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Park East Synagogue is still searching for its next leader as another assistant rabbi exits
(New York Jewish Week) — The ongoing search for a successor to Park East Synagogue’s 92-year-old rabbi has hit a fresh hurdle, as the rabbinic search committee has been disbanded and another of the congregation’s rabbis has left his job.
For more than a year, the prominent Orthodox congregation on Manhattan’s East Side has sought someone to succeed Rabbi Arthur Schneier, a Holocaust survivor who has led the synagogue for six decades. But none of the prospective candidates has yet panned out, while at the same time multiple assistant rabbis have exited the synagogue.
The synagogue suggested in a statement that another of its assistant rabbis could be the heir apparent. But Park East members worry that the turmoil is endangering the future of their storied synagogue, which has hosted a pope and a string of other dignitaries as Schneier has shaped the synagogue into a stage for his human rights activism.
In February, Schneier told the New York Jewish Week, “When it comes to the selection of a rabbi, it is entirely up to the membership.” But multiple synagogue members said the rabbinic search committee disbanded after a top British rabbi withdrew from consideration in February and Schneier is now running the search himself.
“Members feel disenfranchised,” said one Park East member who is familiar with the synagogue’s management and, like others in the community, asked to remain anonymous for fear of ruining their relationships in the congregation.
“It is very difficult,” the member said. “We’ve had Rabbi Schneier here for a very long time and many people do love him very much, and it’s hard for them to imagine someone else taking that place.”
Some are sympathetic to Schneier’s position. Reuven Kahane, a longtime member at Park East who often delivers sermons at the synagogue, told the New York Jewish Week that “Rabbi Schneier has flaws and makes mistakes — like everyone else.”
The Star of David stands atop the Park East Synagogue, March 3, 2017 in New York City. (Photo by Drew Angerer/Getty Images)
“But who has done so much for so many?” Kahane asked. “The rabbi literally watched Kristallnacht, then turned that tragedy into saving Jewish lives for 70 years.”
The uncertainty began in late 2021, when the synagogue abruptly fired Schneier’s popular assistant rabbi, Benjamin Goldschmidt, whom Schneier’s allies accused of trying to stage a coup. Four months later, the synagogue announced a search for a “worthy successor” to Schneier. Goldschmidt has since founded his own popular congregation, called the Altneu, in the same neighborhood.
In February, Park East appeared close to hiring Rabbi Yitzchak Schochet, who leads a large synagogue in London. But a question-and-answer period at the synagogue following a lecture by Schochet devolved into argument when a member publicly protested the rabbi’s views about same-sex marriage. Schochet eventually withdrew from the rabbinic search.
Now, Rabbi Elchanan Poupko — who has taught at the synagogue’s affiliated day school since 2015, and who has served as the synagogue’s interim assistant rabbi since last year — confirmed that he is leaving the synagogue. Members said Poupko was well liked and was once floated as a prospective successor to Schneier. When he assumed the assistant rabbi role, he posted on LinkedIn, “May it be the will [of Hashem] that … the Divine Presence, rest in our work.”
Both Poupko and the synagogue attributed his departure to his physician wife’s work as a professor of neurology at the University of Connecticut. Poupko said “the schlep is too much” between the two workplaces.
“We wish Rabbi Poupko, his wife Rachel, and their daughters the best in their new home in Connecticut,” the synagogue said in a statement. “Their contributions to our community have been greatly appreciated and they will be missed.”
The synagogue’s statement added that it has asked another assistant rabbi, David Flatto, to serve as “acting Associate Rabbi.” Flatto previously served as the rabbi of another prominent Upper East Side Orthodox synagogue, Kehilath Jeshurun, and is a professor of law and Jewish philosophy at Hebrew University in Jerusalem.
His biography on the Park East website says he is at the synagogue “until he resumes his academic responsibilities at Hebrew University in the fall,” but members told the New York Jewish Week that they understand Schneier wants to keep Flatto on as his successor.
