Walking into my first graduate-level social work class at the esteemed Jane Addams College of Social Work at the University of Illinois Chicago, I was prepared for the coursework to be the most challenging aspect of my next two years. What I didn’t expect was to be inundated with demeaning antisemitic rhetoric and actions from my peers and professors, nor did I expect to be systemically victimized by the administration of this University. Without the support and empowerment from Hillel and my local federation, I would have been completely alone, fending for myself against high-powered administrators time and time again.

On my first day of class, my cohort went around the room sharing our internship placements. I proudly told everyone about my placement at a Jewish social service agency that provides community members, regardless of religious identity, with a variety of social supports and whose mission is guided by Jewish values. All of my peers interning at other faith-based nonprofits were met with positive encouragement, but after I contributed, my professor told me in front of the entire class, “This will be a very interesting year for you, figuring out where your faith-based values align and directly contradict the values of social work.” This was a direct, public interrogation of my Judaism. I was shocked, frozen, and I felt like my rose-colored glasses shattered in that very instant. My entire educational career led to this moment, and instead of it filling me with hope for my future, it reminded me that I will always feel like a second-class citizen because I’m Jewish. The values I was raised with– charity, loving kindness, respect for all people, advocacy for the marginalized– are the values that led me to pursue a career in social work; they are the values we are bound to in our professional Code of Ethics as social workers, and these values come directly from my faith.

The culture of antisemitism and Jew-hatred is explicitly embedded in social work coursework. One of my required courses this semester focuses on different oppressed minority groups and the ways we, as social workers, can support them. We discuss “faith-based communities” for one week in this class, and the corresponding readings say nothing about the history of the Jewish people, the culture, or the faith, and only talk about antisemitism as a product of Israel’s existence. One of the articles falsely claims that “the Israeli state is racist by design and intent” and ignores any substantial piece of Jewish existence or perception. I attempted to have the readings from that week removed from the class and even suggested alternative readings that better align with mainstream Jewish identity and culture. The review committee denied my request for this semester and said they would consider additional readings for next spring. I wish I could say I have faith in this happening, but given my previous and continued interactions with the school, I can’t help but believe this is a tactic to avoid responsibility until I am no longer privy to the syllabus. In a school that preaches cultural humility, I feel like I have to pick between my connection with my history and faith and my success– a tradeoff that should never have to happen. 

The worst antisemitism that I have experienced at UIC was on one specific day: October 6th, 2025. As Vice President of UIC’s Levine Hillel Jewish Student Association, I was tabling in Student Center East with my co-board members and two Hillel staff members. We were well prepared for students to engage with us aggressively, given the current climate on our campus. Still, nothing could have prepared us for what actually happened that day–a mob of antisemitic students surrounded us, trapping us behind our table, screaming accusations of murder and genocide at us. The main antagonizers told others not to let us leave with footage on our phones, given our “Jewy connections.” This isn’t inconsequential political discourse– it’s a textbook antisemitic conspiracy theory.  One of the main aggressors posted on a public UIC student forum, giving a “shout out to everyone who stopped by the table of genocide supporters in SCE and made them take their s*** and leave.” This event single-handedly revoked every ounce of safety and belonging I ever felt on UIC’s campus and set the tone for the remainder of my two years here. I ended up having to miss class the next day because the anxiety I felt about stepping foot on campus made me physically ill. 

Immediately following the incident, my fellow Hillel board members and I filed complaints, which the University ignored for three months. In that time, we received little communication and seemingly little action, and when we finally received a response, the University determined that mob intimidation of a group of members of a protected class “does not reach the threshold of harassment at UIC.” The Associate Chancellor of the Office of Access and Equity insinuated that the incident was our fault, and if we hadn’t taken out our phones to record the harassment, the situation wouldn’t have escalated. Our case was closed after the preliminary review. Two months after our case was closed, we discovered that the University never actually brought in one of our main aggressors, whom we identified by name, as part of the initial review. A high-ranking administrator claimed that the individual didn’t respond to the few emails they sent and that there was “nothing more they could do.” The irony is almost laughable; they claim there is not enough evidence to substantiate a formal investigation, and yet our attempt to collect evidence makes the incident our fault. I am still reeling emotionally from this event, and the Administration chose to twist the knife. I don’t know how I could ever feel safe on campus again, knowing that those who are meant to protect me repeatedly and intentionally contribute to my victimization.   

The message is clear: UIC is not responding to antisemitism on its campus. The Jane Addams College of Social Work, which produces 25% of the licensed social workers in the state of Illinois, perpetuates rhetoric that teaches anti-Jewish, anti-Israel mindsets as a requirement for graduation. As someone who wants to work with pediatric chronic and terminal illness patients, I’ve always been told that graduate school must help build the mental fortitude required for a field such as that, but I never would’ve thought it would happen like this. I feel like the Offices of Access and Equity, Diversity and Equity, Student Affairs, and the entire UIC Administration do not care about Jewish students. They have not protected us, even from an aggressive, antisemitic mob. Is it because they silently support it? Or at least don’t disagree with it? I know if I were an administrator and had multiple Jewish students coming to my office with reports of events of this nature, I would feel utterly ashamed, and it would be my priority to rectify what has happened, and to do all I could to actively prevent this from continuing to happen. Now I ask you, UIC administrators, why aren’t you doing the same?

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)