doing so is politically inconvenient. A universal value ceases to be universal once it is applied selectively.

At their best, Europe’s LGBTQ movements have demonstrated that equality is meaningful precisely when it protects people who are unpopular or politically isolated. Their challenge now is to uphold that principle when Jews or Israelis are the ones asking for inclusion. That is where moral leadership begins. It is also where prejudice, however carefully disguised in the language of tolerance, is finally exposed.

My two friends have already booked an apartment in Tel Aviv for next summer. They still see Israel as a place where they are welcomed for who they are. That welcome should not remain the exception. If Europe’s LGBTQ movement wants to honor the principle it was built on, it must ask why that welcome is fading and start extending it again.

Published in the Jerusalem Post

The post When pride meets prejudice: Europe’s LGBTQ movement is forgetting what inclusion means first appeared on The Jewish People Policy Institute.

In this Deep Dive episode, host Jacob Laznik sits down with JPPI Senior Fellow Or Horvitz, former head of the IDF’s Hezbollah and Lebanon desk, to argue that Washington has quietly abandoned deal-making for a “maximum pressure 2.0” campaign aimed at the collapse of the Iranian regime, and that almost no one in mainstream coverage is naming it.

Horvitz maps the two camps inside the Trump administration (Secretary Rubio betting pressure topples the regime, VP Vance betting it forces compromise), why he thinks negotiating with today’s hawkish leadership is pointless, and how Iran’s economic freefall sets a starting point far worse than the first sanctions era.

“I genuinely now believe that there is no other way but to topple this regime,” he says, while warning, “Iran is a bully, and you cannot appease a bully.”

Drawing on the Reagan-era pivot from containment to proactive pressure against the USSR, Horvitz explains why change has to come from inside Iran, what the West missed during the January uprising, his fear of a secret nuclear program in the desert, and the historic window opening in Lebanon as a cash-starved Iran can no longer fund Hezbollah.

He closes on Syria’s new leadership, the growing-but-lesser challenge of Turkey, and a plea to strip Israeli and American foreign policy of election-season politics. Sober analysis with, in his words, cautious optimism.

The post Podcast: Secret collapse first appeared on The Jewish People Policy Institute.

The discovery of the remains of the Altalena has ignited yet another round of verbal broadsides between the right and the left over responsibility for that tragic historical episode. But the exchange has obscured the Altalena’s most important lesson – one that remains relevant 78 years later.

The danger of anarchy still looms. So does the danger of civil war. The only safeguard against both is mamlachtiyut – an ethos that places state authority and the common good above factional interests. Sukkot and his allies, acting in Judea and Samaria (the West Bank) as though there were no sovereign, no army, and no law, threaten to drag us into the abyss of chaos, trampling what little remains of that ethos along the way. The leadership that emerges after the elections must make mamlachtiyut, in this context and more broadly, an ethical North Star.

The Altalena, a ship carrying arms brought to Israel by the Irgun in the midst of the War of Independence, was ultimately sunk by the newly formed IDF. In this battle between brothers, while war raged on Israel’s borders, 16 Irgun fighters and three IDF soldiers were killed.

Rivers of ink have been spilled over the Altalena affair and the circumstances in which the shooting began. Stripped to its essentials, however, one thing is clear: Menachem Begin, then the leader of the Irgun and later prime minister, prevented his men from widening the circle of violence and turning the terrible incident into a full-fledged civil war. “There will be no civil war while the enemy is at the gate,” he told his men through tears.

But the truly historic decision was the more difficult one taken by David Ben-Gurion.

Israel’s first prime minister coined the term mamlachtiyut and elevated it into a core value. Even before the establishment of the state, Ben-Gurion worked to entrench the principle that decisions concerning the governance and future of the Yishuv – and later Israel – must be based on the shared interest and the common good. Only in this way could Israel, in all its diversity, become one polity – one state.

The Altalena affair was the ultimate test of this principle. At the core of a state’s power, and at the foundation of its existence, lies the authority to use force. Externally, against enemies at the gate; internally, in enforcing the law and maintaining security. A fundamental condition of statehood is the state’s monopoly on the use of force. So long as force is exercised by the state, or with its authorization, it is legitimate. Once that monopoly is broken, and civilians or groups outside the state begin using weapons and exercising force, anarchy inevitably follows.

