Mayor Mamdani Missing in Action: Absence That Speaks Loudly

The Israel Day Parade on Fifth Avenue is one of the most visible annual expressions of solidarity with the Jewish community and the State of Israel in New York City. Tens of thousands of participants—schools, synagogues, community organizations, and public figures—march through the city in a public display of identity, unity, and support. Because of its scale and visibility, the participation of elected officials, particularly the mayor of New York, is widely viewed as more than ceremonial. It is often understood as a public statement

about how the city’s leadership relates to its Jewish community and whether it chooses to visibly stand with it in moments of communal expression.

Against this backdrop, when a sitting mayor does not participate in the parade, the discussion in the community is not limited to questions of scheduling or protocol. For many, it raises a broader sensitivity that Jewish tradition itself recognizes: the meaning of public presence and public absence at moments that carry communal and national symbolism.

Don’t be mistaken, this is not about needing his approval or seeking his friendliness, but about trying to understand the significance of how such a decision is perceived in the public sphere—especially when it contributes to a sense of distance or ambiguity regarding support for a deeply important communal expression.

In Torah, and later in Tanach, there is repeated attention to how leaders—both within Israel and outside it—publicly align or distance themselves from the Jewish people, and how their visibility or lack of it shapes perception, morale, and legitimacy.

Pharaoh

The very first thing Pharaoh did was not to enslave the Jews, but to publicly speak against the nation of Israel and portray them as a threat. “And Pharaoh said to his people: ‘Behold, the people of Israel are too many and too mighty for us.’”
— (Shemot 1:9)

Only afterward did the persecution begin — first the slavery, and later the decrees against the Jewish babies.

The Torah emphasizes that before the physical oppression came the public rhetoric. Pharaoh first shaped public perception, presenting the Jewish people as dangerous and unwanted, and only then moved toward open persecution. The delegitimization preceded the oppression.

Balak

The same pattern appears with Balak. Before attempting to harm Israel through Bilaam’s curses, Balak first turns publicly to his people and frames the Jewish nation as a threat. The pasuk states: “Moav said to the elders of Midian: ‘Now this congregation will lick up all our surroundings, as an ox licks up the greenery of the field.’”— (Bamidbar 22:4)

Again, before any direct attack takes place, there is first the public rhetoric — portraying Israel as dangerous, unwanted, and threatening to society around them. Only afterward does Balak move toward active attempts to curse and destroy the nation.

Korach

This technique is used not only by the enemies of Israel, but even within internal Jewish conflicts. Before Korach openly challenges Moshe Rabbeinu, the Torah describes: “ויקח קרח”— (Bamidbar 16:1)

Rashi famously explains: “לקח את עצמו לצד אחד, להיות נחלק על העידה” — Korach first separated and distanced himself, placing himself on the opposite side before beginning the actual confrontation. The rebellion did not begin with open attack, but with public distancing and the creation of division. Only afterward did the direct conflict emerge.

The Song of Dvorah

In the Song of Dvorah, after Israel’s victory over Sisra, she does not only describe the battle, but carefully records who joined the national effort and who remained absent. Certain tribes are praised for their visible participation:

“Zebulun is a people that risked their lives unto death” — (Shoftim 5:18)

While others are rebuked for their distance: “Why did you sit among the sheepfolds…?” — (Shoftim 5:16)

And most sharply: “Curse Meroz… because they did not come to the help of Hashem”
— Shoftim 5:23

The emphasis is not only on action, but on presence—on whether different parts of the nation visibly stood together at a defining moment. Absence is not treated as neutral; it becomes part of how the national moment is recorded and remembered.

A similar sensitivity appears in the rebuilding of Jerusalem in the days of Nehemiah. The Navi carefully documents who participates in the rebuilding of the city walls, emphasizing collective engagement in restoring Jewish life and dignity. At the same time, it notes the failure of certain elites to fully join:

“Their nobles did not bring their necks to the work of Hashem” — (Nehemiah 3:5)

The point is not merely labor or logistics. Leadership is measured, in part, by whether one stands publicly with the people in moments of national rebuilding and restoration.

This pattern is especially clear when Tanach describes gentile rulers and their public stance toward the Jewish people. When Cyrus (Koresh) king of Persia issues a public proclamation allowing the Jews to return and rebuild the Temple, the decree itself is recorded as part of the redemption narrative: “Thus says Cyrus king of Persia: Hashem… has charged me to build Him a house in Jerusalem” — (Ezra 1:2)

The significance is not only legal permission, but public recognition. The Jewish return is not hidden or marginal; it is acknowledged by imperial authority in a way that grants it legitimacy in the broader world.

Similarly, during the time of Daryavesh, imperial backing strengthens the rebuilding process and restrains interference from surrounding officials (Ezra 6). Again, the importance is not only administrative. Public support from ruling power contributes to the dignity, stability, and visibility of Jewish national life.

On the other hand, psukim also shows how public ridicule or distancing by foreign officials contributes to weakening perception. In the book of Nehemiah, Sanballat responds to the rebuilding of Jerusalem with open mockery:

“What are these feeble Jews doing?” — (Nehemiah 4:2)

The goal is not only opposition, but delegitimization—portraying Jewish national renewal as weak and unworthy of support. Public messaging becomes part of the struggle itself.

Across these sources, a consistent idea emerges: public moments of communal identity are never merely ceremonial. Presence communicates recognition, solidarity, and legitimacy; absence communicates distance, and is often experienced as such.

Within this framework, the participation of civic leaders in public expressions of communal identity carries symbolic weight. When such leaders choose to attend, it is perceived as public acknowledgment of the community’s place within the civic fabric. When they do not, the absence itself is noticed—not necessarily as policy, but as public positioning.

Thr Torah language suggests that these moments are never neutral. Whether in the tribes of Israel, the rebuilding of Yerushalayim, or the stance of foreign rulers toward Jewish restoration, visibility and absence become part of how communal reality is experienced, recorded, and remembered.