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As Campuses Reopen in 2026, Jewish Students Face a Deeper Institutional Failure
Demonstrators take part in an “Emergency Rally: Stand With Palestinians Under Siege in Gaza,” amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and Hamas, at Harvard University in Cambridge, Massachusetts, US, Oct. 14, 2023. Photo: REUTERS/Brian Snyder
As college campuses re-open for the Spring 2026 semester, university leaders are eager to project calm. Protest encampments have been cleared. Media attention has drifted. Administrators speak of healing, dialogue, and renewed commitments to inclusion.
For Jewish students, however, the reality is far less reassuring. The question they face is no longer whether antisemitism exists on campus. That question was settled long ago. The real question is whether universities remain capable of governing themselves in ways that allow Jewish students to participate fully and safely in academic life.
Recent reporting and surveys suggest the answer is increasingly no.
New data released in January by StandWithUs shows that large majorities of Jewish student leaders have personally experienced or witnessed antisemitic incidents, ranging from harassment and intimidation to coordinated online targeting. Particularly troubling is that a meaningful share of these incidents involved faculty members and administrators, not just students acting at the margins.
The stories behind the numbers are by now familiar, and still unsettling. Jewish students report being taunted with slurs, encountering classrooms transformed into ideological battlegrounds, and seeking help from administrators only to be told that this is simply what contemporary activism looks like.
Campus antisemitism persists today not because universities lack policies, statements, or task forces, but because they have lost the capacity — or the will and moral fortitude — to govern consistently when doing so carries reputational or ideological cost.
This is not an episodic crisis. It is not the residue of a single geopolitical moment. It is the product of a deeper institutional failure that has been years in the making.
I have been writing about ideological conformity and governance breakdowns in higher education since well before October 7, 2023. In 2018, I published research documenting the ideological homogeneity of university administrators. That work resulted in vandalism of my office and faculty-supported calls for a tenure review — an early warning of how dissent was already being policed.
What has changed since then is not the existence of hostility toward Jews on campus, but the confidence with which it is now expressed, and the reluctance of universities to confront it directly.
The scale of the problem is undeniable. Hillel International has documented thousands of antisemitic incidents across US campuses over the past academic year. Surveys consistently show that most Jewish students have experienced or witnessed antisemitism, and that a majority lack confidence in their universities’ ability to respond effectively.
But focusing on numbers alone risks missing the more consequential point. Antisemitism on campus is no longer primarily a student conduct problem. It is a failure of institutional governance.
That failure has begun, quietly and reluctantly, to be acknowledged even by elite university leadership. Harvard President Alan Garber recently admitted that faculty activism has chilled free expression on campus, and narrowed the range of views students feel comfortable voicing in the classroom. Such candor is rare, and it matters.
Yet the significance of that admission lies not in its novelty, but in what it reveals about the broader system. Elite universities know what has gone wrong. They possess internal climate surveys, legal analyses, and compliance offices that document the problem in painstaking detail. The issue is not ignorance. It is unwillingness.
This is not a debate about controversial speech. Universities exist to host disagreement. The crisis arises when authority figures use institutional power to signal which identities and viewpoints are protected, and which are expendable, while insisting that their hands are tied.
This dynamic is no longer hypothetical. A substantial share of antisemitic incidents now originate with faculty or staff.
Faculty-affiliated activist networks have proliferated across campuses, often operating with tacit approval from administrators. When professors face no consequences for antisemitic rhetoric, students receive a clear message about whose dignity matters.
Universities often respond by invoking complexity — free speech, academic freedom, the difficulty of drawing lines in polarized times. But this explanation collapses under scrutiny. Universities know how to enforce rules when they choose to. Antisemitism, however, has too often been treated as an exception — reframed as political critique, shielded by academic language, or excused as moral urgency.
In practice, this failure follows a familiar pattern. Complaints are routed through opaque processes. Responsibility is diffused. Decisions are deferred indefinitely. What looks like procedural care from the outside is experienced by students as abandonment.
