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When New York and Public Institutions Decide Which Hate Matters
A man walks a subway platform in New York City, United States, on Oct/ 25, 2022. Photo: Jakub Porzycki/NurPhoto via Reuters Connect
New York City is home to the largest Jewish population outside of Israel. For generations, Jews here have built schools, businesses, synagogues, and civic institutions with the assumption that this city, whatever its flaws, understands the cost of antisemitism.
That assumption feels less stable today.
The NYPD’s numbers are unambiguous. Jews remain the most targeted group in reported hate crimes in New York City. The volume is not symbolic. It is disproportionate and sustained. Yet beyond the statistics, there is a quieter shift taking place inside schools and workplaces. Antisemitism is not always denied. It is deprioritized.
I saw this pattern unfold inside my son’s school over the past two academic years.
On the night of October 7, 2023, as Israelis were still counting their dead after 1,200 people were murdered and more than 200 were kidnapped by Hamas, the school principal sent a message to families. The email expressed sorrow over the situation in Gaza. It did not mention the massacre in Israel. It did not acknowledge the Jewish families in the community who were grieving in real time.
That omission was not technical. It was moral. At a moment when Jews across the world were processing the largest slaughter of Jews since the Holocaust, the institutional expression of sympathy pointed elsewhere.
Throughout that same school year, a music teacher regularly wore a keffiyeh in class. In isolation, one could argue that clothing is personal expression. But context matters. This was happening in the immediate aftermath of October 7, when Jewish students were experiencing rising hostility across the city. During curriculum nights, parents had been told that students would learn songs connected to Jewish holidays as part of the music program. Those commitments were not fulfilled. Jewish content quietly disappeared while visible political symbolism remained present.
Concerns were raised. The response was to remain calm and avoid escalation.
Later that year, a fifth-grade student arrived at school with a swastika drawn on his arm. That symbol of genocide was present inside a New York City classroom. The matter was handled privately. There was no schoolwide reaffirmation of values, no public condemnation of the symbol, no communication to families explaining what had occurred and how it would be addressed. It was resolved behind closed doors.
Then came another incident. My son returned home disturbed by a flag displayed in class that closely resembled a Nazi symbol. I sent an urgent email requesting clarification. The following day, I was told it was an ancient Indian symbol. That explanation may have been historically accurate. But the issue was not intent. The issue was impact.
In a school community that includes descendants of Holocaust survivors, imagery resembling a swastika carries emotional weight. Children react before they research. I asked that the school address the matter openly and provide context to students so that confusion and hurt would not linger. The image was removed. There was no broader communication.
Weeks later, a racist remark targeting another minority group during a public meeting triggered an immediate and forceful response from leadership. Families received a strong statement. The language was clear. The commitment to accountability was public.
That response was appropriate. Racism demands clarity.
The contrast between responses is the issue.
When swastikas are handled quietly, when Jewish curriculum promises fade, when the murder of 1,200 Israelis is omitted from expressions of institutional sympathy, and when Jewish concerns receive polite acknowledgment without operational follow-through, a message accumulates. Antisemitism becomes something to manage discreetly rather than confront directly.
This pattern is not isolated to one school. Across New York, Jews who speak openly in support of Israel report professional and social consequences. Anti-Zionist rhetoric has become normalized in many institutional spaces. The distinction between anti-Zionism and antisemitism is often presented as clean and obvious. In practice, it rarely is.
When Jewish students see authority figures signaling affiliation with movements that openly question the legitimacy of the Jewish state, while Jewish identity is treated as politically sensitive or secondary, the environment shifts. Jewish belonging becomes conditional.
I say this not as an activist seeking attention, but as someone whose professional life is rooted in safety and resilience. I am the founder of Krav Maga Experts in New York City. I work daily with civilians, executives, and families on preparedness, threat awareness, and responsible self-defense. Over the past year, I have heard the same concern repeatedly: Jews feel that institutional standards are uneven.
Some advise restraint. They argue that raising Jewish concerns risks appearing divisive. They note the historical suffering of other communities and suggest that Jewish worries should be measured against broader narratives of oppression.
Equal standards do not require comparison. They require consistency.
If a racist act demands public condemnation in one instance, it demands the same in every instance. If a symbol that evokes trauma for one group requires explanation and restorative action, the same principle applies universally. Institutional credibility depends on even enforcement of values.
Antisemitism rarely announces itself with clarity. It adapts. It embeds itself in prevailing political language. It thrives in environments where moral hesitation replaces moral steadiness.
The solution is not complicated. Schools and workplaces should explicitly include antisemitism in their bias and inclusion frameworks. Crisis communications should acknowledge Jewish trauma when it occurs. Symbols with genocidal associations should be addressed transparently. Curriculum commitments should be honored without selective erosion.
New York’s Jewish community does not require special treatment. It requires principled treatment. Safety is not built on selective outrage. It is built on consistent standards applied without fear or favor.