“He is well known and respected by the Park East community having served as our Assistant Rabbi in 2022,” the synagogue’s statement said. “He exhibited warmth and caring in his outreach and pastoral duties during Shabbat, High Holiday services, and during life cycle events.”
Neither Flatto nor Schneier responded to requests for comment.
Two members of the disbanded committee declined to comment, and the synagogue’s statement did not address an inquiry about the committee’s status, saying, “Our search for a full-time candidate is ongoing. We will continue to engage our membership in this process.”
The member who is familiar with Park East management said the search committee “chose to disband themselves” after Schochet dropped out. The member added that the committee members, “frankly, did not feel that they had any more interest in putting more effort based on the fact that the last person didn’t go so well.”
Now, members say, Schneier and a close circle of confidantes are spearheading the search.
“He’s holding on to the last vestiges of power, like an older relative who just doesn’t know when to hang it up,” said another member who is active at the synagogue and who also asked not to be named. “He’s a good man, but this is just pathetic.”
That member and others said there had been a spat between Poupko and Flatto surrounding Shemini Atzeret, the Jewish holiday immediately following Sukkot last fall. Flatto allegedly had “a temper tantrum” because Poupko was asked to participate, the member said, and ultimately refused to lead services. Other members confirmed that account.
“He literally just didn’t show up,” the active member said. “I was ticked because we’re paying him. He acted immature, so he left a very bad taste in a lot of people’s mouths.”
Some members say that while they’re impressed with Flatto in many ways, they still place him in the same category where a growing list of rabbis have found themselves during the past year and a half: respected and appreciated but, ultimately, not exactly right for Park East Synagogue.
“He’s a fantastic person, a wonderful intellectual, a great professor,” the member familiar with the synagogue management said about Flatto. “A senior rabbi requires a lot of delicate interactions that I don’t think he is really up to.”
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The post Park East Synagogue is still searching for its next leader as another assistant rabbi exits appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Women aren’t equal citizens in Israel. But this week brought us closer than ever
On Monday, three women sat for an exam — and changed the course of Israeli history.
Never before have women been permitted to take the rabbinical exams issued by Israel’s Chief Rabbinate. But thanks to a groundbreaking Supreme Court ruling in July which deemed such exclusionary practices unlawful, three scholars were able to break this glass ceiling.
Yaara Widman Samuel, Ruth Agib and Rachel Tzaban’s victory against gender-based discrimination in Israeli society is momentous, an achievement rooted in many years of tireless advocacy, courageous leadership and unflinching determination. And yet, it is but one victory in a larger, ongoing battle for gender and religious equality in Israel, a battle waged over decades and across many fronts.
Recently, I had the privilege of witnessing another front in this battle at the Western Wall. There, I joined Women of the Wall, advocates for equal rights at the Kotel, for their Rosh Chodesh Adar service. It was an experience I will never forget.
Women of the Wall are engaged in an epic struggle for equality under Israeli law. For more than 37 years, they have gathered on Rosh Chodesh — the holiday that marks the start of each new Jewish month — to pray, sing, and read Torah at the Western Wall. Their mission is simple: to secure women’s right to pray at the Wall.
And for more than three decades, they have been met with anger, disdain, humiliation and denial. Most recently, Israel’s Knesset advanced a law that would prohibit non-Orthodox and egalitarian prayer at the Western Wall complex. The proposed law would grant Israel’s two chief rabbis exclusive authority over the Wall, allowing them to define prayer and what constitutes “desecration.” Under this law, those who “desecrate” prayer — such as women who wear tallit or tefillin, or mixed gender groups that gather for worship — could face up to seven years in prison.
And yet, like the women who fought for the right to take the Chief Rabbinate’s rabbinical exams, Women of the Wall has not been silenced or deterred. They know that the Western Wall is not the property of one denomination or community; it belongs to all Jewish people — regardless of gender, denomination, or affiliation.
