Jennifer Bayer Michaels’ recent essay describes a feeling many American Jews have never known this sharply: political homelessness. After a lifetime inside Democratic campaigns and institutions, she watched too many voices on the left respond to the October 7 massacre not with sorrow for murdered Jews, but with slogans that reframed the atrocity as “resistance,” and she concluded that her party has made room for rhetoric that dehumanizes Jews and delegitimizes Israel. (The Wall Street Journal)
As a Bible-believing Christian who cares about justice, human dignity, and moral consistency, I hear her grief as more than partisan disappointment. I hear a warning: when a movement cannot say, plainly and without caveat, “Jewish lives matter,” something has broken—ethically, spiritually, and socially.
Christians should understand this instinctively. Scripture teaches that every person bears the image of God. That doesn’t become less true when the victims are Jewish, and it doesn’t become negotiable when the story is politically inconvenient. The command to “weep with those who weep” is not an optional accessory to our activism; it is basic discipleship.
And there is an additional layer Christians must not ignore: the Bible’s own posture toward the Jewish people. However Christians understand covenant and fulfillment, we do not get to erase the continuing reality of the Jewish people or treat Jewish safety as a footnote to someone else’s revolutionary narrative. The Apostle Paul speaks of the Jewish people as “beloved,” and he warns Gentile believers against arrogance. That alone should sober any Christian tempted to join in a cultural moment where Jews are told that their fear is manipulative, their identity is suspect, and their homeland is uniquely illegitimate.
Michaels is not asking for uniform agreement with every Israeli policy. In fact, she explicitly distinguishes between criticizing Israel’s government and weaponizing accusations meant to brand Jews as moral monsters. (The Wall Street Journal) Christians should be able to hold that line, too. Israel is a real nation with real politics—often messy, sometimes infuriating, always human. Debate is not hate. But the last two years have shown how quickly “critique” can metastasize into something else: double standards, demonization, and a permission structure for antisemitism wearing the mask of human-rights language.
That permission structure shows up when crowds chant for “intifada” while insisting it’s just poetry. It shows up when Jewish students are told they can be included—so long as they divorce themselves from the majority of world Jewry that understands Zionism as peoplehood and self-determination. It shows up when people who would never blame an entire minority for the crimes of extremists suddenly speak of “Zionists” with the kind of sweeping contempt that would be recognized as bigotry if any other group were named.
Words matter. They shape what a society is allowed to do.
That is why the casual, rhetorical use of the word “genocide” is so corrosive. Michaels argues that the term has become a political slogan—used freely, confidently, and often without any serious concern for what the word means historically and legally. (The Wall Street Journal) Christians, of all people, should resist the temptation to turn language into a weapon. If we believe truth matters, then precision matters. If we believe the Holocaust was uniquely evil, then we should not cheapen the vocabulary built to describe it. And if we claim to care about actual genocide prevention, we should be honest that Hamas’ stated aims and October 7’s barbarity were not a liberation manifesto; they were a death-cult performance of hatred.
None of this requires Christians to minimize Palestinian suffering. Loving truth means resisting propaganda from every direction, including our own side. It is possible—necessary, even—to affirm Israel’s right and duty to defend its citizens while also insisting that war be fought with moral seriousness, that civilians be treated as precious, and that humanitarian aid reach people who need it. Christians don’t have to choose between Jewish security and Palestinian dignity. We must reject the lie that compassion is a finite resource.
But that moral complexity only heightens Michaels’ point: a healthy party—or church—should be able to say multiple true things at once.
- October 7 was a moral catastrophe and must be named as such.
- Hamas is a terrorist organization and should not be romanticized.
- Israel has a right to exist and defend itself.
- Palestinian civilians are not disposable, and their welfare is a moral concern.
- Antisemitism is real, rising, and deadly—and it cannot be tolerated inside coalitions that claim to care about minority rights.
This is why it’s not trivial when party committees debate resolutions about cutting off support to Israel, or when resolutions become symbolic rallies for one story while silencing another. (AP News) Symbols teach. Public bodies catechize. And when the loudest moral energy in the room is reserved for condemning the Jewish state—while Jewish pain is met with suspicion or silence—Jews notice. They do not need to be told that the “big tent” still has room for them. They need to see it demonstrated.
Michaels reminds readers that there was a time when solidarity with Jewish self-determination fit comfortably inside a broader civil-rights vision. She references Martin Luther King Jr.’s insistence that Israel’s peace requires real security and protection of its right to exist. (RAC) Christians should not treat that history as a relic. We should treat it as a rebuke to the moral confusion of the present.
So what does a Christian, pro-Israel response look like—beyond op-eds and outrage?
- Refuse the church’s favorite idol: tribalism.
Christians are not called to baptize a party; we’re called to tell the truth inside every party. That includes calling out antisemitism on the right and antisemitism on the left—without “yeah, but” evasions. - Demand moral clarity from leaders.
We should expect Democratic leaders (and Republican leaders) to say clearly that terrorism is evil, that Jewish lives matter, and that antisemitism—whether coded as conspiracies or disguised as anti-Zionist absolutism—has no home in a decent society. - Practice tangible solidarity with Jews.
Show up when a synagogue is threatened. Build relationships that outlast news cycles. Learn enough history to recognize old hatred in modern vocabulary. If your politics routinely puts you in spaces where Jews are mocked or excluded, don’t normalize it—leave, speak, and correct. - Insist on compassion that doesn’t erase Jewish fear.
Pray for Israelis and Palestinians. Support credible humanitarian work. Advocate for the release of hostages and for aid to reach civilians. Reject collective blame—of Jews, of Palestinians, of anyone.
Michaels says she didn’t leave the Democratic Party; she feels the party left her. (The Wall Street Journal) Whether one agrees with every detail of her indictment or not, Christians should feel the weight of her plea: a society that cannot defend Jews—without apology, without qualification—is a society sprinting toward moral disaster.
If Jewish lives matter because God says they matter, then our politics must reflect that. Not as a “favor,” not as a bargaining chip, not as a footnote to someone else’s revolution—but as a fundamental principle.