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‘What is antisemitism?’ At Northwestern, a class on the subject resists simple answers
At Northwestern University, a class about what is — and isn’t — antisemitism doesn’t shy away from taboo questions.
“Is it antisemitic to call a Jewish person a pig?” the course description asks. “To advocate for boycotts against Israel? To work to criminalize infant circumcision, or kosher slaughter?”
The class does not promise answers, but rather historical and scholarly frameworks to wrestle with the subject. That’s the premise of “What is Antisemitism?” — a history class taught by professor David Shyovitz amid national debate over that very question.
Shyovitz, who once considered becoming a rabbi and now researches Jewish-Christian relations in the Middle Ages, developed the class in fall 2020, well before pro-Palestinian encampments on college campuses across the country made national news. But at Northwestern, a fierce debate about antisemitism was already taking place.
In October 2020, student protesters marched to then University President Morton Schapiro’s house demanding that he abolish campus police. “Piggy Morty,” the protesters chanted.
Schapiro responded in an email to students and staff, saying the “piggy” chant came “dangerously close to a longstanding trope against observant Jews like myself,” alluding to a medieval antisemitic trope associating Jews with pigs. Protesters, however, said they were merely using “piggy” as slang for police. (Full disclosure: I attended Northwestern when this was taking place and graduated in 2023.)
“I thought, this is not really being discussed in a very academic or historically literate way,” Shyovitz said. “We should be having better conversations about this, based on some actual knowledge and scholarship and expertise.”
Shyovitz, director of Northwestern’s Crown Family Center for Jewish and Israel Studies, saw a classroom as the ideal forum for those discussions. He taught the first iteration of “What is Antisemitism?” in winter 2024 — just a few months after the attacks of Oct. 7, at a moment when debates over antisemitism were intensifying.
Those discussions often devolved into debating definitions. The widely used — but controversial — International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) definition classifies most anti-Zionism as antisemitic. Alternative frameworks, like the Jerusalem Declaration and Nexus Document, define antisemitism more narrowly and allow for a broader swath of Israel criticism.
But relying on gut instinct alone to determine what is and isn’t antisemitic is equally unsatisfying, Shyovitz said, likening it to Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart’s famous line about pornography: “I know it when I see it.”
Shyovitz largely circumvents those definitional debates in the first half of the class by examining antisemitism through a historical lens, while the latter half focuses on contemporary antisemitism.
“What we try to do is say, ‘Where did this term come from?’” Shyovitz said. “How has it been used by historical actors, but also by scholars to try to make sense of phenomena in the past? And then, when is it helpful? When isn’t it helpful?”
For example, Shyovitz teaches, the word “antisemitism” was coined in 1879 by German journalist Wilhelm Marr, who sought to classify Jews as an inferior “semitic” race. So when discussing “antisemitism” in the Middle Ages, it’s notable that the term was not how anyone in that time period would have referred to the phenomenon.
Labelling pre-modern Jew hatred as antisemitism can import the modern associations that that word has accrued today, Shyovitz said.
“There has never been a kind of a unanimous sense that this is a term that means a single thing and can be easily grasped,” Shyovitz said, “It’s kind of been a contentious topic from the get go.”
Contentious, too, on Northwestern’s campus. Last spring, then-university president Michael Schill faced intense scrutiny over his decision in 2024 to negotiate with pro-Palestinian protesters in an encampment. The Anti-Defamation League, StandWithUs and the Brandeis Center called for Schill’s resignation, writing that Schill, who is Jewish, had “capitulated to hatred and bigotry.”
Schill resigned in September, citing “painful challenges” that Northwestern had faced during his tenure.
Later that month, hundreds of Northwestern students were barred from registering for classes after refusing to watch an antisemitism training video. Protesters said the video, which stated that most forms of anti-Zionism are antisemitic, ostracized anti-Zionist Jews.
