Europe’s Jewish Leadership in Deep Crisis – The Weakest Since the Holocaust

The recent election of Dr. Moshe Kantor to a fifth term as president of the European Jewish Congress (EJC) has shone a harsh spotlight on a deep crisis in Jewish representation across Europe. Kantor’s return – despite his being under international sanctions for close ties to Vladimir Putin’s regime until only weeks ago – underscores the structural and moral decline of European Jewish leadership. In an era marked by surging antisemitism and dwindling Jewish populations, European Jewry’s political voice and communal strength have arguably sunk to their lowest point since the Holocaust. The choice of a controversial figure to lead the EJC, “the only democratically elected representative organization of European Jewry”, reflects how desperate and fragmented the situation has become. This opinion piece will examine how Europe’s Jewish community, once a vibrant force, now finds itself with minimal political clout, waning institutions, and scant support – caught between increasing pressure from aggressive Islamist antisemitism and indifference from traditional allies. We will explore hard data and historical context to understand this decline, and argue that only a bold restructuring and robust transatlantic cooperation can salvage the future of Jewish life in Europe.

An Election That Exposes a Leadership Void

Kantor’s re-election in May 2025 – after a three-year hiatus due to EU sanctions – was meant to be a triumphant comeback, but it instead highlights a leadership void. The 71-year-old Russian-born billionaire had stepped aside in 2022 when the EU and UK blacklisted him over the Ukraine war, given his long-known closeness to the Kremlin. His opponent for the presidency, interim EJC head Dr. Ariel Muzicant, campaigned on a very different vision: Muzicant urged tighter cooperation with the World Jewish Congress (WJC), the global diaspora body, whereas Kantor insisted on keeping the EJC more independent. In the end, Kantor won nearly two-thirds of the vote among European Jewish community delegates. The easy victory of a sanctioned oligarch – one who remains persona non grata in the UK even after EU sanctions were lifted – speaks volumes about European Jewry’s plight. It suggests European Jewish communities felt they had no better alternative: Kantor’s deep pockets and two decades of experience mattered more than the glaring ethical concerns. As he openly noted, “I was accused of something that clearly wasn’t true… the sanctions hurt Jewish communities across Europe that I was supporting”. Indeed, Kantor has been a major financier of European Jewish initiatives, pledging to “relaunch the European Jewish Fund to support initiatives for the Jewish communities” as part of his renewed agenda. The subtext is clear – in the absence of strong, untainted leaders, communities are clinging to whoever can provide resources and international access. But this short-term pragmatism carries a heavy cost: it reinforces the perception of a morally compromised leadership class and a structural weakness at the very top of European Jewry.

Observers note that the EJC’s General Assembly was itself a telling scene. For the first time in history it convened in Jerusalem, ostensibly to show solidarity with Israel after the Hamas onslaught of October 7, 2024. Kantor used the occasion to declare that “after October 7, every Jew in Europe knows that his or her destiny is absolutely tied to the destiny of the Jewish state”, adding that “what we are witnessing is not only a threat to Jewish communities, it is a threat to the very foundations of European democracies”. This rhetoric – linking Europe’s Jews inexorably to Israel’s fate and warning that rising Jew-hatred endangers Europe itself – is powerful. Yet it also unintentionally highlights the predicament of European Jewish leadership: the EJC had to meet in Israel, almost as supplicants seeking support, rather than confidently in a European capital. In Kantor’s narrative, European Jewry’s survival depends on aligning with Israel’s struggle and on imploring European governments to recognize antisemitism as a threat to societal health. There is truth in that message, but it reveals an uncomfortable reality: European Jewish leaders today speak from a position of profound weakness, appealing to others’ good graces rather than wielding influence in their own right. This is a stark contrast to earlier postwar decades when European Jews, though fewer in number, managed to reestablish vibrant communities and represent themselves with a measure of moral authority.