Ben-Gurion acted to prevent the young State of Israel from sliding down that slope into anarchy, to preserve the state’s monopoly on arms, and to defend mamlachtiyut.

Smashing the remains of mamlachtiyut

Seventy-eight years after the Altalena, the state’s exclusive authority to use weapons and force can no longer be taken for granted. In recent years, small but genuinely dangerous groups have repeatedly resorted to violence – sometimes using firearms – to “create deterrence” and retaliate for terrorist attacks in the hills of the West Bank.

The persistent failure to enforce the law against these groups has given rise to deep suspicion in Israel – and absolute certainty elsewhere in the world – that those charged by the Israeli government with enforcing the law in the territory are turning a blind eye to this dangerous phenomenon.

MK Zvi Sukkot’s reckless conduct gives these militias a tailwind. After misleading the IDF and putting soldiers at risk for political purposes, Sukkot embarked on a campaign of smashing Palestinian gravestones, using force without authority and taking the law into his own hands – behaving not like a public leader but like just another hilltop rioter.

Along with the gravestones, Sukkot smashed what remained of mamlachtiyut in Israel.

Beyond the incalculable damage that he and his allies are doing to Israel and the settlement enterprise in the international arena, their violent actions endanger us all.

To survive, Israel must reclaim mamlachtiyut. That means ensuring that force is wielded only by the state – but it means more than that. This civic ethos must become the North Star of every branch and level of government. Only then can we continue to disagree while preserving fair and responsible governance – and prevent ourselves from sliding into civil war.

Published in the Jerusalem Post

The post From the Altalena to MK Sukkot – the Smasher first appeared on The Jewish People Policy Institute.

To download a PDF file, click here.

Survey Context and Methodological Note

Survey context: August data was collected about a month after the signing of the agreement that brought the campaign against Iran to an end, as public debate continued over its results and the leadership that conducted it. At the same time, President Trump’s initiative to disarm Hamas in Gaza occupied a prominent place in public discourse, alongside preparations for the congressional midterm elections and Israel’s election, expected in the fall. Methodological note: In recent months, we have also been surveying Jews in Canada and the United Kingdom. In August, 136 respondents participated from Canada and 68 from the UK. These findings should be interpreted with caution because of the small sample sizes. All breakdowns by ideology, denomination, or vote refer to U.S. Jews only.

The Iran War: Disillusionment Continues

As Operation Roaring Lion recedes, connected U.S. Jews’ assessment of the campaign’s success continues to erode. In March 2026, two-thirds (66%) viewed it as successful. Since then, the figure has declined almost steadily – to 56% in April, 48% in May, a low of 28% in June, and 36% in July. In August, just one-third (33%) view it as successful, while nearly two-thirds (64%) view it as a failure. Among strong liberals, an overwhelming 89% view the campaign as a failure, while four in five strong conservatives (80%) still view it as a success. The divide is even sharper by 2024 presidential vote: 73% of Trump voters view the campaign as successful, while 84% of Harris voters see it as a failure. The trend is evident across all three communities: in Canada, the share viewing the campaign as a success fell from 70% in March to 37% in August; in the UK, from 75% to 31%.

The same substantial decline is evident in Canada and the UK. In Canada, the share viewing the campaign as successful fell from 70% in March to a low of 27% in June, before rising slightly to 37% in August. In the UK, it declined from 75% in March to 31% in August. The pattern thus extends across all three communities, although the degree of erosion varies. Despite the erosion in assessments of the campaign’s outcome, the majority’s view of the military action itself remains positive and stable compared with last month. Among connected U.S. Jews, 55% say the U.S. action against Iran “did not go far enough,” compared with 30% who say it “went too far” and just 3% who say it was “about right.” Thus, criticism of the campaign does not reflect opposition to the use of force; for many, it reflects a belief that the force employed was not decisive enough.

