(JTA) — Students at Columbia University have little access to academic expertise on the Middle East that does not come from an “explicitly anti-Zionist” perspective, the school’s antisemitism task force found.

The Ivy League university “should work quickly and energetically” to add expertise on Jewish and Israeli topics that do not come from an anti-Israel stance, Columbia’s Task Force on Antisemitism urges in its fourth report since forming amid the fallout over the school’s pro-Palestinian protests in 2024.

Previous reports have focused on rules for demonstrations, experiences of antisemitism among students and the broader campus climate, all of which found that many Jewish students felt excluded and hurt by incidents on their campus. The latest report, issued Tuesday, focuses on the classroom experience — and finds that anti-Israel sentiment reared its head not just in protests but during courses and in personal encounters with professors, including those who do not teach anything related to the Middle East.

“A student told us in a class on feminism, the professor opened the first session by announcing it had been 100 days since Israel began waging war on Gaza,” the report says. “We heard similar reports, where harsh condemnations of Israel were made a central element of classes in ways that blindsided Jewish and Israeli students, in a class on photography, a class on architecture, a class on nonprofit management, a class on film, a music humanities class, and a Spanish class.”

The report is the first to be released after Columbia agreed to pay the Trump administration $221 million to settle antisemitism investigations that emanated from the school’s pro-Palestinian encampment, which some faculty members joined, defended and even chose as a site for office hours.

The report emphasizes that professors must be permitted to explore ideas, even those that may be offensive to others, in an academic context, and that there should not be any ideological constraints placed on the readings they assign. But it says faculty members should ideally assign readings representing an array of perspectives and create climates in which students “feel free to express other views.”

It also calls for faculty to alert students in advance if their courses will promote particular perspectives on sensitive topics, so students are not surprised by the content of their courses, and for the university to ensure that required courses, as opposed to electives that are a student’s choice to take, “do not turn into exercises in anti-Israel activism and advocacy.”

The most actionable recommendation is for the school to create a new high-level faculty roles in Middle East history, politics, political economic and policy, to introduce perspectives beyond the anti-Zionist stance that most faculty in the field promote.

“We heard from many students that an academic perspective that treats Zionism as legitimate is underrepresented in Columbia’s course offerings, compared to a perspective that treats it as illegitimate,” the report says. “The University should work quickly to add more intellectual diversity to these offerings.”

Columbia did not immediately commit to acting on the recommendation. But Acting President Claire Shipman issued a statement thanking the antisemitism task force for its work, which has now concluded, and saying that the school would continue to advance its broad suggestions as it

“Thank you for your time, your engagement, your insights, and your care,” Shipman said, addressing the task force’s chairs directly. “And thank you for helping us make sure that our University is a place that protects free expression and our academic mission while ensuring that all of the members of our community feel safe, heard, and welcome.”

The post Columbia must add Middle East faculty who ‘not explicitly anti-Zionist,’ antisemitism task force urges appeared first on The Forward.

(JTA) — We may not yet realize it, but we need a new story of Hanukkah, lest we lose the next Jewish generation to disillusionment with Jewish power and might.

I grew up in the generation that delighted in Israel’s victory in the Six-Day War of 1967, only to discover on my first trip to Israel in 1969 that the exercise of Jewish power meant ruling over the Palestinian people that also wanted its own homeland. Since then, I have been committed to coexistence and equality as the only viable path. I have also, as a poet, sought a “new old” Jewish spirituality that doesn’t rely on the supernatural, and now have written a prayerbook that puts the universe, the earth and Jewish tradition, not God, at the center of our prayers.

What do I make of Hanukkah, our most overtly political and militaristic holiday, in the context of my beliefs? How do I as a liberal thinker approach a holiday that has become a celebration of supernatural miracles and divine intervention?

