AJC

The American Jewish Committee said a government decision to classify campus anti-Semitism as prohibited discrimination is being abused by those seeking to silence criticism of Israel.
Kenneth Stern, AJC's director on anti-Semitism and extremism, joined Cary Nelson, president of the American Association of University Professors, in a statement published last week dealing with the fallout from the Obama administration's decision last October to apply Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to the protection of Jewish students from anti-Semitism on campuses.  Title VI prohibits discrimination based on "race, color or national origin" but does not include religion.
"Some, in reaction to these recent incidents, are making the situation worse by distorting the provisions of Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, and what has been called the 'working definition of anti-Semitism,' " the statement said. "Opposing anti-Israel events, statements, and speakers, they believe the only way to 'protect' Jewish students is by imposing censorship."
The statement does not specify incidents, but one reference appears to allude to efforts at Rutgers University to target anti-Jewish bias.
"While some of the recent allegations (such as charging pro-Israel Jewish students admission to a university event while allowing others to attend for free) might well raise a claim under Title VI, many others simply seek to silence anti-Israel discourse and speakers," the statement said. "This approach is not only unwarranted under Title VI, it is dangerous."
Groups, including the Zionist Organization of America, targeted Rutgers for an incident in which Jewish students allegedly were charged admission, but have also said that the alleged anti-Israel bias in some Middle East study courses creates a hostile atmosphere.
The ZOA blasted the AJC for the statement.
"It must surely be demoralizing to those Jewish students who've had the courage to come forward and demand a campus environment that's safe, welcoming and conducive to learning, to learn that an organization like the American Jewish Committee, which is supposed to be standing up for them and against anti-Semitism, is instead minimizing the problems they're facing and criticizing legitimate efforts to protect and enforce their civil rights," the ZOA said in a letter to Stern and Nelson.

AJC and ZOA were among the Jewish groups that had urged U.S. Education Secretary Arne Duncan to issue the new Title VI guidelines last year.
The "working statement" referred to in the statement by Nelson and Stern is a European Union standard that allows for criticism of Israel, but defines double standards in Israel criticism and the denial of the right to Jewish self-determination as anti-Semitism. It has been embraced by some U.S. agencies.

ISU

Lowa State University wants to establish a new public policy center funded entirely by private donations that would be devoted to the study, teaching and discussion of local, state, national and international issues. It would be called the the Harkin Institute, in honor of ISU graduate and veteran U.S. Sen. Tom Harkin.

The proposal has been questioned by the governor and by 59 Iowa House Republicans, who in a letter to the regents Tuesday said the proposal raises questions about "the general propriety of a state institution naming an institute after a current elected official serving the people of Iowa."
The proposal does raise a question of propriety by in effect having a state-owned institution lending its credibility and its endorsement to an elected official. Harkin has four years left in his term, and if he decides to run again, his opponent might reasonably object to a public university giving Harkin such an advantage.

The same would apply to a Chuck Grassley Institute at the University of Northern Iowa, his alma mater, and we trust Iowa Republicans would feel the same way about that.

One good example of how this should work is the Paul Simon Public Policy Institute at Southern Illinois University, which was founded by Simon after he retired from the Senate, however.

Harkin won't be in office forever, and when he retires it would be fine if his friends and ISU fundraisers want to create a policy institute in his honor.

