The Politics of the 'Good Jew'

Court Jews didn’t disappear. They just rebranded.

Lämmle Seeligmann, the Court Jew (photo: Schorle/Wikipedia)

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This is a guest essay by Nachum Kaplan, who writes the newsletter, “Moral Clarity.”

You can also listen to the podcast version of this essay on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, and Spotify.

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In medieval Europe, survival sometimes required proximity to power. Jewish communities — barred from land ownership, guilds, and most professions — existed at kings’ and princes’ pleasure. This precarious arrangement produced a class of figures known as Hofjuden, or “Court Jews.”

They were financiers, diplomats, tax farmers, military suppliers. Men such as Samuel Oppenheimer in Habsburg Vienna or Joseph Süß Oppenheimer in Württemberg, who leveraged their access to rulers to protect Jewish communities — and, in doing so, became lightning rods for public resentment.

Their position was always unstable: elevated when convenient, sacrificed when expedient.

Today, in a very different political environment, a version of this dynamic is reappearing — and it is disgusting. Not in royal courts, but in media studios, university panels, activist movements, and political institutions.

Court Jews occupied a morally ambiguous space. Many served as intercessors (shtadlanim), advocating for Jewish safety, negotiating tax burdens, and preventing expulsions. Their access could and did save lives. Yet the surrounding populations often resented them as symbols of supposed Jewish influence. Antisemites used them as proof of conspiracy: “Look, the Jew controls the king.”

When political winds shifted, they were expendable. Joseph Süß Oppenheimer, after the death of Duke Karl Alexander in 1737, was arrested, subjected to a show trial, and publicly executed. His body was displayed in a cage for years. Usefulness did not translate into loyalty, nor visibility into safety.

Today’s Western societies are not feudal monarchies. Jews are not barred from professions. The analogy is not literal. Yet socially and culturally, a new kind of “court” exists: the court of elite legitimacy. These are media institutions, Ivy League faculties, cultural tastemakers, international NGOs, progressive activist movements, and political parties. Within these courts, a familiar dynamic has emerged: Jewish voices who sharply denounce Israel, or distance themselves from mainstream Jewish consensus, are often elevated as uniquely credible.

The mechanism is subtle and consistent: When debates about Israel erupt, certain Jewish critics are immediately spotlighted. There is a whole zoo of modern Court Jews. At least medieval Court Jews did some good, such as protecting Jews. Today’s crop are deranged narcissists in need of thorazine.

For example, the psychopath Norman Finkelstein has built a career portraying Israel not as flawed but as singularly depraved, criminal, mendacious, and uniquely illegitimate. Israeli historian Ilan Pappé advocates the end of Israel as a Jewish state and is rewarded with campus platforms as the “authentic” Israeli voice — the insider who confirms the indictment.

Feminist Judith Butler once described Hamas and Hezbollah as part of the “global Left.” That sentence did more to normalize Islamism and extremism in progressive circles than any chant. Journalist Peter Beinart has moved from liberal Zionism to arguing that Jewish self-determination should dissolve into a binational state. The shift is framed not as capitulation but as moral transcendence, the shedding of parochial loyalty for enlightened universalism.

Insufferable establishment columnist Thomas Friedman acts as the “reasonable Jew” when rebuking Israeli policy, a reassuring signal that elite disapproval carries Jewish endorsement.

The pattern is structural: Jewish voices that delegitimize Jewish sovereignty are elevated as courageous, while those that defend it are interrogated as tribal. The courts selects accordingly. “As a Jew, I oppose Israel’s actions…” “As a Holocaust descendant, I condemn Zionism…” “As an Israeli, I say this is apartheid…”

The phrase “as a Jew” functions rhetorically. It inoculates the platform from accusations of antisemitism, signaling moral permission. A Jewish presence becomes a shield. Enemies of Israel do have a fondness for human shields.