I stand in a long line of Jews wrestling with these issues. The Talmud famously asks “What is Hanukkah?” as if the rabbis having the conversation had never heard of it. They go on to tell the story of the miracle made by God: how one day’s supply of oil lasted for eight days, enabling them to rededicate the Temple that had been polluted by Israel’s Greek-Syrian oppressors. That is the story we have been telling our children ever since.

At the beginning of the 20th century, the great Yiddish and Hebrew writer, Mendele the Book Seller (in Hebrew, Mendele Mocher Seforim) wrote a story asking the same question: “What is Hanukkah?” The story presents a little boy in Russia who angers his father by asking for Hanukkah to last a whole year, so that he could have a permanent vacation from the cheder and its rigors. His father slaps him, knocking the kippah off his head, and sends him looking for other sources of knowledge. He eventually finds volumes written by enlightened Jews who present Hanukkah in a wholly new guise: as both an anti-imperial war and as a civil war of Jewish loyalists against modernizing Jewish Hellenists.

This second story, which we have been telling for the past century, has been reinforced by the Zionist approach to the holiday, which is evident in the secular song, “Mi Yimalel.” “Who can retell the things that befell us/ Who can count them?/ In every age, a hero or sage came to our aid.” The sage was a concession in the English translation of the song; the Hebrew version features only the gibbor, the hero, celebrated for his valor. It is no surprise that in Israel Hanukkah became the nationalist holiday par excellence.

In our time, neither the religious story of childhood’s miracles, nor the account of Maccabean military might, rings true. This year especially it will be hard for many American Jews to celebrate Hanukkah as a holiday glorifying a Jewish military victory. So many of us have come to see that militarism will not guarantee peace for the people of Israel, but rather only contribute to a cycle of endless war. The spiritual visionaries of early Zionism — Ahad Ha-am, Martin Buber, Judah Magnes, Henrietta Szold —foresaw that a nation state using power for self-preservation would be in an eternal war with the Arab people and would inevitably deform the values of Judaism that they held dear. We needed a nation state to save the Jews of the world after the Holocaust and our expulsion from Arab lands. We still need a place of refuge from antisemitism, not a state that generates more antisemitism through its actions. Now we need our nation state to share the land with the other people that holds it dear.

In a world where Jewish identity is often defined by culture rather than faith, interpreting Hanukkah as a truly spiritual story is also no easy task. Long ago, the rabbis picked for the Haftarah of Hanukkah a lesson from Zechariah. In Debbie Friedman’s popular version, it goes like this: “Not by might and not by power, but by spirit alone shall we all live in peace.” American Jews crave spirituality, though few of us believe in a God who makes miracles. We speak of the Hanukkah miracle to our children, all the while knowing that it is but a children’s story. Most university-educated Jews would have been counted among the Hellenizers; we would not have survived the Maccabee’s zealous hatred of all that was modern.

So, for the mostly non-observant, celebrating Hanukkah as a victory over assimilationists is highly ironic, especially when we stage it for our children in the materialist, commercial idiom of the dominant culture.

So we Jews need a new story of Hanukkah. Many have begun to focus on the lights themselves, making Hanukkah a holiday of searching for sources of inner light in the midst of a dark time — an annual dark time of year in yet another dark time in the history of the world, a world that is always broken and always needing repair, tikkun olam.

That sort of spirituality is what I am trying to get at in this contemporary Hanukkah prayer, “Meditation before the Hanukkah Candles”:

At a great distance from wondrous miracles,

I sit and watch the tiny candles

Burning in my deep diaspora,

Competing with their small light

Against the giant blaze of Christmas,

And feel grateful for a festival of small lights,

Because only from small actions—

Giving a soft answer,

Turning away anger,

Increasing peace at home—

Is the world sustained.

Blessed is our tradition

Dedicating small candles

To great deeds.

There is an irony, of course, in comparing the small ethical and moral actions in one’s life to the great deeds of the Hanukkah story, but that is precisely the point. It is time for a new Hanukkah, kind and compassionate, turning narrow nationalism into a universalist pursuit of the world to come promised by our prophets. With kindness, the world to come can come now.

