From its inception, Zionism saw itself as a moral movement — seeking justice for Jewish history while upholding strict ethical standards. This vision drew on a long tradition of musar (ethical) literature, rooted in the Bible and developed through the generations. As David Ben-Gurion wrote in 1954: “The State of Israel will be judged not by its wealth, its army, or its technology, but by its moral character and its human values.” Historians may point to the gap between this ideal — some would call it rhetoric — and the realities on the ground, but Israelis and Jews worldwide have long attached a deep sense of justice to Israel’s existence and conduct.

The idea of a Jewish state was once difficult to imagine, but after the 1948 war — seen by many as a miraculous victory — it became reality: a refuge for Holocaust survivors, a renewed spiritual center for the Jewish people and a symbol of resilience. The Six-Day War reinforced Israel’s image as both miraculous and ingenious. In recent decades, Israel’s image evolved to that of the “Start-Up Nation,” a global hub of technology and innovation admired for its creativity and adaptability. For many Jews, this was another source of pride and inspiration — Israel as a beacon of progress among the nations.

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A man carries two Israeli flags during a pro-Israel rally outside of Israeli Embassy on Oct. 8, 2023 in Washington, D.C.

For much of its history, Israel was an “easy sell” to Diaspora Jews who longed for a state that embodied their values and nurtured their national pride. Often, Jews projected their own ideals onto Israel, perhaps guided by confirmation bias; and Israelis — both leaders and citizens — embraced those projections with enthusiasm. The Jewish State was celebrated as a glorious chapter in a long and often tragic Jewish history.

In recent years, however, the proud image has been shaken by events that tested both Israel’s sense of security and its moral self-image. Current realities now force liberal Jews in particular to confront difficult questions about their relationship with Israel. For Israeli liberals, the challenge is deeply personal: Israel is not only an idea but also their home, their culture and their society. Leaving it behind is not a simple option, even when reality starkly contradicts their values. Diaspora liberals, by contrast, experience the struggle through the lens of identity and belonging. They may feel pride in Israel’s achievements but also shame or alienation in the face of its actions, as recent Pew research clearly shows. This tension leaves many questioning how much they can continue to engage with Israel and whether their Jewish identity can be disentangled from the politics of the Jewish state, questions articulated with striking honesty by Rabbi Angela Buchdahl in her Erev Rosh Hashanah sermon. 

At the same time, the picture is not uniform. More politically conservative and religious Jews often experience today’s Israel differently, sometimes finding affirmation rather than dissonance in its turn toward strength and survival. This divergence is reflected on the ground: While overall tourism has dropped by as much as 70% compared to pre–Oct. 7 levels, most of those still visiting come from more conservative and religious backgrounds. 

Any relationship, however, is ultimately about caring. Educational philosopher Nel Noddings distinguishes between caring for and caring about. To care for is to engage directly — to be attentive, receptive, empathetic and responsive. To care about is to express concern from a distance, with less immediacy. The relationship between Diaspora Jews and Israel today echoes this distinction: For some, Israel is cared for — deeply, personally, with dialogue and engagement; and for others, Israel is cared about — still important, but increasingly abstract, conditional and fragile.

Regardless of the long-term outcome of the U.S. administration’s peace plan, Israel is undergoing social, cultural and political changes that are likely to endure. The pressing question is whether Diaspora Jews will be willing to shift their allegiance from a “Start-Up Nation” to what Israel’s prime minister recently described as a “super Sparta.” It is a troubling question, but one that cannot be ignored. For some, this transition will be too difficult and their distance from Israel will only grow. For others, the relationship will remain unconditional, rooted in identity rather than politics.

The Sages put it starkly: “Any love that depends on something — when that thing ceases, the love ceases. But love that depends on nothing will never cease” (Pirkei Avot 5:16). Perhaps the task before us is to nurture the kind of love that does not depend on conditions, a love that can carry us — and Israel — through this painful chapter toward renewal. Such love does not mean turning a blind eye to flaws or ignoring moral failures; rather, it demands honesty, dialogue and a willingness to hold Israel accountable while remaining engaged. Conditional love walks away when disappointed; enduring love stays at the table, even in anger or grief, because the relationship itself is too precious to abandon. If we can cultivate this deeper, unconditional care, then our bond with Israel can weather the current storms and lay the groundwork for a future defined not only by survival, but by moral renewal and shared purpose.

Gilad Peled is a seasoned Israel educator. He is a student in The iCenter and The George Washington University’s master’s program in Israel education, and the editor and co-author of Heartbeats: The Insider’s Guide to Israel.