Israel’s Declaration of Independence states that the country “will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race, or sex.” This promise must extend to the Western Wall as well. All Jewish women should be welcome at the Kotel, and all should feel safe to practice their Judaism in the manner they choose. These principles of equality and inclusion are essential to Israel’s democracy and religious identity.
But not all would agree.
When the Torah is contraband
On Rosh Chodesh Adar, we arrived at the entrance to the Wall a few minutes before 7 a.m. Even at that early hour, it was already crowded with worshippers.
The energy was charged and tense. As our group approached the security check, we were met with immediate hostility.
The security guards often harass and humiliate Women of the Wall participants. This day was no different: they asked us to remove our coats and demanded every bag be checked by hand. Purses were emptied, tallitot unfolded, even wallets were scrutinized — all in the name of preventing something “dangerous” from entering the plaza.
The “dangerous” items they were seeking were Torahs.
That morning, we carried a Torah proudly to expose the absurdity and injustice of the situation: how could our religion’s foundational document be treated as dangerous?
Security did not take kindly to our effort. Needless to say, the Torah was not allowed inside.
Shaken, we made our way toward the Wall. As we walked, we found ourselves surrounded by mobs of children, many apparently from traditional communities, who screamed hateful things, calling us heretics and shouting at us to leave. They mocked women wearing kippot and tallitot, pushing and shoving as they did.
Their contempt wasn’t surprising; similar scenes have unfolded many times, over many years. But it was shocking — and deeply disheartening.
When it came time to leave the plaza, many of us held hands, for solidarity, but also for safety. We circled back to the Kotel entrance, to read from the Torah, since we couldn’t do so at the Wall itself.
As we read, the commotion reached a crescendo. The noise was deafening, and we were increasingly hemmed in by rioting crowds. Meanwhile, the security guards — tasked with keeping the peace — not only allowed the agitators to continue, but targeted us. Ultimately, two of our prayer leaders were detained — simply because they were women reading Torah.
Not at the Wall. Outside the Wall.
Incredulously, these women — rather than the violent crowds around them — were deemed a “disturbance to public order.” rather than the violent rioters attacking them. And yet, even amidst this harassment, they bravely stood their ground. Until the moment they were detained, they prayed with sincerity, with strength, and — appropriately for the start of Adar, a month that ushers in joy — with audacious joy.
A continuing fight
After their release from police custody, the two women who had been arrested put out a video in which they said, defiantly, “We will be back!”
And indeed, in honor of Rosh Chodesh Iyyar they returned. While their Torah was seized yet again, they remained undeterred, declaring: “We will not give up our Jewish right. We held a Torah reading at the entrance to the Wall — and we will continue our just struggle.”
That struggle has been going on for decades, but has perhaps never been more important than today. The erosion of religious freedom in Israel may begin at the Wall — but it will not end there.
That is partly why the image of the three brave women taking the Chief Rabbinate’s exams resonated so deeply: Our rights are under threat, but at the same time, we have clear proof that progress is still possible. It’s a reminder that privileging one segment of the Jewish community at the expense of the rest will only divide us, within Israel and across the Diaspora. As Rabbi Mauricio Balter teaches, “A strong Israel is a democratic Israel. A faithful Israel is a pluralistic Israel.”
And so, we persist. We fight for ourselves, for our mothers and our grandmothers, and for our daughters and granddaughters. We do not give up this fight because religious equality matters. Because gender equality matters. And because Israel’s future as a democracy depends on it, for those who live there and for those who call it their spiritual home.
The post Women aren’t equal citizens in Israel. But this week brought us closer than ever appeared first on The Forward.
