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By Maha Elgenaidi, Founder and Executive Director (Bio)
June 11, 2025
I. A Fractured Moment
I write with a heavy heart, but also with a steadfast hope that we can meet this moment with integrity and courage.
In 2016, at the ADL’s “Never Is Now” conference, Jonathan Greenblatt offered a powerful expression of interfaith solidarity that has stayed with me ever since: “If one day American Muslims are forced to register their identity, that is the day this proud Jew will register as a Muslim.” I have often shared this quote — sometimes through tears — in my Islamophobia education workshops. It stands as a reminder that principled leadership can bridge even the deepest divides.
That is why his recent comments at the Republican Attorneys General Association conference were so disheartening to many. In those remarks, Greenblatt appeared to conflate pro-Palestinian student protesters with terrorist groups such as ISIS and Al-Qaeda, framing their activism as nihilistic and anti-Western.[i]
His words sparked widespread concern — not only among Muslims and Arabs, but also among Jewish organizations and interfaith allies who publicly questioned the framing and implications of his message.
While concerns about antisemitism on college campuses are real and must be taken seriously, equating protests over Gaza with extremism erases the complexity of this moment. Demonstrations against Israeli military actions are not attacks on Jews or on the West. They are expressions of deep moral anguish over a devastating war that they want to see end. They also represent a broad spectrum of perspectives, identities, and motivations. Portraying this diverse coalition as extremist and anti-American reinforces harmful tropes rooted in Islamophobia, anti-Arab bias, and anti-Palestinian racism — tropes that have long cast Muslims and Arabs as threats to national security or democracy. Jewish Americans, too, have experiences being cast as un-American or extremist throughout U.S. history — notably during the McCarthy era of the 1940s and 1950s — when dissenting voices were often silenced under the guise of protecting national security.
This is especially dangerous given the current reality. More than 54,000 Palestinians have been killed in Gaza, the overwhelming majority of them civilians — including many women and children. Entire neighborhoods have been reduced to rubble, infrastructure decimated, and millions left without access to basic necessities. The humanitarian catastrophe is staggering.
At the same time, the trauma of the October 7 Hamas attack on Israeli civilians — the deadliest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust — continues to reverberate. The anguish of the families of Israeli hostages is raw and heartbreaking. Jewish fear and communal grief are real, and they deserve empathy and solidarity, including for the recent series of antisemitic attacks in the U.S., which we wrote about here.
These dual tragedies are not in competition. They coexist — painfully, simultaneously — and they demand a moral response grounded in empathy, not polarization.
Even an educational organization like ours feels the weight of rising Islamophobia and anti-Arab sentiment — particularly when dehumanizing rhetoric is amplified by respected voices. When influential leaders, even unintentionally, reinforce harmful tropes, the consequences extend far beyond debate. Each time we share content for example on our social media platforms that relates to Islam or Muslims, we are met with a barrage of hateful, often threatening messages. This is not theoretical. It is immediate, deeply personal, and profoundly destabilizing.
We must acknowledge the pain on all sides, while rejecting narratives that pit one community’s suffering against another’s. Conflating all Palestinian advocacy with antisemitism obscures legitimate grievances, hampers efforts to confront real hate, and undermines the possibility of genuine understanding. We need a different framework — one that allows us to hold multiple truths, to grieve collectively, and to pursue justice without erasing each other’s humanity.
II. The Abundance Theory of Power
So how did we get here? How did two communities with rich traditions of justice, compassion, and moral courage arrive at this moment of deep mistrust and mutual pain?
Part of the answer lies in the frameworks we use to understand power. In Why We’re Polarized, Ezra Klein writes about how zero-sum thinking — the idea that one group’s gain is another’s loss — erodes our ability to respond with clarity and solidarity. Fear divides us. Scarcity thinking fuels mistrust. It tells us that in order to protect our own, we must be suspicious of others. It breeds defensive postures and rhetorical overreach. And it keeps us locked in cycles of blame, rather than growth. [ii]
The Abundance Theory of Power offers a different path. This theory suggests that power is not a finite resource to be hoarded or guarded. Instead, it expands when shared. Power built on mutuality, connection, and principled action grows stronger, not weaker. [iii] As social theorist Mary Parker Follett put it, this is the difference between “power-over” and “power-with.”[iv]
This form of power is not about erasing disagreement. Jewish and Muslim communities may never align politically on every issue, particularly when it comes to Israel and Palestine. But solidarity does not require uniformity. It requires moral courage — the courage to call out injustice, especially within our own communities. It requires us to reject the seductive pull of righteous isolation and remember that our destinies are deeply connected.
