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A court ruling has transformed — and limited — the way New York state can regulate yeshivas
NEW YORK (JTA) — What should happen when a yeshiva does not teach its students the legally required amount of secular studies? And who should be held responsible: the school, or the parents who chose it?
Both of those questions were at the heart of a bombshell ruling in a New York state court last week that, if it stands, will transform how the state can regulate private schools. It also poses a challenge to advocates for increased secular education in yeshivas, who have spent years pushing the state to more strictly enforce its standards in schools.
It’s the latest major development in a years-long battle between an education department that seeks to compel secular education standards across private schools and haredi Orthodox yeshivas resisting coercion from the state.
In a trial that pitted several yeshivas and their advocates against the state’s education department, a judge in Albany ruled that the state no longer has the power to effectively force yeshivas to close for not teaching secular studies in a way that is “substantially equivalent” to education in public school. According to the ruling, state law says it’s the responsibility of parents, not schools, to ensure that children receive a “substantially equivalent” secular education.
But the court also ruled that the education requirements themselves still stand. The yeshivas and their supporters had taken the department to court, hoping that the judge would fully strike down the regulations that mandated secular education standards.
Both advocates and critics of the yeshivas are celebrating parts of the ruling and lamenting others. What’s clear is that the state’s mechanism for enforcing secular education standards in private schools will have to change, though what shape it will take remains to be seen.
“It highlights and it notes that the statute itself requires parents to ensure that their children receive a substantially equivalent education, but it doesn’t impose an obligation on the schools to provide that,” said Michael Helfand, a scholar of religious law and religious liberty at Pepperdine University, explaining the ruling. “If that’s the case, there’s no authority under the statute to close the school because the school failed to provide a ‘substantially equivalent’ education.”
The regulations at issue were approved in September, soon after The New York Times published the first in a series of articles investigating Hasidic yeshivas, reporting that a number of them received public funding but fell far short of secular education requirements. The yeshivas, and representatives of haredi Orthodox communities more broadly, have decried the articles as biased and inaccurate.
According to the new regulations, if yeshivas (or other private schools) did not provide a “substantially equivalent” secular education to their students, the state could compel parents to unenroll their children and place them in a school that meets state standards — effectively forcing the school to close.
The judge who wrote last week’s ruling, Christina Ryba, found “that certain portions of the New Regulations impose consequences and penalties upon yeshivas above and beyond that authorized” by law. Ryba wrote that the regulations exceed the state’s authority by forcing parents to withdraw their children.
She added that state law does not mandate that children must receive the requisite secular education “through merely one source of instruction provided at a single location.” She added that if children aren’t receiving the necessary instruction at yeshivas, they can still get it elsewhere, in some form of “supplemental instruction that specifically addresses any identified deficiencies.”
What that ruling means, Helfand said, is that the state will have to turn to other methods to enforce those standards, such as choosing to “tie particular requirements to the way in which schools receive funding.” The state could also investigate parents, not schools — which he described as a much more arduous undertaking.
“It would then have to slowly but surely make its way through each individual family or each individual child [and] ask questions about what they’re supplementing,” he said. “It’s very hard to see exactly how the New York State Education Department could, given this ruling, ensure that every child is receiving a basic education.”
For yeshivas and their advocates, he added, “It’s not the constitutional victory that I think some hoped for but it’s a very practical victory that in the end may stymie the state’s ability to actually impose significant regulation.”
That’s the way advocates of yeshivas — including parties to the petition — appear to be reading this ruling. A statement from Parents for Education and Religious Liberty in Schools, known as PEARLS, one of the petitioners, said the ruling gives “parents the right to send their children to the school of their choice. …In sum, it provides parents and parochial schools with both the autonomy and the protections that the regulations tried to strip away.”
Another advocate of yeshivas that was party to the case, the haredi umbrella organization Agudath Israel of America, saw the ruling as “not the complete victory many were [praying] for,” according to a statement, because it didn’t strike down last year’s regulations entirely. But the group was grateful that Ryba did rule out “the egregious overreach the Regulations sought,” including the “prospect of forcibly shutting down schools.”