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The Israeli plant with a heavenly sweet fragrance
יאָרן לאַנג האָב איך דאָ אין ישׂראל געהערט רעדן וועגן די וווּנדער פֿון בעז. די וואָס זײַנען געקומען אַהער פֿון מזרח-אייראָפּע האָבן דערציילט וועגן אַ לעגענדאַרן לילאַ-בוים, וואָס גיט אַ ריח גן-עדן אינעם וווּנדער-שיינעם מאָנאַט מײַ. לעגענדאַר – ווײַל אין ישׂראל, צום באַוידערן, וואַקסט נישט קיין שום בעז. עס איז געוואָרן אַ מין פֿויגלמילך, אַ סימבאָל פֿונעם פֿאַרלוירענעם עבֿר פֿון יענע לענדער. אָט למשל, האָט דער כּסדר-בענקענדיקער פּאָעט בינעם העלער געשריבן אין אַ ליד אין 1966, ווען ער האָט שוין געוווינט אין תּל-אָבֿיבֿ:
די בײמער בליִען בלאָ בײַ מיר אין גאָרטן.
די בײמער בליִען בלאָ, און איך פֿאַרגעס,
אַז ערגעץ אין דער קינדהײט, ערגעץ דאָרטן,
האָט בלאָ אַזױ געבליט דער בעז.
די בײמער בליִען בלאָ. װי הײסן אָט די בײמער?
װאָס אַרט עס מיך? אַבי זײ בליִען בלאָ.
און אױף דער פֿרילינג־שפּראַך, אױף דער געהײמער,
איז בלאָ – די פֿרײד, װאָס איז נישטאָ.
די בײמער בליִען בלאָ, און איך װיל מער נישט װיסן
די שײַכות צװישן זײ און בלאָען בעז –
כאָטש בײדע בליִען בלאָ אַזױ פֿאַרביסן,
און בײדנס בליִונג איז אַ נס
פֿונעם בוך „דור און דויער“.
כאָטש דער בעז אַליין וואַקסט טאַקע נישט דאָ, איז זײַן נאָמען גאָר באַקאַנט, און אויף עבֿרית פֿאַרמאָגט ער גאָר אַ שיינעם נאָמען: לילך. זײַט מיר מוחל, אָבער איך מיין אַפֿילו אַז “לילך” (וואָס קומט פֿון לילאַ) איז נאָך שענער ווי „בעז“, און עס פֿאַרמאָגט אין זיך צוויי ווערטער: “לי” און “לך” („פֿאַר מיר“ און „פֿאַר דיר“). לכּבֿוד דעם לילך האָט מען געשריבן לידער אויך אויף עבֿרית. אָט למשל דאָס ליבע-ליד „פּרח הלילך“ (די בלום פֿונעם בעז): אורי אסף האָט עס געשריבן, און נורית הירש האָט צוגעפּאַסט איינע פֿון די שענסטע מעלאָדיעס. (אַגבֿ, נורית הירש האָט קאָמפּאָנירט הונדערטער העברעיִשע לידער, און אויך עטלעכע אויף ייִדיש, אַזוי ווי איציק מאַנגערס „מיט פֿאַרמאַכטע אויגן“. אויב ס’איז נישט גענוג, האָט חוה אלבערשטיין געזונגען דאָס ליד, און דאָ זעץ איך איבער דעם רעפֿרען:
מען ליבט זיך שטיל און נישט גראַנדיעז,
מיר ריידן נישט אַזוי ווי מענטשן
וואָס וועלן סײַ ווי סײַ גאָר נישט פֿאַרשטיין
ווי שיין און פֿײַן עס בליט נאָך אַלץ די בעז.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GEBMh5Kmyvw&list=RDGEBMh5Kmyvw&start_radio=1
אָבער כאָטש דער בעז וואַקסט נישט אין ישׂראל בליִען דאָ יעדן פֿרילינג, סוף אַפּריל־אָנהייב מײַ, די שיינע קליינע לילאַ-בלויע בלומען פֿון אזדרכת (איזדאַרעכעט), אויף ייִדיש — מעליע. אמת, איר נאָמען קלינגט נישט אַזוי שיין ווי „לילך“ ; עס זײַנען דאָ אַ סך פֿרויען און מיידעלעך וואָס הייסן „לילך“ און קיינער הייסט נישט אזדרכת. פֿון דעסט וועגן, דערמאָנט איר ריח דעם ריח פֿונעם בעז, און עס טראָגט זיך אין דער לופֿטן ווי אַ זיסן פּאַרפֿום. עס איז גאָר מעגלעך אַז אָט דעם בוים וואָס בינעם העלער האָט באַשריבן איז די אזדרכת, וואָס וואַקט אויך אַנטקעגן מײַן פֿענצטער.