Joel Osteen

Joel Osteen

Every pastor smiles on Easter, the joyful holy day at the core of Christian belief. But quite possibly no one smiles more, ear to ear, day after day, than Pastor Joel Osteen.
He is the blue-eyed beaming Texas preacher known worldwide for exuberant declarations of health, prosperity, wisdom, confidence and courage.
Small wonder that Osteen, 48, has built up the nation's largest congregation by far, thronged by people in Houston and global visitors who come to hear about hope and God's love — not his wrath. Let others carry spears in the culture wars and veer into politics: Osteen is the Lord's Pollyanna, looking on the bright side of all trouble and travail.
Lakewood Church is a megachurch so mega that it meets in a former basketball arena in downtown Houston. Every weekend, 43,500 people cycle through four services at the rebuilt Compaq Center.
His television ministry reaches nearly 100 nations. And every month he takes Joel Osteen Ministries on tour with Night of Hope events, packing sports arenas.
On a February evening in Corpus Christi, Osteen — 5-foot-9, whippet-thin, his dark brown curls bobbing, his suit so immaculate that CNN's Piers Morgan dubbed him “dazzling” — was embraced like a religion rock star. More than 8,500 believers there said amen to Osteen's message featuring biblical heroes who triumph against all odds.
Osteen, who says “my gift is encouragement,” cheers them on with such lines as “You may be beaten down in the natural (world), but take heart because you serve a supernatural God.”
His best-selling books Your Best Life Now,Become a Better You and It's Your Time are fonts of similar upbeat advice.
“Some people pay thousands of dollars for life coaches. I come to church. He's my coach,” says Claudette Ayers of Houston.
Osteen's most-repeated line is that God intends “his best” for his people. That, to him, “means what the Bible says — you are living the way the Bible says is the way to happiness.”
He has been tagged by some as a “Prosperity Gospel” preacher, one of those who say God intends for believers to have extravagant wealth.
But Osteen, who drives a 9-year-old, hand-me-down Lexus and owns no jets, rebuffs the label. He defines “prosperity' to mean “a healthy, peaceful life with good relationships and enough resources to be able to be a blessing to others. Talking about prosperity is not talking about money all the time. I never said God wants everyone to be rich.”
His answer to any question of net worth is that it's irrelevant. “We don't have to apologize for God's blessings. If God did it for us, he can do it for you.”
He also rebuffs criticism that he rarely says the word “sin.” “I do talk about sin. I just do it in a different way. Most people know we are all sinners. It's the goodness of God that leads people to repentance.
“I tell people, ‘You are created a masterpiece.' If you are missing the mark, that's what sin is. You are missing the best of what God offers you.”
Take gay people. Morgan called it news when Osteen told the talk show host that homosexuality is a sin and not “God's best for a person's life.” But Osteen calls this nothing new. Besides, he says, he's not the judge, God is.
His emphasis on people's spiritual experience, his humility and his reputation for personal integrity are all part of his great appeal, says William Martin, senior fellow for Religion and Public Policy and professor emeritus at Rice University. Author of a leading biography of evangelist Billy Graham, Martin sees similarities between them: “They both have an embracing spirit.” And neither calls himself a theologian.
Osteen quit college to come back to Houston, launch his father's broadcast ministry and run it for 17 years. Not until John Osteen died in 1999 did Joel feel a call to the pulpit. He differs from his father, an overtly emotional, faith-healing, speaking-in-tongues Pentecostal. Joel believes in these biblical “gifts of the spirit” as well, but he says they can be experienced in private. In his services and broadcasts, he says, he wants “nothing that might confuse people or cause them to turn away.”
With him at the helm, worship at Lakewood is tightly choreographed and totally accessible. There's a half-hour of rousing song. Then Osteen bounds up with a prayer and an invitation to all to “let all the bad, disappointing moments go and be open to a new week of blessings.”
Then there's a cascade of cheerful slogans: “We are victors, not victims.” “Magnify God, not your problems.”
Newlyweds Michelle and Jessie Sims of Crosby, Texas, have taken the Osteen empowerment message to heart and to wallet. A teacher and an entrepreneur, they give more than 10% of their income to the church.
Osteen's declarations are taped in front of Jessie's computer, where they can recite them daily.
“When you leave most churches, you feel badly about yourself. Here, you feel God believes in you and you are not out there alone,” says Jessie, 26.
In Osteen's sermons, bad times can be reimagined as opportunities. Someone left you? Lost your job? Thank God! You didn't need that person. A better job awaits. “God wants to double your blessings as he did for Job,” he says.
This all makes his critics livid. The Rev. Albert Mohler, Southern Baptist Theological Seminary president and powerhouse traditionalist, whacks him for “platitudes with attitudes.” The Rev. Mark Driscoll, who packs a Seattle megachurch for doctrine-laden sermons, says Osteen reduces the pursuit of God to “lollipops and skipping while singing hymns.”
Mohler? Driscoll? “I don't know who those people are,” Osteen says, looking genuinely mystified. He most certainly believes and teaches Jesus is the way. Beyond that, Osteen says, he's at peace with the gifts God gave him: “I just say to God, ‘I'm going to be who you made me to be.' ” And he smiles.