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A Florida bill attacking ‘critical theory’ in higher education has the state’s Jewish academics worried
(JTA) — The University of Florida has more Jewish students than any other public college in the United States — and last week, one of them reached out to a professor, fearing that it would no longer be possible to study Jewish topics there.
Citing a graphic that had been making the rounds on social media, the student asked if it was true that a new bill working its way through the state legislature would remove all “Jewish Studies courses, majors and minors” in the state. The graphic was shared by several people with large online followings, including comedian D.L. Hughley, who has more than 750,000 followers on Twitter.
“I love my major and I can’t imagine switching to anything else,” the student wrote, according to Norman Goda, director of the university’s Center for Jewish Studies.
Goda wasn’t able to console the student. Like other Jewish academics in Florida who spoke to the Jewish Telegraphic Agency, he doesn’t know whether H.B. 999 would affect Jewish studies on the state’s college campuses. Though the bill’s author — a Republican state representative — says that won’t be the case, the bill’s language is much less clear.
That’s because the bill’s current wording would forbid the state’s public higher education institutions from teaching or offering any major or minor based in “methodology associated with Critical Theory.” That prohibition, say academics and other critics of the bill, would make teaching courses in Jewish studies impossible — and would also outlaw many other fields in higher education.
Exactly what the bill means by “critical theory” is unclear. To academics, the term refers to a tool for analyzing society and culture, created in the 1930s by German Jewish academics, that encourages people to view the world through power structures, and to consider why they fall short. To political conservatives, it’s a relative of “critical race theory,” a watchword for those who want to inhibit classroom instruction about racism. An earlier version of H.B. 999 mentioned only critical race theory, not the umbrella theory.
“These people don’t know what they’re talking about,” said a Jewish faculty member at a Florida university, who requested anonymity due to fear of retaliation from the state government, regarding the lawmakers behind H.B. 999. “You’re putting people who don’t know what critical theory is, but have heard the words — and now you’re putting them in charge of universities.”
A university that completely purged such ideas from its classrooms, the anonymous faculty member said, “would be non-existent.”
The bill in question is the latest example of conservative-led state efforts to snuff out culture-war modes of thought like critical race theory and gender studies, often referred to euphemistically by lawmakers as “divisive concepts” in education. Such efforts have occasionally ensnared efforts to teach Jewish history and the Holocaust.
Attempts to legislate the classroom are particularly potent in Florida, where Republican governor Ron DeSantis, a likely presidential candidate, has frequently stated his desire to ban “woke” concepts from being taught in the state. (DeSantis has stated he will wait to see H.B. 999’s final form before he decides whether to sign it, but in a discussion with college administrators last week he continued to rail against what he called the “ideological agenda” of campus diversity, equity and inclusion programs.)
The state recently rejected the curriculum for a new Advanced Placement African-American Studies course in high schools, forcing the College Board to rework the class. Florida is also home to several active conservative “parents’ rights” groups that have lobbied to remove objectionable books and clubs from public schools.
While most legislation in this realm to date has targeted what’s taught in K-12 public schools, this bill and other efforts in Florida have gone a step further by seeking to regulate the world of state-funded higher education — creating what critics say are new and dangerous threats to academic freedom, with broad and vague wording that leaves efforts to research and teach a variety of disciplines in doubt.
“This bill would cripple the long-standing freedom universities have to design and teach a curriculum based on the development of academic disciplines,” Cary Nelson, an emeritus professor at the University of Illinois and past president of the American Association of University Professors ,who has taught multiple courses on Jewish issues, told JTA.
In a recent subcommittee hearing on the bill, Republican state Rep. Alex Andrade, who co-authored the legislation, said, “I believe that state universities should be focused on teaching students how to think, not what to think.” He said the bill’s banning of “radical” ideologies referred to “a system meant to direct and promote certain activism to achieve a specific viewpoint.”
Efforts to limit the material taught to children and college students are underway in several states. But Florida has an especially large population of Jewish students. The University of Florida stands atop Hillel International’s ranking of public colleges with the highest proportion of Jewish students, and the University of Central Florida has the third-largest. Florida State University, Florida International University, Florida Atlantic University and the University of South Florida also rank in the top 60.