ווי דער בעז געהערט צו די צפֿונדיקע לענדער, אַזוי איז אזדרכת אַ טראָפּישער-סובטראָפּישער בוים. איר וויסנשאַפֿטלעכער נאָמען איז Melia azedarach. „מעליאַ“ באַטײַטהאָניק, אָט דער ריח פֿון אירע בלומען, און azedarach איז אַ פּערסיש-אַראַבישער טערמין. אין צאַנינס ווערטערבוך הייסט עס דווקא אויף ייִדיש: „כינעזישע לילאַ“. סײַ ווי סײַ, האָבן די ביימער עולה געווען אין ארץ-ישׂראל שוין אינעם 16טן יאָרהונדערט, און געהערן צו די „ותיקים“, ד”ה זיי זײַנען מיט דער צײַט געוואָרן אַ טייל פֿונעם ארץ-ישׂראלדיקן פּייזאַזש.
די אזדרכת קאָן מען נישט איגנאָרירן, בפֿרט איצט, ווען ס׳איז באַדעקט מיט בלומען. דערנאָך וואַקסן די אזדרכת-פֿרוכטן: קליינע רונדיקע געלבע פּירות, וואָס זײַנען גיפֿטיק צום עסן אָבער די קינדער האָבן סײַ־ווי ליב זיי צו וואַרפֿן ווי קליינע באַלן. סוף זומער שטייט די אזדרכת אין שלכת, עס הייבן אָן צו פֿאַלן די בלעטער. אַ פּאָר חדשים ווינטערצײַט שטייט די אזדרכת גאָר נאַקעט, און דאַן, פּלוצעם, צעבליִען זיך די בלעטער און די בלומען.
אָבער אַפֿילו אין די ווינטער־חדשים בלײַבט נישט די אזדרכת אַליין: זי ציט צו זיך כּלערליי פֿייגל, וואָס עסן אירע פֿרוכטן. איינע פֿון די פֿייגל איז די דוכיפת (Hoopoe), וואָס צוליב איר פּרעכטיקער קרוין האָט זי אַ ייִדישן ייחוס: ווען דער פּאָעט חיים־נחמן ביאַליק האָט איבערגעזעצט זײַנע לידער אויף עבֿרית האָט ער די פֿראַזע „גאָלדענע פּאַווע“ איבערגעזעצט ווי „דוכיפת הזהב“, כאָטש דאָס וואָרט פֿאַר פּאַווע איז „טווס“. ווי די אזדרכת, איז די דוכיפת אייגנטלעך נישט קיין סאַברע, אָבער אויך זי איז שוין אַ ותיקה און ווערט אַפֿילו באַצייכנט ווי דער נאַציאָנאַלער פֿויגל.
די אזדרכת ציט אויך צו צוויי אַנדערע פֿייגל, וואָס געהערן צו די „אַרײַנדרינגענדיקע מינים“. די ערשטע איז די דררה, אַ מין גרינער פּאַפּוגײַ, וואָס פֿרעסט די פֿרוכטן פֿון אזדרכת מיט גרויס חשק און רעש – זי פּלאַפּלט אָן אַן אויפֿהער און מאַכט אַ גראַטשקע. כאָטש די דררה איז אַ שעדיקער, איז זי גאָר שיין און אַ ביסל קאָמיש דערצו — קאָקעטיש און „פֿאַרפּוצט“. דער צווייטער פֿויגל איז די מײַנע , אַ קליינער שוואַרצער פֿויגל מיט אַ געלבן שנאָבל, וואָס איז זייער קלוג, און קאָן נאָכמאַכן פֿאַרשיידענע שטימען פֿון פֿייגעלעך. די צרה איז אַז די מײַנע האָט נישט ליב קיין קאָנקורענץ, טרײַבט זי אַוועק די אַנדערע פֿייגל, און בפֿרט די אָרטיקע, וואס האָבן נעבעך ווייניק שׂכל און כּוח.
