Those who see ‘safety through solidarity’ as the ‘lesson’ of the terror attack have internalized what classical Zionist thinkers called an ‘exile mindset’ — a near-religious sanctification of Jewish powerlessness.
By Zev Dever
(Courtesy of Davar where article was first published)
In the aftermath of the terrorist massacre in Sydney, much of the Jewish discourse has highlighted praise for the individual bravery of the hero Ahmed el-Ahmed, the unarmed Syrian immigrant who intervened in the attack. It frankly seems as though many progressive Jews are relieved to have this Muslim man as a counterexample to the terrorists who carried out the massacre.
While el-Ahmed is certainly a hero, and the praise is well deserved, statements and posts from anti-Zionist Jewish groups, seem to take this praise a bit far, elevating the emphasis on el-Ahmed’s heroism to near parity with the massacre itself. This emphasis is taken to draw an interesting conclusion: again and again it is echoed that the lesson of this entire event, exemplified in el-Ahmed’s actions, is that “our safety lies in solidarity with others.”

It is truly striking how uniform this message is. It’s strange enough to highlight the identity of the hero and not the murderers, subtly transforming a Jewish tragedy into a morality tale about Muslims not being evil. To be fair, Jewish communities may understandably feel relief in highlighting the fact that many Muslims are good people. But to insist that this is the central and operative lesson is to deliberately obscure the essence of the story — namely a mass murder of Jews in the diaspora, following two years of rising antisemitism and public tolerance for Jew hatred.
What, practically, does it mean to insist that “Jewish safety lies in solidarity with others“?
– That Jews require non-Jewish saviors?
– That Jewish safety depends on staying on the good side of surrounding communities?
– That the correct response to mass violence is not protection or deterrence, but reaffirmation of ideological commitments?
When pressed, “safety through solidarity” might offer moral reassurance, but it offers no operational guidance.
Most plausibly, the practical lesson of this axiom may be that we should invest in encouraging moderate discourse and education against extremism. That idea I might buy into, but I find it hard to believe that the very groups pushing the message of “safety through solidarity” will.
Are we to believe that anti-Zionist Jewish groups will now focus on amplifying moderate Muslim and Palestinian voices? Will they stop parroting extremists, or even condemn those espousing extremism?
Of course not. There will be no self-reckoning.
I acknowledge that Jews do indeed need partners outside the faith, and the aim of this piece is not to denigrate solidarity as such, an important enterprise regardless of whether it benefits one’s safety. El-Ahmed’s bravery indeed made clear the value and importance of solidarity. But I am interested in the psychological phenomenon that leads some Jews to read the Bondi Beach massacre as a lesson in the importance of solidarity. Why do some Jews see the massacre as a sign that Jews ought to demonstrate more solidarity towards other groups?

THE SHTETL ROOTS OF “SAFTY THROUGH SOLIDARITY”
Even if such a logic is sincere, even if it is instrumental as a strategy to seek security, it is a mentality that delegates safety to external goodwill rather than Jewish agency. This psychological phenomenon is actually much older than any current popularized version of the theory of the intersectionality of oppressions. The Jewish roots of this thinking are actually something that the Zionist movement more than a century ago knew to classify and condemn. Zionist thinkers would characterize this way of thinking as a form of exile mindset, known in Hebrew as galutiyut.
In classical Zionist critique, exile mindset was not merely the fact of Jewish vulnerability or Jewish dispersion across the globe. It was a psychological and moral orientation, a deeply held and practiced belief that the Jews are not and cannot be masters of their own fate — that Jewish existence must be predicated on the goodwill of others, or failing that, on divine providence. Zionist thinkers condemned the world of the shtetl as a place where Jewish powerlessness was not only accepted but sanctified.
To compare today’s progressive, secular anti-Zionist Jews to God-fearing shtetl peasants may sound anachronistic. But the resemblance is structural, not stylistic. What has changed is the theology, not the logic. It is absolutely classic exile mindset recycled for the (post-)modern age.
In the classic theological expression, Jews are meant to accept as fact their impotence. They are meant to devote themselves to piety rather than anger the ruling powers by resisting or rising up as a nation. It was explicitly forbidden for Jews to seek self-redemption in this framework. Instead, Jews were guided to seek closeness to divinity: an all-pervasive truth that is inherently and profoundly good, and which underpins all existence and events, even those that are bad. At the same time the Jewish believer is guided by a rather vague vision of a perfect world after death or after the coming of the messiah.
The majority of radical leftists today are not classically religious, but they are in a very real messianic sense — driven, often obsessively, by a vision of a perfect and unrealized world to come which they are convinced must influence all current actions. To act against this idea is even framed as secularized sin or as it is often put being “on the wrong side of history“. Their God is, much like the old one, an all-pervasive truth which is universal and good and which underpins all things and events, even the bad ones (like the Bondi massacre).
To their credit, this all-pervasive truth many leftists believe in is genuinely good: it is a universal humanism, a belief in the sanctity and value of human life. Their heaven, utopia, is a liberated, just, post-oppressive world to come. Sometimes it is pure anarchism or an end to money, property, and exploitation. In other words, leftist eschatology promises, yet again, a vague vision of a perfect world to come after the advent of universal truth. The coming of the next world follows the death of this world, which is in the meantime almost irredeemably marred by ignorance and sin.