A Community with Diminishing Clout and Shrinking Numbers

Behind the leadership crisis lies a hard demographic and political truth: the Jews of Europe are now a tiny fraction of the population, with correspondingly little electoral or economic clout. On the eve of World War II, Europe was home to about 9.5 million Jews – nearly 60% of world Jewry. The Holocaust annihilated two-thirds of European Jews, and by 1945 only ~3.8 million remained on the continent. In the ensuing decades, the decline continued due to emigration, assimilation, and aging. By 1991 Europe’s Jewish population was down to 2 million, and by 2010 it hovered around 1.4 million. According to recent estimates, as of 2020 “an estimated 1.3 million Jews live in Europe, about 0.1% of the continent’s population”. This is the smallest Jewish presence in Europe in modern history – only about 9% of the world’s Jews today live in Europe, a continent that once was the center of Jewish life. France, the UK, and Germany together account for roughly two-thirds of Europe’s Jews, while many other countries have only a few thousands or even mere hundreds of Jews left. For example, Poland – home to 3 million Jews before the Holocaust – now has an estimated 4,500 core Jewish residents, just 0.03% of Poland’s population. Similar drops are seen in Hungary, Romania, Greece and elsewhere. These figures are not just statistics; they translate into diminished political representation and social visibility. In most European countries today, Jews are simply too few to form an electoral constituency that politicians court. Their influence on policy depends entirely on moral persuasion and alliances rather than votes or numbers.

The political and economic power once associated (rightly or wrongly) with Europe’s Jews has likewise receded. To be sure, individual Jews still hold notable positions in European society – there are Jewish business leaders, intellectuals, even a handful of high-ranking politicians. (Ukraine’s president Volodymyr Zelensky, elected in 2019, is famously Jewish, though his country’s tragedy is a unique case.) But the era when multiple European cabinets featured Jewish statesmen has passed. No Jewish politician currently leads any major Western European government, and the overall number of Jewish members in national parliaments is modest, usually far below the community’s already tiny share of the population. Many Jews in Europe today keep a low profile due to safety concerns. In contrast to the United States or Canada, where public Jewish identity is common, “Jewish identity in Europe is often suppressed” in daily life. According to an analysis by the Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs, European Jews have tended to avoid overt political activism or criticism of authorities, choosing loyalty to their countries and quiet support for Israel mostly through private means. The report notes that unlike in America, being openly Jewish can feel like a hindrance in parts of Europe, a subtle echo of old prejudices. This social reality means fewer proudly Jewish voices in the halls of power, and it allows governments to discount Jewish concerns more easily. Indeed, one Israeli survey found that nearly 75% of Israeli Jews believe their government shouldn’t factor Diaspora Jewish opinions into its decision-making – a sentiment reflecting the notion that Israeli and American Jews view European Jewry as marginal in global Jewish affairs.

Economically, Jewish communities in Europe are not the powerhouses they once were in the early 20th century. Historically, European Jews were pioneers of finance, science, and industry (the Rothschilds, the Warburgs, countless innovators). Today, many of Europe’s Jewish-owned businesses have either globalized, migrated (often to Israel or the U.S.), or simply declined as communities shrank. While there are still Jewish-led companies and wealthy European Jews, the collective economic footprint of 1.3 million Jews in a continent of 748 million people is objectively small. In some countries – especially in Eastern Europe – oligarchs of Jewish heritage emerged after communism, but their involvement in Jewish communal life has been a double-edged sword. For instance, oligarchs like Ihor Kolomoisky in Ukraine or Roman Abramovich (formerly in Russia/UK) have donated to Jewish causes, yet their controversial reputations sometimes harm more than help. The Guardian cited a scholarly report which observed that throughout history, the “inherent weakness of a landless and powerless minority” made Jews dependent on the goodwill of host societies, experiencing dramatic “ups and downs” in status. In 2025, Europe’s Jews are again experiencing a perilous “down,” with limited independent power. They rely heavily on the protection and favor of others – governments, NGOs, and wealthy benefactors – to secure their basic rights and safety. This tenuous position sets the stage for the current crisis of representation, as traditional Jewish institutions struggle to respond effectively.

The World Jewish Congress: Influence Waning and Searching for Relevance

If one needs evidence of how representative organizations have lost their influence, look no further than the World Jewish Congress (WJC). The WJC, founded in 1936, once played a pivotal role as the diplomatic voice of Jews worldwide – helping coordinate postwar Jewish advocacy, fighting for Holocaust reparations, and serving as a united front for communities large and small. But in recent years, the WJC’s stature has diminished, especially in Europe. At the WJC’s 17th Plenary Assembly in Jerusalem (held in May 2025, concurrently with the EJC gathering), the atmosphere was one of anxiety and introspection. WJC President Ronald Lauder, now in his late 70s and having led the organization since 2007, gave an impassioned keynote warning that “never before in my life have I been so concerned regarding the future of the Jewish people. I see old threats coming back and new threats emerging.” Lauder spoke of a “new offensive” against Jewry – from rampant antisemitism and anti-Israel propaganda – and outlined ideas to fight back: stronger public diplomacy, better social media engagement, even a new diplomacy school in honor of Abba Eban. Yet, for all his fervor, many in attendance felt it was too little, too late – and too disconnected from reality.