This helps explain one of the defining paradoxes of Jewish campus life in 2026: Jewish institutions are flourishing, even as universities falter.
Chabad and Hillel have expanded rapidly since October 7. Chabad on Campus International now operates on more than 950 campuses worldwide. New Jewish centers are being built at major universities. Shabbat dinners are fuller than ever.
This is resilience, and it deserves admiration. But it is also an indictment.
Jewish students should not need refuge from their own universities. A vibrant Hillel should be a center of Jewish life, not a shelter from institutional neglect. When Jewish belonging is secured primarily through parallel institutions, something fundamental has broken in the civic promise of higher education.
This is where accountability must enter the conversation.
If universities cannot enforce their own nondiscrimination policies consistently, then Title VI enforcement must become more predictable, faster, and more consequential. Investigations should not linger for years. Outcomes should be transparent. Boards of Trustees must stop outsourcing moral responsibility to administrators trained primarily in risk avoidance. Trustees exist precisely to govern when institutions lose their bearings. Silence is not neutrality. It is acquiescence.
Responsibility does not rest with universities alone. The Jewish community must also speak with greater clarity.
Parents sending children back to campus deserve realism, not reassurance. Donors funding universities and Jewish campus life alike should ask harder questions about where their money is going. Too often, Jewish leadership has responded by building around institutional failure rather than confronting it — an understandable strategy in the short term, but unsustainable over time.
Many Jewish communal institutions have adapted and pivoted in a hostile environment. But adaptation and pivoting is not reform. Resilience is not resolution. The long-term health of Jewish campus life depends on universities once again fulfilling their basic obligations.
As campuses reopen this spring, Jewish students are returning to environments that may feel quieter, but remain deeply unsettled. The slogans have shifted. The tactics have evolved. But the hostility persists.
The question now is whether universities — and those who govern them — are prepared to enforce standards consistently, protect Jewish students equally, and reassert their own legitimacy.
If they cannot, the erosion will not stop with Jewish students. It will continue to corrode the credibility of higher education itself.
And that is a cost no university — and no community — can afford to ignore.
Samuel J. Abrams is a professor of politics at Sarah Lawrence College and a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.
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For the Jews of Venice, an uneasy history of scapegoating and grudging tolerance
The First Ghetto: Venice and the Origins of Modern Antisemitism
By Alexander Lee
Basic Books, 432 pages, $34
When one thinks of Venice and the Jews, the first figure that probably comes to mind is Shylock, literary history’s famous Jewish villain, a moneylender who demands a “pound of flesh” from the titular character in Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice.
In Alexander Lee’s new book, The First Ghetto: Venice and the Origins of Modern Antisemitism, Shylock is mentioned just twice, both times in the introduction, but his ghost hovers over the pages of the book. Much of Lee’s historical account of Jewish life in Venice is devoted to Jewish moneylenders, and the key role they played in keeping Venice’s economy afloat.
The First Ghetto centers on the uneasy and guarded relationship that the Venetian government and its Christian people — first as the Venetian Republic and later as part of the Italian nation — always had with its Jewish population. According to Lee’s account, Venice didn’t want the Jews, but it needed them, largely for their ability to provide credit.
As he tracks the rise and fall of the Venetian Ghetto across more than six centuries, from Venice’s first Jewish visitor in 1315 through the fateful deportation of its Jewish citizens in the Holocaust, Lee’s focus is so narrowly limited to the fluctuations of finance that he very nearly makes the word “Jew” synonymous with “moneylender” or “pawnbroker.”

That’s a pity, because readers can be left with the impression that the primary role Jews played in the life of the city nicknamed “La Serenissima” — the most serene place — was financial.
“More than once, the Ghetto’s Jews helped keep the Venetian economy from collapse,” writes Lee, an Italian Renaissance scholar at the University of Warwick who has previously published four books, including Machiavelli: His Life and Times. “They founded no fewer than eight glittering synagogues, each a masterpiece of its kind, founded innumerable charities, and administered their own affairs with democratic probity.”