A breakdown by political orientation shows that nearly two-thirds (64%) of strong liberals say the action went too far, while overwhelming majorities of both lean conservatives and strong conservatives (93%-96%) favor a tougher approach. The voting divide is similarly pronounced: 94% of Trump voters say the action did not go far enough, compared with 45% of Harris voters who say it went too far. The hawkish view is also prominent in Canada (72%) and the UK (65%).

Leadership Ratings on Iran

As assessments of the campaign’s success eroded, so too did evaluations of the leaders who conducted it. President Trump’s leadership rating on Iran fell from 46% “good” in March to a low of 21% in June, partially recovered to 32% in July, and declined again this month to 26%. Two-thirds (67%) rate his leadership as “poor,” with a majority rating it “very poor.” July’s rebound, in other words, did not hold. Political orientation explains most of the variation: among strong conservatives, nearly three-quarters (73%) rate him positively, as do just over half (54%) of lean conservatives. Among strong liberals, by contrast, 90% rate his leadership as “very poor.” Among centrists, 39% rate his leadership as “very poor,” compared with 29% who rate it positively. The divide by 2024 vote is also sharp: 68% of Trump voters rate his leadership positively, while 81% of Harris voters rate Trump’s leadership on Iran as “very poor.”

Prime Minister Netanyahu’s leadership rating on Iran has eroded slowly but steadily from 53% rating his leadership as “good” in March to just 38% this month, while 52% now rate his leadership as “poor.” Unlike Trump, Netanyahu did not experience a sudden collapse; rather, his rating has eroded gradually. The overall figure masks polarization even sharper than that surrounding Trump: 92% of strong conservatives rate Netanyahu positively, while 84% of strong liberals rate him negatively. Centrist respondents lean slightly positive (47% good versus 37% poor). Canadian Jews rate Netanyahu somewhat more positively than their U.S. counterparts, with half rating his leadership as “good”; the UK picture is similar to the U.S., with four in ten rating him positively. In Canada and the UK, local leaders receive low ratings on Iran: in Canada, Prime Minister Mark Carney’s rating remains low and stable (18% “good”, 63% “poor”), while in the UK, Andy Burnham receives 16% positive, 28% middle category, and half negative.

Israel’s Election

With Israel’s election expected in two months, this month we examined how connected U.S. Jews view it. Attention is high: 78% follow election news very or somewhat closely, although only 8% hold Israeli citizenship and are eligible to vote. When asked whom they would prefer to win, respondents lean toward a change of government: a majority (54%) prefer the current opposition, compared with 14% who prefer the current coalition; 8% have no preference, and 24% say it is not their place to say. Preference largely mirrors ideological orientation and the composition of the panel, which has a Democratic majority. Among strong liberals, 78% support the opposition in Israel, as do 74% of Harris voters in the 2024 election. At the other end of the ideological spectrum, 56% of strong conservatives and 43% of Trump voters prefer the coalition. Even among them, however, the preference is not overwhelming, and a sizable 34% of Trump voters decline to take a position. Canadian (49%) and UK (57%) respondents resemble their U.S. counterparts in their support for a change of government.

Breaking respondents down by eligibility to vote in the upcoming Israeli election sharpens the picture. Support for the current opposition remains stable and dominant in both groups: similar majorities of eligible voters (55%) and those not eligible to vote (53%) prefer an opposition victory. Differences emerge, however, in support for the coalition and in reluctance to express a view. Among eligible voters, support for the current coalition is nearly twice as high as among those who are ineligible (26% versus 14%). By contrast, those who are not eligible to vote are considerably more likely to refrain from taking a position: one-quarter (25%) say “it is not my place to say,” and the share with no preference is almost twice as high. In other words, eligibility to vote sharpens preferences and strengthens support for the coalition somewhat, without eroding the opposition’s advantage.

In a follow-up question, we examined connected U.S. Jews’ views of Israelis living abroad who plan to travel to Israel to vote. The subject has generated lively debate in Israel in recent months over the legitimacy of such voting, and initiatives such as “Vote&Fly” have emerged to encourage Israelis abroad to travel to Israel to cast ballots and thereby broaden participation in the election. Nearly two-thirds (65%) of respondents say that if Israelis care enough to invest the time and money required to travel to Israel and vote, their vote is legitimate, compared with 17% who say that voting by people who do not live in Israel and do not bear the consequences of their vote is problematic. Another 18% answer “don’t know.” Majorities of both Trump voters (58%) and Harris voters (70%) regard voting by Israelis living abroad as legitimate. However, 27% of Trump voters see such voting as problematic, more than twice the share among Harris voters (12%). Notably, panel participants who are eligible to vote in Israel are more likely than those who are not eligible to view such voting as potentially problematic.

