This weekend, I attended the Minnesota DFL State convention with JCOO, the Jewish Community Outreach Organization. (Note: I’m writing this on behalf of my experience, not JCOO). I’ve always counted on Democratic candidates to automatically align with my values about fairness, kindness, inclusion, access to services, environmental protection, etc.
I never missed an opportunity to vote, but I also, out of trust and faith in the party, never got involved in all of the events that happen before the ballot in November.
Then one day, a friend invited me to meet with her and talk about starting a Jewish caucus because she had been working on the Jews for Joe Biden, then Jews for Kamala Harris campaigns, and had experienced multiple examples of discrimination of Jews and silencing or bulldozing within that process.
So I joined. Since February, I’ve attended caucuses, conventions, committee meetings, Zoom calls, and countless planning sessions. What I’ve learned is that participation at this level requires enormous time and energy—something many people simply don’t have.
What I have discovered through all of these events is that the people who are willing to do this and make the space for this in their lives have to be motivated by something profoundly personal and important to them. I would say that for a big chunk of them, their cause is, or has become, part of their identity. For members of JCOO, being Jewish is our actual identity. In the past, my identity was not under threat, so I was content with simply voting.
I truly admired people who took on causes dear to them; for example, I was thrilled to see my dear Doula, who helped my son enter the world, who I know has been working hard for decades to increase access for birthing mothers to Doula support in hospitals. Her beautiful life’s work is central to who she is, and her passion is unstoppable.
The glaring, painful problem I am seeing now is that activists who have inextricably linked the anti-Israel campaign to whatever their issue may be, as if their identity, sense of belonging, and success in life, is dependent on crushing Israel. This campaign is loud, intimidating, and is bulldozing its way into every nook and cranny of MN DFL politics.
My entrance to this weekend was, in a word, insane. As I was walking from the hotel to the Mayo Civic Center in Rochester, I was chatting with a person, mostly about the inequity of how completely inaccessible this process is for most people who have responsibilities, children, work.
And I told them I was here with the Jewish caucus, and they said, “Oh I’m Jewish!“ I said, “cool!” and we kept chatting until we got onto the block of Civic Center, where I could see and hear a demonstration with fiery hot intensity, Palestinian flags and a bullhorn. I started filming. Within moments, the person I was walking with stopped talking to me and started chanting with the protesters, as we walked the rest of the way. We never spoke the rest of the weekend again.
I had no choice but to be physically drowning in this protest for what felt like forever, because they were engulfing the line to enter the building. And it was all I could do to keep it together as I was thinking about my friends, my family, my Montessori colleagues in Israel, and all the children that they serve, juxtaposed with this white-hot hatred and unwavering commitment to destruction of the place that I love so much. When I finally made it to our table in the Civic Center, I burst into tears. I have seen those protests countless times before, but I’ve never been forced to stand in the middle of them like that for an extended period.
I sat at our table until close to midnight, and about 14 hours the next day. I had good, hard, sometimes spirited, and thoughtful conversations with so many people. Some good, some bad, some very ugly.
One of the silver linings was meeting Jewish people from places like Duluth, Rochester, and St. Cloud, and growing our group to represent Jewish people across the state. One of the hardest parts was watching activists who literally know just enough to be dangerous try to undermine, run out the clock, and, in their words, “make good trouble“ by being disruptors and, again, bulldoze their way to get what they want.
I watched candidates navigate a process where anti-Israel rhetoric often seemed like the price of admission. It helped me understand why some candidates, including Angie Craig, chose not to seek the endorsement. The political calculations required can be exhausting to watch.
The older generation, like my Doula friend, are watching this process, seeing what is happening to it, and asking the same questions. How can we get back on track?
All of this is just from the exhibitor hall. Here is a tiny example of what I know was happening on the floor. More than 100 resolutions were proposed for the DFL platform. We tracked several that directly affect the Jewish community, including one framed as a First Amendment issue but widely understood as an effort to advance BDS-related goals. The language was subtle enough that many delegates likely wouldn’t recognize its implications without significant background knowledge.
I give an enormous amount of credit to the members of our group that spent their weekend not at a lovely exhibitor’s table full of meaningful conversations, but stuck in the lion’s den of the actual convention: reading between the (not so subtle) lines, constantly being on the defense, watching the manipulation of the system, having to listen to people disparage Israel and watch the crowd jump to their feet in applause.
As I was walking to the hotel to get in my car and drive away from this mess, I overheard two other convention goers say, “This is a lot to expect of a human.“ I couldn’t agree more.