Council Republicans Press Mamdani for Clarity on Israel, Antisemitism Orders as FOIL Flies

The debate over defining and combating antisemitism in New York City under new leadership reflects the enduring tension between public safety, free speech, and the politics of identity.

On his first day in office, Mayor Zohran Mamdani scrawled his signature beneath a stack of executive orders, instantly scrubbing away dozens of directives enacted by his predecessor, Eric Adams. Among the first to land in the dustbin were two contentious Adams-era orders: one that enshrined the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) definition of antisemitism, and another barring city agencies from engaging in any boycott against Israel. In a city where symbolism often outweighs statutes, the mayor’s opening salvo proved neither discreet nor inconsequential.

The move, carried out mere hours into Mamdani’s fledgling administration, ignited a political row and revived old questions about the balance between fighting bigotry and safeguarding civil liberties. At its core, the news event concerns not just what the city defines as antisemitism (or, for that matter, legitimate protest) but who gets to make that call, and on what grounds. The city’s Republican Caucus did not tarry; Council Member Joann Ariola and colleagues swiftly attached their names to a Freedom of Information Law (FOIL) request, seeking to illuminate what they termed a “drastic measure” that “highlights the fears” voiced by some New York Jews during the election campaign.

For New Yorkers, accustomed to political flourishes and plaintive protestations, the substance of Mamdani’s orders looms larger than the spectacle. His decision to retain the Office to Combat Antisemitism, launched under Adams, portends some continuity in the city’s efforts to address hate crimes—reported incidents of antisemitic harassment or violence exceeded 300 in 2023, according to the NYPD. Critically, Mamdani also reinstated a measure requiring police to keep demonstrators a safe distance from synagogues and houses of worship, an implicit nod to rising street tensions.

Yet by revoking city adoption of the IHRA definition—a text thrashed together by European diplomats in 2016 and now wielded by governments from Paris to Ottawa—the mayor signalled discomfort with framing anti-Israel rhetoric as inherently antisemitic. Critics of the IHRA language, including multiple Jewish advocacy groups, argue it is wielded too broadly and risks lumping legitimate criticism of the Israeli state alongside noxious bigotry. Proponents, for their part, contend that attacks on Israel’s right to exist leave little daylight between anti-Zionism and antisemitism itself.

A legal debate, then, merges with an ideological one. Attorney Jack Lester, acting for the council’s Common Sense Caucus, noted that “many New Yorkers decided politics held nothing for them but more of the same” in the wake of Adams’ indictment, but contends Mamdani’s clean slate approach merits scrutiny itself. The push for transparency will test City Hall’s appetite for both accountability and narrative discipline. To date, City Hall has offered only bromides: pledging a “relentless” campaign against hate, and insisting that any lapse in ceremonial definition does not portend inaction.

For broader New York, these questions are not esoteric. New Yorkers navigate not only the most diverse city in America but one with the country’s largest Jewish population outside Israel, along with strong pro-Palestinian and anti-Zionist enclaves. Street protests over Middle East politics increasingly spill into everyday life, and allegations of bias—however defined—can swiftly become legal, professional, or even physical threats. For ordinary residents, the boundaries between “hate” and “protest”, “security” and “silencing,” remain anything but clear-cut.

The economic currents are rarely divorced from the political ones. New York’s social strife, whatever its root, bodes ill for sectors dependent on tourism or international investment; even a handful of highly publicized incidents often prompt a disproportionate response from corporate boards, conference organizers, and wary philanthropists. The annual uptick in hate-crime reporting each news cycle, especially those flagged as antisemitic, tests not just the city’s police capacity but its reputation as an open, cosmopolitan hub.

Politically, Mamdani’s early decisions betray the cross-pressures facing today’s urban Democrats—caught between ardent progressive constituencies and the wary centrism of older voters. Adams’ own policy tacked towards the latter, both because of his personal history and the demands of coalition-building. Mamdani’s team, if less beholden to traditional donors or law-enforcement unions, must nonetheless navigate the persistent fact that most New Yorkers prize order on the streets and a sense of safety above almost all else.

A debate that extends far beyond city hall

Nor is New York alone. The tension between fighting bigotry via broad legal definitions and safeguarding the right to dissent echoes across Western democracies. In Britain, the government’s embrace of the IHRA standard prompted groans from civil liberties groups and faculty unions. In Germany, local authorities have wielded the label against artists and protesters critical of Berlin’s support for Israel. From Budapest to Berkeley, the issue animates not just activists and policy drafters, but the courts: in the US, the Supreme Court has yet to wade in on the constitutionality of anti-BDS (Boycott, Divest, Sanction) laws, which remain hotly contested in dozens of states.

New York, perched atop this convulsive debate, has always served as an avatar for pluralism and public argument. Its residents maintain a stubborn preference for robust protest, whether at City Hall Park, Borough Park or Columbia’s Low Plaza. That tendency is unlikely to abate because of shifting legalese or new executive orders; if anything, the present disputes ensure a lively line-up of litigation, FOIL requests, and rhetorical skirmishes.

We reckon that may be no bad thing. While the optics of a newly minted mayor scrubbing his predecessor’s policies carry clear political risks, they also underscore New York’s unflagging volatility and the city’s reluctance to let inherited wisdom calcify into dogma. Stand-offs over definitions—of hate, rights, or identity—are more than mere semantic squabbles. Rather, they reveal the city’s abiding sense that today’s consensus may be tomorrow’s mistake.

In the final tally, the mayor’s gamble on recalibrating the city’s approach to antisemitism will neither end the question nor satisfy all corners. But perhaps it is the structure, not the content, of debate—from the Council chamber to street corners—that best reflects what is distinct, and enviable, about political life here. ■