H.B. 999 would affect education at those schools in other ways, too. The bill, which recently advanced to committee, would overhaul the state’s post-tenure review process, so that instead of checking on a faculty member’s research productivity every five years, as is currently the case in the state, tenured professors could face reviews “at any time for cause” including “violation of any applicable law or rule.”
The result, one academic in the state said, would be “open season on faculty,” who could be out of a job if their university’s board — which, in public schools, is beholden to the governor — disagrees with their syllabus.
Andrade rejected the idea that H.B. 999 would undercut Jewish studies in Florida.
“Outsiders are wrong. Ethnic studies are not affected by the bill either by the bill’s intent or the bill’s language,” Andrade wrote in an email to JTA, accusing the bill’s critics of “lying and claiming that Florida’s leaders have tried to ban teaching black history in schools.”
The state’s only Jewish Republican legislator, state Rep. Randy Fine, did not return a JTA request for comment on whether he supports the bill. Fine has promoted similar culture-war legislation in the past, including a bill he co-authored in February that would prohibit all K-12 schools in the state from referring to either students or employees by pronouns that do not correspond to the sex they were assigned at birth.
With a Republican-dominated House and Senate, some form of H.B. 999 seems likely to reach DeSantis’ desk. (A parallel bill in the state Senate does not contain wording on critical theory.) But there is strong opposition from the academic community. Groups including the American Historical Association, the American Association of University Professors and Florida’s statewide faculty union have harshly condemned the bill and urged lawmakers to oppose it.
The American Historical Association’s statement on the bill this month calls it a “blatant and frontal attack on principles of academic freedom and shared governance central to higher education in the United States.” More than 70 academic, historical and activist organizations co-signed the statement.
The executive committee of the Association for Jewish Studies signed a different statement authored by the American Council of Learned Societies, decrying the bill as an “effort to undermine academic freedom in Florida.”
“If it passes, it ends academic freedom in the state’s public colleges and universities, with dire consequences for their teaching, research, and financial well-being,” the statement said of the bill. “Academic freedom means freedom of thought, not the state-mandated production of histories edited to suit one party’s agenda in the current culture wars.”
Asked for comment on the bill, Warren Hoffman, the executive director of the Association for Jewish Studies, pointed to the statement.
Rachel Harris, director and endowed chair at Florida Atlantic University’s Jewish Studies program, is in her first semester at the university, having just arrived from the University of Illinois. “I’m now wondering if that was a terrible mistake,” she joked. (Harris is spending this term in Israel, researching on a Fulbright fellowship.)
Still, Harris said she was “confident” that legislators would “continue to support educational commitments in the state,” noting that Florida has a Holocaust education mandate for K-12 public schools. Her Boca Raton university is currently building an expanded center for Jewish and Holocaust studies, funded by private donors. H.B. 999 in its current form would prohibit universities from teaching critical theory concepts even when such programs are privately funded.
Despite what he described as a few students at the Jewish Studies center who are concerned about the new bill, Goda said he did not think the legislation would change the experience of Jewish students on his campus.
“Jewish kids these days are really choosing universities based on whether or not Jewish kids feel comfortable there,” he said. “And I would argue that [the University of Florida] is a very welcoming campus for Jewish kids overall. There are strong Jewish institutions associated with the campus.”
Instead, he feels the bill’s real effects would be felt in the state’s ability to recruit faculty and staff while its legislators jeopardize academic freedom, tenure and other lodestars of the humanities. He said, “The real question to me is how and in what way it’s going to be enforced.”
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Yiddish startup brings together literature, listening parties and language circles in London
In one of the world’s earliest Yiddish comics, created by Samuel Zagat in 1912, Gimpel the Matchmaker strides ahead while glancing backwards over his shoulder. He’s moving steadily forward, but at the same time, he keeps one eye on the past.
