Opinion | Don’t Cheapen ‘Antisemitism’

Every time there’s an attack on Jews, a familiar chorus rises, especially but not only in Israel: “This is why Jews must make aliyah. The world is antisemitic. It always has been. It always will be.” We heard such sentiments after the shocking May 21 murders of two young Israeli Embassy staffers in Washington, DC. We heard it again after the horrifying attack in Colorado less than two weeks later, when a crazed Egyptian migrant attacked a group of liberal Jews with firebombs. In Israel, this kind of response is so reflexive it borders on dogma—and any dissent from it is apostasy.

But as someone with a deep and personal history of antisemitism, I feel compelled to speak with honesty. Mistaking these vile crimes for the classic antisemitism of old does a disservice to the real thing, which lives on to this day, for reasons that have to do with European history, human nature and some odd mutation of the time-space continuum.

Both my parents were Holocaust survivors from Romania. My mother, as a young girl, barely survived the Iași pogrom of 1941. My father endured forced labor in Ploiești. When I lived in Romania in the early 1990s, a woman once asked to borrow my “map”—convinced all Jews carried a secret document outlining the instructions for global economic domination. These beliefs were not rare. Sometimes they manifested as admiration, but more often as hatred. It was—and remains—madness.

This classic antisemitism still exists today, especially on the American far right. Neo-Nazis and white supremacists chant “Jews will not replace us” in a country where Jews make up less than two percent of the population. I’ve met Americans who genuinely believed Jews have horns. Evangelical support for Israel often stems not from love but from an apocalyptic theology in which Jews must return to the Holy Land before vanishing in Armageddon. It, too, is madness.

But not all hatred of Jews is rooted in this kind of deranged ideology—the situation today is more complex. The conflict between Jews and Arabs over the land of Israel is real, and the emotions it stirs—rage, grief, resentment—are not rooted in conspiracy but in history. In France, where antisemitism is said to be on the rise, many of the attackers are not white nationalists but angry Muslims. That doesn’t excuse it, at all. But it’s not the same phenomenon my parents endured.

The Egyptian man who is charged with committing the Colorado attack was, by all accounts, deeply disturbed. Donald Trump has already twisted that tragedy to justify new moves in his crusade against immigration—a subject about which he sometimes makes legitimate points. Yes, there is a crisis on America’s southern border, and yes, it is affecting the labor market and local cultures. But that has nothing to do with one Arab man overstaying his visa and lashing out in delusional violence related to a faraway, very ugly but sadly real conflict. That’s not who most Americans are thinking about when they want to control immigration.

Trump also exploits the issue of antisemitism on college campuses. His war on Harvard, cloaked in rhetoric about protecting Jews, is not really about antisemitism at all. His base despises elite universities because they are bastions of liberal and progressive thought, not because they are unsafe for Jews. And in targeting them, he threatens to do lasting damage to American higher education and global research.

To be clear: The climate on campuses has, at times, been hostile and alarming. My daughter was at Columbia University during the peak of the protests, and the tolerance for hate speech was infuriating. I was outraged to see university presidents—including the since-dismissed head of my own alma mater, the University of Pennsylvania—fumbling when asked if antisemitism should be condemned. It should be, obviously, unequivocally.

Still, we need to draw distinctions. Some argue that the very fact these protests exist—and that they are tolerated—is itself proof of antisemitism. That’s an understandable reaction, but it misses something important. Much of the anti-Israel activism in the United States comes not from Muslims or Arabs, but from the far left.

The far left is not antisemitic in the traditional sense. Historically, many of the early communists were Jews. But today’s left sees Jews, fairly or not, as part of the old elite. The modern left is obsessed with dismantling structures of privilege, and through that lens, Jews are often lumped in with whiteness, capitalism, colonialism—regardless of their politics or personal struggles (or, well, whiteness).

This obsession with identity groups now defines much of the left. Ironically, it’s the right that increasingly champions individualism. So even opposition to Israel or progressive political leanings don’t shield individual Jews from being grouped—and judged—collectively. It’s not antisemitism per se. It’s a worldview—a stupid one in my view—that reduces everyone to a label.

Of course, anti-Zionism is rampant. And yes, much of it is irrational and dangerous. Many people sincerely believe Israel is committing genocide in Gaza, and some are willing to excuse even violent acts against Jewish supporters of Israel. I disagree vehemently. What’s happening in Gaza, even at a terrible cost in civilian lives, is not genocide. Israel’s stated goal is the elimination of Hamas—a terrorist group that launched this war—and not the extermination of Palestinians. If Hamas surrendered, the killing would stop. (That doesn’t mean I agree with the war conduct or strategy.)

Why, then, does the world care so much about Israel’s actions? Is that antisemitism? Not exactly. The Jewish story is central to the West’s religious and historical consciousness. Jews remain disproportionately represented in culture, science and public life—from Nobel Prizes to Hollywood. That kind of visibility invites both admiration and scrutiny.

Also, Israel is a democracy—at least for now, despite the best efforts of Benjamin Netanyahu—and democracies are held to higher standards. How many democratic states have killed tens of thousands of civilians in recent decades? It is rare, and in journalism, rarity equals newsworthiness. When I was a senior editor at the Associated Press, we prioritized Israel stories not out of bias, but because readers demanded them. Many of the editors were, like me, Jewish. So were a disproportion of the readers.

Israel’s actions today are controversial and painful. They enrage people, including extremists capable of horrific violence. In a country like the United States, where guns are easy to obtain and mental health services are hard to access, that’s a lethal combination. It should be fought on many levels. It should be prevented with far more proactive intelligence operations, and the Colorado assailant should spend the rest of his days in jail.

But let’s not blur the lines. Let’s not call every act of political rage or misguided protest “antisemitism.” And let’s not allow politicians—on either side—to weaponize our trauma for their agendas. Real antisemitism is a scourge. My family lived through it. Let’s reserve the term for what it really means.

Dan Perry is the former chief editor of The Associated Press in Europe, Africa and the Middle East, the former chairman of the Foreign Press Association in Jerusalem, and the author of two books about Israel. Follow his newsletter “Ask Questions Later” at danperry.substack.com.

Top image: Iași pogrom memorial (Credit: Rgvis, CC BY-SA 3.0).