Opinion: My Judaism isn’t Zionism

Words by Hannah Flacks (she/her)

I am Jewish. It is rooted in my veins, in the practices I was brought up with, and the traditions passed down through my mother’s line. In halacha (religious) terms, it defines me, and as a Pākehā woman living in Aotearoa, it is the only whakapapa I feel truly tied to.   

Growing up, Judaism was an integral part of my everyday life. I attended synagogue with my mother, took time off school for Jewish holidays, spent a week of my Summer and Winter holidays attending Jewish youth groups, learning about what it means to be a good and ethical human being. We were taught values like Tikkun Olam (repairing the world), Derech Eretz (decency and respect), Kavod (respect and honour), Ahavat HaGer (loving the stranger), and Shalom (peace). And with that, we were taught Zionism: Our connection to Israel as a Holy Land and the understanding that it was central to a Jewish identity.  

To my understanding — Zionism, at its core, is a political and nationalist movement that supports the establishment of a Jewish homeland in the Land of Israel. Emerging in the late 19th century in Eastern and Central Europe, Zionism was fueled by antisemitism and the belief that Jews had the right to self-determination and a homeland where they could live in safety.  

The Zionist movement was largely shaped by Theodor Herzl, a secular Jewish Austrian journalist, who in 1897 convened the First Zionist Congress and laid the foundation for political Zionism.  

During World War I, the 1917 British Balfour Declaration, expressed support for “the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people”. This period saw increasing Jewish immigration, particularly as persecutions intensified in Europe, eventuating in the Holocaust (1939-1945), fueling global support for a Jewish homeland.  

On May 14th, 1948, with support from the United Nations, Israel declared independence. This led to the 1948 Arab-Israeli war, as neighboring Arab nations opposed the new state. The war ended with Israel’s victory, but resulted in the displacement of over 750,000 Palestinians — in an event known as the Nakba (catastrophe) in Palestinian history.   

From this point, Zionism took on different meanings. For supporters, it remained centered on securing and defending a Jewish homeland. For many Palestinians and critics, it represented displacement, occupation, and the loss of their homeland.  

It is essential to recognise the term Zionism carries different meanings for different people. Every Jew has a relationship with it in some way, and this is simply my perspective, as a Jew living in Aotearoa, as I navigate the nuance of it in light of recent events.  

At our family dinner table, we had a book called You Be the Judge. It presented ethical dilemmas and Jewish teachings as guides to moral reasoning. We would sit around discussing complex questions and argue across the table, with ancient texts challenging us to think critically. The texts weren’t rooted in place or nationalism, they were rooted in ethics. They taught us human life is the most sacred thing, and to take another's life is the gravest sin in Judaism.   

On October 7th, 2023, terrorist group Hamas attacked an Israeli music festival, killing around 1,200 people and taking over 250 hostages. Since then, Israel has retaliated by killing over 50,000 Palestinians. To date, Israel continues to bomb Gaza in the hope of removing militant group Hamas. There are still 59 hostages remaining in Gaza.  

I, like many of my Jewish peers, have been grappling with an overwhelming dissonance as we watch the deeply disturbing actions of the Israeli government and IDF unfold. How is it that we, a people who cry “Never Again” when remembering the Holocaust, can now stand by as suffering unfolds at the hands of a government claiming to act in our name?  

“You shall love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Deuteronomy 10:19).  

I was raised with this principle at the heart of my Jewish education. And yet, within our own communities, those expressing solidarity with Palestinians, or those expressing sympathy with the hostages — depending on the space — are often met with silence, condemnation, or the ‘cancelling’ of said individual. This leaves many lost, unable to engage in conversation for fear of exclusion and judgement.   

The reality of Zionism today no longer aligns with the values I was raised with. The rise of far-right Zionism, the occupation on colonised land, and the treatment of Palestinians have forced many Jews, to question: What does it mean to be Zionist today?  

For some, Zionism is simply Israel’s right to exist as a Jewish state, while others associate it with the policies of the Israeli government, including military occupation and settlement expansion. Many (myself included) would argue that Zionism is flawed at its core, influenced by a nationalist ideology and colonial ideas.  

For Palestinians and Israelis alike, distrust has been formed over generations, reinforced by trauma and the cycle of violence. Fear, lived experience, and decades of propaganda have shaped the beliefs of Jews across the diaspora and Israel.  

A political solution is essential. The advocacy of a two-state solution is one many Jews believe in. But how can we ever expect Israelis and Palestinians to coexist in any form, as we continue to bomb their homes, break deals of ceasefire, and deny them aid and basic human rights?  

If security is the goal, how can we be okay with it existing on the ruins of Gaza? A ceasefire does not erase the horror of October 7th, but continued war ensures that horror never ends.   

As a Jew living in the diaspora, I need it to be known: This is not the Israel I identify with.   

Many of us are grappling with a deep sense of betrayal by a government that claims to act on our behalf, by Jewish institutions that refuse to acknowledge Palestinian suffering, and a world that simplifies this conflict into binary terms. We are forced to pick sides of pro-Israel, or pro-Palestine. Zionist, or anti-Zionist. Ignoring the nuances of history and lived experience, and being told sitting on the fence or not actively speaking up makes us complicit.  

But Judaism is not Zionism.   

Judaism is an ancient religion that has existed for over 2,500 years. The State of Israel has existed for 75 years. As Jews we have a responsibility to criticise Israel and speak out against injustice.   

I believe in the mitzvot (good deeds) of Tikkun Olam, Derech Eretz, Kavod, and Shalom. I believe Judaism is not defined by a state, a government, or a military. It is defined by the ethical responsibility to uphold justice, to seek peace, and to remember that all human life is sacred. To live by these values is not to betray our people, but to honour them.   

Now is the time to stand with those who suffer, to reject the choice between Jewish safety and Palestinian freedom. Both peoples need land. The only way to bridge the gap between groups is to engage in peaceful conversations and hear different perspectives. Together, rejecting a future built on endless war.  

I am Jewish. This is not something I ever aim to hide, but I refuse to let my faith be weaponised in the name of war.