There is, of course, validity to the argument that the Venetian brand of capitalism that emerged in the late Middle Ages and sustained the city through the 20th century was reliant on Jewish labor. Since the mid-12th century, the Catholic Church had prohibited usury, loans offered with interest. But this rule only applied to Christians lending to Christians. They could, however, take out interest-bearing loans from Jewish moneylenders, who were permitted to lend and borrow without, apparently, incurring sin.
The precarious arrangement proved, over time, to be mutually beneficial for the Venetians and the Jews. As long as they were supporting the city’s financial needs, Jews were tolerated — even as they were isolated, overtaxed and frequently attacked. When the Venetians had less of a need for Jewish resources, cruelty against them spiked. They were blamed for most of the city’s woes, including the Black Death, the loss of wars, and various forms of spiritual corruption.
Even if Jews’ contributions were valued by some, the majority of Venice’s Christians “still harbored a horror of moneylending in Venice itself — and almost all regarded Jews with unconcealed hostility,” Lee writes. To balance this necessity against their antipathy, Jews were permitted to live in Venice, as long as they remained apart. Thus the Venice Ghetto was born.
Beginning in 1516, they were segregated to an island of their own on the dilapidated site of a former municipal cannon foundry, Ghetto Nuovo, surrounded by high walls and an iron gate. They were constrained in cramped conditions, and allowed to associate with Christian residents only for business purposes, in daytime. They were marked as outsiders wherever they traveled within the city by a yellow circular patch on their clothing, and an oddly shaped yellow hat.
“The Ghetto was simply the easiest way of allowing Jewish loans to keep flowing,” writes Lee, “while keeping the spiritual ‘risks’ [of associating with Jews] to a minimum.”
Although Jews had been segregated and harassed in other settings for centuries, Venice’s Ghetto was a precursor of the many Jewish ghettos that would later be created throughout Europe. The word ghetto, borrowed from Venice, later “shed its purely Jewish connotations,” Lee writes, and became “shorthand for vulnerability, poverty and powerlessness,” in the living conditions of any minority group.
The first 150 pages of The First Ghetto track the vicissitudes of the explotive financial partnership between Venice and its largely captive population of a couple thousand Jewish residents. The periods of time when Jewish life could be conducted with some sense of security and ease were offset by periods of blame, harassment, and threats of expulsion. But, as Lee argues, the story of Venice’s Jews is one of resilience and survival.
Shakespeare penned The Merchant of Venice between 1596 and 1598, in a period that Lee describes as the Ghetto’s “Golden Age, 1589-1630.” Yet precisely why the character of Shylock emerged in England in this period or how the play related to the true conditions of moneylending and commerce are unfortunately never discussed.
Culture and humanity are strikingly absent from Lee’s account of the history of the Venice Ghetto. Lee notes that the inhabitants of the Ghetto were “poets and scientists, musicians and philosophers; they put on plays and held festivals; and they transformed Venice into the greatest center for Hebrew printing in the world.”
But, apart from a detailed account of the genesis of the book trade, Lee offers little description of these poets and scientists or philosophers, nor does he provide much insight into the daily life experienced in the Venice Ghetto. I yearned for a more vivid sense of how the Ghetto’s people passed their time, what they ate, how they socialized or practiced religious observance — and how they responded to the discrimination they faced.
The book’s subtitle, Venice and the Origins of Modern Antisemitism, suggests that Lee might dive into the genesis of antisemitic tropes or ideas — why did Christian Venetians believe that Jews ate babies, for example? — but this kind of analysis isn’t provided. Instead, Lee seems to regard antisemitism as a given, a force of nature that merely fluctuates depending on the conditions of the time.