Indeed, the Jerusalem Post reported that Lauder’s speech, full of lofty rhetoric, left the audience underwhelmed. The consensus among several delegates was that “passionate rhetoric aside, there was too much focus on talk and too little focus on strategy.” One audience member pointed out that the WJC sits on a “huge budget of over $20 million” and “has the capacity to make a difference,” yet no concrete plan was presented for using those resources effectively. Veteran leaders invoking past glory and issuing general calls to action did not impress the younger generation of Jewish activists. In a breakout session, an Israeli activist named Ashager Araro openly challenged the WJC leadership, saying “the resources in our hands are enormous, but we keep talking about the same issues.” Her frustration was palpable – and widely shared. It suggests that the WJC, for all its historic prestige, is seen by many as stagnant and out of touch. An organization that once galvanized world Jewry now struggles to articulate a clear mission for the 21st century.

Part of the WJC’s trouble is structural and generational. Lauder’s long tenure, while marked by generous philanthropy and high-level connections, has also meant that fresh leadership has not been cultivated. As he approaches two decades at the helm, questions swirl about succession. (At the 2025 Plenary, Lauder was unanimously re-elected by member communities, indicating no obvious successor yet.) The WJC has tried to bring in new blood through programs like a Jewish Diplomatic Corps of young activists, but the upper echelons remain dominated by an older generation. This has consequences: the organization’s messaging and style often feel rooted in 20th-century assumptions, even as the challenges facing Jews have evolved. For example, Lauder’s focus in his speech was largely on combating anti-Israel bias in Western institutions – comparing it to an “Iron Curtain” of the mind and praising measures like the Trump administration’s crackdown on campus antisemitism. While these issues are real, many European Jews are currently more fearful of physical security – attacks in the streets, at synagogues, on the way to school – than of university discourse. The WJC’s emphasis on ideological combat and its talk of grand educational campaigns left some observers murmuring that the organization had become a talk-shop removed from pressing grassroots needs.

Perhaps the starkest illustration of the WJC’s waning relevance was the composition of its Plenary itself. Delegates from 72 Jewish communities around the world were present – including many “disparate and unknown diaspora communities,” all given equal standing in the hall. On one hand, this reflects the WJC’s proud ethos of inclusivity: even the tiniest Jewish communities have a voice. On the other hand, it highlights what one might call “phantom representation.” Some of these 72 communities are so small that they barely exist outside of paper and politics. Postwar Jewish organizational frameworks assumed each country would have a representative Jewish body, but in 2025 that model verges on fiction. For instance, countries like Albania or Moldova have only a few hundred Jews left, yet their delegates’ votes count the same as those from France or Britain. The presence of these quasi-communities gave the WJC gathering a peculiar atmosphere – as if a parliament of a bygone era was convening, one where ghost constituencies sit alongside real ones. It is admirable to affirm that “every Jew counts,” but when scarce resources and time are spent maintaining representations of communities that in reality number in the dozens, the efficacy of the organization suffers. The Jerusalem Post delicately noted the “presence of disparate and unknown Diaspora communities” as a key feature of the plenary. In plainer terms, the WJC can appear out of step: claiming to represent the Jews of dozens of countries where, tragically, Jewish life has nearly vanished. This not only dilutes focus from the larger communities’ urgent needs, but also perpetuates a false postwar assumption that Europe still has a Jewish infrastructure in every country. It does not – not anymore. As one European Jewish leader quipped off-record, “We keep setting extra places at the table for guests who, in reality, left long ago.”