The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of JTA or its parent company, 70 Faces Media.

The post Liberal-thinking Jews like me need a new way to think about Hanukkah appeared first on The Forward.

Even as antisemitic incidents across Europe reach levels unseen in decades following Hamas’s Oct. 7, 2023, massacre across southern Israel, Jews and Israelis continue to move to the very cities where Jewish identity feels most fraught — creating an unlikely, though often uneven, pattern of demographic renewal at the heart of today’s Jewish diaspora. It is a quiet shift that persists against all odds: growth where fear might suggest retreat.

Despite an increasingly hostile social and political climate, Jewish life in much of Europe is not shrinking. In some places, it is holding steady — and in others, growing. Indeed, according to recent demographic reports, Israeli immigrant communities in Europe are among the fastest-growing Jewish communities in the world.

In Berlin, Hebrew can be heard on park benches and in co-working spaces. In Amsterdam, Jewish schools report steady enrollment and new Hebrew-speaking parents arriving each semester. In London cafés, Israeli students trade WhatsApp groups for housing and internships, while British Jewish institutions describe newcomers who arrive anxious but eager to build communities. Meanwhile, new Chabad houses continue to open across the continent.

Today, Europe is home to nearly 30 percent of all Israelis living outside the country — roughly 190,000 to 200,000 people — with their population steadily increasing across the continent, according to a report from the Institute for Jewish Policy Research (JPR).

JPR data shows that Israel-born Jews now make up nearly 50 percent of the Jewish population in Norway, 41 percent in Finland, and over 20 percent in Bulgaria, Ireland, Spain, and Denmark.

Over the past decade, the number of Israeli-born Jews has grown significantly in Baltic countries (135 percent), in Ireland (95 percent), in Bulgaria (78 percent), in the Czech Republic (74 percent), in Spain (39 percent), in the Netherlands (36 percent), in Germany (34 percent), and in the UK (27 percent).

Europe today is witnessing both rising antisemitism and a growing presence of Israelis — a dynamic that upends long-held assumptions about Jewish life on the continent and challenges popular narratives about Jewish “safety” and migration in the post-Oct. 7 era. Demographers, Jewish leaders, and recent residents describe a moment defined not by disappearance, but by movement, recalibration, and — in some places — cautious renewal.

“You can really see the growth in recent years,” said Shai Dotish, who lives in Berlin and serves as the director of community development at Israeli Community Europe (ICE) — a nonprofit organization dedicated to supporting Israeli immigrants in 16 cities across the continent. “Our Shabbat dinners keep getting bigger, services are fuller, events are livelier. You can feel a vibrant, thriving Jewish life across the cities we serve.”

A Post–Oct. 7 Europe Transformed

The paradox is clear: antisemitism has reached levels not seen in decades, yet European Jewish communities are being stabilized — and in some cases subtly grown — by Israeli arrivals. Europe today hosts more Israel-born Jews than ever before, and many are arriving even as hostility rises.

“There’s no denying the risk and rising antisemitism, but Jewish life isn’t shrinking — it’s growing,” Doitsh told The Algemeiner, adding that ICE is even opening new centers in other European countries to meet higher demand for community services.

This quiet influx is unfolding against one of the most challenging climates European Jews have faced in the 21st century.

Governments and Jewish security organizations across the continent have documented a dramatic rise in anti-Jewish hate crimes since the Oct. 7 atrocities. Germany recorded more than 2,000 antisemitic incidents in 2024 — nearly double pre-Oct. 7 levels. While Germany’s Jewish population has grown in some urban centers, the rise in antisemitic crimes has prompted heightened security in schools, synagogues, and community hubs.