The city that holds the largest Jewish population outside Israel should lead in moral clarity. That clarity begins with a simple rule: hate is hate, regardless of who it targets. When institutions decide which hate merits urgency and which can be handled quietly, they weaken the trust that holds diverse communities together.
Consistency is not a political position. It is a test of integrity.
Tsahi Shemesh is an Israeli-American IDF veteran and the founder of Krav Maga Experts in NYC. A father and educator, he writes about Jewish identity, resilience, moral courage, and the ethics of strength in a time of rising antisemitism.
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Leqaa Kordia, the last Palestinian Columbia protester still in ICE detention, has been released
(JTA) — Leqaa Kordia, a Palestinian woman and the last person still detained in the Trump administration’s crackdown on pro-Palestinian campus protests last spring, was released from ICE custody on Monday.
Kordia’s release came weeks after New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani petitioned President Donald Trump in person on her behalf. Mamdani celebrated the development in a statement.
“In my meeting with President Trump last month, we discussed ICE’s actions at Columbia University. I asked that the federal government release Leqaa Kordia and drop the cases against four others,” he tweeted. “I am grateful that Leqaa has been released this evening from ICE custody after more than a year in detention for speaking up for Palestinian rights.”
Kordia, 33, who immigrated to New Jersey from the West Bank in 2016, had been held in a U.S. immigration detention center in Texas since last March after she was arrested for her involvement in a pro-Palestinian protest at Columbia in 2024. Kordia had overstayed her student visa and was never a student at Columbia.
On Friday, an immigration judge ordered her release on $100,000 bond. It was the third time that the judge had ordered her release, which was granted after the government declined to appeal.
“I don’t know what to say. I’m free! I’m free! Finally, after one year,” Kordia told reporters after being released from the detention center.
Kordia was among a number of people arrested last spring amid the Trump administration’s crackdown on noncitizens who had participated in anti-Israel protests, some of which drew allegations of antisemitism, on university campuses.
Among those arrested was Mahmoud Khalil, a Columbia University graduate whose release Mamdani also called for. Earlier this month, Khalil broke the Ramadan fast at Gracie Mansion with Mamdani and his wife Rama Duwaji. Duwaji, whose pro-Palestinian social media posts have increasingly drawn scrutiny, also celebrated Kordia’s release on Instagram.
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For the first time ever, NBA game features 3 Jews — Deni Avdija, Danny Wolf and Ben Saraf
(JTA) — BROOKLYN — The Barclays Center had the energy of a bar mitzvah party on Monday night, as kippah-clad basketball fans and kids waving posters with Hebrew words of encouragement came to cheer on an NBA first: a game featuring three Jewish players — all Israeli citizens.
The Brooklyn Nets were hosting the Portland Trail Blazers — whose forward Deni Avdija recently became the first Israeli All-Star in the league.
He joined Danny Wolf and Ben Saraf, two Jewish players who have galvanized the Nets’ Jewish fanbase since joining the team this year. Saraf was raised in Israel and got his start in basketball there, while Wolf grew up in Illinois and secured Israeli citizenship to play for Team Israel in international competitions.
Avdija, who normally averages about 25 points per game, struggled to find a rhythm on Monday night, as did Wolf, who has intrigued scouts with the ball handling skills of a point guard despite his nearly 7-foot height. But Saraf impressed, scoring 15 points and notching four assists and four steals in 24 minutes of play.
Saraf’s efforts were not enough to buoy his team, though, and the Nets lost to the Trail Blazers, 114-95.
That hardly dimmed the enthusiasm of the crowd, who thrilled at seeing Avdija and Saraf hug on the court before the game and exchange jerseys after the game in a show of respect and friendship.
Some draped in shawls printed with a fusion of the Israeli and American flags lingered court-side for a chance to get Avdija’s attention. At times when the game was quiet, some fans could be heard shouting “Deni! Deni!” Some wore hats with “Brooklyn Nets” spelled in Hebrew.
Avdija said in a postgame press conference that he had been surprised to see the arena sold out and that the energy reminded him of the Menora arena when he played for Maccabi Tel Aviv.
“I haven’t fully processed it yet,” he said about the significance of having three Israelis on the court. “It’s tough that many people from Israel couldn’t come because of the war. I hope everyone is okay. Representing on the biggest stage — it’s emotional for me and for many others. One of the most fun nights I’ve had.”
Saraf, too, said the game was a highlight for him.
“A very emotional night. It’s too bad that we lost, but it’s bigger than that. The number of Jewish and Israeli fans here — when Deni was introduced, the whole crowd stood up. Every basket, it was emotional for me, for Danny Wolf, for everyone. It was a big event.”
He added, “Three Israelis on the court at the same time was something very special.”
It is possible that the trio represents not just all of the Israeli citizens but all of the Jews currently playing in the NBA. A fourth player was reportedly exploring converting to Judaism, but he has not publicly disclosed whether he completed a conversion.
The previous record for number of Israelis in an NBA game was two. It came on Oct. 30, 2023, when Omri Casspi and the Houston Rockets played the Dallas Mavericks and Gal Mekel, whom the Mavs had recently picked up, made his debut with the team. They were the first and second Israelis in the NBA.