In light of these challenges, the WJC is being forced to re-think its mission. Some insiders say the search is on (informally, at least) for new leadership that can reinvent the WJC for an era of crisis. Whether that means a charismatic new president, a strategic pivot, or a merger of efforts with other organizations remains to be seen. Notably, in the EJC election that just took place, the losing candidate Muzicant explicitly argued for closer integration between the EJC and WJC. His defeat could be read as a setback for the WJC’s influence in Europe – the delegates evidently preferred Kantor’s approach of European independence (or perhaps they simply trusted Kantor’s patronage more). It is telling that even within Europe’s own institutions, there is debate over the WJC’s relevance. Many European Jewish activists privately express skepticism that the Geneva- and New York-based WJC can relate to, say, the day-to-day fears of a Jew in Paris or Malmö today. The WJC’s credibility in Europe might be restored if it actively tackled European-specific problems (like working with the EU on anti-hate legislation or funding security for schools) rather than convening generic conferences. As it stands, the WJC risks becoming a symbolic umbrella – still respected for its legacy and global diplomatic access, but not the go-to address for European Jewish concerns in 2025. That mantle, shaky as it is, falls to regional bodies like the EJC, which, as we have seen, have their own severe problems.

Israel’s Disengagement and Europe’s Orphaned Jews

Compounding the crisis is a factor that many European Jewish leaders speak of with disappointment if not outright bitterness: the disinterest – even disdain – that the State of Israel often shows toward European Jewish affairs. Ever since Israel’s founding in 1948, there has been a tension in Israel-Diaspora relations, particularly with Europe. Israel’s early ideology of the “Negation of the Diaspora” (shlilat hagalut) viewed life outside Israel as inherently inferior or doomed. While Israel has, over the decades, come to appreciate the importance of a thriving Diaspora, old attitudes die hard. When European Jews today appeal for help – be it political support, security assistance, or simply recognition of their struggles – the response from Jerusalem can feel tepid. Israeli officials routinely condemn antisemitic attacks in Europe, of course, and offer perfunctory solidarity. But beyond words, Israel’s message often boils down to: “If you feel unsafe, make aliyah – come home to Israel.” In some cases, that message is delivered with barely concealed eagerness.

European Jews have not forgotten the episode in 2015 when a series of jihadist terrorist attacks targeted Jewish sites in Paris (the Hypercacher supermarket siege) and Copenhagen. In the wake of those tragedies, Israel’s prime minister at the time, Benjamin Netanyahu, openly urged the Jews of France, Denmark and all Europe to “come to Israel… Israel is your home… we are waiting for you with open arms.”. He even convened a special committee to facilitate mass immigration from Europe. This call, made while Europe’s leaders were vowing to protect their Jewish citizens, struck a nerve. French and Danish officials, and even prominent Jewish figures, roundly criticized Netanyahu’s remarks. The French Prime Minister Manuel Valls insisted “Jews have their place in France… we will not allow people to believe Jews have no place in Europe”, implicitly rebuking the idea that emigration was the answer. Denmark’s chief rabbi Jair Melchior said he was “disappointed” in Netanyahu and defiantly stated that “terror is not a reason to move to Israel… if the way we deal with terror is to run somewhere else, we should all run to a deserted island.” Rabbi Menachem Margolin, head of a European Jewish association, put it bluntly: “By saying ‘come to Israel’ you basically say: ‘There is no way to protect you where you are.’… People who live in Europe have the full right to live with full security.”. These responses underscored a painful sentiment: Israel’s calls for aliyah, however well-intentioned or ideologically driven, can come across as washing its hands of Diaspora problems. To European Jews, it sometimes feels as if Israel is saying: we can’t help you there, just save yourselves by relocating here.

Such an attitude, even if not official policy, amounts to a form of apathy toward the fate of Jews who choose to remain in Europe. The Israeli government’s Ministry of Diaspora Affairs does engage in programs (like educational exchanges, sending shlichim/emissaries, etc.), and Israel certainly coordinates on security and intelligence regarding threats to Jewish communities abroad. Yet, one rarely sees Israeli leaders prioritizing European Jewish issues in their agendas. Israeli politicians seldom visit European synagogues or community centers unless there’s a crisis or a photo-op; they do not, for example, convene international summits on fighting European antisemitism or funding Jewish schools in Brussels or Budapest. By contrast, Israel focuses intensely on American Jewry (its largest Diaspora) when controversies erupt – witness the high-profile debates over the Western Wall mixed prayer area or the outreach by Israeli officials to U.S. Jewish organizations during political crises. European Jewry gets far less attention. A telling data point: a 2008 survey found 75% of Israeli Jews believed their government should not consider Diaspora opinions in policy decisions, and only 20% thought it should. While that survey didn’t single out Europe, the implication is broad – Israelis see their fate as separate. A more recent anecdotal example: during the 2023–2024 surge of antisemitic incidents in Europe (tied to the Israel-Hamas war), Israel’s government loudly thanked countries like the US for support and focused on its own PR battle globally, but there was little mention of concrete assistance to beleaguered European Jewish communities beyond urging them to hold pro-Israel rallies.

