This morning, I went to see the film October 8th. I’ll share more of my thoughts about it in a future post, but one idea has stayed with me after the credits rolled: we need more non-Jewish Zionists.
I don’t mean the end-times evangelicals or the voices on the far-right whose support is tied to apocalyptic prophecy—though the Zionist tent has always been wide enough to hold unexpected company. What I mean are the thoughtful, principled non-Jewish allies who understand that Israel, like any other country, is imperfect, but that its people have the right to live in peace and sovereignty. Allies who aren’t afraid to say: “I may not be Jewish, but I support the right of the Jewish people to a homeland.”
In the aftermath of October 7th, many of us felt a deep, aching disappointment. We looked around and realized how many voices we had hoped would speak up—and didn’t. Where were the progressive friends who fight for justice in every corner of the world, except ours? Where were the interfaith partners, the human rights advocates, the neighbors and colleagues we had marched alongside for other causes? Some of us said, bitterly, “They never show up for us.” But perhaps the truth is more complicated. Maybe we never asked. Maybe they didn’t know we needed them. Maybe they thought we were strong enough to stand alone.
But we are asking now. And some are showing up. I’m proud to live in a city where that’s happening more and more. Still, we need more. Which brings me to a figure we don’t talk about enough in Jewish communal life: the non-Jewish Zionist.
To some, the term may sound contradictory. How can someone who is not Jewish claim allegiance to a movement so intimately tied to Jewish trauma, history, and hope? But to dismiss the non-Jewish Zionist is to misunderstand the essence of Zionism—and the power of principled solidarity.
At its core, Zionism is not a theological claim, but a moral and political one: that the Jewish people, like every people, have the right to self-determination in their ancestral homeland. It’s a belief not just in survival, but in dignity. It’s not about perfection—it’s about belonging. For a non-Jew to call themselves a Zionist is not to appropriate our story. It’s not to impose. It’s to affirm. It’s to say: I see you. I know your history. I believe in your right to exist, in safety and in sovereignty.
This kind of support matters even more now, as Zionism is increasingly distorted and demonized. On campuses, in media, and in progressive spaces, Zionism is too often used as a slur. The word that once symbolized Jewish liberation is now painted as colonialism or oppression. Many Jews—especially young ones—are being told they must choose between their values and their people. Many feel silenced, shamed, or afraid.
That’s why the non-Jewish Zionist is so important. They are not defending Israel out of tribal loyalty or religious agenda. They aren’t hoping to inherit the land for Jesus or align with a particular political camp. They are simply standing up for a people’s right to exist. They are saying, “I don’t have to be Jewish to see this clearly.”
In many ways, the non-Jewish Zionist embodies the best of liberal Zionism. They don’t excuse every Israeli policy, nor do they conflate the state’s government with its moral core. They can critique while still affirming. They hold Israel accountable—just as they would any country they care about—not from a place of negation, but of concern.
Their support isn’t inherited; it’s chosen. Not self-serving, but self-aware. It comes from learning, from relationships, from reflection, and from a refusal to accept the double standard that says only Jews are allowed to advocate for Jewish rights.
To be a non-Jewish Zionist is to understand the difference between critique and erasure. It’s to acknowledge that Israel is imperfect, as every country is, but that its imperfections do not invalidate its existence. It’s to see how anti-Zionism, in some circles, has become the socially acceptable cloak for antisemitism—and to call it out.
That calling-out is especially powerful when it comes from someone who is not Jewish. Not because their voice matters more, but because it is harder to dismiss. When a non-Jew says, “This is not justice, this is erasure,” it resonates differently. It punctures the echo chamber. It brings credibility to the conversation. And it reminds us that Jewish safety is not a parochial concern—it is a human one.
The role of the non-Jewish Zionist is not to lead the Jewish story, but to walk alongside it. Not to speak over Jewish voices, but to amplify them. Not to define Zionism, but to affirm it.
From the earliest days of the Zionist movement, non-Jews were present—diplomats, clergy, visionaries, and ordinary citizens who saw the suffering of the Jewish people and said: enough. They believed that Zionism was not just a Jewish movement—it was a moral cause. That legacy continues today, though we often fail to recognize it. The non-Jewish Zionists of our time are educators, activists, journalists, and neighbors. They are the ones who refuse to buy into the binary that says you must choose between being progressive and being pro-Israel. They are the ones who see clearly, speak bravely, and stand firmly.
And yes, it takes courage. In many circles, to be a non-Jewish Zionist is to risk alienation. To be misunderstood. To be questioned. But they persist—not because it’s popular, but because it’s right.
That kind of courage matters. Because when only Jews defend the Jewish right to self-determination, it sounds like a private struggle. But when others stand with us, it becomes a public principle. It says: this is not just your fight—it’s ours. It says: your existence, your homeland, your future is not conditional.
Zionism, in the end, is not about perfection. It is about presence. It is about a people who wandered for two thousand years finally having a place to call home. And in that homecoming, there must be room for friends—for allies who don’t share our lineage, but who choose to share in our hope.
To the non-Jews who call themselves Zionists: thank you. You are seen. You are valued. Your voice matters—not just to us, but to the integrity of the public square. Because Zionism is not just a Jewish idea. It is a human one. And in a time of rising hatred, confusion, and fear, the non-Jewish Zionist reminds us that truth can still be named, and that love for Israel does not need to come from blood. It can come from belief.
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