It’s a fitting logo for Jargon, a London-based Yiddish culture organization that was founded last year, dedicated to exploring the past, present and future of the Jewish diaspora. Jargon draws on London’s rich Yiddish history – as well as the overlapping but distinct diaspora communities that have shaped the city for centuries – to imagine a future for Yiddish culture.
Historians Aleph Ross and M. Syd Rosen founded Jargon last year out of a “craving for more Jewish spaces that were platforming things that were about diaspora, that were about Yiddish, and also about more marginal, either esoteric or radical or counter-cultural Jewish characters,” Rosen told me in an interview. He said they had both long felt that these aspects of Jewish culture were “a major part of our sense of what Jewish history was in Britain,” but didn’t receive the attention they deserved in existing Jewish spaces.
Ross and Rosen began learning Yiddish together around five years ago, when Ross realized that she needed to understand Yiddish for a research project on her own great-great-grandfather, the London Yiddish writer Morris Myer. Still, the organizers see Yiddish as one of many aspects of “leaning into those threads of Jewish cultural identity that we felt have maybe gotten lost through processes of assimilation.”
The duo originally imagined Jargon as a bookshop selling Yiddish-language books alongside other Jewish literature, as well as hosting occasional events. In the year since they launched, that original vision has grown into a busy cultural program with pop-up events across London. Jargon hosts a regular shmueskrayz, or Yiddish-language conversation circle, modeled on the Berlin-based Shmues un Vayn group. At the same time, the group aims to “provide points of entry to [Yiddish] culture for different kinds of people,” including those who don’t speak Yiddish at all. With that audience in mind, Ross and Rosen also run a Yiddish-in-translation book club at a library.
“It’s explicitly about bringing attention to these works that are really cult or famous, or infamous, but [that], actually, very few people have read,” Rosen said. At book club meetings, Ross or Rosen sometimes reads a passage of the book out loud in Yiddish to give attendees a taste of the original.
For Jargon’s monthly pop-up events, the organizers often choose topics that touch on multiple different areas of interest – not just Yiddish language and culture. A recent event about the post-war Romani British poet Mark Hyatt, whose boyfriend was the Anglo-American Jewish poet Harry Fainlight, drew readers of both writers’ work as well as people broadly interested in Roma, Jewish, or queer poetry.
Rosen explains that Jargon seeks out this “slightly jumbled alternative read that we’re trying to put on our events, where they’re explicitly not the most obvious way of presenting a cultural product, and as a result they attract quite a weird and varied audience.”
Jargon’s location in London’s East End helps with that goal. Though Jargon is “semi-nomadic,” with events taking place around London, the group’s home base is at House of Annetta, a community space on Brick Lane, in the Shoreditch neighborhood of East London. Historically a center of Jewish immigrants, the neighborhood later became home to a large South Asian community and is now increasingly gentrified.
Being surrounded by multiple diaspora communities creates an opportunity to “think about the connections between these different stories,” Ross told me. In events like the Mark Hyatt talk, Jargon puts Jewish experiences in conversation with the stories of other minority groups in Britain – something the organization plans to do more explicitly in future programming.
At the same time, the area’s Jewish roots make it a fitting home for a Yiddish revival. “It’s so symbolic for people to feel like they can hear Yiddish in the East End again, even if they themselves never heard it,” Rosen said. “It’s got a heymish quality that people have a lot of fondness for.” That said, “we don’t want [the symbolism of the Yiddish language] to be the end point. We want it to be an entry point.”
During a fundraiser and listening party for the album Lider mit Palestine, a collection of new Yiddish songs protesting the war in Gaza, many audience members were encountering Yiddish music for the first time. Providing an accessible entry point to the language through music, the organizers said, made it possible to “advertis[e] Yiddish culture, but in a way that could actually appeal to people that didn’t even know such a thing existed as well.”
In the future, Ross and Rosen want to expand Jargon’s Yiddish-language book offerings. Since many Yiddish books are out of print, they try to find Yiddish literature secondhand or through donations and resell it on a pay-what-you-can basis. As well as broadening access to well-known Yiddish writers, they aim to introduce readers to more obscure works, offering a starting point for a deeper encounter with Yiddish culture. The goal, as Rosen put it, is for Jargon to be “the sort of environment where people say to themselves: ‘You know what, I’m going to read Isaac Bashevis Singer. Oh, and who’s this author that I never heard of next to him?’”