Rabbi Avi Shafran, Agudath Israel’s director of public affairs, told JTA that the organization was “obviously relieved” by the ruling but feels the battle isn’t over. At the beginning of the year, Agudath Israel launched a campaign called “Know Us” that aims to counter what it calls a “smear campaign” by The New York Times.
“But with elements out there bent on pressuring yeshivos to accept their own personal educational philosophy, we remain on the alert for any future attempts to limit yeshivos or parental autonomy,” Shafran wrote in an email.
While Agudath Israel may see the ruling as a partial victory, that doesn’t mean advocates for secular education necessarily see it as a total defeat. Young Advocates for Fair Education, known as YAFFED, which submitted an amicus brief to the court in support of the Department of Education, said in a press release that the ruling “is of grave concern to all parents with children in non-public schools.” Beatrice Weber, YAFFED’s executive director, said the ruling will require the group to shift its strategy, which has until now focused on compelling the schools to teach secular studies.
But she is heartened that the core requirement to provide a threshold level of secular studies still stands for parents — and she’s skeptical that haredi communities will take the risk of asking parents to violate that requirement en masse. In the end, she believes more yeshivas will, in fact, become “substantially equivalent” in order to remove that risk.
“This victory they’re celebrating is really putting them in this corner,” Weber said. “We’ll see what they decide to do but none of the claims of [the regulations] being a violation of religious freedom — none of that was accepted.”
Weber acknowledges that the burden for secular education has now shifted to parents, and “there’s not going to be someone knocking on every door” to make sure parents comply. But she noted that many haredi families interact with the state because they receive forms of public assistance, which she said could provide a built-in mechanism to pressure them to comply.
“Any time they touch the government it’s going to come up,” she said. “Many Hasidic families deal with government programs a lot — whether it’s Medicaid, whether it’s food stamps. I can’t see community leaders saying, ‘Whatever, let the families figure it out.’”
A spokesperson for the state education department declined to say whether the state plans to appeal the ruling, or what it means for future oversight of yeshivas. But in a statement, the department said the ruling “validates the Department’s commitment to improving the educational experience of all students.”
The statement added: “We remain committed to ensuring students who attend school in settings consistent with their religious and cultural beliefs and values receive the education to which they are legally entitled.”
Whatever the future holds, Helfand says the ruling reflects a new way to read the law that, for years, has driven tensions between the state and yeshivas.
“I would have expected people reading the statute not to distinguish between whether ‘substantially equivalent’ is a parental obligation or a school obligation,” he said. “The fact that the court was able to slice the obligation in such a precise way — it’s something we haven’t seen before.”
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When ‘Context’ Becomes Complicity — The Language That Incited the Bondi Beach Massacre
People walk at the scene of a shooting incident at Bondi Beach, Sydney, Australia, December 14, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Kirsty Needham
On Sunday, a Chabad Hanukkah candle-lighting at Bondi Beach was turned into a massacre. At least 16 people are dead. Witnesses report that the terrorists shouted “Allahu Akbar” between bursts of gunfire. What should have been a moment of communal joy became a scene of mass murder, carried out in full view of a society that has spent years purposefully ignoring antisemitic incitement and terror attacks that led to this moment.
Around the same time, elsewhere in Australia, the same moral failure surfaced again. On a Melbourne tram, an Australian woman verbally accosted a rabbi and his two children, aged eight and 14, telling them to “go to the gas chambers.” She was carrying a bag bearing the PLO flag. A Jewish father and his children were told, in public, to imagine their extermination.
And that was after “protesters” in Sydney chanted “gas the Jews” — with absolutely no consequences.
“Go to the gas chambers.” There is no metaphor here. No policy critique. No political argument hiding behind rhetoric. There is only genocidal hatred, delivered calmly and directly.
And yet anyone familiar with the pattern already knows what comes next. Not moral clarity, but “context.” Not unambiguous condemnation, but explanation.
We will be told about anger, about trauma, about spillover from Israel’s war with Hamas. We are reminded that emotions are high, tensions are inflamed, and nothing can be viewed in isolation.
