What Mamdani Gets Wrong

Zohran Mamdani has escalated his anti-Israel rhetoric, saying he's exploring how to have Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu arrested when he visits New York this fall, citing the International Criminal Court's arrest warrant. The threat is as reckless as it is revealing. Neither the U.S. nor Israel recognizes the ICC's jurisdiction over Israeli officials, and leaders across the American political spectrum call the court's actions politically motivated and biased against Israel. The warrant itself came from then-ICC Prosecutor Karim Khan, who later stepped aside amid serious misconduct allegations -- a fitting reminder of how compromised this institution has become.

New York State Assemblyman Simcha Eichenstein (D-Brooklyn) wrote to Attorney General Letitia James requesting an investigation, noting that New York law "directly prohibits the mayor from ordering local law enforcement to arrest a specific individual." As Eichenstein put it, "Under New York penal law, a public servant who knowingly performs an unauthorized act, and misuses their position to pressure law enforcement into making an arrest, may be guilty of official misconduct, a Class A misdemeanor."

Appalling as they are, Mamdani's comments aren't surprising. They fit a worldview that denies the legitimacy of the Jewish state itself.

Mamdani's comments fit a worldview that denies the legitimacy of the Jewish state itself.

In a 2023 interview that recently resurfaced, Mamdani said, "For so many people, Israel is not a place. It is not a country. It's an idea." He dismissed Israel's supporters: "You see that in many politicians' answers to the questions around Israel. Their answers were written 20, 30 years ago. They speak to a reality that does not exist."

These weren't offhand remarks. They reveal an ideology that shrinks Israel from a historic homeland and sovereign nation down to an abstraction.

But on one point, Mamdani is accidentally onto something, though I'd put it differently. Israel isn't only a place, and isn't only a country. It's also an idea.

Facing Jerusalem

On Tisha B'Av, the fast day mourning the destruction of the ancient Temples in Jerusalem, Jews read laments called kinnot. One, by the medieval poet Rabbi Yehudah HaLevi, contrasts two civilizations that shaped Jewish history: Egypt and Jerusalem. Egypt means exile, oppression, and a society built on power. Jerusalem means holiness, purpose, and connection to something greater than ourselves. The Jewish people are never simply choosing a place to live; we're choosing a direction to face. Are we drawn toward a culture that worships power, pleasure, and self, or toward the city that embodies faith, morality, and a relationship with God? Every generation must decide which direction it faces. Physically we may live anywhere in the world, but spiritually our compass points either toward Egypt or toward Jerusalem.

Sharansky’s Vision

No one captured that idea more powerfully than Natan Sharansky, the Soviet refusenik, in his final statement before the Soviet court that sentenced him to thirteen years in prison in July 1978:

During my interrogation the chief investigators threatened me that I might be executed by a firing squad, or imprisoned for at least fifteen years. But if I agreed to cooperate with the investigation for the purpose of destroying the Jewish emigration movement, they promised me freedom and a quick reunion with my wife.

Five years ago, I submitted my application for exit to Israel. Now I am further than ever from my dream. It would seem to be cause for regret. But it is absolutely the other way around. I am happy. I am happy that I lived honorably, at peace with my conscience. I never compromised my soul, even under the threat of death.

I am happy that I helped people. I am proud that I knew and worked with such honorable, brave and courageous people as Sakharov, Orlov, Ginzburg, who are carrying on the traditions of the Russian intelligentsia. I am fortunate to have been witness to the process of the liberation of Jews of the USSR.

I hope that the absurd accusation against me and the entire Jewish emigration movement will not hinder the liberation of my people. My near ones and friends know how I wanted to exchange activity in the emigration movement for a life with my wife, Avital, in Israel.

For more than two thousand years the Jewish people, my people, have been dispersed. But wherever they are, wherever Jews are found, every year they have repeated, 'Next year in Jerusalem.' Now, when I am further than ever from my people, from Avital, facing many arduous years of imprisonment, I say, turning to my people, my Avital: 'Next year in Jerusalem.'

Now I turn to you, the court, who were required to confirm a predetermined sentence: To you I have nothing to say."

The Sabbath of Comfort

The Shabbat after Tisha B'Av is Shabbat Nachamu, the Sabbath of Comfort, named for that week's reading from the Prophets: Isaiah's words of consolation. Fitting, this year. But what actually changes between Tisha B'Av and Shabbat Nachamu? On Tisha B'Av we mourn the destroyed Temples and the full weight of Jewish suffering. So how are we suddenly comforted just days later?

Maybe the answer is in the next line of that reading: "Speak to the heart of Jerusalem." What does that mean, and how does it bring comfort?

In May 1979, Prime Minister Menachem Begin was invited to London for lunch with Margaret Thatcher at 10 Downing Street. As he walked in, a reporter asked if he'd ask Thatcher to recognize Jerusalem as Israel's capital. Begin answered curtly, "No, sir -- under no circumstances." "Why not?" the reporter asked.

Begin replied, "Because, sir, Jerusalem was a Jewish capital long before London was a British capital. When King David moved the capital of his kingdom from Hebron, where he had reigned for seven years, to Jerusalem, where he reigned for 33 years, the civilized world had never heard of London. In fact, they had never heard of Great Britain."

With that, he walked into Number 10.

Our consolation after Tisha B'Av comes from remembering who we are and where we're headed.

Today, the Jewish people once again hold sovereignty over Jerusalem, recognized by America and other nations as the undivided capital of the Jewish state. But we're still not fully satisfied. We have the city of Jerusalem, but not yet the full idea of Jerusalem realized. That very dissatisfaction, that ongoing yearning for something higher, is itself a source of comfort. Our consolation after Tisha B'Av doesn't come from forgetting our losses. It comes from remembering who we are and where we're headed.

Speaking to the heart of Jerusalem means speaking to the heart of the Jewish people, each of whom carries a piece of Jerusalem within them, and is, in turn, a small piece of Jerusalem. It means making sure no Jew is ever again barred from visiting the Western Wall, shopping at Machane Yehuda market, or walking through the Yemin Moshe neighborhood. It means recognizing that Jerusalem isn't merely a city. It's our birthright, inheritance, capital, and destiny.

As Sharansky put it: "Now I am further than ever from my dream... But it is absolutely the other way around. I am happy." He was happy not because he'd reached Israel, but because he refused to trade his conscience for it. Physically farther from Jerusalem than ever, he'd never been closer to it spiritually.

The same is true for us. We remain far from the Jerusalem of our hopes. But the very fact that we keep longing for her, praying for her, defending her, means that spiritually, we've never been closer. That's the comfort of Shabbat Nachamu.

To Zohran Mamdani: you're right about one thing. Israel is an idea. But it's also a nation. Today, that nation stands stronger than ever, and the idea of Jerusalem burns brighter than ever in Jewish hearts. You may oppose the State of Israel, threaten its leaders and try to delegitimize it. But you cannot extinguish the country of Israel, or the eternal idea of Jerusalem.