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How an Amish Mennonite school in Arkansas went viral with a song by an Orthodox Jew
Last month, Jewish social media was buzzing over a video of a choir singing the popular 2018 song “Tatty, My King,” composed by Dovid Edell, a former student of an Orthodox high school for boys in Waterbury, Conn. Normally, another rendition of a popular Jewish song wouldn’t cause such a stir, but the singers in this case weren’t the typical yeshiva grads of the Maccabeats; they were a co-ed a cappella choir of Amish Mennonite students from the tiny Calvary Bible School in Calico Rock, Arkansas.
Jewish viewers mostly expressed delight — “the Youtube algorithm is probably going crazy right now — frum people watching Calvary bible school,” one commenter put it, topping it off with a typed happy face — with only the occasional disgruntled remark about kol isha, the religious prohibition against men hearing women sing.
Curious about this rather unlikely collaboration, I called up Gabriel Jantzi, a self-described “amateur” musician who directed the choir, to ask about his introduction to Edell’s tune, how the project unfolded, and the choir’s surprising moment of minor fame in the Orthodox world.
Can you tell me a little bit about your background?
I’m 41 years old. I went to university for medicine, but I also really liked music. So I studied music, but I didn’t even minor in it, and I ended up as a veterinarian. [In the ensuing years] I have directed church choirs, and I directed my university choir for a year, and so that has been part of my life for the last 25 years. But it’s not like I have a master’s degree in choral composition or conducting.
I am a full-time farm and country vet in Ontario, Canada, and that’s what I do. This is a slow season in January and February, so it’s very convenient to take off time and do something that I really care about. So I’m also a pastor in a local conservative Mennonite church. I take great pleasure and derive a lot of energy out of working with young people who are interested in following God.
What’s your relationship to the Calvary Bible School?
I was a student there 20 years ago. Probably since its inception in the 70s, it’s been a destination for Beachy Amish Mennonite youth between the ages of 18 and 20 who want to dedicate time to study how to live a life that’s pleasing to God.
There are a lot of different names for all the different stripes of Mennonite. I grew up in the Amish Mennonite tradition. I got married, I moved a little bit. I ended up in a tiny bit different stripe. But at least in our communities, it’s not a big issue for me to go back to that tradition and say, here I am, what can I bring and what can I offer? So technically I’m not exactly the same stripe as the school, but I grew up in that stripe, if that makes sense.
I think the concept of moving a little bit along denominational lines, or even to sort of different expressions of one’s faith, would be quite familiar to many Jews.
I think that there are striking similarities between our communities here.
I think a lot of people understand who the Amish are and they understand who Mennonites are, but can you explain what an “Amish Mennonite” is? I know these boundaries can be fluid.
The Beachy Amish Mennonites care about traditions; we’re not throwing them out just because we want to move forward in a certain progressive way. Yet we are much more open to technology than what we call the Old Order Amish or Old Order Mennonite groups. When we use the term “Old Order,” we’re referring specifically to those groups that have said, “We’re going to welcome technology up until the 1800s or the early 1900s, and we’re going to maintain the horse and buggy style of life and so on.” [But Amish Mennonites] said, “No, we’re not actually against technology, we’re just hesitant to adopt everything new without testing it.” We care about probably many of the same traditional values that [Old Order groups] would, such as community and our church. And also just like they do, we put a great emphasis on our religion being a very practical religion. So it’s lived out in such a way that you can look at us and say, oh, they must have some reasons behind living a certain way.
How did you first come across this song, and what made you want to arrange it?
Anabaptists have a strong tradition of a cappella music, men and women singing together without the aid of instruments. We care very much about that: Every time we get together for a worship service, that’s how we sing.
We came across an a cappella cover of this song by Benny Friedman on Spotify and that really resonated with us. Not me personally, but some of these kids [in the choir] would actually be from a congregation that’s set limitations that you’re not even supposed to listen to instrumental music, so they could listen to this song.