The game also appears to tie the league record for the number of Jews in a single game, set on Nov. 10, 1953. In that game, Dolph Schayes scored 11 points for the Syracuse Nationals, while Irv Bemoras and Red Holzman both took the court for the Milwaukee Hawks.
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Louis Theroux’s Netflix documentary on the manosphere takes a detour into antisemitism
“LOUIS IS A DIRTY J-E-W.”
This comment features during Inside the Manosphere, a new Netflix documentary from Louis Theroux, during a conversation between Theroux and podcaster Myron Gaines, host of Fresh and Fit Podcast.
It’s not the only time someone calls Theroux a Jew; Harrison Sullivan imitates Theroux, tenting his fingers conspiratorially and leering as he says the documentarian “just sat there with his Jew fingers.”
Theroux, however, is not Jewish. He has also made several edgy documentary specials for the BBC interviewing extremist settler groups in Israel, which have received acclaim from Israel’s critics and hostility from its supporters. And either way, the focus on Theroux’s supposed Jewishness seems off topic for a documentary on the manosphere, the generalized term for the world of podcasters, YouTubers and online streamers who cater to men.
The manosphere includes both mainstream creators like Joe Rogan as well as extremists like Andrew Tate, who was arrested in Romania for sex trafficking. Most creators in this world are anti-LGBTQ and endorse traditional gender roles, often familiar stuff about how women should be the primary caregivers for children and men should be breadwinners. Sometimes, however, on the fringes of this world, there are more extreme beliefs, like that women should not have the right to vote or need to be hit as a form of discipline by men; there are even open endorsements of rape.
Theroux spends most of the documentary talking to a few of the more extreme figures in the manosphere, including Gaines, the streamer Sneako, and Sullivan, who goes by the cringe handle of HSTikkyTokky. He follows them to their gyms, meets their girlfriends and watches as they produce content, largely by accosting people — mostly young women — on the street to slut-shame them. He speaks to the adoring young men who greet them in public. He gently asks follow-up questions, such as whether they all hate women. (The content creators, to a man, insist they love women, offering as proof their desire to have sex with as many of them as possible.) He wonders aloud whether young men can actually make any money off of the get-rich-quick courses hawked by many of the manosphere influencers.
Still, none of this obviously connects to antisemitism. The manosphere generally directs its ire at women, not Jews. Why, then, was Theroux accused — because it is, clearly, an accusation — of being a Jew?
In the current world of online extremism, it can sometimes be difficult to draw connections between different extremist ideologies. There’s not a clear throughline between antisemitism and the violent misogyny of, say, incel, (involuntary celibate) forums. Nor is there an obvious connection between the pseudoscientific skepticism of the anti-vax world and hatred of Jews. And giving disillusioned young men advice on how to be more manly and succeed in the world — or at least grifting off of their desire to do so — has little to do with Jews.
But for the most part, the main reason antisemitism springs up in the manosphere or in other extremist spaces is simply because it, too, is an extremist belief, and beliefs on the fringes tend to bleed into each other. There are sometimes distorted ideas that can connect the two, like an offshoot of the age-old antisemitic conspiracy theory that Jews control world governments, which feeds into some anti-vax groups who believe that Jews are unleashing secret poison in the form of vaccines. But once you’ve decided one crazy thing is true, like that women are biologically only suited to be the property of men, so many other seemingly crazy things start sounding just as reasonable.
The comment about Theroux being a Jew came when he objected to a bit of pseudoscience Gaines presented during Fresh and Fit Podcast, asserting that women retain DNA from every man they’ve had sex with, genetic material they then pass on to children they have with a different partner. Theroux called this misinformation — because it is — and users in the chat trashed him by calling him a Jew.
Later in the documentary, Sneako gave an unprompted rant on camera about the Antichrist, Satanic symbols on magazines in a store window and the “one world government” causing it all, which, the influencer says, was started by the Rothschilds. Theroux finally pushed on the antisemitism.
“Is it Jewish in character?” he asked. “Because that does have some of the hallmarks of an antisemitic conspiracy theory.”
Sneako denied that a Rothschild-run world government had anything to do with Jews. But plenty of other influencers — including, outside the documentary, Sneako himself — have been more open. “Fuck the Jews,” HSTikkyTokky chants in a clip. In others, manosphere creators blame Jews for “feminism,” “homosexuality,” and “vibrations that are going to negatively bring you down.”
Theroux’s signature mild British mien allows him to blandly ask questions and let the influencers say whatever they want and allows the audience to observe alongside him.
He does little to explain either the antisemitism or the misogyny. That’s a strength; conspiracy theories do not operate by logic, and trying to force them into a rational framework can backfire, allowing proponents to proffer their own evidence, however faulty.
Antisemitism is an age-old hatred. Misogyny is nothing new either. That’s all they have in common. But as Inside the Manosphere shows, that’s enough for both to spread.
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