May 8, 2026

It has been a busy time for combatants and spectators in the campus free speech wars. As I was drafting a comment about the University of Michigan, we got word that Northwestern University President Emeritus Morton Schapiro canceled his plan to deliver an invited address and receive an honorary degree from Georgetown University Law School, after protestors made clear in a circulated petition that he was unwelcome because of his pro-Israel views (he has written eloquent commentaries on a range of topics, not all about Israel and the Middle East, for this magazine). The irony is thick: the University’s chosen substitute, former National Legal Director of the ACLU, is known for defending campus speech rights of people with antisemitic views. So it seems it’s not really about free speech in any pure or absolutist sense, but rather about protecting some speech some of the time, an odd interpretation of the First Amendment if I ever saw one. I’ve known Morty Schapiro a long time. The Georgetown graduates are missing a rare opportunity to hear from someone special. Hopefully some of them will go on to careers defending the Constitution and will remember this episode as evidence of how liberal democracy can buckle under the toxicity of ignorance and hypocrisy.

What happened in Michigan raises other complexities.

As reported in Inside Higher Education, history Professor Derek Peterson began his commencement address by doing what good history teachers are supposed to do: show how the past can help us better understand the present and think about the future. Peterson cited the denial of admission to women back in 1859 and celebrated one valiant dissenter and other suffragettes whose courage led eventually to the end of the university’s history of bigotry and misogyny. He correctly noted that freedoms we now take for granted were “hard won,” adding with some literary license that Michigan became “the greatest public university in the world” because people “refused to accept the enclosures and orthodoxies of the time.” He rose in praise of protest, worthy of remembrance especially as we celebrate our nation’s 250^th anniversary.

And then he went off script. After acknowledging the fine decision of his University to admit Jews starting at the turn of the 20^th century, and progress made over the decades since then to educate students on the “experience and identity of Black people in this country,” he called on the audience to “sing” for the “pro-Palestinian student activists who have over these past two years opened our hearts to the injustice and inhumanity of Israel’s war in Gaza.”

Not surprisingly, along with what was reported as “long and loud applause” Peterson’s remark prompted local and public backlash, although I suspect he wouldn’t cite those protestations in his next oration on the virtues of protest. In any case, it didn’t take long for attention to shift to Peterson’s right to speak and away from the content of his remarks. Let’s consider both those issues.

As heirs to the liberal tradition, we are often reminded of our obligation to defend people’s right to say even things we abhor. On the other hand, as the former Chancellor of the University of California at Berkeley once noted, “just because you have the right to say something doesn’t mean it’s right to say.” It is disappointing, to say the least, that someone like Peterson, crowned as a Macarthur “genius” in 2017, would place defenders of barbarous antisemitism, homophobia and misogyny in the same category with women, Black and Jewish civil rights heroes. Instead of fulfilling his professional obligation to challenge fashionable narratives, he encouraged more of what I’d call “the incredible lightness of being” unencumbered with evidence. He slid into mud that is usually the province of fanatics on social media, which raises a question much on the minds of many higher education leaders today: if we don’t provide something better than what’s on TikTok and Truth Social, how will we justify charging students $100,000 a year to get a bachelor’s degree?

As heirs to the liberal tradition, we are often reminded of our obligation to defend people’s right to say even things we abhor. On the other hand, as the former Chancellor of the University of California at Berkeley once noted, “just because you have the right to say something doesn’t mean it’s right to say.”

A related issue is Peterson’s deviation from the approved version of his remarks. Now, one might wonder if such vetting is in itself a violation of academic freedom. That’s a complicated question, although one wouldn’t know it from reading commentators with absolutist views. Academics are accustomed to having their words and ideas screened: anyone who has submitted an article to a reputable scholarly journal (not to mention to the op-ed pages of major newspapers) knows something about the three R’s: review, revision and rejection. Peterson breached his community’s trust: in exchange for a place on the commencement podium, he agreed to have his speech cleared in advance. That’s an implied social contract, which maybe as a historian, not a lawyer or economist, Peterson didn’t understand. Or maybe, like certain others these days who are overwhelmed by their own greatness, he just doesn’t think those rules of conduct apply to people of his rank and stature. (According to some reports, Peterson claimed that university officials knew he would mention pro-Palestinian protests, although he had agreed to remove the word “genocide” to “make it less provocative.” His perhaps extemporaneous remark, which he slipped in post-review, was certainly provocative enough.)

There is another ironic twist to this fuss. Many who remained silent or applauded Peterson quickly rose to protest U of M President Grasso’s dissent, which came in the form of an apology on behalf of the university. It brings to mind Winston Churchill’s wry observation that “some people’s idea is that they are free to say what they like, but if anyone else says anything back, that is an outrage.”