This disconnect between Israel and European Jewry is rooted in history and mutual misconceptions. Israel tends to view European Jewish communities as either “aliyah potential” (people who should move to Israel) or, less charitably, as fading remnants that will eventually disappear. European Jews, for their part, often feel that Israel judges them for not emigrating and takes their support for granted. Many European Jewish leaders express frustration that when they lobby their own governments on Israel’s behalf or combat antisemitism, Israeli officials rarely acknowledge their efforts; but the moment there’s a crisis, Israeli politicians show up to tell their congregants to pack their bags. This dynamic has left Europe’s Jews feeling somewhat orphaned on the international stage. The United States, with its superpower clout, might be expected to step in – and indeed, the U.S. government has recently taken greater notice of European antisemitism (for example, appointing a Special Envoy to Monitor and Combat Antisemitism who frequently engages with European states). Yet U.S. interest is sporadic and often filtered through the lens of broader strategic concerns (e.g., confronting European far-right nationalism or Islamist extremism for security reasons, not specifically to save Jewish communities). In short, European Jewry doesn’t have a powerful patron singularly devoted to its survival. Israel is emotionally invested but practically aloof; the U.S. is supportive but inconsistent; and global Jewish bodies are underperforming. This leaves European Jewish leaders with a sense of loneliness as they face twin threats: rising antisemitism from an imported culture of jihadist and extreme Islamist hatred, and the apathy or distraction of allies who once might have helped.

The former threat is very real: Europe’s recent waves of immigration from the Middle East and North Africa have, unintentionally, imported a fierce strain of anti-Jewish hostility that has fueled attacks and intimidation. Not all Muslim immigrants share these attitudes, of course, but numerous surveys and incidents point to a troubling trend. A large-scale EU study in 2018 found that when European Jews reported antisemitic harassment, “the most frequently mentioned category of perpetrator” (after generic strangers) was “someone with an extremist Muslim view (30%)” – far outpacing perpetrators with right-wing (13%) or left-wing (21%) views. This aligns with high-profile attacks: from the 2012 Toulouse Jewish school shooting, to the 2015 Paris and Copenhagen attacks, to the stabbing of a Hamburg synagogue visitor in 2020 – the assailants were often Islamists or radicalized Muslim youth. In cities like Malmö, Brussels, and London, Jewish communities have faced aggressive protests where imported Middle Eastern slogans (“Khaybar ya Yahud!”) and imported conspiracies find voice. European leaders are beginning to acknowledge this “new antisemitism”, but addressing it is fraught, entangled with debates on immigration, integration, and free speech. Meanwhile, the Jews on the ground bear the brunt, feeling squeezed between an external population that can be hostile and a broader society that may not fully understand their fear. As Moshe Kantor observed, “the same ideology of hate that targets Europeans, including Jews, as we see in the violent street protests… has even more violent manifestations in Israel”. In other words, the battle Israel fights against Hamas or Iran’s proxies is linked to the harassment a Jew in Europe experiences from Islamists – a controversial but increasingly evident truth. Yet if Israel itself stays disengaged from actively helping European Jews withstand this pressure (beyond framing it as part of Israel’s own war on terror), who will step in?

From Council to Congress: How European Jewish Representation Shrank

To fully grasp how European Jewish leadership reached this nadir, one must consider the historical evolution of communal representation. In the early post-Holocaust era, European Jewry was rebuilding from ashes. Despite decimation, those who remained or returned established organizations to cater to every aspect of Jewish life: welfare, religious needs, education, culture, and political advocacy. One key body was the European Council of Jewish Communities (ECJC) – essentially a network formed to “strengthen Jewish communal life in an enlarged Europe through social, cultural, educational and community-building activities,” fostering cooperation among communities and representing their interests across borders. The ECJC (sometimes informally called the European Jewish Council) was non-political and inclusive, offering services in areas like welfare and youth programs to Jewish institutions continent-wide. It emerged as a coordinating framework that, in theory, represented “Jewish life across all domains.”