In the UK, the Community Security Trust (CST) — a nonprofit charity that advises Britain’s Jewish community on security matters — recorded 1,521 antisemitic incidents from January to June this year. This was the second-highest number of antisemitic crimes ever recorded by CST in the first six months of any year, following 2,019 incidents in the first half of 2024.

Last month, hundreds of anti-Israel demonstrators gathered outside St. John’s Woods Synagogue in London to protest the war in Gaza. In widely circulated social media videos, protesters are seen chanting, “We don’t want no two states, Palestine 48,” and “From the river to the sea, Zionism is f– treif.”

France presents a similar pattern. According to the French Interior Ministry, the first six months of 2025 saw more than 640 antisemitic incidents, a 27.5 percent decline from the same period in 2024, but a 112.5 percent increase compared to the first half of 2023, before the Hamas-led invasion of southern Israel. 

Across the country, Jewish families have reported removing mezuzot, changing children’s school routes, and avoiding synagogues unless armed security is present.

In France, rising antisemitism and economic factors have led to slight declines in the number of Jewish households, particularly in Paris and Marseille. While French Jews continue to live, work, and participate in communal life, emigration to Israel and other European countries slightly outpaces arrivals.

Smaller European nations — including Spain, Belgium, and Central/Eastern European states — have seen modest Israeli migration, sometimes doubling small local communities.

Amid this increasingly fraught climate, Doitsh said a real sense of vulnerability persists, affecting people’s daily lives as community members and families take new precautions about where they go and what they wear.

For the first time in years, ICE-sponsored events across multiple countries have even had to introduce security. He also noted that organizers are changing event locations and keeping addresses private.

“The community is now dealing not only with antisemitism but with violence, hostility, and open hatred. Many people feel unsafe in their daily lives,” Dotish said. 

Yet fear has had a counterintuitive effect: strengthening community life.

“Antisemitism has reinforced community ties,” said Professor Sergio DellaPergola, chairman of JPR’s European Demography Unit and a leading scholar of Jewish population studies. “People seek solidarity and connection. When they feel vulnerable, they look for their own community.”

The Truth Behind the Numbers: An Uneven Trend 

Though Israeli-born Jewish communities in Europe have grown substantially in recent years, the trend remains complex and uneven throughout the region.

“This is not a moment of large waves of Jewish migration,” Dr. Daniel Staetsky, senior research fellow at JPR, told The Algemeiner. “What we are observing are moderate but meaningful movements, and they vary significantly by country.”

While the total Jewish population in Europe may not be growing substantially in absolute number, its composition is changing dramatically. This shift reflects two interconnected trends: the demographic decline of native European Jews and the rising number of Israeli Jews relocating to the continent. Even modest arrivals can have a significant impact against the backdrop of an aging Jewish population.

“In Western Europe, immigration from Israel has helped stabilize Jewish populations and, in some cases, create slight increases,” DellaPergola told The Algemeiner. “But these increases occur against a background of demographic decline, especially in countries like Germany and Italy, where fertility is very low.”

In other words, Israeli immigration helps keep European Jewish populations stable, masking the underlying decline of “native” communities where low fertility would otherwise shrink the absolute number of Jews.

Western European nations such as Germany and the Netherlands have seen their Jewish numbers bolstered in recent years by Israelis seeking economic opportunities, academic programs, and, paradoxically, a sense of stability.

In Germany, Israeli arrivals are concentrated in Berlin, Frankfurt, and Munich. Hebrew-language classes and Jewish cultural programming have expanded, stabilizing what would otherwise be a declining population due to low fertility. Security concerns remain elevated, but the communities themselves report renewed energy.

In the Netherlands, slow but steady Israeli immigration helps counterbalance demographic decline. Amsterdam schools, synagogues, and youth programs increasingly rely on this influx.

“Immigration from Israel has played a stabilizing role for countries like the Netherlands,” Staetsky said. “It is not large enough to reverse aging or lower fertility, but it slows decline and creates demographic balance.”