This is not analysis. It is evasion.
This is the anti-Zionism exception.
In any other context, this kind of mass murder would end the conversation. No editor would ask what provoked it. No official would suggest it must be understood through global politics. No journalist would hesitate to call the racism exactly what it is. And don’t forget that before the State of Israel was created, one third of the entire global Jewish population was murdered for their religion. But now we’re going to be told that this is only happening because of Israel.
When the targets are Jews, and when the hatred can be draped in the language or symbols of the Palestinian cause, the rules change. Antisemitism becomes negotiable. Murderous language becomes expressive speech. The victims become abstractions.
This is why anti-Zionism has become the dominant framework through which antisemitism is excused in the modern West. Zionism is the belief that Jews, like any other people, have the right to collective self-determination and national survival through sovereignty in part of their indigenous and historical homeland. To deny that right uniquely to Jews — while granting it to every other people — is not a policy disagreement. It is a moral inversion that recasts Jewish survival itself as illegitimate.
For years, Australia, like much of the democratic West, has tolerated rhetoric that would be unthinkable if directed at any other group.
Crowds have chanted “gas the Jews” and many other murderous slogans with no consequence. Universities have hosted speakers who portray Jewish sovereignty as a unique moral crime. Media outlets have repeatedly softened or obscured antisemitic incidents — like burning synagogues — treating them as political reactions rather than as hatred with a long and documented history.
Law enforcement responses have been hesitant and inconsistent, often focused on crowd control instead of stopping incitement.
In England, Jews wearing yarmulkes and Stars of David have been arrested for “provocation,” while standing before crowds chanting “Globalize the Intifada,” “Hamas, Hamas, Jews to the Gas,” and “Khaybar, Khaybar ya Yahud” — an explicit invocation of the massacre of Jews in seventh-century Arabia.
This matters because antisemitism does not operate like other hatreds. It has always depended on permission structures. It advances not only through violence, but through ideas that render violence against Jews intelligible, justifiable, and even necessary to those inclined to act.
When genocidal slogans are tolerated in public space, when Jewish identity is reframed as provocation, when Jewish self-determination is condemned as uniquely evil, and when hatred is endlessly contextualized rather than condemned, the distance between speech and action collapses.
What happened at Bondi Beach was 100% predictable. A slogan shouted yesterday becomes gunfire today. The targets were not symbols or states or abstractions. They were Jews lighting candles.
The media plays a central role in this process, whether it admits it or not. Language is softened. Headlines are hedged. Victims are pushed to the margins of their own stories. A massacre becomes an “incident.” A threat of extermination becomes “heated rhetoric.” Jewish presence itself is recast as a political act that invites response.
This is how a Hanukkah celebration becomes a “flashpoint.” This is how a rabbi and his children become “part of a broader conflict.” This is how Jews going about their lives in Sydney, London, or New York are quietly reassigned responsibility for the hatred directed at them.
Some will insist that Bondi Beach and the Melbourne tram were isolated events. They never are. Antisemitism has never announced itself first with bullets. It begins with the libels societies allow to circulate. It begins when calls for violence against Jews — “Globalize the Intifada,” “Hamas, Hamas, Jews to the Gas” — are treated as political opinions rather than warnings.
A culture that cannot draw a red line at “go to the gas chambers” has already erased the line entirely.
Bondi Beach was not unforeseeable. It was foretold — in slogans excused, in threats contextualized, in hatred endlessly rebranded as politics. The massacre did not appear without warning. It appeared after years of permission.
Micha Danzig is an attorney, former IDF soldier, and former NYPD officer. He writes widely on Israel, antisemitism, and Jewish history and serves on the board of Herut North America.
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The Maccabees taught us persistence and hope – even when the light flickers, as it has this Hanukkah
The first time I lit a Hanukkah candle as a Jew wasn’t at a synagogue or around a large family table. It was in a tiny apartment kitchen with my then-fiancé, Reid. I didn’t yet know the blessings by heart or if I belonged. But when that first shamash, the special “helper” candle used to light the Hanukkah menorah, flickered to life, something in me shifted. I knew I had reached a place where curiosity wasn’t a problem to be solved, it was a doorway.