However, for the first few postwar decades, much of European Jewish advocacy was actually run through the World Jewish Congress’s European branch. The WJC had a European section based in London and later Paris, which dealt with pan-European Jewish issues at the political level. By the mid-1980s, as the European Economic Community (precursor to the EU) was growing and pan-European identity was strengthening, Jewish leaders sensed the need for a more unified voice of their own on the political stage. Thus in 1986, the European Jewish Congress (EJC) was officially established as a new, independent structure. It effectively supplanted the WJC’s European branch, becoming “the sole political representative organisation of European Jewry,” working with national governments, the European Union institutions in Brussels, and the Council of Europe. The idea was to give European Jews a “unified voice” to articulate common interests – security, fighting antisemitism, preserving religious freedoms – while still allowing each community its autonomy and smaller communities a platform they could not have on their own. In many ways, the EJC was a product of its time: the EU was moving toward greater integration, and Jews wanted in on that influence game.

But what happened in practice was a shift of focus. The EJC took charge of high-level representation and political lobbying. The older ECJC, which was more about grassroots community support, became something of a stepchild. In fact, by the 1990s, the ECJC was described as “long-dormant,” only to be “sprang to renewed life” with a new mission and support from the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee (JDC, known as “the Joint”). A 1998 report by an ECJC leader, Ruth Zilkha, noted a “new concept of European solidarity” was transforming Jewish life: the ECJC was initiating continent-wide projects and a Jewish Partnership was established in Brussels with links to the EU. This was an attempt to revitalize the communal aspect beyond politics. The Joint (JDC) and major donors like the Lauder Foundation put seed funding into this partnership, hoping to professionalize European Jewish community development and make European Jews “equal partners with North American and Israeli Jews” in shaping the future. There was optimism that wealthy Eastern European Jews (freed from communism) would join Western Jews in funding pan-European initiatives, and that a “critical mass” of young European Jewish leaders would emerge.

However, these hopes met the hard reality of European Jewish demographics and division. The collapse of communism in 1989–91 did swell Europe’s Jewish population briefly – as Jews in the former Soviet Union could now openly organize (the EJC quickly expanded to include those communities). But most post-Soviet Jews either emigrated to Israel/West or were too economically pressed to contribute much. Instead of Europe gaining “millions” of revitalized Jews, it largely served as a transit point. The ECJC/Jewish Partnership initiative fizzled as the expected “critical mass” never materialized; only a few hundred activists engaged at the European level, far short of the envisioned continental renaissance. Meanwhile, the EJC, under leaders like Edgar Bronfman (WJC president who supported it) and later Moshe Kantor, solidified its role as the address for European Jewish representation – at least in theory. It focused on issues like Holocaust memory, EU legislation on hate crimes, and defending Jewish rituals (shechita, brit milah) from bans. What was lost in this transition was the broader, holistic representation of “Jewish life across all domains” that the ECJC embodied. The EJC is, by its own description, a political organization. It does not run welfare programs or cultural exchanges; it liaises with power structures. In ceding power (and resources) to the EJC, the ECJC’s more practical community-building agenda lost prominence. The expectation may have been that national communities and international charities (like JDC) would handle those needs, while EJC handled politics. But without a strong, unified ECJC, those efforts became fragmented.

The result has been a failure to effectively serve Jewish interests on the ground. The EJC, especially under Kantor’s long presidency since 2007, scored some victories – for example, Kantor championed an EU-wide “action plan to combat antisemitism” which he praised as “excellent and detailed” in 2021. He also established a Security and Crisis Center (SACC) for European Jewish communities, which provides training and coordination on guarding institutions. These are commendable, but largely top-down initiatives. Ask the average European Jew in 2025 what the EJC or WJC has tangibly done for them, and you might get a blank stare. Local communities still fend for themselves to fund synagogues, schools, and social services. In many cases they survive on donations from abroad (often American or Israeli donors, or Chabad networks) rather than any European Jewish solidarity fund. The European Jewish Fund that Kantor plans to “relaunch” had existed under his aegis to sponsor projects, but it’s telling that it needs relaunching – it was dormant during his absence, indicating no sustainable structure. Smaller communities, which the EJC purports to give a “wider platform”, often complain that their needs are overshadowed by the big communities’ politics. The “European Jewish Congress” name itself carries a certain irony now: a congress implies a gathering representing a vibrant constituency, but as we’ve seen, many constituencies are barely alive.

