The Only Diaspora Still Asked to Explain Itself

As the 2026 World Cup commences, America quickly transforms into a celebration of dual identities. Mexican-American families wave Mexican flags through the streets of Los Angeles, Irish-Americans pack bars in green jerseys, and entire neighborhoods suddenly rediscover deep emotional ties to countries their grandparents left decades ago. Nobody views this as strange. In fact, America tends to celebrate it. It is treated as proof that the United States is confident enough to allow people to maintain cultural roots without questioning their loyalty to the country they live in.

Yet when Jews openly express attachment to Israel, the reaction often changes entirely.

An American living in Mexico is an expat. An American who makes aliyah is usually treated as if they are making a political statement. A dual citizen with emotional ties to Ireland, Italy, or India is multicultural. A Jew with emotional ties to Israel can quickly become suspected of “dual loyalty,” as though Jewish identity uniquely exists under political probation.

The inconsistency is difficult not to notice once you see it.

Americans move abroad constantly for lifestyle, work, retirement, taxes, relationships, or simply because they feel connected to another culture. Many choose Canada, Portugal, and dozens of other countries every year to establish a new life. Nobody calls an American retiree in Costa Rica a traitor. Nobody accuses Mexican-Americans cheering for Mexico of secretly undermining the United States. Nobody demands that Irish-Americans publicly choose between Boston and Dublin every St. Patrick’s Day.

Yet Jews are frequently expected to clarify where their loyalties truly lie in a way other diaspora communities rarely are.

Of course, Israel is politically charged in ways Canada or Portugal are not, and that reality cannot be ignored. But the suspicion surrounding Jewish attachment to Israel did not suddenly appear in 1948. The accusation of divided loyalty has followed Jewish communities for centuries, long before the modern State of Israel existed. Jews in Europe were often viewed as permanent outsiders, too connected to one another, too transnational, too unwilling to fully dissolve into the identities of the countries they lived in. The language of accusation changes across generations, but the underlying discomfort remains remarkably familiar.

Part of what makes Israel unique is that it disrupted the historical image many societies had grown comfortable with regarding Jews. In the centuries leading up to the founding of modern Zionism, Jews existed as minority communities expected to integrate quietly into larger societies while maintaining just enough distinctiveness to remain categorically Jewish. Even in countries where Jews achieved remarkable levels of integration and success, there always remained an implicit expectation that Jewish identity would ultimately remain politically secondary to the national identity surrounding it.

Zionism fundamentally altered that equation by reintroducing the idea of Jewish peoplehood not simply as a religion or ethnicity, but as a nation with self-determination, political interests, and eventually, sovereignty. 

That transformation remains deeply uncomfortable for many people, including some who would never consciously consider themselves antisemitic, and the discomfort still lingers beneath many modern conversations surrounding Israel and the Jewish diaspora. The world became deeply familiar with Jews as neighbors, professionals, artists, academics, and minorities living within other civilizations. What remains comparatively unfamiliar, and often unsettling, is the idea of Jews acting as an independent civilization themselves. Jews functioning comfortably as individuals have largely been accepted throughout much of the modern West. Jews functioning collectively as a people with national interests, sovereignty, historical continuity, and self-determination continue to generate suspicion in ways that many other diaspora identities, including those that followed similar paths toward national independence, often do not.

As someone who made aliyah from the United States, I have increasingly noticed how American Jews are often expected to explain themselves in ways other immigrant communities rarely are. Living in Israel has not made me less American. My native English, my cultural instincts, and my American family mean I remain emotionally connected to the country I was born in while also feeling deeply connected to the country I chose to build a life in. For most modern immigrant communities, this would not be considered contradictory. In a globalized world, layered identity is normal. 

But Jews often seem to occupy a strange exception to that rule.

There is something revealing about the fact that waving a Mexican flag during the World Cup is broadly interpreted as multicultural pride, while waving an Israeli flag can immediately become a political act. One is viewed as a harmless expression of heritage. The other is frequently interpreted as evidence of ideological allegiance requiring explanation. The standard itself is what deserves examination.

The Jewish connection to Israel is studied and debated more than any other diasporic community in the world. But there is a meaningful difference between criticizing a country and uniquely demonizing the emotional connection Jews have to it. Too often, conversations about American Jews and Israel quickly slide from political disagreement into questioning whether Jewish attachment to a homeland is itself legitimate.

That is what makes the double standard so revealing.

America has long prided itself on being a nation capable of holding multiple identities at once. Hyphenated identity is woven into the country’s cultural fabric. Irish-Americans, Chinese-Americans, Armenian-Americans, and countless others are generally permitted to maintain emotional and cultural ties to ancestral homelands without having their patriotism constantly interrogated. Jews, however, still seem uniquely expected to prove that attachment to Israel does not come at the expense of loyalty to America.

In an age where multiple identities are increasingly celebrated and normalized, perhaps the real question is not why Jews maintain ties to Israel. The more interesting question is why Jewish attachment to a homeland still appears to make so many people uncomfortable in ways other diaspora identities simply do not.