As the New York City mayoral race barrels toward its conclusion, Zohran Mamdani, a self-described socialist and Ugandan-born politician, stands at the center of a political and cultural maelstrom. With a commanding lead in the polls, Mamdani’s candidacy has become a flashpoint not only for debates about immigration and demographic change but also for the future of American Jewish politics, the boundaries of anti-Zionism, and the evolving identity of American cities.
According to a recent survey reported by multiple sources, Mamdani, who has refused to renounce his Ugandan citizenship, holds a staggering 62 percent support among foreign-born New Yorkers. This contrasts sharply with his standing among native-born residents, where he garners just 32 percent, trailing former Governor Andrew Cuomo’s 40 percent and Republican Curtis Sliwa’s 25 percent. The numbers reveal a striking divide: Mamdani’s appeal is strongest among immigrants, while native-born New Yorkers lean toward more traditional candidates.
The significance of this demographic split is not lost on political observers. As Adam Johnston wrote in The Federalist, “As populations change through immigration, so too does the local electorate. As the electorate changes due to the influx of foreigners, so do the politicians who inevitably rise to represent their constituents.” Johnston and others argue that the current moment is the culmination of decades of demographic transformation, propelled by landmark policies like the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965. That law, known as the Hart-Celler Act, abolished quotas based on national origin and opened the floodgates to a new era of immigration, fundamentally altering the makeup of cities like New York.
In 1970, the foreign-born population of New York City stood at 1.4 million, or 18 percent. Today, it has soared to about 3.1 million—38 percent of the city’s population. Nationally, the foreign-born share has climbed from 4.7 percent in 1970 to nearly 16 percent prior to recent policy shifts. These numbers, according to Johnston, are not just statistics but the engine driving a profound political realignment. “Demographics are destiny,” he writes, pointing to cities like Hamtramck, Michigan, as harbingers of what is possible. Once 90 percent Polish, Hamtramck is now more than 40 percent foreign-born and nearly 70 percent Muslim, with a Muslim mayor and city council, and city hall signage in English, Arabic, and Bengali.
But Mamdani’s rise is not only a story about numbers—it’s also about the values and controversies that come with a changing electorate. His outspoken criticism of Israel, including accusations of genocide in its war with Hamas and opposition to Israel’s status as an official Jewish state, has ignited fierce debate among American Jews nationwide. As reported by The New York Times, more than 1,100 rabbis across the country recently signed a letter decrying the “political normalization” of anti-Zionism, warning that Jewish safety depends on electing candidates who accept Israel as central to Jewish identity. The letter cited Mamdani by name, pushing the controversy from New York’s streets into synagogues, homes, and community centers from Atlanta to Albuquerque.
The response has been anything but monolithic. A coalition of left-wing American Jewish groups fired back with their own letter, rejecting what they see as attempts by legacy institutions to silence progressive and anti-Zionist voices. A third letter, signed by another group of rabbis, cautioned that Jewish safety “cannot be built on Muslim vulnerability,” acknowledging the rise of Islamophobia alongside antisemitism. This flurry of open letters and public statements has exposed deep fissures within the Jewish community, with each faction accusing the other of endangering the future of American Judaism. Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum, of Seattle’s Kavana Cooperative, lamented, “After decades of fixation over Jewish continuity and fear that the next generation isn’t going to be Jewish, now the Jewish community is cannibalizing itself.”
For many rabbis and community leaders, the stakes feel existential. Rabbi Felipe Goodman, who signed the letter warning about Mamdani, told his Las Vegas congregation, “The gloves have to come off now.” Rabbi Josh Feigelson, president of the Institute for Jewish Spirituality in New York, described the anxiety roiling his community: “We have felt so at home in this country for most of our lifetimes, and it has been such a profound shock to so many of us to realize that we can’t necessarily take that feeling for granted.”
Mamdani, for his part, has promised to protect Jewish institutions amid rising antisemitic attacks and has distanced himself from slogans like “globalize the intifada,” which many interpret as a call to violence. Still, his critics—led by Cuomo and his allies—accuse him of stoking “the flames of hatred against Jewish people.” Mamdani’s campaign has declined to comment on the controversy, but the candidate’s supporters argue that his positions reflect a principled stand on human rights and a willingness to challenge the status quo.
The debate has spilled over into synagogue politics, with rabbis facing pressure to take sides. Some, like Rabbi Angela Buchdahl of Central Synagogue in Manhattan, have refused to endorse or oppose any candidate, citing the need for political pluralism within their congregations. Others have openly backed Cuomo, especially after the IRS reversed rules forbidding religious leaders from making political endorsements. Rabbi Jeremy Kalmanofsky, of Congregation Ansche Chesed, explained his reluctance to endorse: “Some of you will disagree with me about Mamdani. You might think I am mistaken, and I might think you are. That does not make either of us bad Jews.”
Underlying these debates is a broader anxiety about the direction of American society. The shift in New York is mirrored by changes in other cities, like Los Angeles, where nearly one in three residents is foreign-born, and almost half identify as Hispanic or Latino. California, once a Republican stronghold, has become a one-party state in a single generation—a transformation many attribute to demographic change.
These trends have not gone unnoticed by political strategists. Some on the left celebrate the rise of multiculturalism and diversity as a source of strength and renewal, while others on the right warn that rapid demographic change risks eroding the nation’s shared values and social cohesion. The debate is often fraught, with accusations of xenophobia and racism on one side, and charges of cultural erasure on the other. As Michael Anton wrote in his essay “Unprecedented,” “The ‘Great Replacement’ is happening, not just in America but throughout the West. Elites both deny and affirm it… They get to say it; you’re required not merely to pretend that you didn’t hear it but also to insist that they never said it.”
For many New Yorkers, the mayoral race is about more than just who will lead the city for the next four years. It is a referendum on the meaning of citizenship, the boundaries of community, and the future of American democracy. As the city’s electorate changes, so too do the politicians and policies that shape its destiny. Whether this transformation is cause for celebration or concern depends largely on where one stands—but no one can deny that the stakes have rarely been higher.
In the end, the New York mayoral race has become a microcosm of the nation’s broader struggles over identity, belonging, and power. As voters head to the polls, the outcome will reverberate far beyond the five boroughs, offering a glimpse into the future of American politics and the enduring challenge of forging unity in an age of diversity.