And so they brought it to me last year at the Bible school and said, “Do you know this song?” And I said, “No, I’ve never heard of it.” I listened to it a bunch more and I realized why they liked it. It talks about some very universal questions that any kid who’s grown up in a tradition with God will have: Where are you? I’m told I need to come talk to you, but I don’t really want to. And as my relationship with God matures, it kind of develops into this realization that actually He’s been covering my back all this time and I never realized, so I really do want to stay on God’s team. Whether you’re an Orthodox Jew or you’re a conservative Mennonite, either way, as your relationship with God matures, those words really resonate and that progression really comes through in the song. So I thought, and my wife thought as well, that I should lead this song next year for these kids.
I have often taken music and arranged it to fit an a cappella group, and for some reason I just was not filled with any profound inspiration on how to do that for this song. So I asked a friend of mine named Wendell Glick [to arrange it.] He is a professional musician, he’s got a PhD in composition, he does this for a living. He’s also from [an Anabaptist] background, and led this choir for seven years before I did. So he knows this choir, which means he knows how to write music that stretches them just the right amount so that they do a good job of it. I really want to praise him for that.
He did a great job.
It worked for us. We’re only together for two and a half weeks, and we’re not professional musicians. Also, this choir is mandatory. That means 60% of the kids want to be there, 20% are OK with it, and 20% don’t like singing and they still have to be there. Actually, you can see [in the video recording] some of them are really feeling it and others are zoned out. And that’s OK!
For the first week [of practicing], we didn’t really like it. We’ve been very tainted by mainstream Christianity’s Protestant music that came in the 1850s, [whereas] this song has just a touch of minor key. It comes from a different culture, not quite what our mental ear hears. It took us a bit of time to get into it, but by the second week this was without a doubt the favorite song of my repertoire. Then at our local or in-house concerts, the audience just absolutely loved it. And when I say that, it’s not like we got a standing ovation; to us the highest compliment is when somebody says, “It made me worship God.” And those are the compliments we began hearing.
Did you ever have any interactions with Dovid Edell, who wrote the song?
Yes, I did. When I take a song, I make sure it’s licensed for use. I understand [Edell] had to get permission or talk with some rabbis to see whether it would be appropriate. And so he talked to the rabbis and then he called me up and I spoke to him about who wanted to sing it and I explained that the youth are all Christian. He was very nice about it and he said, “Just let them know that this was my conversation with God. It’s a personal song.” And I said, “That’s the basis on which it resonates with us as well.” He was gracious and let us use it.
Then when I was actually working with the students, I also communicated back to Dovid because he said, basically, “I have a few messages I want you to directly convey to the students.” Which made it very personal. Gen-Z loves to have some personal connection, right? When they perform a song, they love to have some personal connection to the composer. And that just made it for them. That was amazing.
Did you get any negative reactions?
I’m assuming — and I say this with respect because we also understand some of the traditions from the Torah — that some people found it offensive, that it’s a mix. Forgive me if I’m mispronouncing it, but I had never come across the kol isha idea so I was a bit sheepish that I walked into something without doing my research very well.
One of the things I care about is that people worry about pronunciation when they sing another language. One of my negatives is I did not ask Dovid how to pronounce “tatty.” I just kind of ran with it. In the future, I would probably be a little more careful about asking the original composer whether he wanted a certain emphasis and a pronunciation of certain words.
Did you realize how popular the video had become in the Orthodox world?
The lovely thing is the conductor is not mentioned in that video and you just see his back. So fortunately, from my viewpoint, very few people know who I am. If there’s any publicity here, I’m glad that the school gets it, because the school is blatantly about the glory of God. And to use a phrase that Dovid would have said, he just wants to spread light. So I want that to be the focus.
We read the comments, and I think I’d have two words to describe our reaction: First is delight, and second, we’re honored. We blatantly are Christians, not Jews, so we come at this and say this is a part of our maturity process to learn more about God’s son. But that being said, the song itself doesn’t speak whatsoever about the Messiah, it only talks about the relationship with God. And to us, it 110% resonated, just like it did for your community, so we are grateful that we could participate.
