New York City’s new mayor began his term with a sweeping executive order that wiped the slate clean of all mayoral directives issued during the final 15 months of the prior administration. On paper, the order looked procedural. In practice, it carried real consequences—especially for New York’s Jewish community.
Among the directives erased was the city’s recognition of the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) working definition of antisemitism. That definition had provided guidance—nothing more—on how government agencies should recognize antisemitic conduct, particularly when it appears under the guise of political rhetoric about Israel.
Supporters of the move insist this was a defense of free speech. That argument misunderstands both the definition and the role such frameworks play in government.
IHRA does not criminalize speech. It does not ban criticism of Israel or its leaders. It does not police opinion. What it does is identify recurring patterns—dual-loyalty accusations, Holocaust inversion, collective blame, denial of Jewish self-determination—that history shows are commonly used to target Jews while maintaining plausible deniability.
For governments, that clarity matters.
Municipal agencies rely on definitions to train employees, assess complaints and distinguish between protected expression and discriminatory conduct. Without guidance, cases that once could be evaluated consistently now become ad hoc exercises. Decisions slow. Outcomes vary. And victims are left unsure whether their complaints will be taken seriously.
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This is not a theoretical concern. Antisemitic incidents in the United States are at record levels. Jewish institutions increasingly require security. Protests tied to events in the Middle East regularly target synagogues, Jewish schools and Jewish neighborhoods—places with no connection to foreign policy, but with visible Jewish presence.
In that environment, ambiguity does not function as neutrality. It functions as retreat.
The mayor’s order also erased other guardrails, including directives meant to prevent city resources from being used in discriminatory boycotts and to examine how protests near houses of worship affect access and safety. These measures were modest. They did not suppress dissent. They recognized that activism can cross into intimidation when it targets religious communities in their places of worship.
City Hall has promised to retain an office dedicated to combating antisemitism. But an office without standards is not policy; it is symbolism. If New York intends to protect Jewish residents in practice, it must explain how antisemitism will now be identified, measured, and addressed—especially when it is framed as “anti-Zionism.”
Perhaps most revealing has been the reaction beyond America’s borders. Media outlets in the Middle East and Iran quickly portrayed the revocation as a rollback of protections for Jews and a weakening of restrictions on anti-Israel activism. Whether or not that was the mayor’s intent, it is how the action has been interpreted.
That should give New Yorkers pause.
Symbols travel. When a major Western city removes a widely recognized antisemitism framework without replacing it, the message received abroad is not administrative housekeeping. It is perceived as a shift in moral posture.
No one is asking government to referee political debate. But just as cities recognize how coded language can mask racism or bigotry against other minorities, they should not pretend ignorance when Jews are targeted through familiar and well-documented tropes.
Removing clarity does not reduce antisemitism. It increases uncertainty—and uncertainty is rarely the friend of vulnerable communities. More often, it emboldens those willing to push boundaries to see how far they can go.
New York City prides itself on protecting minorities through vigilance, not wishful thinking. Jews should not be the exception.
