Jewish Positionality in Progressive Spaces Post-October 7, 2023: An Autoethnographical Study

In the landscape of modern social science, researchers often study how people understand their place in the world. This field, known as sociology, looks at how groups form, how power works, and how individuals navigate complex social identities. A specific branch called autoethnography takes a different approach: instead of observing others from a distance, the researcher uses their own life story as the primary data. By examining their personal feelings, memories, and daily interactions, they try to understand larger cultural patterns. This method is particularly useful when studying groups that feel unheard or misunderstood, allowing them to explain their internal reality to the outside world. The question at the heart of this inquiry is how a person who holds two seemingly conflicting identities—being both a member of a religious minority and a committed advocate for social justice—navigates a world where those two identities are suddenly treated as incompatible.

Daniel Rubin, a scholar who is currently a Senior Lecturer in Education at a British university in the East Midlands and an instructor for the University of California, Riverside – Extension, explores this tension through a deeply personal account following a specific historical event. On October 7, 2023, a violent attack occurred in Israel, resulting in the deaths of approximately 1,200 people. At the time of the attack, Rubin was living in the United States, working for StandWithUs. This event triggered a profound shift in his professional and personal life. He uses the method of autoethnography to document how his position within progressive academic and activist circles changed overnight. Before this date, Rubin felt at home among colleagues who shared his commitment to fighting inequality, racism, and oppression. He viewed himself as part of a community dedicated to social justice. However, in the aftermath of the attack, he found that this community largely withdrew its support from him and other Jewish people.

The core of Rubin's study is the experience of being told that his identity as a Jew, and his support for Israel's right to exist, made him an outsider in the very spaces where he had long been a participant. He describes a sudden and painful realization that, in the eyes of many progressive peers, he was no longer seen as a fellow activist fighting for the oppressed. Instead, he was reclassified as part of the oppressor. Rubin notes that while his colleagues continued to champion the rights of marginalized groups, they often refused to acknowledge the suffering of the Jewish victims of the October 7 attacks. In some cases, the violence was framed as a justified form of resistance, and the specific atrocities committed against civilians, including rape and murder, were minimized or denied. This created a situation where Rubin felt he had to choose between his faith and his political ideals, a choice he argues should not be necessary.

Through his writing, Rubin details the emotional toll of this exclusion. He recounts feelings of isolation, fear, and a deep sense of betrayal. He describes the psychological impact of having his pain dismissed or invalidated by people he once considered allies. For instance, he shares how he struggled with nightmares about his own family's safety, particularly concerning his autistic son, and how he found no comfort or empathy from his academic network. Instead of receiving the compassion one might expect after such a tragedy, he encountered silence, blame, and a rigid political stance that demanded he condemn his own people to remain in good standing. He observes that this dynamic has pushed many liberal Jews to the margins of progressive movements, forcing them to hide their identities to avoid hostility.

The study does not claim to offer a solution to the complex geopolitical conflict between Israel and Palestine. Rather, it focuses on the human cost of the political divide within academic and activist communities. Rubin argues that the inability of progressive spaces to hold two truths at once—to care for the suffering of Palestinians while also acknowledging the humanity and victimhood of Jewish people—has caused significant harm. He suggests that this refusal to extend empathy to Jewish victims is a form of antisemitism that has taken root in left-wing circles. By sharing his story, he aims to give voice to others who feel similarly alienated and to challenge the assumption that one must reject their Jewish identity to be a progressive.

Ultimately, this paper serves as a record of a specific kind of social fracture. It illustrates how a traumatic event can reshape the boundaries of a community, turning former allies into strangers. Rubin's work highlights the difficulty of maintaining a sense of belonging when the group you identify with no longer recognizes your pain as legitimate. He concludes with a hope that these spaces will eventually reopen, allowing Jewish people to participate in the fight for social justice without having to sacrifice their identity or their safety. The study remains a personal testimony of a scholar trying to make sense of a world that has suddenly made him feel like a stranger in his own home.