Lighting the candles with Reid and our two children as we process the horrifying news from Sydney, Australia, I find myself thinking back to that first candle and to a tradition that empowers us through learning and debate, where hard questions are not avoided or feared but welcomed, even in times of great heartbreak and adversity. In a moment when so much pushes us apart and so many try to make us afraid, those values draw us together and give us strength.
Hanukkah itself is a story of a community striving to stay whole in the face of profound forces of division. The Maccabees stood against a regime that attempted to erase Jewish practice by banning observance, desecrating the Temple, and punishing the very acts that defined Jewish life. The victory we celebrate is the enduring resilience of Jewish identity, a small, committed people, deeply diverse in their own ways, coming together around a shared purpose to reclaim the right to live authentically.
When the Temple was rededicated, they relit the ner tamid, the eternal flame, with only a day’s worth of consecrated oil. The miracle, tradition teaches, is that the flame lasted eight days until new oil could be secured. But perhaps the greater miracle is that they lit the flame at all, despite their fear, the uncertainty, and the enormity of the moment. Even in the darkest times, our light shines brightest when we choose to light it together.
My journey to becoming Jewish was many years in the making. I was raised Catholic in the church my mother grew up in. I was a curious child, always pressing to understand the world around me. After the sudden death of my father at nine, I craved answers to life’s toughest questions and felt increasingly out of place in a setting where questions were treated as a lack of faith. In Judaism, I found a spiritual home that teaches that questions are holy, learning is lifelong, truth is revealed through wrestling with ideas, and our sacred bonds to each other are strengthened through debate.
I still remember the moment I first learned this about Judaism. More than a decade before my conversion, Reid and I sat on a lumpy sofa in a University of Chicago lounge debating life’s mysteries the way only college students can. After I had shared my frustrations about organized religion, Reid explained that in his experience, Judaism didn’t fear disagreement, but welcomed it. It was a tradition built on commentary layered over commentary, where even the margins of our texts are alive with centuries of Jews arguing, interpreting, questioning, refining, and expanding on the ideas that came before them.
As I continue to grow into my Jewish identity, it becomes ever more clear that the Jewish community is not a monolith. We span countless traditions, cultures, and perspectives. Our disagreements are real, deeply felt, and sometimes painful. But disagreement is not the opposite of unity. Judaism gives us the tools to lean into complexity without letting it tear us apart.
At this difficult moment we are living in, that seems a daunting task. Antisemitism is surging in ways both familiar and surprising, and Jews are being targeted simply for being Jewish. Millenia-old tropes are finding new life in the ugliest corners of the internet and on our sidewalks, with online conspiracy-theories fueling real-world violence. This bigotry is often smuggled into mainstream discourse using criticism of the State of Israel as a Trojan Horse, with the intention of pitting Jews against each other.
We must reject this attempt to co-opt political disagreements by those who wish to destroy us and remember that for many American Jews, Israel represents shared history, culture, and the enduring light of Jewish peoplehood – the very light that antisemites have long tried to extinguish.
The goal of antisemitism is, as it has always been, to divide us, isolate us, and snuff out our light. Hanukkah reminds us that our story did not end in the ancient world. From Jerusalem to Sydney to New York, we are still here, still connected, still carrying that light forward, and the miracle the Maccabees fought for endures in Jewish survival and the promise of a Jewish future. Hanukkah teaches that when Jewish people, by birth and by choice alike, stand together in shared purpose, bound together as B’nei Israel, we can overcome even the greatest darkness.
Unity does not mean uniformity. It means choosing one another, especially when the world feels fractured and we, as Jews, are under attack. It means committing to our shared future even as we debate the path to get there. It means recognizing that our strength has always come from community, learning, and a willingness to keep asking the hard questions together.
This is the model I strive to follow as a public servant: to lead with curiosity, to listen across differences, to protect our sacred spaces, and to build bridges through education and shared understanding.