אַלע ישׂראלים זײַנען אויפֿגעבראַכט וועגן די מײַנעס, אָבער בײַ מיר דערוועקט זייער נאָמען אַ שמייכל, ווײַל עס דערמאָנט מיר אָן דעם וויץ מיט אַ פּוילישן ייִד וואָס זיצט אין אַ ווינער קאַפֿע. דער ייִד בעט דעם קעלנער אים געבן דאָס זעלבע וואָס זײַן שכן טרינקט, און דער קעלנער ענטפֿערט: “דאַס איזט זאַהנע!” (Sahne, דאָס דײַטשע וואָרט אויף שמאַנט). זאָגט דער ייִד (מיט זײַן פּוילישן אויסרייד): “דוס איז זאַאַנע, אָבער ווי איז מאַאַנע?”
ווי געזאָגט, אין די לאַנגע זומער חודשים ווערט די אזדרכת, צוליב אירע געלבע פֿרוכטן, אַ באַליבטע סבֿיבֿה פֿון די פֿאַרשיידענע פֿייגל. אַמאָל פּראָבירן זיי לעבן בשלום איינער מיטן אַנדערן, ווײַל עס זײַנען דאָך פֿאַראַן געונג פּירות פֿאַר אַלעמען. אָבער פֿון צײַט צו צײַט ווערט אַזאַ געשריי בײַם בוים, אַז עס גלוסט זיך פּשוט צו פֿאַרמאַכן דאָס פֿענצטער — כאָטש ס׳איז אַ שאָד צו פֿאַרפֿעלן דעם ריח גן־עדן!
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I’m an Orthodox student in NYC. I’m grateful Mamdani vetoed the school buffer bill
My classmates at Manhattan’s Hunter College regularly gather to protest in a plaza at the southwest corner of East 68th Street and Lexington Avenue. This winter, that intersection hosted many protests against Immigration and Customs Enforcement — protests that felt more urgent because, for many Hunter students and their family members, detainment and deportation are very real threats.
Seeing how committed my classmates were to fighting back against injustice made me proud to be a New Yorker, and a student at Hunter.
Detractors often portray college protesters as liberal elites, comfortably removed from real-world issues. That’s not the case at Hunter. That’s part of why, as an Orthodox Jew deeply involved with Jewish life on campus, I’m glad that Mayor Zohran Mamdani vetoed a bill that would have established security perimeters disallowing protests near educational facilities.
On campus, there has been much discussion around City Council Intro 175-B, which the council passed by a 30-19 vote in March. Students suspect that these policies are in place not to protect us but rather to shield the Israeli government from criticism. Internal discussion among Jewish students has been varied. Some students say the bill is necessary to protect us, while others agree with the progressive views of a majority of Hunter’s politically active students, and want their voices to be heard.
Either way, Jewish students are not a monolith, and I am distrustful of politicians and bills which claim to speak for all Jews as a bloc.
I proudly wear a kippah and tzitzis to campus every single day. Friends jokingly call my accent a “generic northeastern yeshivish,” interspersed with Aramaic and Hebrew terms. Before you know my name, you know I’m a Jew. And I feel complete confidence in saying that Hunter is a good place to be Jewish.
My non-Jewish friends and professors have respected my identity and perspective. That isn’t to say that protests related to Israel and the Gaza war haven’t been contentious or charged: they have been. But when I pass my friends who wear kaffiyeh in protest of the destruction in Gaza, they still dap me up.
