In February 2017, long before Hamas’s October 7 attack on Israel, I was teaching a course on the history of antisemitism at the University of Michigan when a series of racist and antisemitic emails were sent to hundreds of students from a spoofed university account.
A few days later, when the class next met, we discussed the incident. The Black students in the class shared that their community had been deeply disturbed, even traumatized, by the incident. The Jewish students, on the other hand, had barely registered it. Some certainly had heard about it and were disturbed, but the majority simply dismissed it as the machinations of a single disturbed individual.
Why such different responses from the two targeted communities?
The answer was that the Jewish students felt secure at the university. They knew that they belonged and had the luxury of being able to shrug it off. The Black students, on the other hand, already felt insecure. The incident shook them to the core, reinforcing the feeling that they were not wanted on campus.
Hidden identities
Things have changed dramatically since then. Now neither community feels safe. Diversity initiatives designed to accommodate the experiences of students of color have been shuttered, and many Jewish students have come to believe that they, too, are not wanted on campus.
Some have encountered hostility themselves; others have been convinced by the media, the government, their parents, and the wider community that they are not safe. Many Jewish students feel that the parade of demonstrations against Israel is directed against them. And, far too often, they are proven right.
In an attempt to address this, I established the Raoul Wallenberg Institute at the University of Michigan. Named after the famed humanitarian and alum of the university, the institute combats and studies antisemitism and all forms of ethnic and religious hatred.
Students, faculty, and staff at the university, one of the largest public institutions in the country, have since shared their concerns with me, and I have been working with multiple stakeholders to develop guidelines that create a more welcoming campus.
Many students report feeling a need to hide their Jewish identity. They fear telling their peers and professors that they are Jewish. Some even refrain from taking time off on the High Holy Days to avoid exposing themselves as Jews. Students who identify as Zionists or feel an attachment to Israel (as do about 60% of American Jews) report feeling that a portion of their identity is being shunned. Jewish students who do not necessarily feel an attachment to Israel also report having to “prove” that they are not Zionist to gain acceptance.
When academic talks on Jewish issues are shouted down by pro-Palestinian protesters or synagogues are targeted by anti-Zionist picketers – as happens in my community – the distinctions between anti-Zionism and antisemitism disappear.
Many Jewish students, regardless of their position on the war in Gaza or relationship to the State of Israel, say they feel inundated with aggressive anti-Israel propaganda that creeps into their classrooms, dorms, and clubs, inhibiting their ability to fully participate in campus life.
Many Jewish students also feel unable to speak up in class about Jewish issues or their feelings about Israel, particularly when instructors make their own opinions known and assume that everybody else shares them. Instructors with no expertise in the region have canceled classes to allow students to attend anti-Israel demonstrations and have given impromptu “lessons” on the conflict as they understand it. Some even include anti-Israel statements on their syllabi, office doors, and university websites.
Wrong approaches
Before we can turn to discussing the right solutions, let me address some of the wrong approaches.
Federal funding should not be made contingent on allegations of antisemitism. Like others, Jews benefit from the medical, scientific, and humanistic advances made by universities with the help of federal funding. Not only will these benefits be put at risk if the funding is retracted, but if it is done in the name of fighting antisemitism, “the Jews” will be blamed.
As Jonathan Greenblatt, the CEO of the Anti-Defamation League, put it: ”Resolving the very real crisis of antisemitism should not jeopardize the entire enterprise of our system of higher education. We should be able to hold institutions accountable for protecting Jewish students, faculty, and staff while maintaining a commitment to academic freedom and independent inquiry.”
Second, universities should not adopt official definitions of antisemitism. In the past year, Harvard University and Columbia University incorporated the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance Working Definition of Antisemitism (IHRA definition) into their existing anti-discrimination policies. But there are many other definitions available, each with their own nuances.
Rather than endorse a single definition, universities should allow scholars, faculty, and students to debate these contentious issues. University administrations should adopt policies of institutional neutrality, committing to remain neutral on divisive issues unless they directly impact the functioning of the university. After all, it is the university’s job to facilitate and moderate public discussion, not to silence speech.
Title VI of the 1964 Civil Rights Act – the law prohibiting discrimination based on race, national origin, and color – is sufficient to protect Jewish students. We do not need to fight over whether a particular incident was antisemitic or not; it is enough to rule that it violated that section to require intervention.
In fact, even if speech were determined to be antisemitic in accordance with a definition adopted by a public university like my own, the university would still be unable to act. Only speech that meets very narrow categories, like incitement to imminent lawless action or fighting words that are likely to provoke an immediate violent reaction, can legally be restricted by a governmental institution.
A better approach
Nevertheless, universities can set norms and expectations on speech and conduct. It should be expected that instructors and staff will distinguish between their professional academic roles and their personal civic and political engagement.
Instructors should refrain from teaching or offering perspectives on material that is irrelevant to the topic of the class. It is inappropriate for a chemistry professor, for example, to use classroom time to express their opinion about what is happening in the Middle East. Students should have the right to learn in an environment where the instructor’s political viewpoint doesn’t impact their ability to succeed.
Members of the university community should also not be discriminated against based on their political leanings, religious beliefs, or cultural affiliations in clubs, positions of leadership, awarding of grades and honors, providing letters of recommendation, or mentorship. As obvious as this may sound, when a student was denied a letter of recommendation at my university in 2018 because she wanted to study in Israel, the university community was shockingly divided on whether or not this type of discrimination was acceptable.
Universities have long been sites of protest and political engagement. My own university is rightly proud of its history of protest. Yet, while universities may not restrict the content of lawful expression, they can – and must – restrict the time, manner, and place of protest uniformly. Universities must, for instance, guard against the “heckler’s veto.” They must not allow demonstrators to restrict access to university activities or prevent them from taking place. While handing out pamphlets outside a lecture is permissible, substantially interrupting the talk is not. Similarly, protesting on the campus lawn for a limited time is permissible, but “occupying” the lawn and preventing others from using it for extended periods of time is not.
America’s universities may not have the answer to antisemitism, but they also aren’t the breeding grounds of hate that many imagine them to be. Using these sensible techniques and uniformly enforcing existing regulations, universities can sustain a welcoming environment for Jews and all groups. This will ensure that their campuses remain open, pluralistic spaces, where difficult and contentious ideas can be debated in the classroom and the quad. ■
Jeffrey Veidlinger is director of the Raoul Wallenberg Institute at the University of Michigan and author of In the Midst of Civilized Europe: The 1918-1921 Pogroms in Ukraine and the Onset of the Holocaust.