Those controversies occurred after Shyovitz first taught the course, so he’s curious how class discussions will unfold when he teaches it for the second time this fall. The course culminates in a debate where students are randomly assigned to defend either the Jerusalem Declaration or the IHRA definition, the latter of which was formally adopted by Northwestern as part of its code of conduct in February.
Still, campus politics are not the course’s primary focus.
“The history that they’re studying actually has very clear stakes for present day policy questions,” Shyovitz said. “But if all we did was debate Northwestern politics in class, I think that would be a real wasted opportunity.”
For Northwestern senior Maria Chebli, who grew up in Beirut, taking the class last year helped her gain a more nuanced perspective on discourse surrounding antisemitism. Though she often disagreed with her classmates, she also formed friendships with them — a dynamic she credited to Shyovitz, who she said fostered an environment where students felt free to respectfully challenge one another.
“The class was quite refreshing, because everyone was very open to discussion,” Chebli said. “I don’t know if I would have had these conversations with the same people outside the classroom, and if I had, whether they would have been that fruitful.”
Shyovitz said the class has been one of the most fulfilling of his teaching career. At a time when discussions about antisemitism are often ill-informed, he said, “these students really were able to get to the crux of some of these issues in a much more productive way.”
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Israeli couple killed by Iranian cluster bomb as Israel continues assassinating Iranian officials
(JTA) — A couple in their 70s were killed overnight Tuesday by an Iranian missile, apparently as they tried to reach a bomb shelter, amid an especially intense barrage of missiles aimed at the Tel Aviv area.
Yaron and Ilana Moshe were killed near their home in Ramat Gan, an upscale suburb of Tel Aviv; a walker found near their bodies suggested that they were on their way to shelter but could not move quickly, officials said. Damage from the cluster munitions, which shed smaller bombs as they land, was also reported at other sites including a main train station in Tel Aviv.
The barrage, Iran said, was retaliation for the killing the day before of Ali Larijani, the country’s security minister and a close ally of its assassinated supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei.
Shortly afterwards, Israel announced that it had assassinated another top official, intelligence minister Esmaeil Khatib. The Israeli military said in a statement, “Khatib played a significant role during the recent protests throughout Iran, including the arrest & killing of protestors and led terrorist activities against Israelis & Americans around the world.”
Israel’s defense minister, Israel Katz, warned that “significant surprises” would be ahead as Israel continued to pummel targets in Iran.
A Wall Street Journal story published Wednesday details how Israel says it is choosing its targets, describing an extensive list of sites and people who are in its crosshairs. Israel knew security officers would gather in sports complexes after their offices were destroyed, then bombed the complexes once they were full, for example, according to the story, which says Iranians say order is beginning to fray on the streets but the regime appears far from falling. Israel said earlier this week that it had three more weeks of targets to work through.
Israel has also stepped up its campaign in and around Beirut, where it is targeting forces affiliated with Hezbollah, the Iranian proxy that operates out of Lebanon and has been bombing Israel since earlier this month.
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I love the Atlanta Jewish Film Festival. This year, it left me heartbroken
I’ve heard Buffalo Springfield’s “For What It’s Worth” hundreds of times. But one recent Friday afternoon, returning from the grocery store with food for Shabbat dinner, was the first time I truly listened to the words.
“There’s battle lines being drawn,” Springfield sang. “Nobody’s right if everybody’s wrong / Young people speaking their minds / Are getting so much resistance from behind.”
Six decades later, those lines felt less like a period artifact than a live transmission.
I’ve spent most of my adult life working in and around Atlanta’s Jewish community, including six years on staff at the Atlanta Jewish Film Festival, leading community engagement and guest programming. So when the Israeli Consulate General to the Southeastern United States pulled its sponsorship of AJFF mid-festival last month — publicly rebuking the organization over its engagement with a Muslim Morehouse College student who had made social media posts criticizing Israel’s actions in Gaza — I felt it the way you feel a fracture in your own family.
