Last week in Soho, a London cinema fell silent after a documentary screening, not with applause but with stunned stillness. Planet Israel: A Cautionary Tale had just shown the human cost of October 7 and the devastation in Gaza, and the audience's reaction, one woman burying her face in her hands, a couple sitting motionless, wasn't theatrical. It was real. This wasn't just another protest film. It marked a cultural earthquake inside British Jewish life, where long-cherished assumptions about Israel are crumbling in real time.
For decades, Western Jewish communities were treated as a monolithic bloc of uncritical support for Israel, especially in the UK. That image is now a relic. New polling by the Institute for Jewish Policy Research shows that 40% of British Jews say Israel's conduct in Gaza has weakened their attachment to the country. More than a third no longer identify as Zionists. Only 12% approve of Benjamin Netanyahu. These shifts aren't just numbers, they're reshaping synagogues, publishing houses, and political platforms. Britain's Movement for Progressive Judaism, representing a third of UK synagogues, recently published a book arguing that criticising the Israeli government is "a Jewish obligation." Its leaders warned that Israel's direction may become "incompatible with Jewish values." That's not a fringe statement. It's a public rupture.
Among the voices leading this rethink is Gillian Mosely, a British American Jewish filmmaker raised in a family of Sephardic rabbis and communal leaders. She grew up hearing stories of exile and persecution, but also absorbing a pro-Israel worldview. Now, she says, "We were victims [of the Holocaust]. It's just part of what happened. but I don't think victimhood is a way to exist." Her documentary, released on the eve of Nakba Day, confronts how trauma, nationalism, and militarisation have shaped Israel after October 7. It's part of a wave of new books and public statements by Jewish intellectuals challenging the state's narrative. Historian Avi Shlaim, an Israeli featured in the film, goes further: "The argument of self-defence no longer serves as a cover for Israeli atrocities." He calls Israel's actions in Gaza, the West Bank, and Lebanon a turning point in relations between Israel and world Jewry. "More and more Jewish groups," he says, "are saying: 'Not in our name.'"
From shared identity to open dissent
This isn't the first time Jewish dissent has surfaced in moments of crisis. After the 1967 Six-Day War, a generation of American Jews began questioning occupation and settlement expansion. But today's break is deeper, faster, and more public. The scale of destruction in Gaza, over 35,000 killed, entire cities reduced to rubble, has forced even Holocaust survivors and lifelong Zionists to ask whether the state of Israel has betrayed its founding ideals. In 2023, a group of Israeli reservists published an open letter refusing to serve in the occupied territories. In 2024, hundreds of Jewish academics signed a letter calling for an arms embargo on Israel. These aren't isolated acts. They're part of a growing movement that sees Israel not as a refuge, but as a violator of Jewish ethics. The Holocaust, once a shield against criticism, now feels like a mirror reflecting back a different image: of a state using victimhood to justify violence against others. As Mosely puts it, "We were raised to feel we're victims. But victimhood can become a political weapon."
The geopolitical aftershock
This internal Jewish reckoning is already rippling across Europe and North America, but its impact on global diplomacy could be seismic. Israel has long relied on Western Jewish communities to lobby governments, influence media, and legitimise its actions. That unspoken contract is now under strain. In the US, where Jewish support for Israel was once a bipartisan given, younger Jewish voters are increasingly aligning with progressive causes. In the UK, the Labour Party is torn between its historic ties to Jewish organisations and the demands of a younger, more diverse electorate. Even in Germany, where historical guilt has made criticism of Israel taboo, polls now show growing discomfort among younger Germans, especially Jewish ones, with Berlin's unconditional backing of Netanyahu.
Israel's isolation is deepening not just on campuses or in parliaments, but within the very communities it claims to represent. When Jewish voices say "Not in our name," they strip away Israel's moral shield. That weakens its diplomatic hand. Countries that once hesitated to criticise Israel due to domestic Jewish pressure may now face fewer domestic constraints. The era of automatic Western Jewish solidarity is over. And that changes the calculus for allies and adversaries alike.
The South Asia angle: echoes in a region of moral ambivalence
For South Asia, where neutrality is both a tradition and a necessity, this shift carries quiet but important implications. India and Pakistan maintain delicate balances in their Israel policies, India as a long-standing arms buyer and strategic partner, Pakistan as a vocal supporter of Palestinian statehood. But as Israel's image deteriorates among Western publics, South Asian governments may face new pressures. India, which abstained from recent UN votes on Gaza, could come under pressure from its large Muslim minority and opposition parties to take a firmer stance. Already, protests in Indian cities have grown louder, and social media is flooded with comparisons between Gaza and Kashmir. While Delhi is unlikely to alter its strategic ties with Israel, especially over arms supplies, it may find itself walking a tighter diplomatic tightrope.
Pakistan, which has historically used the Palestinian cause to burnish its Islamic credentials, now faces a dilemma. Its own human rights record in Balochistan and Gilgit-Baltistan invites scrutiny, and its vocal support for Palestine rings hollow to some when delivered from a state accused of repression. Yet, in the court of global opinion, Pakistan's position still resonates in Muslim-majority nations. But if Israel's actions continue to erode Jewish support worldwide, the moral authority of countries like Pakistan could gain unexpected weight, not because of their own records, but because of Israel's growing isolation. Meanwhile, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, and Nepal, all with large diaspora communities in the Gulf and West, may see shifting public sentiments influence their voting patterns in international forums. The old South Asian playbook, quiet diplomacy, public neutrality, strategic hedging, may no longer be enough to contain the moral fallout.
The next moves: fragmentation and fallout
Expect three things in the coming months. First, more Jewish dissent in the West, not just from activists, but from rabbis, historians, and even former soldiers. Second, a hardening in Israel's political class, which will likely double down on narratives of victimhood and delegitimise internal critics as "self-hating Jews." Third, a split within Western governments: some will maintain unconditional support, others will begin distancing themselves, and a few may quietly reconsider arms sales or UN voting patterns.
But the most unpredictable outcome may be within Israel itself. As more citizens refuse to serve in the occupied territories, as families of hostages demand negotiations, and as the economy buckles under sanctions, the centre of gravity in Israeli society could shift. The question isn't whether Israel will change course, it's how long it can sustain its current path without fracturing its own society from within.
What happened in that Soho cinema wasn't just a film ending. It was the sound of a narrative collapsing. And once a story breaks, it's hard to put it back together the same way.
