As Congress discusses anti-Semitism legislation and the Religious Freedom Committee examines the rise in hate, a case before the Supreme Court highlights a different, perhaps less obvious, issue. It suggests that local officials are leveraging bureaucracy to suppress Jewish worship in private residences.
On a recent Saturday morning, Daniel Grand invited neighbors over for prayer. The city of University Heights, Ohio, labeled his home an “illegal place of worship” and issued a cease-and-desist order. The mayor, Michael Dylan Brennan, even urged residents to keep an eye on their neighbors and report any religious gatherings that could lead to penalties.
In theory, homeowners should have some recourse if the city criminalizes domestic worship. However, in practice, that’s far from the reality. Local governments across the U.S. seem to be dismantling faith communities, not through direct actions but through more insidious means, like selective inaction.
Worship centered around family is a key aspect of America’s religious heritage. For centuries, Jews have gathered in small groups in homes (and sometimes basements for safety). Since the church’s early days, Christians have done the same. As noted in Acts 2:46, believers “break bread in their homes” on a regular basis. This tradition extends to Catholics, Protestants, Pentecostals, and Muslims, all of whom conduct small group prayers and studies where they live instead of in formal places of worship.
So, what justifies the use of local regulations to hinder home worship? Is there significant traffic? Orthodox Jews refrain from driving on the Sabbath. Is there excessive noise? Ten men praying indoors is certainly quieter than a neighborhood barbecue. If the city allowed a weekly soccer gathering with cheers and street parking, they would likely remain silent. Yet when it came to prayer, University Heights acted on its zoning laws.
City Law Director Luke McConville swiftly issued a cease-and-desist mandate. Grand’s home was dubbed an illegal “place of religious gathering,” with the term “shul” used to describe it. This Yiddish word doesn’t appear in the city’s zoning laws and has no legal definition in Ohio. McConville seemed well-acquainted with Jewish customs, criminalizing them almost instantly.
The city’s rapid response was in stark contrast to the lengthy delays Grand faced while applying for a special use permit, which the city required. The Planning Commission adopted a confrontational “quasi-judicial” format for Grand’s request for what seemed like the first time ever. The morning after the initial hearing, committee member Paul Siemborski sent an email declaring the use “not authorized,” effectively predicting the outcome before proceedings had concluded. And as for Grand’s attempts to provide additional materials? No luck—every avenue led to another dead end.
The amicus brief in Grand’s case highlights similar situations across the country. In Bethpage, Long Island, Muslims trying to expand a mosque encountered what the Institute for Religious Freedom termed “denial by delay,” faced with ever-shifting demands, while the municipality claimed there was no opportunity for judicial review due to a lack of a final vote. In Fairfax County, Virginia, officials sought to amend zoning laws specifically to target home Bible studies. In Georgia, a retired couple hosting a quiet religious retreat for years faced potential rezoning until advocacy groups intervened. While that specific threat was lifted, the overall selective bureaucratic actions resulted in ongoing harm to religious gatherings.
The Department of Justice has identified this troubling pattern as well. While Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, and Hindus comprise 4.2% of the U.S. population, they represented over 55% of religious land use cases from 2010 to 2016. Local zoning regulations seem to resist those with the least institutional power to challenge them the most.
The issue lies in ambiguity combined with discretionary power. This situation is tragic since it doesn’t require a clear villain; it merely empowers them. A vague ordinance, a permitting process designed for institutions with legal teams—not families with prayer books—and a legal framework that shields actions from judicial examination create an environment where exclusion becomes almost inevitable.
Faced with legal hurdles, Mr. Grand withdrew his application, even though the outcome had effectively been predetermined. He subsequently filed a lawsuit on his own, citing both the First Amendment and RLUIPA, which Congress passed to prevent such situations.
Unfortunately, he lost. The Sixth Circuit, in an opinion by Chief Justice Jeffrey Sutton, ruled that his claims were “not ripe,” stating that no final judgment had been rendered. Grand was characterized as someone who had created a “chilling effect” on First Amendment rights. A man fleeing a process deemed unjust was told his exit signified there was no danger.
This dismissal of Grand’s case because “the time is not ripe” allows the city to evade a clear “no” or “yes.” In the meantime, the mayor organizes neighbors to ensure that prayers do not take place. The Supreme Court should consider whether local officials can use state coercion to stifle religious practices.