Finally, on Peterson’s gratuitous reference to the war in Gaza. I’m not trained as a historian, but I believe that history, like most disciplines, has (or used to have) standards of evidence. Peterson violated them in a short phrase about Israel that he packed with glaring errors of omission and commission: there is no mention of the possible “injustice and inhumanity” of the Oct. 7, 2023, attack that triggered the war, no mention of Palestinians and other Arabs who oppose the tyrannous barbarism of Hamas (including its vigilante executions of gays in Gaza), no mention of Israel’s efforts to protect civilian noncombatants (unprecedented in the history of modern warfare), no mention of the criteria used to judge Israel’s actions as “unjust,” no mention of Israel’s success in inoculating against polio more than 90% of Gazans under age 10, and no mention of Jewish students and faculty at Michigan and elsewhere who defended their right to a safe educational environment amid enraged demonstrators calling for dismantling of the Jewish State and global intifada. That would have been a lot to cram into a commencement speech; but if you can’t tell the whole story then you should be extra careful with half-baked ones.

No wonder the University wanted to review Peterson’s speech: maybe they feared that, yet again, factual knowledge might be displaced by trendy slogans, and they wanted to preempt further erosion to the integrity and reputation of their institution. If I were a parent paying big bucks for my child to attend Michigan, I would want to know if Peterson is an outlier (what I believe) or if his malpractice is more widespread (what we should all fear). I would want to know if and how the university is continuing to facilitate needed self-evaluation of its campus culture. Maybe we should thank Peterson for unintentionally alerting us to these issues? Regardless, we owe the University of Michigan leadership a real debt of gratitude for standing against such moral and intellectual inversions. Only such determination will save our truly great institutions of higher learning.

Michael Feuer is the Immediate Past Dean of the Graduate School of Education and Human Development and Professor of Education Policy at the George Washington University, past president of the National Academy of Education, and nonresident senior fellow at the Brookings Institution. The views expressed here are his own, and do not necessarily represent the school, the university, or its leadership.

We arrived in Morocco feeling a bit anxious. With everything happening with Iran and throughout the region, many of us wondered: was it safe to be here now?

Yet the StandWithUs Jewish Heritage Mission to Morocco generated tremendous interest and filled up almost immediately. In fact, there were additional people who wanted to come, who were placed on the list for the mission to Morocco next year.

It’s understandable. Who wouldn’t want to visit Marrakesh, with its colorful markets, fragrant spices and unforgettable couscous?  Who wouldn’t enjoy staying in the beautiful hotels of Fez and Casablanca while exploring centuries of Jewish history? Who wouldn’t look forward to visiting the synagogues still in use, pray at the grave of Rabbi Pinto the Kabbalist, visit the synagogue he built and meet members of Morocco’s remaining Jewish community?

The participants on this trip became close very quickly, as we absorbed the history of the Jews who lived here during the last 1,800 years.  We also realized we were not the only Jews drawn to Morocco. Along the way, we encountered other groups, including a Jewish Heritage mission from New York and a delegation organized by the Utah Jewish Federation. We all ended up having a beautiful Shabbat dinner together at an active synagogue in Marrakesh.

For security reasons, we hired two bodyguards who remained in close contact with local authorities. As it turned out, armed Moroccan police officers accompanied us throughout our travels. Despite regional tensions, Morocco itself felt vibrant, colorful, safe and welcoming. And we were incredibly fortunate to have a most knowledgeable and interesting guide: Jacob Shoshan.

Jacob enriched our journey and opened up extraordinary, inspiring doors. He showed us that beneath the beauty of Morocco, lies a complicated, often tragic and familiar Jewish history.

Jewish people first arrived in Morocco approximately 1,800 years ago. As recently as 1948, approximately 250,000 Jews lived throughout the country, creating thriving communities rich in scholarship, commerce, music and religious life. Today, however, only a little more than 1,000 Jews remain.

What happened?

Like Jewish communities throughout the Arab world, Moroccan Jews lived at the mercy of changing rulers and political climates. There were periods of relative coexistence and prosperity, but also devastating waves of violence, persecution, forced conversions, discrimination and expulsions.

Fez, once a great center of Jewish learning, also became the site of repeated massacres. In 1033, thousands of Jews were murdered during attacks led by a Muslim Berber ruler. In later centuries, Jews again faced riots, forced conversions and deadly violence. Entire Jewish communities were sometimes wiped out.

Rumors, libels and accusations against Jews repeatedly fueled persecution. As happened elsewhere throughout Jewish history, periods of instability often became dangerous for Jewish communities.

And yet, despite everything, Jews kept rebuilding.

Again and again, Jewish families returned, reopened businesses, restored synagogues, rebuilt schools and attempted to create stable lives. Morocco became home to generations of rabbis, scholars, merchants, musicians and ordinary families who deeply loved the country while maintaining their Jewish identity.

During World War II, King Mohammed V became a rare and courageous figure in the Arab world when he resisted pressure from the Vichy regime and refused to fully cooperate with anti-Jewish measures targeting Moroccan Jews. He refused to send his Jewish citizens to France to later be transferred to concentration camps.

