When Bret Stephens speaks, the Jewish community listens — and for good reason. His success at The New York Times, his role in shaping debate through Sapir and his talent for framing ideas have made him one of the most influential Jewish voices of the moment. Influence, however, does not guarantee correctness.
In his recent State of World Jewry address at 92NY, Stephens offered a provocative thesis: American Jewry should scale back — or even dismantle — its major communal institutions and redirect resources away from fighting antisemitism toward Jewish education and identity-building. Tens of millions spent combating antisemitism, he argued, are largely wasted. The real work, in his telling, is inward: strengthening Jewish pride, schools, camps and consciousness.
Parts of this argument ring true. Jewish education matters deeply. Day schools, camps and serious adult learning remain among the most reliable engines of Jewish continuity. Pride is not a substitute for security, but without pride and literacy, Jewish life hollows out from within. Stephens is right to insist that Jewish flourishing cannot be built solely from a defensive crouch.
But his argument ultimately rests on a false choice. It frames Jewish life as an either/or proposition: either we fight antisemitism or we build Jewish identity; either we fund institutions like the Anti-Defamation League, or we invest in schools and camps. That binary is not only unnecessary — it is dangerous.
Jewish education and the fight against antisemitism are not competing projects. They serve different audiences and confront different problems. Education is primarily about Jews: deepening knowledge, strengthening belonging and sustaining Jewish civilization across generations. Fighting antisemitism is largely about non-Jews: confronting hatred, misinformation, and conspiracy thinking that spreads beyond the Jewish community and periodically erupts into exclusion or violence.
These challenges are parallel, not interchangeable. One does not cancel out the other.
The current moment makes that clear. A Jewish child who grows up confident and literate is better equipped to face hostility — but that confidence alone will not stop antisemitic myths from circulating in schools, online spaces or political movements dominated by non-Jews. Likewise, no amount of institutional advocacy can compensate for a Jewish community that neglects its own cultural and educational foundations.
Stephens points to sobering data — Holocaust ignorance, rising demagogues and persistent Jew hatred — as evidence that anti-antisemitism efforts have failed. But failure to eradicate hatred is not proof that resistance is futile. Cancer treatment is expensive, imperfect and ongoing; that does not mean we abandon it in favor of wellness programs alone. Hatred, like disease, requires sustained containment even when cures are elusive.
There is also something troubling in calls to “dismantle” institutions at precisely the moment when antisemitism has gone mainstream across ideological lines. Reform, accountability and prioritization are fair debates. Abolition is a far riskier proposition.
Stephens is right about one essential point: Jewish life cannot be defined by apology or fear. Pride matters. Identity matters. Education matters. But so does refusing to surrender the public square to those who traffic in ancient lies.
The real task is harder than Stephens allows. It is not choosing between inward investment and outward defense. It is doing both — simultaneously, imperfectly and without illusion — because Jewish life has always required more than one kind of courage.