What followed was even more painful to witness. This juror, by multiple accounts, was thoughtful, respectful, and described his role with the festival as an honor. The naming and public shaming he has been subject to in the past few weeks, as Jewish organizations issued statements of condemnation, have likely undone any understanding and bridge-building that had taken place over the course of his engagement with AJFF.
And AJFF, one of the largest Jewish film festivals in the world, found itself at the center of a communal firestorm — not for screening a controversial film, but for engaging with a young man of a different faith and perspective as part of a three-person jury evaluating human rights documentaries.
Reflecting on this now that this year’s festival has concluded, I’m troubled by what this incident shows about just how far the “battle lines” Springfield mentioned have extended — and how dangerous they are. Sometime between the Hamas attack of Oct. 7, 2023 and today, something troubling took hold in parts of our community: the conflation of Jewish identity with unquestioning political loyalty to the current Israeli government.
The Talmud records that the rabbis preserved minority opinions precisely because truth is not always with the majority, and because a dissenting voice might one day be vindicated by circumstance. We are a people who have, for millennia, argued with God. Are we now going to stop arguing respectfully with each other?
And what does it mean for Atlanta — a city that styles itself the cradle of the civil rights movement — when its Jewish community responds to disagreement in this close-minded manner?
AJFF was built to advance a different set of goals. The festival’s mission has always rested on the belief that film is uniquely powerful as a vehicle for human connection — that sitting in the dark together, watching stories unfold, can open us to perspectives we might otherwise never encounter.
AJFF does not screen films as endorsements, nor does it require audiences to agree with what they see. Many screenings are followed by panel discussions designed to surface complexity, not resolve it. The festival’s explicit commitment to “foster intergroup understanding among Atlanta’s diverse cultural, ethnic and religious populations” is not a political statement — it is a pedagogical one.
Art doesn’t ask us to capitulate to another point of view. It asks us to be present with it long enough to recognize our shared humanity. As Robert Redford, honored during Sunday’s Academy Award in memoriam tribute, once said: “The glory of art is that it can not only survive change, it can lead it.”
Inviting a young Muslim student to evaluate films about human rights is not a provocation. It is that mission — AJFF’s mission — made real.
Organizations and individuals who are willing to engage in thoughtful, open-hearted dialogue with those whose experiences differ from their own — who resist the pull toward insularity and choose engagement instead — are doing some of the most important work in American civic life. That willingness, that courage, has the capacity to create lasting change for the better.
These are not radical ideas. They are deeply Jewish ones.
Hamas’s terror on October 7, 2023, was a cataclysmic rupture — a massacre that has legitimately shaken every Jewish person I know, including those who hold the most progressive views on Israeli policy. The grief and fear are real. The trauma is real. And antisemitism — actual antisemitism, not mere criticism of a government — is real and rising, and must be confronted without equivocation.
Just last week, a gunman rammed his vehicle into a synagogue in suburban Detroit in what the FBI called a targeted act of violence against the Jewish community. It is a reminder, as if we needed one, that the threats facing Jews in America are not hypothetical — they are physical, present, and demand our clear-eyed vigilance.
But vigilance and exclusion are not the same. Nor does the latter reflect the truth of the American Jewish community.
A recent poll from the Jewish Federations of North America found that while 88% of respondents affirm Israel’s right to exist as a Jewish, democratic state, only 37% identify as Zionists. These numbers do not reflect a collapse of Jewish values. They reflect a community grappling honestly and painfully with a situation that resists easy answers — which is exactly what Jewish communities are supposed to do.
That’s also what Judaism is about, at least the version I was raised in.
That Judaism tells us to welcome the stranger because we were once strangers ourselves. It instructs us that the most important commandment is to love your neighbor. It has, in my experience, made the Atlanta Jewish community one of the most generous, creative and genuinely pluralistic in the country.
The cancellation of individuals and organizations, the public shaming, the erosion of communal institutions that took decades to build — these are not expressions of Jewish strength. They are symptoms of fear. And fear, historically, has never served us well.
