There’s something about a Jewish deli that makes a city feel safe.
Not because a sandwich can protect you, but because a place like Katz’s says: we’ve been here. We built. We stayed. We raised families. We opened our doors. We put our names on the glass and trusted that our neighbors would let us live in peace.
So when you look at a photo of Katz’s—its bright sign, its old-world confidence—it raises a question I never thought I’d be asking about New York City:
How long will it take before Jewish business owners decide to move out?
Not “visit less.” Not “keep their head down.” Not “avoid certain streets.”
Move out.
Because when hate rises, it doesn’t rise evenly. It picks a target. It tests the ground. It checks to see who will speak up and who will call it “complicated.” And if it learns it can push without consequence, it pushes harder.
That’s why the first days of a new administration matter so much. Not only for policy, but for posture. Not only for law, but for the message.
On January 1, 2026, Mayor Zohran Mamdani signed Executive Order 01, revoking all New York City executive orders issued on or after September 26, 2024. That single act swept away a cluster of Adams-era directives that many Jewish New Yorkers saw as guardrails in a season of rising intimidation.
Three of the revoked orders stood out.
One had instructed city agencies to use the IHRA working definition of antisemitism as a guide—especially in recognizing modern forms of antisemitism that hide behind “anti-Zionism.” Another limited city contracting and investment actions that targeted Israel in the spirit of BDS. A third directed the NYPD to evaluate guidance related to protests near houses of worship, balancing constitutional rights with the practical reality that worshipers were being harassed on their way to pray.
You don’t have to agree with every clause of those orders to understand why their removal felt like a punch in the stomach to many Jewish families.
Because for the person walking to synagogue, the question is not abstract.
The question is simple:
Will my city protect me, plainly and consistently, when I’m targeted because I’m a Jew?
And then a second controversy flared.
A Jewish advocacy group, the National Jewish Advocacy Center, accused the new administration of deleting official posts from the @NYCMayor X account that referenced the protection of Jewish New Yorkers and highlighted antisemitism initiatives. They argued that deleting those posts—especially on Day One—invited scrutiny and eroded public trust. They also raised allegations about whether the deletions complied with New York’s records-retention requirements under the Arts and Cultural Affairs Law.
Mamdani’s office responded that the posts were being archived and that the process was administrative, not based on content. The spokesperson emphasized that the mayor remains committed to combating antisemitism, renewing the Mayor’s Office to Combat Antisemitism, and dramatically increasing funding for hate-crime prevention.
So here is what we can say cleanly: there is a public allegation, and there is a public denial. And regardless of how the records question ultimately resolves, the symbolism landed exactly where you’d expect it to land: on the tender place where Jewish New Yorkers are already asking for reassurance that doesn’t evaporate when leadership changes.
We refuse to brush this off as harmless housekeeping. When it touches Jewish safety, it deserves scrutiny and clarity.
And that brings us, as Christian Women For Israel, to the deeper question.
Not “Which party?”
Not “Which ideology?”
Not “Which talking point?”
But this:
What does God require of us when the Jewish people are being pressured to disappear—socially, economically, and spiritually?
Scripture does not leave us guessing.
“For if thou altogether holdest thy peace at this time, then shall there enlargement and deliverance arise to the Jews from another place… and who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?” Esther 4:14, KJV
Esther’s moment did not begin with a decree. It began with a mood. A shift in the air. A quiet danger that became louder. And then a choice: speak, or stay silent.
I keep thinking about the Jewish shop owner who wonders if the insurance will cover another smashed window.
The Jewish college student who takes off her Star of David necklace before getting on the subway.
The father who tells his son not to argue with the men shouting outside the synagogue, because he’s not sure what they’ll do.
That is not politics. That is fear.
And fear spreads when clarity collapses.
“For Zion’s sake will I not hold my peace, and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not rest…” (Isaiah 62:1, KJV)
“Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: they shall prosper that love thee.” (Psalm 122:6, KJV)
And if anyone tries to tell you prayer is “all you can do,” Scripture corrects that too.
“Open thy mouth for the dumb in the cause of all such as are appointed to destruction.” Proverbs 31:8, KJV
So what do we do with a moment like this—when policy changes, accusations fly, and trust feels thin?
We do what women of faith have always done.
We stay awake. We discern the times.
We refuse rumor and we refuse spin.
We won’t let fear make us careless with truth.
We ask our leaders for clarity, not slogans.
We ask for protection that shows up in practice, not press releases.
We ask for antisemitism to be named honestly, including the kind that puts a mask on and calls itself “justice” or "new policy".
And we stand with the Jewish people with steadiness.
If the most Jewish city in America can’t reassure its Jewish neighbors, what do we expect from places with fewer friends and fewer safeguards? And if we stay silent, who will speak for them?
Stand with Israel as a Modern-Day Esther
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