Then came 1948 and the rebirth of the State of Israel.

Like Jews throughout the Arab world, Moroccan Jews increasingly faced riots, hostility, fear and uncertainty. Many lost homes, businesses and possessions. Over time, the overwhelming majority left.  Some fled persecution, others left because they no longer believed there was a future for Jews in Arab lands.

Today, walking through Morocco evokes mixed emotions.

The streets are colorful and alive. The markets are truly exciting. The hospitality is warm. The architecture is breathtaking. Jewish history is visible everywhere: in synagogues that are in use and those that are not, Jewish cemeteries and stories passed down through generations.

And yet underneath the beauty is a deep sense of loss.

One cannot help but wonder: why did Jewish communities continue returning after each tragedy, always hoping that this time would be different? Perhaps because Jews are, by nature, optimists and builders. Wherever they went, they planted roots, built communities, created scholarship, raised families and contributed to society with hope and resilience.

That spirit is part of the Jewish story everywhere.

Our trip to Morocco was not simply a tour. It was an encounter with both the beauty and fragility of Jewish life in exile. It reminded us how ancient Jewish history is, how vulnerable Jewish communities have been and how extraordinary it is that the Jewish people continue not only to survive, but we always choose to rebuild, contribute and thrive. It also reminds us how important the State of Israel is for the survival of the Jewish people.

And perhaps that’s the real lesson of Morocco. Not only what was lost, but the remarkable resilience of a people who never stopped believing in the possibility of renewal.

Today, the majority of the descendants of Morocco’s Jewish community have carried their energy, traditions, creativity and entrepreneurial spirit to Israel, where they have helped build and strengthen a thriving society and nation. Moroccan Jews have contributed enormously to Israel’s culture, music, scholarship, politics, business, military and spiritual life. Their story is ultimately not only one of exile and survival, but of renewal, contribution and hope.

In many ways, the story of Moroccan Jewry is also the story of the Jewish people themselves: enduring hardship, preserving identity, rebuilding after loss and continuing to create vibrant communities wherever the opportunity exists to live freely and proudly as Jews.

So many in the local Jewish community, including countless dear members of my synagogue, are deeply concerned after Senators Alex Padilla and Adam Schiff voted with Bernie Sanders to block arms sales to Israel. Our friends and family in Israel have been under relentless attack from rockets, missiles, and drones launched by Iran and Hezbollah, sworn enemies of Israel and of the US. And yet these senators voted to prevent Israel from purchasing American weapons that would protect families and citizens in Israel. I consider this vote to be a grievous mistake, a worrying lapse in judgment, one which undermined our close ally, and which weakened the world’s resolve against tyranny and towards the flourishing of democracy.

To be clear, I believe that our senators have been true friends; their track records and past statements demonstrate just that. But these votes were deeply disappointing.  Not only disappointing, but also dangerous.

In justifying their position, Senators Padilla and Schiff wrote that “being a stalwart friend of Israel…does not mean agreeing with all decisions of the Israeli Government or Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, just like being a patriot of the United States does not require unquestioning agreement with the policy decisions of President Donald Trump and his administration.”

I agree wholeheartedly. But no one is asking our senators to agree with every decision that Israeli leaders make.  We are asking them not to defend Netanyahu, but rather to defend Israeli citizens. We are asking them not to agree to policy decisions of President Trump, but rather to agree with the notion that Israeli citizens deserve protection from bloodthirsty enemies who seek Israel’s destruction, and who, when given the chance, kill and murder wantonly.  This vote by Senators Padilla and Schiff posed no threat to President Trump or Prime Minister Netanyahu–but the vote did make Israel and her citizens more vulnerable.

Our senators are certainly not the only ones disagreeing with Israel’s prime minister. When Yair Lapid, Israel’s Opposition Leader, had a chance to respond to Bernie Sanders’ effort last year to stop military sales to Israel, he warned: “Calling to block essential arms sales to Israel is a call to abandon the people of Israel in the face of Iranian sponsored Islamic terrorism…Whatever you think of the Israeli government, calling to abandon the people of Israel is irresponsible and dangerous.”

Members of the United States Senate, especially those very politicians who have called for a more centrist leader to lead Israel’s government, should heed Lapid’s words. There are many ways to voice disagreement with Israel’s leadership, but actions that hinder Israel’s ability to protect its citizens, or drive a wedge between the United States and Israel at this consequential moment, send the wrong message – both to friends and adversaries alike.

This is a time to stand on principle, support our allies in the face of ruthless terrorist regimes, and reject extremists who want to see the U.S.-Israel partnership destroyed.

Sanders and his allies aren’t done working to erode American support for Israel. More critical votes like these are still to come, and our community is paying close attention.

Rabbi Adam Kligfeld is Senior Rabbi of Temple Beth Am in Los Angeles, CA.