ROMANTICIZING POWERLESSNESS
Within this drama, the Jews are assigned a unique role, the same one as in the old shtetl construction: the righteous victim. Morally pure, historically oppressed, exemplary in their suffering. Devoted to their truth, with moral purity replacing religious piety. This is a modernization of the classic exile mindset, the same old sanctification of powerlessness as a self-justifying moral identity.
Like many other Jews, anti-Zionists take pride in the inheritance of an oppressed people, invoking Jewish participation in past struggles for justice. Anti-Zionist Jews go further than most. They express deep discomfort, even open resentment at the fact that Jews now possess real power. Perhaps even a remorse over the fact that Jews have largely achieved assimilation in America, forcing them to play a slightly different role than the ideal victim. Now, their role seems to be that of privileged — or worse, oppressive — whites.
This resentment is often framed as anger at oppression done “in our name” by Zionism, but functionally, it is rage at the loss of moral position. Zionism is intolerable to these Jewish anti-Zionists not only because it wields power badly, but because it wields power at all. The fact that it wields that power against enemies shatters the sacred identity of the Jew as powerless, innocent, and dependent.
Thus, exile becomes not merely a condition but a vocation. This acceptance of — and even consecration of — the status of exile provides meaning, coherence, and urgency to the universal humanist mission and the role the Jew can play in it. That is, as long as Jews renounce collective self-assertion and vocally reject Jewish power, especially military power, regardless of context. This psychological stance characterizes pathological anti-Zionism as something distinct from even the harshest critique of Israeli actions, which can itself be a deeply Zionist act.
In the end, the core of exile mindset remains the same: the exile-bound anti-Zionist Jew would rather sacrifice their collective and sometimes even their individual existence in this life for the sake of purity. This mindset may rationalize its position in theological or ideological terms, but in essence it is indeed, as anti-Zionists admit, a plea for safety. Now as then, that plea for safety is premised upon trying as much as possible not to anger the non-Jewish and even antisemitic society that surrounds.
This helps explain the reaction to Sydney. Faced with the massacre of Jews by Islamic extremists, these groups instinctively center the Muslim rescuer. They downplay the killers. They warn about the potential of backlash against Muslims. Even while many non-Jewish anti-Zionists are busy blaming Zionists for the massacre, Jewish anti-Zionists repeat “safety through solidarity” as a kind of incantation.
This is not accidental. It is faith in the face of events that challenge it.
Like the old theology of exile, this ideology does not require empirical testing. It does not ask whether solidarity has, in fact, kept Jews safe amid rising antisemitism. It does not ask what actually prevents violence tonight, tomorrow, for the rest of the 8 nights and for years to come.
This is why these groups can look at a massacre of Jews and conclude that the lesson is less Jewish self-defense and more Jewish dependence. Less agency, more faith. Less mastery over fate, more trust in the moral arc of history to bend only towards justice.
To Israelis, living in a society whose ethos was founded on the negation of exile and exile mentality, this logic is incomprehensible. Ironically, even many heirs of traditional exile mindset in the diaspora have also abandoned it. Chabad, often on the front lines of antisemitic violence, as in this tragic case, embraces collective Jewish self-assertion and practical security.
Only anti-Zionist Jews still sanctify weakness. Only they insist that Jewish survival must be conditional, provisional, and morally earned. Only they repeat, in modern language, the old demand that Jews place their lives in the hands of others for the sake of purity. Exile mindset is the retreat of people determined that their role is to be helpless victims, and who are actually more comfortable in that role.
That is what “safety through solidarity” means in practice.

*Feature picture: Jewish Voice for Peace (JVP) is an American Jewish anti-Zionist and far left-wing advocacy organization. It is critical of Israel’s occupation of the Palestinian territories, and supports the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) campaign against Israel. The group was formed in 1996, and as of 2024 had grown to over 32,000 active dues-paying members. Its chapters at Columbia and George Washington universities were suspended in 2024. (Wikipedia)
About the writer:
Zev Dever is a Jewish educator originally from the US who has worked with Australian Jewish groups in Israel for several years.
While the mission of Lay of the Land (LotL) is to provide a wide and diverse perspective of affairs in Israel, the Middle East and the Jewish world, the opinions, beliefs and viewpoints expressed by its various writers are not necessarily ones of the owners and management of LOTL but of the writers themselves. LotL endeavours to the best of its ability to credit the use of all known photographs to the photographer and/or owner of such photographs (0&EO).

















































