Antisemitism on Campus: The Hate Behind ‘Activism’

I never expected to encounter such blatant antisemitism from a senior figure at my university in Manhattan, but that’s exactly what happened. The campus, nestled between Morningside Drive and Amsterdam Avenue, has long been a place for diverse opinions. Yet, increasingly, the open exchange of ideas seems to come at the expense of Jewish students like me. The anti-Israel rhetoric from Palestinian protest groups has intensified, creating an environment where legitimate concerns are often met with indifference or hostility.

The incident unfolded shortly after several demonstrations near Broadway and 116th Street. Protesters waved Palestinian flags and chanted slogans that often blurred the line between anti-Israel sentiment and outright antisemitism. Among the chants was the frequently heard “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free,” a phrase that calls for the elimination of Israel as a Jewish state. Some demonstrators carried signs with the Hamas flag and messages expressing support for the organization, which has a documented history of terrorism, including the murder of civilians. For Jewish students, this rhetoric is not merely political—it feels like a direct threat.

It was after one such protest that I encountered the university provost at the 116th Street subway station. Seeing him waiting for the 1 train, I approached him to express my concerns about the increasingly hostile climate. I told him that the protests made me and many other Jewish students feel unsafe, expecting some kind of acknowledgment. Instead, his response was dismissive. He said, “It’s not such a big deal, especially if you can ignore it. Besides, Zionism has nothing to do with being Jewish.” He chuckled after his comment, as though my fears were exaggerated or irrelevant.

Standing on the subway platform, I felt a wave of disbelief. His words didn’t just dismiss my concerns; they erased a part of my identity. For many Jews, Zionism is an integral part of their Jewish identity—a connection that extends far beyond politics and into centuries of shared history and culture. By suggesting that Zionism was separate from Judaism, the provost was implying that my fears weren’t valid, that I had no right to feel targeted. The shame and isolation I felt were so profound that I didn’t board the same train as him. I stood there, waiting for the next one, feeling abandoned by the very institution that should have ensured my safety.

In the weeks that followed, the provost’s casual dismissal gnawed at me. It wasn’t just the protests or the rhetoric that troubled me; it was the way a senior university official had so easily written off my concerns. When I saw him again near Low Library on campus, I decided to seek clarification. I approached him on College Walk and asked him directly about his remarks, hoping for a more thoughtful response. Instead, he seemed irritated. “How can you not know?” he asked. “Everyone knows the difference. Israelis are Zionists, and Zionists are violent. They only care about themselves. Besides, my wife is Jewish, and she sees things the same way.”

I was stunned, not only by his dismissive tone but by his stereotyping. He wasn’t just dismissing my concerns; he was actively vilifying Zionists and, by extension, Jews who support Israel. By labeling Zionists as violent and self-interested, he perpetuated harmful stereotypes. His reference to his Jewish wife seemed like an attempt to shield himself from accusations of antisemitism, as though her views somehow validated his. But it only served to invalidate my own experiences, as if I was overreacting or misunderstanding the situation.

The parallels between this situation and historical events are chilling. It brings to mind how antisemitism often hides behind political rhetoric, much like it did in the years leading up to the Holocaust. One stark example is Kristallnacht, the “Night of Broken Glass,” which occurred on November 9-10, 1938. During this event, Jewish homes, businesses, and synagogues across Germany and Austria were attacked, leaving streets littered with broken glass. Nearly 100 Jews were murdered, and thousands were sent to concentration camps. The Nazis initially framed Kristallnacht as a justified response to the assassination of a German diplomat by a Jewish teenager, portraying the violence as a political necessity rather than an antisemitic atrocity. This framing effectively blamed the victims, masking hate under the guise of a political stance.

On campus today, a similar pattern is emerging. Anti-Zionist groups often receive support from student governments, which pass resolutions endorsing the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS) movement. These resolutions and their language go beyond criticizing Israeli policies, often demonizing Israel as a uniquely evil state and pressuring Jewish students to renounce any connection to Israel to be accepted in academic spaces. This atmosphere forces Jewish students to choose between expressing their identity or being marginalized. It’s a form of erasure and intimidation that mirrors past tactics used to isolate Jewish communities.

Novelist Dara Horn captures this dynamic well in her book *People Love Dead Jews*, where she argues that “Jewish identity is often perceived as illegitimate unless it conforms to other people’s political agendas.” The provost’s dismissal reflected this exact mindset, implying that my connection to Israel was not a legitimate part of my Jewish identity because it didn’t align with his political beliefs. By insisting that Zionism had “nothing to do with being Jewish,” he erased the cultural and historical significance that Zionism holds for many Jews.

The dangers of this atmosphere are not abstract. As novelist Cynthia Ozick has said, “When language itself becomes an accomplice to brutality, the most inhumane acts can be made to seem merely practical.” The chants heard in front of Butler Library and at protests along Broadway aren’t just slogans; they are tools used to delegitimize and threaten Jewish students. When “From the river to the sea” is shouted, it’s not simply a call for Palestinian statehood but an implied endorsement of the elimination of the Jewish state, which raises real concerns about the safety and rights of Jewish students.

After my second encounter with the provost, I reported his remarks to student services. I described how he trivialized my fears and perpetuated harmful stereotypes, hoping the university would take action. I was assured that my complaint would be investigated, but weeks have passed, and I’ve heard nothing. The silence speaks volumes about the administration’s reluctance to confront antisemitism, especially when it is couched in political terms. It’s a stark reminder that when antisemitism intersects with the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, it is often minimized or ignored.

This issue goes beyond the question of free speech or political debate; it is a matter of ensuring that all students, including Jews, feel safe and valued. Universities must implement clear policies that recognize and address antisemitism in all its forms, including when it is masked as political activism. Allowing hate speech to flourish under the guise of free speech only emboldens those who target Jewish students and normalize hostility on campus.

Michelle Obama’s words resonate here: “You may not always have a comfortable life, and you will not always be able to solve all of the world’s problems at once, but don’t ever underestimate the importance you can have because history has shown us that courage can be contagious, and hope can take on a life of its own.” Her message serves as a powerful reminder that standing up against hate, even when it is difficult or uncomfortable, is crucial. We must act now to create an environment where courage in confronting antisemitism is not just the exception but the norm.

It is time for universities to embrace that courage and urgently address antisemitism on campus. When the administration remains silent, it sends a message that hate is acceptable as long as it wears a political mask. But hate is still hate, and it has no place in academia. The time has come for real action to ensure that Jewish students, and all students, can feel safe, valued, and heard on campus.