“By 1630,” writes Lee, “Venice was the best place in the world to be a Jew.” And, “Anyone could see that the Ghetto was indispensable to Venice.” The bright moment didn’t last long, however, as that same year, the city was hit by a plague that took about a third of its population. Because they were still relatively isolated, the Jewish community lost only about 15% of its residents, but the larger city’s “glory days were now numbered,” Lee writes. “There would be no recovery — only a gradual slide into irrelevance.”
In 1797, Napoleon Bonaparte marched into Venice and forced its leaders to abdicate, effectively ending the Venetian Republic, and declared all its residents equal. The walls of Venice’s Ghetto were finally torn down; its gates were carried to the town square, smashed to bits, and burned. A member of the national guard, Raffaele Vivante, jumped up and gave a speech. “Here you have toppled the terrible doors which held our Nation as if locked up in a prison,” he cried, and then, as Lee writes, “The dancing went on till dawn.”
In the 1930s and 40s, under Mussolini’s fascist reign, the Venetians’ long-simmering hatred of its Jews rose to a boil. As the Jewish community was still small and somewhat contained, in spite of early 20th-century integration, it was easy to identify and decimate. The emptying of the Ghetto, handled here in about ten pages, resulted in the removal of around 2,100 people in 1943 and 1944, of whom hundreds were murdered.
In the 21st century, while the waves of antisemitism have once again crested, the notion that to be Jewish is to be linked to moneylending, banking, and usury has, sadly, gained new currency. Although this is not the only issue Lee touches upon, I wondered while reading the book if it was truly useful to hammer home this connection once again.
As I read Lee’s history, waiting for a better sense of the dimensions of humanity in the Ghetto, a line from the Merchant of Venice kept popping into my mind: “If you prick us, do we not bleed?” I would have liked to have seen a slightly more sanguine touch on these pages.
The post For the Jews of Venice, an uneasy history of scapegoating and grudging tolerance appeared first on The Forward.
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British Museum postpones a Jewish Culture Month lecture, citing ‘disruption’ concerns
(JTA) — The British Museum has canceled a lecture titled ‘‘Ancient Israel and Judah” that was scheduled to take place today on its premises.
In a statement on Wednesday, the museum said the decision was made because it was informed in recent days that “a significant proportion of registered attendees were individuals intending to deliberately disrupt the event.”
The event was supposed to be jointly led by members of the museum’s senior curatorial team alongside organizers from Jewish Culture Month, with the lecture presented by Dr. Paul Collins, the museum’s Keeper of the Department of the Middle East.
Jewish Culture Month is the first event of its kind in the United Kingdom, organized by the Board of Deputies of British Jews. The festivities opened on May 15 and run through June 16, and include more than 100 events celebrating Jewish heritage, creativity and culture across the U.K.
Major British institutions including the British Library, Tate Modern, Victoria and Albert Museum and the BBC are participating.
The British Museum said it was only postponing and not canceling the event, stating the decision was a joint one “made following conversations with organisers and security partners.” The museum added that the decision was made “to protect the event — not diminish it.”
British Museum Assistant Press Officer Lucy McDonald told JTA that the museum could not comment on “operational or security arrangements” and referred to the statement saying that the event would be rescheduled “to a later date when it can take place in an environment that properly safeguards both the audience experience and the integrity of the programme itself.”
The Board of Deputies of British Jews responded with a statement saying, “It is highly regrettable that individuals have sought to deliberately disrupt a Jewish Culture Month event celebrating Jewish cultural heritage at the British Museum.” A spokesperson for the Board told JTA they could not comment further.
At the launch earlier this month, Board of Deputies Acting President Adrian Cohen said the events were designed for Jewish and non-Jewish community members alike because “British Jewish culture is not something that exists in isolation.”
Board of Deputies Director of Culture, Education and Communities Liat Rosenthal added, “Jewish culture has never been something sealed behind glass. It is a living culture. An argumentative culture. A hospitable culture. A culture of memory and reinvention. Of stories carried across borders and generations, then remade anew.”