One could argue that European Jewish representation is at its weakest point since World War II precisely because of this structural hollowness. The old European Jewish Council (ECJC) in its heyday at least strove to rebuild Jewish life with a bottom-up approach – creating welfare alliances, sharing educational resources, ensuring that even a small community in, say, Spain could get help from larger communities or international partners. When it “ceded power” (or attention) to the EJC and similar top-level bodies, much of that crucial intra-European solidarity work faltered. For instance, we no longer see continent-wide Jewish social initiatives with European funding; what exists (like the Joint-funded programs for Eastern Europe) is often run through the American Jewish framework. The moral authority of European Jewish leadership also took a hit. Figures like Jean Kahn of France or Greville Janner of the UK – postwar leaders who were rooted in their communities – have been replaced by oligarchs or career lobbyists whose legitimacy is questionable in the public eye. It is a harsh observation, but when the president of the EJC is sanctioned as an oligarch and the president of the WJC is a billionaire art collector who spends more time on global philanthropy than visiting a struggling Lithuanian shtetl, it’s easy for outsiders to dismiss these bodies as elitist clubs. The collective Jewish interest – preserving communities, protecting people, promoting culture – has been ill-served by this leadership class. Even Kantor’s own platform highlights this inadvertently: aside from security and fighting antisemitism, his other priority he listed was combating Iran’s nuclear program. Important as that is, it’s essentially Israeli foreign policy – not something that will stop Jewish youth from leaving Europe or marrying out. In focusing on the geopolitical, leaders have neglected the local and the spiritual, accelerating the community decline.

A Path Forward: Transatlantic Cooperation to Revive European Jewry

All is not lost, however. History shows that European Jewry has been counted out before, only to prove resilient when given the right support. What is urgently needed now is a new partnership between European Jewish communities and the powerhouse of American Jewry – particularly leveraging the strengths of the American Joint Distribution Committee (JDC, “the Joint”). The JDC has a century-long track record of rescuing and rebuilding Jewish life in Europe. It rescued Jews during World War I and World War II, sustained Displaced Persons camps after the Holocaust, and underwrote the renewal of Jewish communities in Eastern Europe after 1990. In the late 1990s, the JDC was instrumental in re-energizing the ECJC, explicitly supporting continent-wide networking of professionals and young leaders. It understood that American resources and know-how could catalyze a European revival. Now, we must call on the Joint – and other American Jewish institutions like the Jewish Federations and foundations – to once again step into the breach.

Why American Jewry? Simply put, American Jews (and Canadians to an extent) have the demographic mass (over 6 million strong), financial resources, and organizational experience that Europe’s tiny, embattled communities lack. The United States, for all its own challenges with rising antisemitism, has a vibrant network of Jewish institutions – federations, community centers, campus groups, leadership development programs – that could be extended to help Europe. Moreover, American Jews have historically felt a sense of responsibility for Jewish brothers and sisters in distress around the world. That ethos, born from the Holocaust and kept alive through missions to Soviet Jewry, Ethiopia, and Argentina, should be reignited on behalf of Europe. The crisis in Europe warrants a collective response. It is not enough to convene occasional “Global Forums” or solidarity marches. We need a systematic plan: a Marshall Plan of sorts for European Jewry.

What might this look like? First, European and American Jewish leaders must candidly acknowledge the problem: European Jewry’s current representative structure is failing. This could mean convening a high-level commission with both EJC/WJC officials and leaders from the JDC, the Jewish Agency, and major U.S. Jewish federations. They should assess community by community what the needs are – whether it’s funding a Jewish school in Rome that’s on the verge of closing, bolstering security for a synagogue in Brussels, or simply providing a rabbi to a community in Portugal that has none. Resources should then be pooled transatlantically. The EJC’s 42 member communities must be encouraged to share accurate data and to prioritize needs, rather than each fighting for prestige projects. An infusion of funding from American Jewish philanthropies could support a revival of the European Council of Jewish Communities model – meaning investment in education, culture, social services, leadership training within Europe. The JDC, which specializes in community development, is the natural vehicle for this. It already operates in many European countries but often on limited budgets. Empowered with more funds and in partnership with European bodies, the Joint can help rebuild the infrastructure of Jewish life – from community centers to summer camps – that keeps people engaged and proud locally.

