There are plenty of examples of blatant antisemitism and attacks on Jews that have occurred over the past 10 months. It seems that every day, we read about a synagogue being attacked, a Jewish student being spat on or assaulted, or the all too mainstream protester chants calling for Intifada or for Jews to go back to Poland — and the list goes on.

Perhaps less obvious — but more frequent — is the antisemitism that’s happening under the radar: things that are circumstantial and much harder to prove.

I’m not talking about Jewish writers having their lectures cancelled out of concern “for their safety” — it’s clear to everyone (except the organizers) where the motivation comes from.

No, this is the kind of discrimination that Black people and others experienced before the Civil Rights movement — and even after:  being rejected as a tenant on a lease to an apartment, passed over for a job or promotion based on the color of their skin , or — as in my case — perhaps not having a contract renewed at a college after speaking out against their policies regarding “free speech.”

Do I have proof that me being Israeli or Jewish had anything to do with my dismissal?

Absolutely not.

But are the circumstances suspicious? Yes.

Two years ago, I accepted a Visiting Assistant Professorship in the English Department of a private Midwestern college in the United States. It was a one-year contract, and following the first year, the Chair of the Department notified me how much he appreciated my work — noting the anonymous student evaluations that gave me high marks, that a large number of students requested to take a second class with me, and that I helped raise the visibility of the college through public performances by my students. He also informed me that there was restructuring going on in the English Department, which would result in some of the classes I was teaching being offered only periodically.

In short, he asked me if I would be interested in remaining affiliated with the school, and return either every other semester, or, for instance, if another English teacher took a sabbatical. That suited me fine, as it allowed me to continue teaching, but also gave me time for my own creative endeavors back in Los Angeles, where I was commuting from every week.

On October 7, I was not teaching on campus. But like so many other colleges, a segment of the student population rose up to protest Israel. And even though I was a thousand miles away, I received an email from a student member of Students for Justice in Palestine (SJP) notifying all faculty that the group was calling for a one-day strike to protest, accompanied with a list of atrocities Israel had allegedly committed, even listing the bombing of the Al-Shifa hospital in Gaza two weeks earlier, which had already been attributed to a stray missile from Palestinian Islamic Jihad.

How was it possible for one student to access the entire faculty and student body to spew their propaganda?

I contacted the Provost and Dean of the college to inquire. She replied that this was a recent policy change put into place two years earlier to encourage freedom of expression. I asked how this policy might play out if I rebutted the student’s charges through the college-wide email system, only to have another student rebut my defense, and so on and so on?

She replied that if it got out of hand, the school would shut it down.

I replied that the situation had already gotten out of hand, and trusted I wouldn’t be receiving anymore emails from such organizations.

The student newspaper got wind of this, and contacted me for my opinion. Here’s what they wrote in their article:

Safdie, who is of Israeli and Syrian Jewish descent, found sections of the message antisemitic and questioned why he received the email. “I’m all for freedom of expression, but I’m not sure this decision was able to foresee such a situation where students might abuse the privilege and create a hostile work/study environment for other members of the community.”

Fast forward several months, when I returned to campus for the Spring semester. Within a week of arrival, I received an email from the new chair of the English Department (who was also the associate Dean of the Race and Ethnic Studies program). She wanted to set up a Zoom meeting with me — even though our offices were 10 feet apart.

In a carefully worded statement that sounded like it was crafted by an attorney, she got to the point. Although the college was extremely pleased with all the work that I’d done, and that all my students loved my teaching, the college was making budget cuts and were not going to be able to renew my contract.

When I tried to explain to her my prior arrangement with the previous Chair, she simply replied that she’d be happy to write me a letter of recommendation.

Something about the Zoom call and her demeanor felt suspicious.

On a whim, I did an Internet search on my new Chair.

The first thing that came up on her Twitter Feed was a statement on the masthead of a literary magazine she edited, condemning the alleged mass killing and displacement of Palestinians in the wake of Hamas’s October 7, 2023, attacks.

As I explored further, I discovered other parts of the statement:

The Israeli military—with the support of the U.S. government—has bombarded Palestinian civilians relentlessly, in violation of international law, and deprived Palestinians of food, water, fuel, and electricity.

 And:

 Because we work to “bring our readers into the living moment, not as tourists, but as engaged participants,” we believe that Palestinians need space to speak directly, whether from siege in Palestine or in diaspora. So too do others who bear witness to the ongoing settler-colonial violence in Gaza and the occupied West Bank.

Two days after the Zoom meeting, I figured I might as well take the Chair up on her offer to write me a letter-of-recommendation; it was March, and I could still apply to other universities for employment the following year. (Universities can be suspicious if you leave a position after just two years, so a letter would be crucial to securing a position.)

After a week of email silence, the Chair wrote me back, saying that she wasn’t familiar with my teaching and requested to attend one of my classes to observe my skills. I invited her the following week to attend a class, which fit her schedule, but she did not show, and didn’t even write to give an explanation.

I followed up with an email to offer her another opportunity, followed by a second and third, but there was nothing but email silence.

I should also mention that, at the one faculty meeting we had, she stayed as far away from me as possible, and if I approached, she would quickly engage in discussion with another professor. The topic that day was adding a requirement for English Majors to take an anti-Racism class. One of the new offerings for the following year was focused on racism against Palestinians.

By the end of April, I decided to contact the Associate Dean of Humanities who oversaw the English Department, and sure enough, within an hour of my email, I finally received an email back from the Chair of the English Department, offering to attend my class, but letting me know that she was too busy to write me a letter of recommendation until the end of May — well past the end of the semester, and too late to help with a teaching application for the following year.

If there was ever a thought of going to the administration to complain about my treatment, that was quickly extinguished following an SJP demonstration that demanded that the college divest from Oracle. Apparently, Oracle’s website had stated support for Israel, and the Head of Financial Aid for the college felt the need to apologize for the school’s actions.

A response from the school’s administration read thus:“The business strategy or public statements from Oracle do not represent the viewpoints of the College.  Due to the College’s contract with the business and the cost it took to make such major system changes, the College does not have any feasible or affordable alternative.

It also went on to assure protesters:

Less than 0.5 percent of the College’s investments are tied to Israeli companies and that none of these investments are directly held by the college.

As the semester ended, on another whim, I searched the Human Resources page of the college, and sure enough, there was a listing for a new English professor. The skills they were looking for were for someone who taught poetry as well as Race and Ethnic studies courses — none of which I was qualified to teach.

Was the college looking to shift away from courses like Screenwriting, Playwriting, and Non-Fiction — three popular courses I had taught that were always in high demand and had long waiting lists?

I guess I’ll never know.

Oren Safdie is a playwright and screenwriter.

The post The Quiet Antisemitism: My Experience as a Jewish College Professor first appeared on Algemeiner.com.