In today’s charged political climate, where fear often drives the narrative and higher education faces relentless scrutiny, the creation of a federal antisemitism task force might seem like a necessary step. Yet, beneath the surface of protective language lies a familiar strategy. President Donald Trump’s campaign isn’t truly about defending Jewish students—it’s about using their identity as a tool to weaken institutions that challenge his political agenda.
Trump’s attacks on elite universities such as Harvard aren’t motivated by concern for Jewish safety. Instead, they serve as political weapons, capitalizing on rising fears of antisemitism to fuel a broader campaign against academia. By wrapping his agenda in the cloak of Jewish protection, Trump not only misses the true nature of the problem but risks intensifying it.
On the surface, this initiative appears noble: identifying and combating antisemitism on college campuses. However, it lacks genuine commitment to understanding or confronting antisemitism in all its forms. The focus is narrow and selective, frequently conflating criticism of Israeli government policies with antisemitic hate speech, often equating pro-Palestinian activism with bigotry.
Simultaneously, it overlooks antisemitism emanating from the political right, including conspiracy theories, violent rhetoric, and overt white nationalism. This one-sided approach creates a distorted narrative. Legitimate dissent is painted as hatred, Jewish identity becomes a blunt instrument to stifle academic freedom, and universities—especially those labeled liberal or elite—are portrayed as hostile to Jews. This depiction ignores the longstanding role these institutions have played in fostering Jewish integration and advancement in American society.
Such tactics do not represent a serious effort to combat antisemitism. Instead, they are a cynical manipulation of Jewish fears, wielded to justify a cultural and political purge. The consequences are far-reaching. Making Jewish communities the face of a campaign to censor universities invites backlash from all sides. On the right, it fuels old stereotypes about Jewish control over media, academia, and public discourse. On the left, it breeds suspicion that Jewish advocacy masks efforts to silence Palestinian voices.
This dynamic isolates American Jews socially and politically—ironically, at the very moment they are purportedly being “protected.” Antisemitism is not an abstract threat; it is a harsh reality for many Jews in the U.S. It’s rare to find a Jewish American untouched by some form of antisemitism—whether through left-wing conflations of Jewish identity with Israeli government actions or right-wing conspiracy theories portraying Jews as global manipulators.
From hateful online comments and graffiti to casual language that weaponizes the word “Jew” to imply cheating or stinginess, antisemitism manifests across the political spectrum, shaped to fit different ideological frameworks. Pretending that antisemitism exists in only one form, or that silencing campus debate can eliminate it, is not just misguided—it is dangerous.
Equally troubling is the tendency to reduce Jewish identity to a monolithic, uncritical support of Israeli policies. In truth, Jewish Americans hold diverse opinions on Israel, Gaza, and U.S. foreign policy. Some oppose the occupation; others call for ceasefires; and many back Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s government, viewing its policies as essential for Israel’s security.
This diversity is a strength, reflecting a mature, pluralistic community. Ignoring this complexity erases many Jewish voices from the public conversation and hands power to those who seek to exploit Jewish identity for their own ends.
I’ve spent my career in academic medicine and public health, training at universities across the country—from Michigan and Utah to my current fellowship at McGaw Medical Center in Chicago, affiliated with one of the institutions targeted by Trump’s campaign. While I don’t speak for these institutions, my experience informs me that they are imperfect yet vital. These campuses remain among the few spaces in public life where diverse identities, political views, and intellectual traditions coexist—and sometimes clash.
For generations, higher education has been pivotal in Jewish American life. In the early 20th century, when Jews faced quotas and exclusion from many professions, universities—despite their flaws—offered a path to opportunity. My grandfather was fortunate to secure a quota spot in medical school, launching our family’s journey toward stability and belonging. Many Jewish families encouraged careers in medicine, law, or academia not just for prestige but as a means to integration.
Today, Jews remain significantly overrepresented in advanced education: nearly 60% hold college degrees, compared to roughly 30% of the general population, and they earn doctoral and professional degrees at much higher rates. This legacy is not a sign of elitism, as conspiracy theorists claim, but evidence of a community’s pursuit of inclusion through education. To now label these same institutions as inherently antisemitic is both historically inaccurate and deeply harmful.
Such framing obscures the real challenge. Reducing antisemitism to a partisan talking point weakens efforts to combat it meaningfully. True protection arises from clear, consistent standards that oppose all forms of hate—antisemitism, Islamophobia, racism, xenophobia—while safeguarding the right to legitimate political debate. Anything less leaves the door wide open for hate to thrive.