The museum’s postponement of the event is a blow to London’s Jewish community, which has weathered rising antisemitic incidents since the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas attack on Israel.
Shimon Cohen, the campaign director for Shechita UK, an organization that advocates for the Jewish ritual of kosher animal slaughter, told JTA in a statement, “Why has our country descended into mob rule? Why are we signaling that intimidation, vitriolic abuse, and violence against Jews works?”
“The British Museum can ‘celebrate the contribution of our communities’ except the Jewish community,” said Cohen. “Instead, their message is clear: let them cower, be cancelled, and be exposed, through the cowardice of our passivity, to ever more hatred, and why? Simply because Jews don’t count!”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post British Museum postpones a Jewish Culture Month lecture, citing ‘disruption’ concerns appeared first on The Forward.
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In Miami, rekindling the Black-Jewish alliance that Clarence Jones insisted never died
The day before the March on Washington in 1963, a man who embodied much of what that civil rights action was all about left this world. The march went on, and changed history, in dedication to the life and work of W. E. B. Du Bois. During it, the NAACP’s Roy Wilkins told the crowd, of Du Bois, that “his was the voice that was calling to you to gather here today in this cause.”
A similar scenario is unfolding in Miami today with the start of a major convening of groups committed to the Black-Jewish alliance. It comes in the shadow of the death of Clarence B. Jones, a lawyer and speechwriter for Martin Luther King, Jr., who embodied that alliance and its cause for much of his life. He died last Friday at 95.
Chairman emeritus of the Black-Jewish alliance group Spill the Honey, and long cemented in history as the legal mind behind King’s protest strategies who also contributed passages to the “I Have a Dream” speech, Jones would vociferously argue that despite endless fissures, the alliance never ended.
That is a position I too have long maintained, particularly because a major part of the alliance is acknowledging the existence and power of Black Jews. As I and so many others tirelessly repeat, the two groups are not mutually exclusive. It’s a misnomer to say “Blacks” and “Jews” when each group overlaps with the other.
And if the alliance did die sometime during the last 30 or 40 years, did my existence and that of every other Black Jew not get the memo?
Our reality hasn’t stopped others from restarting the alliance with all the patentability of reinventing the wheel. I’ve lost count over the years of how many times a new Blacks-and-Jews group — again, usually ignoring Black Jews — would form as if it alone had the answer to whatever discord was then going on, from disputes over affirmative action after the Supreme Court’s 1978 Bakke decision to the latest over Israel’s horrific actions in Gaza and Lebanon.
That led me and Bruce Haynes, author of The Soul of Judaism and an African American professor who recently discovered his Jewish ancestry, to wonder last February if it was time to form an umbrella organization for all the organizations so dedicated.
While we discussed it, others were mobilizing.
An influential — and funded — group was already working on exactly that, calling for the National Convening of the Black-Jewish Alliance in Miami this week. Organizers include the Redstone Family Foundation and the EXODUS Leadership Forum, founded by CNN commentator Van Jones.
At 95, Clarence Jones would not have made the trip. But Spill The Honey, the organization he recently chaired and for which Haynes and I both serve as board members, is also among coalition partners.
Nearly 100 Black, Jewish, and Black Jewish leaders (this time, we’re being heard) will gather in what will be a show of unity merely in all of us being together, even if we don’t agree on everything. No coalition does, and those that do succeed (think of the not-always-comfortable bedfellows of the civil rights and labor groups that pulled off the March On Washington) do so despite their differences. What’s important is that we’ll be in the room together.
Will it work? Who knows. The alliance has always been rocky, even if it has also always survived.
And don’t count Clarence Jones out yet. His spirit will definitely be with us, which he foreshadowed in a conversation we had in the Forward three years ago.
“When I die, I’m coming back Jewish,” he said.
“But still Black?” I asked.
“Absolutely!”
The post In Miami, rekindling the Black-Jewish alliance that Clarence Jones insisted never died appeared first on The Forward.