Most panel participants say they do not know Israelis living outside Israel who plan to travel to Israel to vote in the upcoming election (63% in the United States, 68% in Canada, and 59% in the UK). Only a few percent of respondents say they know “many” Israelis planning to come vote. Looking at all forms of acquaintance (“a few,” “one or two,” and “many”), just over one-third of respondents (37% in the United States, 33% in Canada, and 41% in the UK) know Israelis who plan to travel to Israel to vote. A breakdown by political orientation shows broadly similar patterns across the ideological spectrum, with only modest differences in familiarity with the phenomenon. In every political camp, a majority say they do not know Israelis planning to travel to Israel to vote, with unfamiliarity somewhat more pronounced among conservatives. The combined share who know Israelis planning to travel reaches a high of 41% among strong liberals, suggesting that discussion of traveling to vote is somewhat more common in center-left circles, but remains limited overall.

Respondents’ interest in the upcoming election reflects broad and sustained attention to Israeli politics. Nearly eight in ten (78%) say they follow news about the election – 35% “very closely” and 43% “somewhat closely.” By contrast, only 18% say they do not follow it very closely, while the share who do not follow it at all remains marginal. A breakdown by political orientation reveals meaningful differences in the intensity of attention, with respondents in the center and on the conservative right following the election more closely than those on the liberal wing. Strong conservatives are the most likely to follow the election “very closely” (47%), followed by centrists (44%) and lean conservatives (35%). Among liberals, the share following very closely is substantially lower – 28% among strong liberals and 29% among lean liberals – with the largest shares instead following “somewhat closely” (47% and 50%, respectively). Even so, when “very closely” and “somewhat closely” are combined, interest remains high (above 75%) across the ideological spectrum, and disinterest is minimal in every group.

A breakdown by respondents’ direct ties to Israel shows a clear relationship between those ties and the intensity with which they follow the election. Among respondents who previously lived in Israel, 51% follow the election “very closely,” and the combined share following it reaches 90%. A similar pattern appears among those who have visited Israel more than once: 39% follow very closely and another 44% somewhat closely. As direct ties weaken, intensive attention declines. Among those who have visited Israel only once and those who have never visited, the share following “very closely” falls to about half that level (20% and 18%, respectively), alongside higher shares who do not follow very closely (26% and 30%) or do not follow at all (8% and 9%). The data also reveals a clear gap between panel participants who are eligible to vote (92% follow, 63% “very closely”) and those who are not (77% follow, 32% “very closely”).

The Future of Judea and Samaria (the West Bank)

This month, panel participants were asked the same question presented in JPPI’s Israeli Society Index about what they view as the realistic long-term objective for the future of Judea and Samaria (the West Bank) and the settlements there. The wording asked respondents to choose an outcome that is “both feasible and preferable, even if it can only be achieved many years from now.” Respondents were presented with ten options, condensed from proposals voiced by different Israeli public figures. These can be grouped into four clusters: annexation of the entire territory (three variants differing in the status of the Arab population); partition of the territory (between Israel and Jordan or a Palestinian state); transfer of the entire territory to another entity; and continuation of the status quo. Comparing connected U.S. Jews with Israeli Jews reveals a clear difference: among Israeli Jews, the balance of opinion tilts toward annexation (38%), while among connected U.S. Jews it tilts toward partition (31%) or relinquishing the entire territory (20%).

