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ReflectionWorld

When belonging becomes conditional

The Jewish experience of memory, belonging and vulnerability does not fit into contemporary discourse about identity
Allen Zeesman
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Belonging

Image: TJI

Published: 15 June 2026

Last updated: 15 June 2026

I remember sitting in a Unitarian Universalist gathering in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, listening to a conversation about justice, vulnerability, and belonging. It was the kind of language I had long felt at home in – careful, morally serious, oriented toward inclusion. People spoke about expanding the circle, about recognising harm, and about the responsibility to stand with those who suffer. 

Nothing in the room was hostile, and no one questioned my presence. Yet as the conversation turned – subtly, almost inevitably – toward Israel, I felt something shift. 

It was not so much what was said as how it was said. The moral vocabulary remained the same, but its application narrowed. Complexity gave way to clarity, and history to moral positioning. I found myself hesitating, not because I disagreed with every point, but because I was no longer sure that the form of belonging I carried – as a Jew, shaped by memory, obligation, and the reality of survival – could be expressed in terms that would be recognised as legitimate in that space. 

I was not being excluded, but I was no longer entirely inside. 
 
That experience stayed with me, not as an isolated moment, but as a pattern I began to recognise elsewhere. 
 
The language of belonging had not disappeared. If anything, it had become more present, more refined, and more morally confident. It spoke of inclusion, recognition, and the expansion of the circle of concern, offering a vocabulary in which exclusion could be named, challenged, and ideally overcome. 
 
Yet alongside that expansion, something else seemed to be happening. 
 
The same language that made belonging more available in principle seemed, in practice, to narrow the range of experiences which could be expressed within it. This occurred not through prohibition or explicit exclusion, but through a subtler mechanism: certain forms of historical memory, certain understandings of obligation, and certain experiences of vulnerability no longer fitted easily within the prevailing moral frame. 
 
They could still be spoken, but they no longer landed. 
 
This is not a claim about hostility, so much as about structure. 
 
Belonging is often described as a moral achievement – the widening of sympathy, the expansion of inclusion, and the gradual overcoming of exclusionary boundaries. In that sense, the evolution of moral language in liberal societies represents a genuine accomplishment. 
 
However, belonging is not only a moral aspiration. It is also a structure that rests on shared understandings, mutual recognition, and, critically, limits. It is not sustained by moral language alone, but by the capacity of a community to recognise itself as a community at all. 
 
When those underlying terms shift, belonging can change in ways that are difficult to name – not because people are excluded outright, but because the conditions under which recognition occurs have been altered. 
 
The contemporary Jewish experience, particularly in liberal contexts, brings this tension into focus. 
 
For Jews, belonging has historically been tied not only to inclusion, but to continuity – memory, practice, and a persistent awareness of vulnerability. It carries an inherited sense that belonging cannot be assumed, and that acceptance, however genuine, may not be permanent. 
 
This does not produce a single political outlook, but it does shape a particular relationship to security, to history, and to the necessity of self-preservation. 
 
In many liberal contexts today, moral recognition increasingly operates through a different framework – one that prioritises visible vulnerability, structural disadvantage, and the language of power and oppression as the primary markers of legitimacy. 
 
Within that framework, some forms of historical experience become easier to recognise than others. Experiences that align clearly with contemporary categories of oppression are readily legible, while those that involve power, agency, or the exercise of self-defense can become harder to situate. 
 
Jewish experience, especially in relation to Israel, often falls into this second category. 

In Australia, this dynamic has begun to surface more explicitly. A growing number of Jewish writers, professionals, and community figures describe a widening gap between formal inclusion and moral recognition. The issue is often framed publicly as political disagreement about Israel, yet many experience it less as disagreement than as a gradual delegitimisation of Jewish collective attachment itself.

What is striking is not only the criticism, but the moral certainty surrounding it: accusations of colonialism, apartheid, or even genocide increasingly function less as arguments to be debated than as markers of moral status. Once those categories settle into place, Jewish historical experience can begin to appear not merely contestable, but morally suspect in itself. 

The result is not necessarily exclusion, but a form of moral friction. One can be present without being fully understood, and one can speak without being fully heard in one’s own terms. 
 
Belonging, in such contexts, becomes conditional – not in the sense that it is formally revoked, but in the sense that it depends on the ability to translate one’s experience into a moral language that does not fully capture it. 
 
This creates a quiet but consequential tension. 
 
To remain fully included, one must at times soften or reinterpret aspects of one’s own historical consciousness. One must adjust not only what one says, but how one understands oneself in relation to the community. 
 
For some, this is a manageable adaptation. For others, it represents a more significant loss. 
 
What is at stake is not only political disagreement, but the terms under which belonging itself is recognised. 
 
Returning to that room in San Miguel, nothing dramatic occurred. The conversation continued, and the language of inclusion remained intact. No one was asked to leave, and no one was directly challenged. 
 
And yet something had shifted. 
 
I had not been rejected, but I had encountered a boundary – one that was not declared, but felt. It was a boundary defined not by who was present, but by what forms of experience could be fully acknowledged within the shared moral vocabulary. 
 
That is what it means for belonging to become conditional. 

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Comments1

  • Avatar of JM

    JM4 July at 06:23 am

    An interesting perspective, shared by others belonging to certain minority groups with a history of being persecutes, including aboriginal peoples, autistic people, LBTQI+ people…

About the author

Allen Zeesman

Allen Zeesman

Allen Zeesman is a Canadian public policy analyst and writer living in Querétaro, Mexico. His recent work has appeared in Quillette, Este País, and the Institute for the Critical Study of anti-Zionism.