An abundance mindset insists that acknowledging Palestinian suffering does not diminish Jewish suffering — and vice versa. It reminds us that we can, and must, hold space for both. That grief need not be a contest. That safety should not be earned at another group’s expense. And that interfaith solidarity must be grounded in accountability and empathy, not conditional allegiance.
This theory has implications not only for how we relate to one another but for how we build coalitions, address public policy, and shape the moral imagination of our institutions. When Jewish and Muslim Americans show up for one another — not despite our differences, but because of our shared values — we create the conditions for lasting change.
III. A Call to Action for Greenblatt, Jewish Americans, and Muslim Americans
Jonathan Greenblatt has frequently spoken about replacing “cancel culture” with “counsel culture” — a vision in which individuals are not ostracized for their views but invited into dialogue, learning, and accountability. It’s a noble aspiration. But for this vision to hold true integrity, it must be applied consistently and equitably. We must ask: Are those who critique Israeli government policies being welcomed into this space of counsel — or are they being dismissed and vilified?
If “counsel culture” is to be more than rhetoric, it must extend across lines of identity and disagreement. Greenblatt and those who supported his recent remarks should engage in meaningful learning about Islamophobia, anti-Arab bias, and anti-Palestinian racism. Just as Muslim leaders have taken responsibility for past antisemitic comments — offering apologies, deepening their understanding, and committing to growth — those who echo harmful narratives must be willing to do the same. Words carry weight, and rhetoric that dehumanizes or misrepresents causes real harm.
At the same time, Muslim and Arab Americans must also deepen their understanding of antisemitism — not only in its historical and structural forms, but as it is experienced and defined by Jewish Americans themselves, across the full spectrum of Jewish identity. Just as Islamophobia is best understood through the lived experiences of Muslims, antisemitism must be engaged through the diverse perspectives of those who experience it. This does not require agreement on every point, but it does demand respectful listening, humility, and a willingness to confront the real pain that antisemitism continues to cause within Jewish communities.
This moment calls for a renewed commitment among Jewish and Muslim Americans to act in solidarity, including to combat White Christian nationalism and the Great Replacement Theory that target Jews, Muslims, and other vulnerable communities, which our organization has written about here. That includes showing up for one another during times of crisis: when a synagogue is attacked, when a mosque is vandalized, when a student is harassed for their religious or political identity. But it also includes vigilance about language. Referring to protesters — many of whom are acting out of deep moral conviction — as “terrorists” or “nihilists” flattens complex realities and escalates the very tensions we are trying to defuse.
For more than two decades, our organization has worked to build bridges between diverse communities, educate against hate, and offer models for pluralism through education that respect both identity and conscience. This work is ongoing, imperfect, and often challenging. But it is grounded in a simple belief: that empathy and justice are not mutually exclusive — they are mutually reinforcing.
The Qur’an teaches: “O humanity, We created you from a single soul and made you into nations and tribes so that you may come to know one another.” (Qur’an 49:13). Jewish scripture echoes this in its affirmation that all people are created B’Tselem Elohim — in the image of God. These sacred teachings do not call us to dominance or division. They call us to mutual recognition, to courageous compassion, and to shared struggle for dignity and peace.
Let us reject the logic of fear and embrace the ethic of abundance. Let us build relationships that honor our distinct histories while affirming our shared future. And let us choose, every day, to stand together — not in rivalry, but in solidarity.
Footnotes
[i] Lauren Markoe, “Greenblatt compares campus protesters to terrorists,” Forward, June 5, 2025. https://forward.com/news/726133/greenblatt-adl-protesters-terrorists/
[ii] Ezra Klein, Why We’re Polarized (Avid Reader Press, 2020).
[iii] See “Abundance Theory of Power” in Adam Kahane, Power, and Love: A Theory and Practice of Social Change (Berrett-Koehler, 2010).
[iv] Mary Parker Follett, “Power With vs. Power Over”; Barry Oshry, Seeing Systems: Unlocking the Mysteries of Organizational Life; Adam Kahane, Collaborating with the Enemy.