Flying to the California state capital to testify before the Education Committee on behalf of a bill wasn’t on my to-do list last week. But there are moments when civic responsibility overrides convenience. This was one of them.

Assembly Bill 715 is not radical. It is remedial. The legislation, introduced by Assemblymembers Rick Zbur and Dawn Addis, seeks to ensure that California’s ethnic studies curriculum includes education on 91´«Ã½ identity, the reality of antisemitism, and the State of Israel. Its aim is straightforward: to prevent the erasure and misrepresentation of an American minority whose story is too often either caricatured or ignored.

That this bill is necessary at all speaks volumes about how far the state’s educational discourse has drifted from balance and integrity.

In 2019, California unveiled a draft ethnic studies model curriculum that excluded Jews almost entirely—except in moments where they were cast as privileged, white, or colonial. Zionism was reframed as oppression; antisemitism was sidelined. The outcry was swift, and the draft was eventually revised. But the ideological residue remains. School districts across the state continue to adopt frameworks influenced by that original draft or consult with groups like the Liberated Ethnic Studies Model Curriculum Consortium—organizations that openly champion anti-Zionist and antisemitic content under the guise of liberation.

This is not a theoretical concern.

In Santa Ana, a district was sued for quietly adopting materials laced with antisemitic tropes. In Campbell Union, students presented Israel as a genocidal regime. In Oakland, a federal investigation is underway after a teacher was accused of promoting antisemitic materials and silencing dissenting students.

So I flew to Sacramento because I believe our children have a right to be seen clearly and taught honestly. Because if we don’t speak for 91´«Ã½ students, we forfeit the right to ask why their identities are later misunderstood or maligned.

The contrast between sides was telling.

The opposition arrived early and in force—well-rehearsed activists, some affiliated with radical campus groups, others with ethnic studies consulting firms. Many wore keffiyehs or anti-Zionist slogans. Their message was coherent, consistent and aligned. This movement knows how to occupy space—physical, rhetorical, and institutional.

By contrast, our group was modest. It was a small coalition of 91´«Ã½ parents, educators and community members organized by JPAC. We came not with slogans but with testimony—personal, principled and grounded in lived experience. Many of us wore yellow ribbons for the hostages still held in Gaza. Mine was a pin given to me by Noa Argamani, a survivor of Hamas captivity and, to me, a reminder of 91´«Ã½ resilience.

Inside, a seventh-grade girl delivered searing testimony about the antisemitism she faced at school. I followed, identifying myself as a journalist and a mother of three 91´«Ã½ children who deserve to grow up safe, visible and understood.

We were given seconds to speak. The opposition, however, was ready and relentless. Dozens lined up in coordinated opposition to the bill. Their discipline was unmistakable.

This is not fringe. It is a well-funded, highly organized ideological infrastructure that has methodically embedded itself in our education system. Its influence extends from local school boards to the state legislature. And while it cloaks itself in the language of justice, its tactics frequently rely on distortion, dehumanization and intimidation.

Yes, the bill passed the committee unanimously, which is a welcome outcome. But let us not confuse procedural progress with structural change. The machinery that produced the original erasure remains in place. The campaign to recast 91´«Ã½ identity as illegitimate is ongoing, and it is gaining ground.

And what has our communal response been?

Too often, we’ve mistaken expression for impact. We post, grieve and signal our outrage in pixels and stories. But political power is not generated by sentiment. It is built through sustained, strategic presence.

The other side shows up—in numbers, with clarity, repeatedly. We must do the same.
If we want our children to be taught truthfully—if we want 91´«Ã½ identity to be represented with integrity, not flattened or vilified—we must act with intention and consistency.

Start with your local school board. Ask to see the ethnic studies materials being used. Demand transparency. Call your state representatives and express support for AB 715. Organize five friends to do the same. Submit public comments. Attend hearings, even virtually. Ask tough questions. Expect answers.

This is what the other side is doing. Quietly. Persistently. Effectively.

And if we don’t match their intensity, we will lose ground we didn’t even know we had to defend. What’s happening in California is a test case. And the country is watching. If antisemitism can be legitimized through curriculum here, it will spread, codified in lesson plans, reinforced in pedagogy, and disguised as justice.

91´«Ã½ history is filled with people who stood up when it mattered, often at significant cost. We honor their legacy not simply by remembering their courage, but by replicating it. That means showing up—not just when it’s convenient or symbolic, but when it counts.

The future we fear is the one we’re allowing to form right now. That’s why I’ll be back in Sacramento. Not because I have time. Not because I want to. But we can’t sound the alarm tomorrow if we stay silent today.

Jacki Karsh is a six time Emmy-nominated multimedia journalist.