Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...

By: Fern Sidman

In a moment of profound moral urgency and communal reckoning, nearly one hundred Jewish leaders from across New Jersey have broken their silence—issuing a rare, unified public rebuke of former Governor Phil Murphy over his refusal to support legislation aimed at formally defining antisemitism in state law. The open letter, signed by 93 influential rabbis and Jewish community figures, represents not merely a policy disagreement, but a deep rupture of trust between a vulnerable community and the political leadership it believes failed to protect it.

As reported extensively on Thursday by NJ.com, the petition emerged in the wake of a Jewish Insider investigation citing anonymous sources who claimed Murphy played a decisive role in stalling the controversial bill—legislation that would have codified the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) definition of antisemitism into New Jersey law. According to the report, Murphy opposed the measure, while Democratic strategists allegedly feared that supporting it could expose incumbents to primary challenges from progressive candidates.

For many Jewish leaders, this was not political strategy—it was abandonment.

“Our safety is more important than potential primary challengers to our politicians,” Rabbi Dan Cohen of South Orange told NJ.com. “Don’t play politics with our safety.”

Those words now echo across synagogues, community centers, and Jewish institutions throughout the Garden State.

The petition did not arise in a vacuum. Since the October 7, 2023 Hamas terrorist attacks against Israel and the subsequent war in Gaza, Jewish communities across New Jersey have experienced a dramatic surge in antisemitic hostility, harassment, and intimidation.

According to data cited by NJ.com, New Jersey recorded the highest per-capita rate of antisemitic incidents in the United States in 2024, based on Anti-Defamation League statistics. Jewish leaders report rising threats, vandalism, hostile protests, and intimidation campaigns that have forced synagogues to implement heightened security measures—some even considering arming themselves.

Contentious demonstrations outside synagogues in Teaneck and other communities, as documented by NJ.com, have transformed sacred spaces into contested zones. Rabbis now speak openly about personal safety protocols that would have been unthinkable a decade ago.

“People are seeing this in their communities,” Jonathan Schulman of The Jewish Majority told NJ.com. “They’re feeling it in their communities. But all of the sudden we’re playing politics.”

The sense of betrayal is not abstract. It is visceral. It is daily. It is lived.

At the heart of the controversy lies proposed legislation—Assembly Bill A3558 and Senate Bill S1292—which would have adopted the IHRA’s working definition of antisemitism as a guiding framework for identifying and addressing antisemitic incidents.

The IHRA definition describes antisemitism as: “A certain perception of Jews, which may be expressed as hatred toward Jews. Rhetorical and physical manifestations of antisemitism are directed toward Jewish or non-Jewish individuals and/or their property, toward Jewish community institutions and religious facilities.”

It explicitly includes hatred toward synagogues, Jewish schools, monuments, and property, while also stating: “Criticism of Israel similar to that leveled against any other country cannot be regarded as antisemitic.”

At least 35 U.S. states have adopted or recognized the IHRA definition, according to the American Jewish Committee—along with the U.S. Department of State, which has used it since 2010 under former President Barack Obama.

Yet in New Jersey, the bill stalled.

Despite overwhelming legislative support—nearly 60 of 80 Assembly members and 15 of 40 senators co-sponsoring the bill—the legislation was never brought to a full vote. According to the report at NJ.com, Assembly Speaker leadership privately indicated that the bill lacked sufficient political will to pass.

Former Assembly sponsor Michael Inganamort summarized the frustration succinctly: “Honestly, this is a layup. All we’re asking for is a simple definition of antisemitism and an up or down vote on it,” he told NJ.com. “This doesn’t end because the Assembly failed to move it forward.”

The Jewish Insider report, cited by NJ.com, alleged that Murphy opposed the bill and that Democratic officials feared backlash from progressive activists if they supported it.

That framing ignited outrage.

To Jewish leaders, the implication was chilling: electoral calculations had outweighed communal safety.

Rabbi Cohen’s statement—“Don’t play politics with our safety”—has become the moral core of the protest.

Jonathan Schulman of The Jewish Majority echoed the sentiment in comments to NJ.com: “There’s a real level of frustration. And what people are calling for now is action.”