The gap concerns not only overall support for annexation (26% among connected U.S. Jews versus 38% among Israeli Jews), but also the form annexation takes. Among Israeli supporters of annexation, the most common version is one in which “the Arab population moves to other countries” (22%). Among connected U.S. Jews, only 9% choose this option. Conversely, the single most common option among connected U.S. Jews is establishing a Palestinian state throughout the entire territory (18%), compared with only 5% among Israeli Jews. The ideological divide in the U.S. panel is stark: among strong liberals, 43% choose an outcome in which Israel relinquishes the territory (most support a Palestinian state throughout it), while 62% of strong conservatives choose annexation of the entire territory. The difference is also evident by vote: 48% of Trump voters choose annexation, compared with 31% of Harris voters who choose relinquishment. Connected Canadian Jews lean somewhat more toward annexation than their U.S. counterparts, while UK Jews are the most dovish – 28% choose a Palestinian state throughout the entire territory.

Moral Map: Connected U.S. Jews and Israeli Jews

Once a year, we present respondents with a series of ten behaviors and ask them, independently of what is legal or illegal, whether they consider each behavior or activity “morally acceptable” or “morally unacceptable” according to their own worldview. The series is based on a similar questionnaire used by Gallup in the United States, enabling three comparisons: with Israeli Jews, with the U.S. public as a whole, and with connected U.S. Jews surveyed last year. A comparison of moral attitudes among connected U.S. Jews and Israeli Jews shows substantial stability over time alongside cultural and structural differences between the two communities. The connected U.S. Jews surveyed express clearly more liberal and permissive attitudes on social and personal issues: 80% regard same-sex relations as morally acceptable (compared with 61% of Israeli Jews), and 74% say the same of abortion (compared with 61%).

Even larger gaps appear in everyday and civic behaviors: 66% of the connected U.S. Jews surveyed regard gambling as morally acceptable and 55% say the same of driving over the speed limit, compared with 27% and 21%, respectively, of Israeli Jews. Similarly, 46% of the connected U.S. Jews surveyed regard paying cash without an invoice or receipt as morally acceptable, compared with just 18% of Israeli Jews. The only issue on which Israeli Jews express substantially greater acceptance is the death penalty for murderers, regarded as morally acceptable by 63% of Israeli Jews compared with 54% of the connected U.S. Jews surveyed.

Comparing the connected U.S. Jews surveyed with the U.S. public as a whole in the Gallup survey shows that the connected Jewish sample is consistently more liberal than the general public, especially on questions of individual liberty and end-of-life decisions. Abortion is regarded as morally acceptable by a much larger share of the connected U.S. Jews surveyed than of the general public (74% versus 49%), as is physician-assisted suicide for severely ill patients (66% versus 49%) and same-sex relations (80% versus 62%). On some issues, however, there is broad cross-community consensus: extramarital affairs are viewed as morally unacceptable by all groups, with only negligible shares considering them acceptable. Polygamy is also broadly rejected (9% among both Israeli Jews and the connected U.S. Jews surveyed), although acceptance among the U.S. public as a whole is twice as high (19%).

As expected, moral judgments vary with ideology. On issues commonly associated with liberal values, the gap between the poles is very wide: same-sex relations are regarded as morally acceptable by all strong liberals (100%) compared with one-third (32%) of strong conservatives; on abortion, the figures are 97% and 20%, respectively. The death penalty reverses the pattern: 90% of strong conservatives regard it as morally acceptable, compared with just 19% of strong liberals. By contrast, on less ideologically polarized issues, such as gambling and driving over the speed limit, the gap nearly disappears.

Jewish Identity

As we did during last summer’s travel season, this month we examined whether panel participants conceal their Jewish identity when traveling. Nearly half (47%) do so at least sometimes – 5% “always” and 42% “sometimes” – while 40% never conceal their Jewish identity. The year-over-year comparison suggests a modest decline in concealment: the share who “always” conceal their identity fell from 9% in August 2025 to 5%, while the share who “never” do so rose slightly. By denomination, Modern Orthodox respondents stand out for the highest share answering “sometimes” (57%). UK respondents are the clearest outlier, with a much higher share than the other groups answering “always” (18%).

Ahead of the Holidays

Ahead of the High Holidays, which begin roughly a month after the survey was conducted, 72% of respondents plan to attend prayer services in person (20% at least once and 52% more than once), a rate essentially unchanged from last year. As expected, denominational differences are pronounced: 92% of Modern Orthodox respondents and 88% of Haredi respondents plan to attend in person, compared with just 48% of those with no denominational affiliation. Respondents with no denominational affiliation also have the highest share who do not plan to attend prayer services at all (35%).