Meanwhile, Britain’s Jewish community has remained largely steady at around 313,000, compared with approximately 300,000–320,000 a decade ago. 

According to a 2018 JPR study, high birthrates among Haredi Orthodox Jews are responsible for the recent growth in the number of British Jews after decades of decline. Births in the British Jewish community have reportedly exceeded deaths every year since 2006, implying “Jewish demographic growth in the United Kingdom.”

France’s Jewish population, at roughly 438,500 today, was estimated to be over 500,000 in the mid-2010s — a gradual decline tied in part to emigration and rising antisemitism. 

Eastern European Jewish communities, particularly in the Baltics, are also shrinking due to low fertility and ongoing migration, as increasing numbers make aliyah to Israel. 

DellaPergola told The Algemeiner that this trend reflects long-term structural factors rather than a sudden ideological shift.

“There is a dynamic flow,” he said. “Many Israelis move to Europe, but simultaneously many European [Jews] move to Israel. You have arrivals and departures, and the result in most countries is relative stability.”

However, DellaPergola also acknowledged that the war in Israel has dramatically altered migration patterns.

In 2024, approximately 80,000 Israelis left the country while only 24,000 returned, creating an unprecedented negative migration balance of almost 58,000 people, according to the Israeli Bureau of Statistics.

“I expect this trend to continue into 2025, marking a second consecutive year of negative migration, something unprecedented,” DellaPergola said. 

Some of these emigrants may be responsible for the recent growth of  Israeli communities in Europe, according to Staetsky.

Earlier this year, a study by the Israel Democracy Institute found that over one in four Israelis are contemplating leaving the country, pointing to the high cost of living, security and political concerns, and “the lack of a good future for my children” as key factors. Of those considering emigration, the European Union is the top destination (43 percent), surpassing North America and Canada (27 percent).

A Demographic Paradox

Staetsky emphasized that most Jewish migration today is not driven by ideology or fear alone. 

“Migration trends reflect a balance of economic and social considerations,” he told The Algemeiner. “People move where they believe opportunity is strongest.”

Europe’s future as a Jewish center is far from assured. Fertility rates across the continent remain low. Political volatility is rising. Trust in public institutions varies sharply by country. For many Israeli families abroad, Europe is not necessarily a permanent destination but part of a global career trajectory. 

This uncertainty is not abstract. For some Israelis living in Europe, it has become deeply personal. Take the case of Benjamin Birley — an Israeli Jew living in Rome and a social media influencer — whose experience lays bare the strain many Jews say they now feel in their everyday lives.

Birley came to Italy to pursue a doctoral degree and has spent the past several years there. But he says the climate has shifted sharply, with the Israeli–Palestinian conflict seeping into daily interactions in ways he describes as “unbearable.” Even though he must return to finish his program, he has decided to leave Europe temporarily and go back to Israel “to get some fresh air and breathe.”

“Italy in general has a lot of anti-Israel sentiment,” Birley told The Algemeiner. “There is just a relentless Palestinianism that is always in the media, in the culture, in your local café.”

“If you’re Jewish or Israeli and you’re openly Jewish or Israeli in Italy, you have to be prepared for endless conversations and debate and hostility with random people who literally have no idea what they’re speaking about. And for me that was just not a sustainable way to live,” he said. 

DellaPergola cautioned against long-term predictions. “I believe it is not worth making projections given the difficult and uncertain times European Jewish communities are experiencing,” he said. 

If there is a takeaway, it is not a grand demographic narrative but a more complex and human one: Israelis and Jews are weighing fear against opportunity, identity against mobility, history against present-day realities. They are choosing Europe not because it is uniquely safe, but because it still offers possibility — even amid threat.

The story of Jews in Europe after Oct. 7 is not retreat. It is one of presence and a quiet reshaping of diaspora patterns in a world where the old certainties no longer hold.

While Europe’s Jewish future remains uncertain, it is being rewritten, not erased.