That image — of a kippah-wearing Jew and a kaffiyeh-clad Arab student greeting in the hallway — encapsulates my experience at Hunter.
Yes, some protesters have crossed lines. At a protest during my freshman year, a protester displayed a banner with an AK-47 and red block letters saying: “BRING THE WAR HOME.” I thought the goal was ending wars abroad, not bringing them home. I was appalled, as were many other students across the political spectrum.
But I believe it’s the responsibility of New York City’s colleges and universities, relying on the input of their students, to address these issues. They can make informed decisions about which applications to approve or deny, take their own safety measures, and, as a last resort, oversee necessary disciplinary action.
Hunter is capable of promoting free expression and dialogue, along with security measures to protect students when necessary. There’s nothing to gain from imposing heavy-handed restrictions on my university and my classmates that would suppress their speech. And there’s much to lose.
Hunter is a bastion of free thought, somewhere my classmates and I can immerse ourselves in different perspectives, and learn through dialogue and debate. It’s somewhere you can espouse unpopular opinions, as long as you have the ability to defend your argument.
Notably, 175-B — which still may be passed, as the council has launched an effort to overturn Mamdani’s veto — contains a carveout for labor protests, allowing these protests to move inside security barriers. I agree that these protests should continue unencumbered by barriers or buffer zones on our campuses. But I don’t see why they should be the only ones. Encountering ideas that differ from your own should be thought-provoking, even thrilling. It should be what college is all about.
So when people back home on Long Island ask me how I’m dealing with antisemitism at Hunter, my answer is another question: “Do you mean anti-Zionism or antisemitism?”
Many Hunter students are staunch or outspoken anti-Zionists, opposing Israel’s right to exist. That perspective is challenging for students with a deep attachment to the Jewish state. It took several difficult conversations with honest and principled anti-Zionists before I began to understand that their logic and perspective is as informed as any other.
In my experience, anti-Zionism and antisemitism are not the same. My peers are entitled to their First Amendment rights, and when they exercise them, everyone benefits in the long run. Engaging outlooks that make us uncomfortable is the best way to learn and grow. I’d rather speak with my classmates face to face than confine their ideas to the perimeter of a buffer zone.
Antisemitism is an extremely dangerous issue in New York City, and Jews in America are rightfully on high alert. But a policy platform of censoring free speech will not disincentivize rogue incidents of hate violence. Those are the most imminent physical threat to American Jews, and I have done my best to make sure Hunter’s social justice community understands that. This line of open communication is what keeps Jews safe at Hunter, and 175-B threatened to sever it.
The NYPD told the City Council in February that its existing authority is enough to handle protests. 175-B went beyond that authority, erecting barriers with the stated goal of protecting Jewish students like me. But as a Jewish student, I believe they would have violated the First Amendment rights of all students — Jewish and non-Jewish alike. The bill, rather than creating new security for students like me, seemed poised to isolate the Jewish community: no one wants to debate someone whom they see, fairly or not, as participating in the restriction of their rights.
And truthfully, I have experienced far more antisemitism on the streets and subways of New York than I ever have on Hunter’s campus. It is no small thing that I am safe at Hunter, and I would speak out if I was not.
With this veto, the mayor recognized that our community and our city did not need this crackdown on expression. We need the opposite. The United States, and New York in particular, have been a haven for Jewish life and culture for more than a century. Our community will never achieve safety and security by allying ourselves with those who treat civil and constitutional rights as dispensable.
I don’t always agree with everything protesters have to say, but it isn’t my place, or the City Council’s, to legislate where and how they say them.
I don’t want to see roadblocks or barriers on 68th and Lexington. I want to see Hunter students exercising their right — and fulfilling their duty — to speak out against injustice and tyranny. I salute Mamdani’s decision to veto City Council Intro 175-B. It would have cost more in freedom than it could ever provide in safety.
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