We care a lot about this school, but we understand it’s very arcane. All of 83 students were there this past term. Not many people know about it. So it was quite a thing that another community is interested in what we’re doing. But we also acknowledge that the song that we are singing is from that community. So yeah, it was kind of a good circle.
Did you have much familiarity with Jews and Judaism before this? Have you learned more about it through this experience?
Yes, we would have some familiarity. I hope I’m not coming across as cocky, but because we study Judaism, I think we actually have a bit more familiarity with Judaism than I think from what I read in the comments than they’d ever have with us. There are a lot of comments that were like, “Where did you get this song?” Well, guys, you put it on Spotify! But if you assume we’re all Old Order Amish that drive horse and buggy and don’t have Internet, then I can understand those questions. So I think we have some knowledge, although I had no idea about things like kol isha. Also, it was a surprise to all of us how much our performance of your song resonated with your community. I’m still not sure why.
I can think of two possibilities. One is that it’s just a very beautiful rendition, so it’s hard to imagine not being moved by it. But I also think Jews are often happily surprised to see a group of non-Jews embrace or respect a piece of Jewish culture, particularly Orthodox culture. A lot of the time, people anticipate negativity.
Well, that’s very nice of you to say. Those words really make me feel fuzzy and warm inside. We have great respect for your culture. We think God brought the Messiah through your people. I realize that differs from the understanding of many people who wrote comments, but we have profound appreciation and love for your people.
We understand that we are the white Christians and Christians have had thousands and thousands of years of fighting with the Jews. So I know it’s hard to say, “Well, we’re not like that.” But I think I can speak for all Anabaptists and say we would strongly differentiate ourselves and say no, one of our fundamental professions or distinctions is this idea of love for all man. In fact, we won’t even go to war because we love people. Again, it comes back to we are honored that you let us use it. We were tickled pink and I’ll be keeping my eyes open for other songs that I think could be used.
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Hezbollah enters Iran war, firing on Israel’s north, as US officials say more fighting is to come
(JTA) — Hezbollah fired on Israel for the first time since a 2024 ceasefire on Sunday, opening a new front in the U.S.-Israel war on Iran that began on Saturday.
Israel hammered Hezbollah positions in Lebanon overnight and said it had killed the group’s head of intelligence, Hussein Makled. Israeli officials said they expected further salvos from the Iranian proxy to the north.
The escalation comes as new missile attacks from Iran caused fresh damage and injuries in Beersheba and as the scope of the damage from the first two days of the war have come into focus. That includes sweeping damage in central Tel Aviv, where one woman was killed; a direct strike on a shelter in Beit Shemesh that killed nine, including three teen siblings; and strikes in Jerusalem that both injured Arab Israelis and sent shrapnel close to the holy sites of the Western Wall and Al-Aqsa Mosque.
Both Israeli and U.S. officials say they expect operations to last for some time, with President Donald Trump suggesting a four-week timeline even as he indicated that Iranian officials had indicated a willingness to return to the negotiating table. Iran’s top security official, whom Ayatollah Ali Khamenei had identified as a leader in the case of his assassination, denied Trump’s characterization.
Military officials including War Secretary Pete Hegseth said on Monday morning that they could not offer a timeline or details about the operations but said they were happy with the operations so far, which are designed to thwart Iran’s nuclear ambitions and topple its Islamic Republic regime. Asked about the significance of the fact that Israel killed Khamenei, Hegseth responded, “I think Israel did a great job in the conduct of that operation.”
A fourth U.S. service member who was wounded over the weekend died on Monday, while multiple U.S. planes were shot down by friendly fire over Kuwait; their passengers survived.
The incident in Kuwait comes as Iran continues to fire on Arab states in the region, in a new escalation of regional conflict. An Iranian drone also crashed into a British base in Cyprus, causing Prime Minister Keir Starmer to agree to a U.S. request to use British bases to support efforts to destroy Iranian weapons. German Chancellor Frederich Merz is visiting Trump on Monday and may also agree to play a role in supporting the U.S.-Israeli operations.
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