Second, transatlantic cooperation can help reform governance and fight the “moral decline” at the top. American Jewish organizations, while not perfect, generally have more transparent governance and a culture of accountability to donors and members. Injecting that ethos into European Jewish Congress elections or World Jewish Congress operations could be transformative. For example, perhaps it’s time to revisit how the EJC president is chosen – should it continue to be an open-ended reign for wealthy individuals, or can term limits and rotation be implemented to encourage new leadership? The presence of American observers or advisors in those processes might encourage best practices. Already, we saw a glimpse of a transatlantic approach at the WJC Plenary: Sylvan Adams, a Canadian-Israeli philanthropist (now WJC’s Israel region president), stole the show by proposing the aliyah of 1 million Jews to Israel. While the wisdom of that specific goal is debatable (encouraging Jews to leave Europe en masse isn’t a straightforward “solution”), Adams’ prominence signals that North American Jews are taking larger roles in global Jewish affairs. Working together, European and American Jewish leaders can redefine priorities. Perhaps WJC’s next president could even be someone from the American Jewish community who has a mandate to shake things up and direct attention to Europe’s predicament, bridging the gap between the continents.

Third, Israel must be engaged as a cooperative partner, not a sideline cheerleader or poacher of emigrants. This means frank dialogue with Israeli officials that European Jewry’s struggle is a matter of Jewish peoplehood that Israel should care about beyond aliyah. Israel can contribute by sharing expertise on security (something Kantor has tried to tap via the SACC) and by treating European Jewish communities as strategic allies in the fight against antisemitism. For instance, Israel’s government could increase support for Hebrew and Jewish education in Europe (funding school programs, teacher training, etc.), similar to how France’s government supports French schools abroad. Such soft-power investment would show European Jews that Israel values their continued presence where they are. The future of Jewish life in Europe may well depend on Israel changing its tune – from one of passive awaiting of immigrants to one of active partnership in Diaspora resilience.

Finally, confronting the external pressures requires collective advocacy. European governments must be lobbied more effectively – and here a U.S.-Europe united Jewish front can have clout. If American Jewish leaders join Europeans in pressing the EU and national authorities to crack down on antisemitic incitement (especially in immigrant communities), the message will be stronger. There are encouraging signs: the EU in 2021 adopted its first-ever comprehensive strategy to combat antisemitism, and countries like Germany and France have appointed antisemitism commissioners. But implementation is key, and civil society input is needed to hold officials accountable. A coordinated transatlantic Jewish lobby could, for example, push for better hate crime prosecution, for shutting down extremist mosques that preach hatred, and for balancing freedom of expression with measures against violent hate rallies. This must be done carefully, in alliance with Muslim reformers and others, to avoid triggering a backlash. Yet it’s essential: European Jewry cannot survive if every flare-up in the Middle East translates into violence on European streets, as it does now. Protecting Jews in Europe is part of protecting liberal democratic values, a case that must be made forcefully by Jews and their allies together.

In conclusion, European Jewish representation is in crisis, but crises can be turning points. The election of Moshe Kantor – with all its problematic optics – might serve as a wake-up call. It lays bare how precarious things have become: perhaps the weakest leadership point since the post-WWII chaos. But just as in those dark days, renewal is possible. It will demand humility from European Jewish leaders to admit that the current path is failing. It will demand generosity and vision from American and Israeli Jews to step in and share responsibility. Above all, it will demand a reconnection of the global Jewish family, overcoming the apathy and fragmentation that have set in. The Jerusalem Post asked pointedly in its coverage, “Can the WJC rise to meet the challenges of 21st-century Jews?”. The answer will depend on whether the WJC, the EJC, and their partners undertake the bold restructuring we’ve outlined – refocusing on real communities, bringing in new leadership, and collaborating across the Atlantic.

European Jewry stands at a crossroads. One path, the current trajectory, points to further decline – fading communities represented by inert organizations, until perhaps within a generation the question is not who leads European Jews but whether there are any left to lead. Another path, however, is still open: one of revitalization through unity and fresh thinking. The Jews of Europe, America, and Israel together have the tools and talent to ensure a future for Jewish life on the old continent. They must remember that “what happens to the Jews in any society is an indication of the health of that society” – and by extension, saving Jewish communities is part of saving the soul of Europe itself. It is time to summon a new unity reminiscent of the postwar years, when global Jewry pooled its strength to rescue and rebuild. Only by doing so can we lift European Jewish representation out of its current nadir and ensure that “never again” remains not just a slogan, but a lived reality for generations to come. As Kantor himself said upon his election, “If left unchecked, this growing hatred will erode the social fabric of our societies”. Check it we must – and in the process, rekindle the fabric of a proud European Jewish legacy before it frays beyond repair.