I do not have all the answers. My own views on Israel and Gaza have evolved, and I expect they will continue to. What I hold with confidence is this: if we retreat into camps of “Good Jew” and “Bad Jew,” defined not by ethical conduct or spiritual practice but by the volume of one’s political allegiance, we will lose something irreplaceable.
“Young people speaking their minds,” to quote Springfield, are already showing signs of disengagement from Jewish institutional life. They will not be won back by litmus tests and boycotts. They will be won back, if at all, by communities that demonstrate the capacity to hold complexity without cruelty.
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German antisemitism commissioner quits far‑left party over anti-Israel resolution
(JTA) — BERLIN – The antisemitism commissioner for the German state of Brandenburg has resigned from his far-left party over a resolution passed Sunday condemning Israel.
After 11 years in Die Linke (The Left), Andreas Büttner has quit its ranks over the position taken by members in Lower Saxony, in former West Germany. But it’s also personal: Büttner said he’s had enough of what he has described as harassment from within his party.
“It’s no longer possible. And I can’t go on … without betraying my own convictions,” Büttner wrote in a statement to party leaders. The letter was shared with the dpa, the German press association.
Die Linke is the successor to the Socialist Unity Party of Germany, the ruling communist party of former East Germany, and has a platform that is critical of capitalism and of NATO. Die Linke notched a better-than-expected finish in last year’s national elections, drawing 9% of the vote despite internal tensions over Israel and Germany’s handling of antisemitism.
According to news reports about Büttner’s resignation, Brandenburg’s party leaders expressed “great regret and respect,” and promised to continue fighting antisemitism with him.
“This is not a question of party affiliation,” wrote Stefan Wollenberg, the party’s managing director in Brandenburg.
The trigger for Büttner’s move was a resolution condemning current forms of Zionism, put forward by the party’s youth delegation in Lower Saxony. They insisted that the resolution — passed at their convention in Hanover last weekend — was not against Zionism per se, only against “existing political manifestations of Zionism.”
But Büttner, who has long stood up for Israel in defiance to his party, and has openly criticized antisemitism from all corners, said the message was unmistakable.
Resolutions that condemn Israel as a “genocidal state” and an “apartheid state” are “no longer acceptable to me,” he wrote in his resignation. He criticized the Lower Saxony party for coming perilously close to questioning Israel’s right to exist.
The fight against antisemitism should transcend party lines, he added. “All the more shocking for me is what I have had to experience within my own party for years,” he wrote, as cited in the Tagesspiegel newspaper.
Büttner, a former police officer who was elected in 2024 to his position as Brandenburg’s first commissioner for combating antisemitism, has had his differences with his party for some time over its views on Israel. Departing from his party’s official stance, Büttner supports the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance’s definition of antisemitism, known as IHRA, which labels some criticism of Israel as eliminationist and thus antisemitic.
In 2025, members of his party tried and failed to have him expelled over his solidarity with Israel.
Büttner also has been targeted by unknown perpetrators, who in 2024 vandalized his car with swastikas and other Nazi symbols, and in January set fire to a building on his property, leaving a Hamas symbol as their calling card.
The new resolution, which condemns Hamas as well as Israel, characterizes terrorism as a result of “occupation, disenfranchisement, and a lack of prospects.”
It rejects “the Zionism that actually exists today” and recognizes “ethnonationalism and political Zionism as a major obstacle to a peaceful future for all people in the region.”
It says that both Israel and Hamas “harbor fantasies of annihilation” against one another.
The resolution refers to “two years of genocide” in Gaza, calls for an “end to apartheid in Israel and the occupied territories” and criticizes the alleged instrumentalization of antisemitism “to delegitimize criticism of actually existing political Zionism.” It presents a list of demands on Israel, but none on the Palestinian leadership or Hamas.
Die Linke has a long history of anti-Israel activism: In 2010, prominent party members took part in the ill-fated Gaza Freedom Flotilla, aboard the Mavi Marmara, which the Israeli military intercepted in an operation that killed 10 activists. The German politicians were among those arrested and deported home.
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