Survey Data and Implications

This report is based on a survey of participants in JPPI’s Voice of the Jewish People respondent panel, conducted August 15-20, 2026. The survey primarily reflects the views of “connected” Jews – those with relatively strong ties to the Jewish community, Israel, and/or Jewish identity. The sample is not representative of all U.S. Jews. The survey included 804 U.S. respondents, 136 Canadian respondents, and 68 UK respondents. Unless otherwise noted, the results reflect U.S. respondents only; Canadian and UK findings are presented as indicative trends because of the small sample sizes. Comparisons with Israeli Jews are based on JPPI’s August 2026 Israeli Society Index. JPPI’s Voice of the Jewish People Index survey was conducted by JPPI fellows Shmuel Rosner and Noah Slepkov, with research and writing assistance from Yael Levinovsky. Prof. David Steinberg provided statistical oversight.

The post JPPI’s Voice of the Jewish People Index for August: U.S. Jews’ Iran Campaign Disillusionment Deepens first appeared on The Jewish People Policy Institute.

American presidential politics has long relied on the concept of the “big tent”—a broad coalition uniting diverse and sometimes ideologically contradictory voting blocs under a single party umbrella. For decades, the Democratic Party successfully maintained this structure. However, a compelling new academic study published in the journal Israel Affairs examines one of the deepest fractures within this tent: the collapse of the “green-red alliance” between traditionalist Muslim communities and progressive actors.

The research illuminates this dynamic through the work of Dr. Kobby Barda, a Senior Researcher at the Jewish People Policy Institute (JPPI) and a lecturer at the Holon Institute of Technology (HIT). Barda focuses on Metro Detroit, Michigan, where municipalities like Hamtramck and Dearborn have become fascinating political laboratories. In Hamtramck, which elected an entirely Muslim city council, the local government passed a resolution in 2023 restricting Pride and group flags on public property to maintain official “neutrality”. Concurrently, Dearborn witnessed intense grassroots mobilizations and school board controversies over the inclusion of LGBTQ-themed materials in public school curricula.

Barda’s analysis demonstrates that these local clashes expose the inherent limits of intersectional politics. At the elite federal level, progressive actors and Muslim political figures managed to paper over deep ideological differences by relying on shared platforms, with anti-Zionism serving as a geopolitical “glue” that united them against a common external enemy. Yet, when those abstract ideas translated into immediate, localized moral conflicts over child protection, public symbolism, and family structures, the alliance buckled under the strain.

To rigorously decode voter behavior, the study integrates sociological frameworks, specifically applying Albert O. Hirschman’s “Exit, Voice, and Loyalty” model. Barda shows how Muslim voters signaled a structural de-alignment from the Democratic consensus through distinct behavioral pathways: “exit” via switching to Republican candidates, and “voice” via protest voting for third-party alternatives.

The study’s empirical data highlights the staggering magnitude of this shift. In Hamtramck, support for the Democratic presidential nominee plummeted from 85.4% in 2020 to 46.2% in 2024, while Donald Trump surged to 42.7% and the Green Party’s Jill Stein captured 9.0%. Similarly, in Dearborn, the Democratic vote share dropped from 68.7% to 36.3%, with Trump leading at 42.5% and Stein securing a remarkable 18.4%. These figures, derived from a strict triangulation of official precinct-level returns and targeted voter surveys (such as CAIR and ISPU), underscore the severe electoral cost of the coalition’s collapse.

The broader implication of this study is striking: the assumption that shared minority status and progressive identity politics can indefinitely override deep-seated religious and moral convictions has been empirically challenged. When traditionalist Muslim voters felt their domestic and familial norms were threatened by progressive educational and cultural mandates, they chose to prioritize moral boundary-making over historical partisan loyalty. By dissecting these local institutional battlegrounds through a sophisticated sociological lens, Dr. Barda’s research offers a sharp, objective perspective on the shifting architecture of American coalition politics and the unprecedented challenges facing the traditional progressive “big tent”.

For the full article in the journal Israel Affairs, click here.

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