Antisemitism as a Litmus Test
In moments of social strain, democracies reveal what they are willing to tolerate and whom they are willing to protect. Few phenomena test that resolve as persistently as antisemitism.
In 2003, I moved from France to the United States with my family, believing it was a place where difference could exist without becoming dangerous. I knew antisemitism existed in American life, but I understood it as marginal rather than defining.
In 2012, I attended Brandeis University, where I studied Near Eastern and Judaic Studies. At the time, Frederick M. Lawrence was president of the university. Years later, watching his testimony before Congress on the limits of free speech on campus, I was struck by a distinction he articulated and that has stayed with me since: while the First Amendment protects expression, it does not obligate governments to tolerate harassment, intimidation, or conduct that undermines equal participation. Even then, I could not have imagined the scale or visibility of antisemitism now present in the United States.
A decade ago, I would have said France was the country where antisemitism was most likely to escalate next. Many in the Jewish communal world spoke openly about the relocation of French Jews to Israel. Home to roughly 500,000 Jews, France has grappled with antisemitic violence for decades, from the 2006 murder of Ilan Halimi, who was kidnapped and tortured because he was Jewish, to the 2015 Hyper Cacher attack, in which four Jews were murdered. I never imagined similar acts unfolding in the United States. Yet less than seven months ago, a gunman opened fire at the Capital Jewish Museum, killing a young Jewish couple while shouting, “Free Palestine.”
What we are witnessing in the United States is unprecedented. The convergence of far-right and far-left rhetoric has proven destabilizing. Figures such as Nick Fuentes on the far right and Candace Owens and Tucker Carlson in mainstream conservative media have helped normalize antisemitic tropes for mass audiences, while segments of the far left have increasingly adopted rhetoric that erases Jewish identity under the guise of anti-Zionism. Online spaces allow antisemitic conspiracy theories and dehumanizing language to circulate with minimal scrutiny. In physical spaces, including New York City, demonstrators have been permitted to chant slogans supporting Hamas, often defended as political expression rather than recognized as intimidation.
At the same time, political leaders such as Zohran Mamdani have moved swiftly to revoke the IHRA definition of antisemitism, a framework that has helped governments and institutions identify contemporary antisemitic expression. This decision does not merely create definitional ambiguity. It undermines the ability to recognize how antisemitism manifests today, particularly through the denial of the Jewish people’s right to self-determination and the erasure of the historic and cultural link between Jews and Israel. Treating that link as illegitimate or purely political does a disservice to Jewish communities and further legitimizes antisemitic narratives under the guise of activism. When policymakers refuse to acknowledge this reality, they narrow the lens through which antisemitism is understood and leave Jews more vulnerable to its modern forms.
Since October 7, France’s governmental response has diverged sharply from that of the United States. French authorities restricted demonstrations likely to glorify Hamas or incite antisemitic violence, enforced laws prohibiting the praise of terrorism, and made clear that Jewish communities would not be left to absorb the costs of social unrest. Courts reviewed these measures, but the underlying premise remained consistent: speech carries consequences, and democratic governments have both the authority and the responsibility to intervene before rhetoric hardens into violence. The United States can learn from this approach by recognizing that early, lawful intervention strengthens democratic norms rather than undermining them.
Antisemitism has long served as a litmus test of democratic health. It reveals whether a society can recognize threats to vulnerable minorities before those threats culminate in catastrophe. Hate speech shapes behavior and lowers the threshold for violence. That reality was underscored just days ago when a synagogue in Mississippi was set on fire after the attacker labeled it the “synagogue of Satan.” Passing this test requires early recognition, clear definitions, and the willingness to distinguish protected expression from harassment and intimidation. The question facing the United States is not whether to abandon free speech. It is whether free speech will be taken seriously enough to preserve the conditions that make it meaningful at the local, state, and national levels.