It is not that Jewish critics of Israel are insincere. Jews, like any people, are politically diverse and robust disagreement is as Jewish as a kippah. The issue is not dissent, but one of selection. When institutions disproportionately elevate Jews whose views align with prevailing anti-Israel sentiment, while sidelining Jews who articulate mainstream communal positions, it creates a new version of court politics. The acceptable Jew is the one who reassures the court.

Consider campus controversies in which Jewish student groups report harassment tied to anti-Zionist activism. Frequently, administrators amplify fringe Jewish organizations which reject Zionism altogether, implying: “See? Even Jews say this isn’t antisemitism.” Or media panels where Jewish critics of Israel are framed as the moral counterweight to other Jews — whose perspectives are treated as tribal or compromised, even when they are the mainstream ones. The ancient underlying message that some Jews are useful is still with us.

In medieval courts, usefulness brought privilege, right up until it did not. In modern cultural courts, usefulness brings social capital: invitations to speak, academic appointments, editorial platforms, social media amplification, prestige within activist circles.

There is nothing inherently illegitimate about recognition, but the asymmetry matters. Jews who defend Israel’s legitimacy are often portrayed as partisan or suspect, motivated by ethnic loyalty. Jews who condemn Israel’s existence are portrayed as courageous, morally transcendent, liberated from tribal bias. The moral hierarchy is that loyalty to Jewish self-determination is parochial, while the rejection of it is enlightened. This is not an organic hierarchy; it is curated.

The old Court Jew was useful because he mediated between the ruler and the Jewish community. The modern version is useful because he mediates between anti-Israel spaces and the accusation of antisemitism. In both cases, the Jewish figure provides cover.

Historically, rulers could say: “I am not anti-Jewish; I employ one.” Today, movements can say: “We are not antisemitic; Jews support us.” The structure may be different, but the function looks strikingly similar. Just as in the past, this arrangement does not necessarily protect the broader Jewish community.

After the October 7th pogrom, when antisemitic incidents surged globally, it did not matter whether a Jew was Zionist, anti-Zionist, Left-wing, Right-wing, religious, or secular. Synagogues required security. Jewish schools increased guards. Students hid their Stars of David. The mob does not distinguish between court factions.

The medieval Court Jew believed that his access to power insulated him from the prejudices of the street. That turned out to be dead wrong — and deadly. The modern Jewish figure who aligns with dominant anti-Israel narratives may believe that proximity to cultural legitimacy offers similar insulation. They will learn, soon enough, that antisemitism is never that discriminating. Movements that chant “From the river to the sea” do not append footnotes clarifying which Jews are exempt. Conspiracy theories about “Zionist influence” do not pause to verify individual ideological credentials.

When Jewish identity itself is framed as structurally powerful, morally suspect, or politically malignant, internal Jewish disagreements offer little shield. There is a difficult tension here: Jewish tradition values debate, the Talmud is built on dissent, Zionism itself emerged from fierce ideological argument.

The problem is not that Jews disagree. It is that non-Jewish institutions selectively reward Jewish dissent that undermines Jewish collective security, while dismissing Jewish concerns about antisemitism as self-serving. That dynamic replicates something deeply old: Jews are most welcome when they reassure power, least welcome when they assert communal vulnerability.

One of Zionism’s central promises was the end of court politics. It would see Jewish policemen put Jewish criminals in Jewish jails. No more pleading before princes or dependence on elite favor. Sovereignty meant self-definition. Security meant self-defense. In the Diaspora, of course, Jews remain minorities. Engagement with broader society is inevitable and necessary. But the temptation to seek validation through disavowal is not new.

History shows that the court is never permanent. Legitimacy borrowed from power is conditional, and acceptance predicated on denunciation is fragile. The court will recalculate when the winds shift. The question for our moment is not whether Jews may criticize Israel, but whether Jewish identity itself is becoming contingent on ideological compliance — rewarded when it serves dominant narratives, suspect when it resists them.

We have seen this movie before, and many remakes. None have been good.

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