As someone who chose this tradition because of its capacity for honesty, complexity, and hope, I urge us to take the lesson of the Maccabees to heart and keep the light shining – for ourselves, for each other, and for the generations who will inherit the world we shape today.
The post The Maccabees taught us persistence and hope – even when the light flickers, as it has this Hanukkah appeared first on The Forward.
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Will Anything Change After Bondi — and How Will the Story End?
A man lights a candle as police officers stand guard following the attack on a Jewish holiday celebration at Sydney’s Bondi Beach, in Sydney, Australia, December 15, 2025. REUTERS/Flavio Brancaleone
Jews arrived in Australia with the First Fleet in 1788. That is the Australian equivalent of the Mayflower, albeit with convicts.
From their earliest days, Australian Jews integrated into national life visibly, with patriotism and confidence. They built their shuls without apology, established businesses without resentment, and raised families with great pride.
They were disproportionately represented in the military, academia, medicine, and commerce. They embraced their Australian identity fully, while remaining true to their Jewish faith and seeing no contradiction between the two.
Australia was once a country that understood how integration worked. Newcomers were welcome, but they were expected to participate in a shared civic culture. Loyalty, contribution, and respect for Australian society were not considered controversial demands — they were the price of admission. For more than two centuries, Australian Jews lived by that bargain.
This is why the massacre at Bondi Beach during a public Hanukkah celebration seems like more than an act of terror. It feels like a betrayal. Holocaust survivor Alex Kleytman, 92, shielded his wife of 57 years in the crowd before dying. That is the Jewish-Aussie spirit that symbolized this community.
Hanukkah is, by design, a public holiday. It commemorates a minority preserving its identity while remaining part of a broader civilization. Light is placed deliberately in the public square. Faith without withdrawal. Cultural continuity without separatism. That is the message of Hanukkah.
That such a celebration was targeted in one of Australia’s most iconic public spaces is not incidental. It was an attack on a place and a community that exemplified successful integration during a festival that celebrates cohesion and tolerance.
Speaking to Australian Jews over the past two years, a new theme has emerged — not only of fear, but abandonment. The country they love increasingly hesitates to defend them, is embarrassed by its own culture, and is unwilling to confront hateful belief systems it has imported.
This is not an immigration crisis. It is a governance crisis.
Great countries are built by immigrants. The Greeks, Romans, and Americans all understood that growth comes from outsiders who want to become insiders. But instead of importing entrepreneurs, innovators, and builders, we have incubated an endless supply of cultural resentment. A nation cannot transmit to its citizens what it no longer values. Assimilation requires national pride and confidence in one’s own civilizational values.
Deterrence is dismissed for fear of “sending the wrong signal.” Enforcement is denounced as cruelty. Borders are discussed endlessly but defended reluctantly. Politicians still perform the language of control, but with the conviction of actors reciting lines they no longer believe.
Western governments have not failed to implement their will. They have abandoned the idea that they are entitled to have a will in the first place. The result is a system engineered for failure while absolving those responsible for it. Illegal entry is rewarded. Removal is treated as a scandal. Integration becomes optional.
What emerges is grievance without gratitude, and hate without consequence. Flags become suspect. History is reduced to a catalogue of sins. Elites perform ritualized shame as a marker of sophistication. A country that cannot defend its own identity cannot plausibly ask newcomers to adopt it.
Bondi was not a random eruption of violence. It was the predictable outcome of a system that encouraged hate, refused to do anything about years of incitement and terror attacks on Jews, and will likely change nothing after this attack.
The bitter irony is that the community that proved integration was possible is now among the first to feel the consequences of a society that has stopped insisting on it.
Nations do not decline in a single dramatic moment. They erode through a thousand small capitulations; each defended as compassion.
Bondi was not an aberration. It was a warning. The only question is whether the warning arrived too late. The story of Hanukkah ends with our salvation and spiritual redemption; how will this story end?
Philip Gross is a Manhattan-born, London-based business executive and writer. He explores issues of Jewish identity, faith, and contemporary society through the lens of both the American and British experience.