Click here to read the full article in Haaretz
By Etan Nechin
NEW YORK - We meet just after 6 a.m. in a desolate industrial stretch of Brooklyn, at the only coffee shop open at that hour. Inside, construction workers drift in one by one, grabbing cups of coffee before the day begins.
For A., it's their first shift. D. and K. have done this before. They are all members of Jews for Racial and Economic Justice (JFREJ) who take part in ICE Watch, a grassroots effort to monitor U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement operations at shelters and sites across the city – not to protest, but to protect.
That morning, we were going to a migrant shelter nearby. The task seems mundane enough: Station ourselves outside the shelter and hand out pamphlets and laminated cards – printed in different languages – to people going in and out, outlining legal rights in the event of an encounter with immigration authorities.
Many immigrants don't know their rights, and encounters can unfold in an instant. The pamphlets explain that they have the right to remain silent and to request a lawyer – reminders meant to anchor people in moments that often pass in a flash, before fear overrides knowledge.
If ICE officers do appear, the protocol for activists is swift. Volunteers work in pairs: One films any confrontation, while the other documents the scene, guided by an acronym known as SALUTE: Size of unit, Action (whether agents are harassing or using force), Location, Uniform (noting whether officers are in plainclothes), Time and place, and Equipment.
Activists have long dedicated their time and energy to supporting immigrants and refugees. But the Donald Trump administration's unprecedented crackdown – targeting both undocumented and legal immigration – has sparked a surge of Jewish-led organizing, from established organizations to individual volunteers, determined to act despite an increasingly hostile administration.
"There definitely is appetite across the New York City Jewish community to be able to provide more support and do more in this area," says Sophie Ellman-Golan, JFREJ's director of strategic communications.
She says virtual ICE Watch trainings filled up quickly, prompting the organization to schedule additional sessions – this time in partnership with synagogues across the city.
"The goal is to be responsive and agile," Ellman-Golan adds. "When the Trump administration asked the city to hand over the names of people staying at a particular shelter, we immediately set up shifts to maintain a presence outside."
Beth Baltimore is a member of JFREJ and a leader in its Immigrant Justice Working Group. She's also an immigration lawyer who works directly with young clients – mostly teenagers – navigating immigration proceedings.
Donald Trump's return has changed everything in her daily legal work, she says. "People aren't safe the way we thought they were. ICE is picking people up from homes and workplaces. There's an extreme level of fear. Families are scared to go to school, to the doctor, even to leave their homes. Kids fear returning home to find their parents missing."
She's already seen new policies trickle down to the courts. "Until January 20, there was discretion – cases could be dismissed if someone had pending relief. That changed immediately. There have already been hundreds of policy shifts," she says. "It's hard to keep up."
Baltimore says the working group hasn't changed what they are doing – just had to ramp up. "That includes fighting shelter evictions and placement in unsafe, or remote locations," she says. "These types of measures are a way to disrupt communities and cause fear."
The precariousness of migrant life – and the improvisational nature of activism – became immediately apparent that morning. Someone had spotted a nearby ICE agent, but as the group approached, K. noticed something was off.
"There are no bikes," K. says. Though seeming like a minor detail, in neighborhoods where delivery workers are often undocumented, no e-bikes can be a tell-tale sign something is wrong.
When we arrived at the shelter, it was shut.
We spotted a sign on the door from a few days before that announced the shelter's closure and directed residents to a nearby park for further instructions. "They probably gathered there and were moved elsewhere," says K. "This isn't surprising. It's what they've been doing."
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Familiar threats, renewed resistance
As the crackdown on immigrants and deportations intensifies nationwide, New York has emerged as a key target of the administration. "New York is being targeted more now than during the last Trump administration. This time, they had years to plan," says Baltimore.
Just last month, White House border czar Tom Homan traveled to Albany to pressure state officials to roll back protections for undocumented New Yorkers; he received pushback at the Capitol. But the administration has found an ally in New York Mayor Eric Adams. Adams has cut programs, scaled back sanctuary protections – including announcing shutting down 13 migrant shelters – and inched closer to the Trump administration.
Baltimore calls Adams a dangerous mayor for immigrant New Yorkers. "Shelters are shutting down and the remaining are full. Housing subsidies haven't been extended. His so-called budget concerns are just an excuse."
Adams' policies have drawn scrutiny, including from Jewish leaders. In early February, 60 members and leaders of New York's Jewish community gathered outside City Hall, urging the mayor to oppose the Trump administration's plans to deport large numbers of immigrants.
Baltimore says Adams' shift accelerated as he faced a corruption scandal, which culminated in his announcement he will not run as a Democrat, but as an Independent, in the mayoral elections in June.
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According to Baltimore, the crackdowns from both Washington and City Hall have done the opposite of chilling the movement – they've sparked it.
"We've seen a surge of people who want to show up," she says. "Our ICE Watch trainings are packed. Synagogues are organizing. There's more awareness, more resolve. New Yorkers are stepping up."