Jewish university students have returned to classes after winter break against a sobering global backdrop. In mid-December, 15 people were shot and killed in Australia during a “Chanukah by the Sea” celebration—a reminder that antisemitic rhetoric does not remain abstract for long. What begins as words, resolutions or slogans can quickly harden into intimidation, exclusion and violence.
Against this backdrop, Cornell University faces a choice that will reverberate far beyond its campus.
Toward the end of 2025, Cornell’s Graduate Student Union passed a resolution accusing Jews of “weaponizing antisemitism” and calling to “resist” against Israel “by any means necessary.” Far beyond the scope of worker advocacy, this statement carries real consequences for Cornell’s Jewish graduate students. Even more troubling is what followed: weeks of silence from the administration, with no formal condemnation and no meaningful corrective action.
This was not a symbolic gesture without impact. Graduate unions wield real power over working conditions, health care, stipends, grievance procedures and professional security. When such a body adopts political positions unrelated to labor rights, especially ones that single out a protected minority, dissent is not merely discouraged but becomes unsafe.
At Cornell, graduate students who conscientiously object to union membership cannot freely opt out. Instead, they must navigate a lengthy process to apply for a religious exemption—an exemption controlled by the union itself. We are now aware that the union has sent harassing communications to Jewish students, including emails questioning their connection to their religion, as well as text messages threatening loss of employment for failure to pay dues.
For Jewish graduate students navigating an environment of fear and escalating hostility, mandatory membership in a union that singles them out has become untenable.
This is not just a Cornell problem. It reflects a broader pattern unfolding across higher education. Structures meant to protect students—unions, DEI offices, student governments—are increasingly being weaponized to advance ideological agendas that privilege some identities while marginalizing others. And too often, those protections seem to extend to every minority group except Jews.
As director of advocacy and partnerships at the Jewish Graduate Organization (JGO), I oversee antisemitic incident response for a movement representing more than 11,000 Jewish graduate students across North America. The data is stark. In a recent campus survey conducted with the American Jewish Committee, 55% of Jewish graduate students reported experiencing antisemitism. Among Ph.D. students, the consequences are particularly severe: 50% of those who experienced antisemitism worry it will affect their academic and career prospects.
As a result, a quiet exodus of Jews from academia is underway. “I left my program because it became clear that I would not get funded, published or hired as long as I refused to publicly denounce Zionism,” one student reported on condition of anonymity.
Cornell has become one of the clearest cases of this crisis. Last semester alone, JGO received multiple antisemitism incident reports from Cornell graduate students. Their accounts describe a culture of intimidation, retaliation and erasure.
One student has not set foot in his department since Oct. 7, 2023, out of fear for his safety. Another reported that after filing a discrimination complaint—one the university found to be valid—he was doxed and harassed by fellow students. Jewish graduate students who refuse to denounce Israel are called “white colonizers” and “baby killers.” Jewish affinity groups are excluded from multi-group initiatives for being deemed “racist.” And a professor who called the Oct. 7 terrorist attacks in southern Israel “exhilarating” has not only returned to campus but has been placed in charge of professional development for graduate students, a position with enormous influence over their careers.
It is no wonder that Jewish students are leaving their programs and academia altogether. As one Cornell Ph.D. student reported through our survey, “We shouldn’t have to create underground support systems just to survive our doctoral programs. The fact that I’m already planning my exit from academia speaks volumes about how unsupported and unwelcome Jewish students are made to feel.”
These young men and women face an impossible bind. They cannot risk losing funding, health care or visas. And they cannot risk being publicly identified as “the Jewish one” or “the Zionist”—labels that have already led to harassment and ostracization on this campus and others. The irony is impossible to ignore: A union designed to protect workers is now a source of fear for some of its most vulnerable members.
As 2026 begins, Cornell must confront an uncomfortable but unavoidable question: Is mandatory union membership appropriate when a protected minority group is being targeted from within that very structure?
Cornell must also confront the deeper, systemic issue of pervasive antisemitism on its campus. Graduate students, particularly Ph.D. students, are uniquely vulnerable because they depend on their advisors, departments and unions for everything—funding, letter-writing, visa security, teaching assignments and access to research opportunities. The fear these students are describing is not hypersensitivity; it is rational self-protection within a system with extraordinary power over their futures.
At a minimum, Cornell must implement a streamlined, confidential and safe exemption process for students who wish to opt out of the Union—without endangering their health care, funding or academic progress. Anything less is coercion.
The start of a new year is often framed as a moment for reflection and course correction. Cornell stands at such a crossroads. It can continue to look away as Jewish graduate students self-silence, withdraw or leave academia entirely. Or it can act decisively by rejecting political resolutions that marginalize protected groups, enforce real anti-retaliation safeguards, reexamine mandatory unionization, and by affirming—clearly and publicly—that hatred and bigotry will not be tolerated under the guise of activism.
The academic pipeline is already cracking. Jewish scholars—future professors, researchers and innovators—are quietly disappearing from it. Cornell has both the opportunity and the responsibility to reverse this trend and to reaffirm that it remains a place where all scholars can pursue knowledge without fear, coercion or ideological litmus tests.