For many signatories, the issue is not partisan. It is existential.

One of the most profound elements of the debate, as documented by NJ.com, is the growing fusion between anti-Zionism and antisemitism.

While criticism of Israeli government policy is legitimate political speech, Jewish leaders argue that contemporary anti-Zionism increasingly functions as a socially acceptable proxy for Jew-hatred.

“Anti-Zionism is just the latest excuse to be antisemitic,” David Zimmermann, senior research fellow at George Washington University’s Program on Extremism, told NJ.com. “To be antisemitic is no longer a fringe thing. It’s normalized.”

Rabbi David-Seth Kirshner of Closter added: “Many times, non-Jewish people are weaponizing what we define as antisemitism. There’s no other group that would allow that.” He referenced the slogan “Globalize the Intifada”, widely interpreted as advocating violence against Jews and Israel: “We would never allow the statement ‘globalize the Klan.’”

This linguistic normalization, Jewish leaders argue, has transformed hate speech into political rhetoric—and violence into activism.

Opposition to the bill has been equally intense.

The ACLU of New Jersey, civil rights groups, and advocacy coalitions argue that codifying the IHRA definition would chill free speech, suppress academic freedom, and conflate political criticism with discrimination.

DaWuan Norwood, policy counsel for the NJ ACLU, testified: “Enshrining the IHRA definition into New Jersey law will chill the First Amendment rights of New Jerseyans and set a dangerous precedent.” Norwood told NJ.com: “We’ve seen the harm this definition can have on free speech. The chilling effect isn’t speculative.”

CAIR-New Jersey and other groups echoed similar concerns, framing the bill as an attempt to silence criticism of Israel’s war in Gaza.

This has created a collision between two fundamental principles: Protection of minority communities from hate and protection of free expression.

But Jewish leaders argue the IHRA definition does not criminalize speech—it provides institutional clarity.

Rabbi Kirshner explained to NJ.com: “It’s not a legal statement. It’s a tool to help draw the line between where antisemitism is and anti-Zionism is.”

The petition signed by 93 rabbis is unprecedented in scale and symbolism.

It references a December NJ.com investigation documenting the spike in antisemitism and the climate of fear spreading through Jewish communities.

The letter represents something deeper than legislative advocacy—it is a collective declaration of vulnerability and a demand for political accountability. “Our safety is more important than potential primary challengers.” That line now stands as a moral indictment.

With Phil Murphy leaving office and Governor Mikie Sherrill newly sworn in, attention has shifted toward the future.

Sherrill previously expressed support for fighting antisemitism and voted for IHRA legislation in Congress. She also wrote to New Jersey universities in 2023 urging protection of Jewish students amid campus hostility. Hope now rests on her administration.

Schulman, Cohen, and Kirshner all expressed cautious optimism to NJ.com that Sherrill may revive the bill. But the path forward remains politically fraught. The legislation must restart the entire process in the new session. Sponsors have pledged to reintroduce it. Opposition groups have pledged to fight it.

What this conflict ultimately reveals, as NJ.com’s report makes clear, is that this is no longer merely a legal debate—it is a civilizational one.

At stake is not just how antisemitism is defined, but whether Jewish communities feel protected or expendable. Whether moral clarity matters more than political calculus. Whether fear of activist backlash outweighs the obligation to defend minority communities. Whether antisemitism is treated as a social emergency—or a political inconvenience.

The rabbis’ letter is not a protest—it is a warning. It signals that Jewish leaders will no longer accept symbolic statements without structural action. It declares that safety is not negotiable. It marks the end of quiet diplomacy and the beginning of public accountability.

As one leader told NJ.com: “This doesn’t end because the Assembly failed to move it forward.”

And it won’t. Because this is no longer just about legislation. It is about whether a democratic society can still draw moral boundaries. Whether hatred is confronted—or normalized. Whether silence becomes policy. And whether a community under siege can still believe that its government will stand between it and those who wish it harm.

In New Jersey, that question now defines the political moment. And the answer will shape the state’s moral legacy for years to come.