Fighting Anti-Semitism Shouldn’t Harm Jewish Students: A Reflection on the Limits of Blunt Force in Academia

The recent turmoil at Columbia University offers a stark lesson in the complexities of combating anti-Semitism in academia. On March 7, 2025, the Trump administration froze $400 million in federal grants to the university, citing its failure to curb rampant harassment of Jewish students—a move that underscored a genuine crisis but quickly spiraled into a broader controversy. Columbia’s interim president has since resigned amid backlash over concessions to federal demands, and a 2025 Anti-Defamation League (ADL) report has praised some of the university’s subsequent policy shifts, noting progress in protecting Jewish students. With the restoration of the $400 million appearing imminent, the saga reveals a deeper truth: sledgehammer-style approaches to holding universities accountable for their failures often punish the very communities they aim to protect. As a rabbi, a scholar of Jewish theology, and a former doctoral student who studied at Columbia, I see this moment as a call to rethink how we address anti-Semitism in higher education—not just at Columbia, but across institutions across the country, including Harvard, where a similar $8.7-billion funding probe looms.

The Columbia Crisis: A Microcosm of a Larger Problem

Columbia’s struggle with anti-Semitism is undeniable and distressing. Over the past seventeen months, Jewish students have faced harassment, intimidation, and even physical assaults tied to their identity or perceived support for Israel. Reports document incidents of verbal abuse and physical threats during campus protests, often met with tepid responses from university leadership. The ADL’s 2024 report criticized Columbia’s sluggish enforcement of its own anti-harassment policies, a failure that fueled the Trump administration’s drastic action. Yet, as the dust settles, the story has shifted: the 2025 ADL report highlights Columbia’s strides—stricter disciplinary measures, empowered campus security, and a restructured Middle East studies program—suggesting that targeted reforms can yield results. The impending restoration of funds further implies that accountability need not come at the expense of an institution’s academic ecosystem.

This evolving situation at Columbia is a microcosm of a broader challenge. Universities are not just ideological battlegrounds; they are vital hubs of Jewish intellectual life. Columbia hosts a significant population of Jewish students, graduate instructors, and professors, many of whom rely on federal grants to pursue groundbreaking work in fields from science to the humanities. The Institute for Israel and Jewish Studies, for instance, advances scholarship on Jewish history and culture, while the nearby Jewish Theological Seminary (JTS), where I studied as a doctoral candidate, depends on its partnership with Columbia for research access. When the federal government slashed $400 million in funding from Columbia, it didn’t just target negligent administrators—it threatened the livelihoods of Jewish scholars already navigating a hostile environment. Now, as Harvard faces a parallel possible loss of $8.7 billion in grants, we must ask: why do these blunt interventions so often risk collateral damage to the communities they intend to shield?

The Perils of the Sledgehammer Approach

The impulse to wield federal power against universities that fail to protect Jewish students is understandable. Anti-Semitism is a scourge that demands a robust response, particularly in academia, where young minds are shaped and social norms are contested. Columbia’s selective enforcement of its policies—allowing harassment and intimidation to fester—mirrors a troubling pattern seen at other institutions. Harvard, too, has drawn scrutiny for its handling of anti-Semitic incidents, prompting the Trump administration’s task force to escalate its oversight. These failures are indefensible, and the frustration of Jewish students and their advocates is palpable. But broad funding freezes, like those imposed on Columbia or threatened at Harvard, are less a scalpel and more a sledgehammer—indiscriminate tools that can undermine the very Jewish academic life they aim to bolster.

Consider the Jewish graduate student at Columbia, painstakingly researching medieval Jewish texts, or the professor at Harvard whose grant-supported work counters anti-Semitic narratives through rigorous inquiry. Picture JTS students studying in Columbia’s libraries, as I did for several years, or Harvard’s Jewish studies scholars collaborating across disciplines—only to find their projects stalled by funding cuts triggered by administrative shortcomings beyond their control. This isn’t justice; it’s punishment. Jewish student organizations, often underfunded and overstretched, rely on university resources to create safe spaces amid campus tensions. When funds are slashed en masse, these lifelines weaken, making it harder for Jewish students to thrive in already challenging environments. The irony is stark: policies meant to combat anti-Semitism can inadvertently dim the intellectual lights that Jewish scholars keep burning.

Precision over Punishment: A Better Path Forward

The fight against anti-Semitism in academia requires precision, not broad strokes. Universities must be held accountable for enforcing their codes of conduct; harassment, intimidation, or violence targeting Jewish students (or any group) should trigger clear consequences, from suspension to expulsion, scaled to the offense. Columbia’s recent reforms show that targeted accountability works; empowering campus security and tightening disciplinary processes can shift the climate without destabilizing the institution. Yet the initial funding freeze risked derailing this progress, just as Harvard’s probe could disrupt its Jewish studies programs if it follows the same playbook. The lesson is clear: the government’s role is to ensure that universities address actionable conduct—not to police offensive speech or dismantle academic ecosystems.

Distinguishing between protected expression and discriminatory behavior is crucial. Protests or classroom rhetoric may veer into inflammatory territory, but universities must tackle what crosses the line into harassment or exclusion, not merely what offends. Federal oversight could tie funding to specific, measurable reforms—stricter policy enforcement, regular campus climate reports, or transparent disciplinary outcomes—without jeopardizing the resources Jewish scholars depend on. Such an approach signals that selective enforcement carries a cost, while preserving the infrastructure of Jewish academic life. Columbia’s turnaround, spurred by pressure but refined through negotiation, suggests this balance is achievable. Harvard could follow suit, avoiding the pitfalls of a blanket cut.

A Legacy Worth Building

As someone who has walked Columbia’s halls and relied on its resources during my doctoral studies at JTS, I know the value of these academic ecosystems firsthand. My book, Soloveitchik’s Children, grew from research enabled by Columbia’s libraries and faculty; it represented an endeavor that reflects the broader contributions of Jewish scholars across institutions. Harvard’s Jewish community, too, thrives on similar support, driving scholarship that shapes our understanding of history and identity. When we punish universities with a heavy hand, we risk eroding these contributions, not just for today’s students but for generations to come.

The Columbia saga—and the looming Harvard probe—should prompt a broader reflection. Sledgehammer approaches fail Jewish students because they conflate accountability with retribution, often leaving the innocent to bear the brunt of the fallout, like blameless bystanders caught in crossfire. Anti-Semitism must be uprooted, not just penalized, and that demands strategies that protect rather than imperil Jewish academic life. A policy that balances targeted reform with sustained support sends a powerful message: discriminatory conduct will not be tolerated, nor will the erosion of the intellectual spaces where Jewish students and scholars flourish. That’s a legacy worth building—one that honors the fight against anti-Semitism without sacrificing the community it seeks to defend.

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