Jewish and Arab-American Solidarity Is More Important Than Ever

Our country is at war. The American-Israeli attack on Iran has plunged the Middle East and the Arab world into chaos, displacing millions and causing thousands of casualties.

Here at home, this war has consequences for the safety of Jewish and Arab American communities. Last week, a man drove a car containing explosives into a synagogue just outside of Metro Detroit. Reports indicate he held Jews responsible for the death of several members of his family in an Israeli airstrike in Lebanon. At the same time, multiple congressional Republicans have decided anti-Muslim bigotry will be a key part of their strategy for the midterms. This, after their language dehumanizing Palestinians and Arabs, went generally unchallenged.

This moment requires solidarity.

As we hold our breath with every new development abroad and at home, our hearts break. Our hearts break for the loss of life. Our hearts break for the fear felt by Jewish and Arab-American communities. And our hearts break again when we consider how this may fuel more of both antisemitism and anti-Arab racism.

The same politics that justify illegal wars abroad target communities at home.

Meanwhile, many American communities are also the target of the same state violence that launches unlawful wars. The National Guard has been deployed to cities across the country, and agents from Customs and Border Protection (CBP) and Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) are targeting Black and brown people in mass raids that have led to tens of thousands of abductions, detentions, and deportations, tearing families apart. Racial profiling has Latinos, Somalis, Asians, and other immigrant communities in fear of leaving their homes. Immigration agents have killed Americans on the streets, and a record number of people have died in ICE custody over the past year. 2026 is on track to surpass those devastating numbers.

Right now, the Trump administration is using antisemitism as a smokescreen to target protesters, particularly immigrants who are people of color, and most particularly those who are Palestinian or Arab. We reject the assertion that this is how we fight antisemitism. We reject the assertion that one of our communities must be harmed to ensure the safety of another. Not only does doing so bring no lasting safety to Jews and Arabs, it invites more danger by weakening all our rights in a democracy under attack—the opposite of how we attain safety for everyone.

The administration’s willful disregard for the rule of law extends far beyond executive powers. Students are being arrested and detained for First Amendment-protected speech advocating for Palestinian human rights, teachers are worried about lesson plans that include the history of slavery, and libraries are being forced to remove LGBTQ+ books while transgender Americans in entire states are being stripped of their documentation.

Our nation’s essential nonprofits are under threat from our own government, and political dissent and protest is labeled “domestic terrorism.” And one of our most important tools to fight back, our vote, is under assault. The Voting Rights Act itself is in jeopardy, with the potential of taking us back six decades. These realities are deeply interconnected.

The same politics that justify illegal wars abroad target communities at home. State repression is creating fear and the erosion of our basic civil rights and liberties, as well as the abandonment of democratic norms.

In the case of Arab Americans and Jewish Americans, many choose to paint our communities as adversaries or, if we’re lucky, as unlikely allies. Neither is true, and our work together is not novel. At a time when authoritarianism thrives on division, the solidarity between Arab and Jewish communities rooted in justice and human dignity is a powerful response to fear and hate. It is also how we fight back.

This is a time of convergence for many important holidays. Arab American Muslims are preparing for the holiday marking the end of Ramadan. Jewish Americans will soon celebrate Passover. The Passover Seder has us place ourselves in the story of those fleeing oppression. The Ramadan fast has us place ourselves in physical hunger and thirst, feeling what it is like to be without.

Those for whom that oppression or hunger is enduring, who await a relief that may not be forthcoming, are the reason we do the work we do. The reason we do the work we do together. Our solidarity is with each other and with them—the marginalized, the least protected, the hungry. We pledge to keep working hard together—and with all who believe in the promise of a better America where everyone is safe and thriving—until our collective liberation is achieved.