Antisemitism: The Symptom of a Sick Society
“Once a society indulges in antisemitism, it demonstrates the ill health of the society.”
— Douglas Murray
I keep coming back to these words because they capture the very essence of what I believe we are witnessing around the world today.
A society that is becoming increasingly sick. Not physically, but morally, socially, and spiritually.
People are struggling. Some cannot make ends meet. Others are facing unemployment, loneliness, anxiety, depression, or very real mental health challenges. Many are fighting battles we know nothing about.
And I have tremendous compassion for those who are suffering. Life can be extraordinarily difficult, and not every challenge can be overcome through determination or positive thinking alone.
But I’ve always believed in the power of mindset.
We don’t necessarily choose the circumstances life throws our way, but we can try to take hold of the reins, seek solutions, ask for help, learn, grow, and find a way forward.
There is a difference between being a victim of circumstances and allowing victimhood to become your identity.
Unfortunately, throughout history, some have found it easier to blame others than to confront their own problems.
And somehow, the Jews have repeatedly become the scapegoat.
When economies struggle, societies become divided, or people grow frustrated with their circumstances, the same tired accusations resurface.
The Jews control the money. The Jews control the media. The Jews are responsible for whatever is wrong with society.
I mean, seriously, after centuries of recycling the same accusations, they certainly aren’t winning any points for originality!
Of course, antisemitism isn’t simply the result of personal frustration. It is also fueled by ignorance, conspiracy theories, ideological hatred, and prejudices passed down through generations.
But what does it say about a society when blaming an entire people becomes easier than accepting responsibility?
I see a related problem in how the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is sometimes presented to the world.
Palestinian civilians have experienced genuine suffering. That should never be dismissed. But suffering should not be exploited to erase Hamas’s responsibility for its actions, excuse terrorism, deny Jewish history, or portray Israel as solely responsible for every tragedy.
We should be capable of recognizing human suffering while still demanding accountability. Instead, too often, the discussion becomes one of absolute victims and absolute villains, leaving little room for history, context, or honest conversation.
And here’s one of the greatest contradictions of all.
The Jewish people represent approximately 0.2% of the world’s population, yet people of Jewish heritage have received roughly one-fifth of Nobel Prizes awarded to individuals.
Think about the extraordinary contributions to medicine, science, technology, agriculture, education, and countless other fields. Discoveries that have saved lives and innovations that have improved the lives of people around the globe.
And here’s the beautiful part.
We didn’t keep these discoveries to ourselves.
We didn’t decide that medical breakthroughs were only for Jews or that technologies developed in Israel should benefit only Israelis.
These contributions have been shared with humanity, reflecting a value deeply rooted in Jewish tradition.
Tikkun Olam. Repairing the world.
Jewish people are not perfect, and our achievements don’t place us above criticism. But we shouldn’t need Nobel Prizes or scientific discoveries to justify our right to dignity and respect.
Our humanity should be enough.
And yet, look at what is happening around us.
In Belgium, a 2019 carnival parade featured grotesque caricatures of Orthodox Jews standing over bags of money. The imagery echoed historical antisemitic propaganda so disturbingly that UNESCO subsequently removed the carnival from its cultural heritage list.
Apparently, publicly ridiculing Jews was considered entertainment.
In France, approximately 150 Israeli children, some as young as eight, were refused entry to a leisure park despite having reservations. The manager was subsequently charged with discrimination, allegations he denied.
Children. On vacation.
In Italy, more than 70 Jewish educators planning a professional study visit canceled their trip after being asked to sign a political statement condemning Israeli policies. The host later disputed that signing was a requirement.
Imagine having to navigate a political loyalty test simply to study early childhood education!
And then, another incident in Tuscany.
An Israeli couple arranged to visit a local winery. Everything was confirmed until the owner discovered they were Israeli.
Suddenly, their nationality became an issue.
The owner questioned their views about the war, mentioned the Palestinian flag displayed outside her establishment, and warned that their visit would be canceled if their opinions differed from hers.
Seriously?
Since when does visiting a winery require passing a political loyalty test?
You’re going to taste wine, not attend a United Nations debate!
Would visitors from China, Russia, Iran, or any other country be expected to defend their government’s policies before being welcomed?
Imagine going on vacation, hoping to enjoy beautiful scenery and local hospitality, only to discover that your nationality has become grounds for a political interrogation.
In Pennsylvania, a 2025 Halloween parade included a float depicting the entrance to Auschwitz, complete with the infamous words Arbeit macht frei.
Auschwitz. As part of a Halloween parade.
The creator apologized and said he hadn’t intended harm.
But how does anyone fail to recognize the significance of that symbol?
And then, on November 1, 2026, I watched a video from the University of Michigan that genuinely shook me.
During a confrontation over political and religious issues, a female student shoved Jewish influencer Lizzy Benichou to the ground and attempted to kick her. Police intervened and took the student into custody.
As she was being escorted away, she reportedly threatened Benichou, shouting that she should have killed her when she had the chance.
Excuse me?
Killed her?
We cannot know precisely what motivated the student. Was it political? Religious? Something else entirely?
But since when does disagreement justify physical violence, let alone threatening someone’s life?
Give your head a shake!
And then I find myself asking another question.
What is happening on our university campuses?
Universities are supposed to be places where young people learn to think critically, question assumptions, examine evidence, and engage with ideas different from their own.
Yet here we have a student who responded to a confrontation with physical aggression and a death threat.
How does someone reach that point?
Are we teaching young people how to think, or simply what to think?
And when a student believes violence is an acceptable response to disagreement, who bears responsibility?
Individuals are accountable for their actions. But universities also have a responsibility to foster intellectual curiosity, critical thinking, and respect for differing opinions.
In fact, in 2024, the US Department of Education found that the University of Michigan had inadequately addressed complaints involving both antisemitic and anti-Palestinian harassment. The university agreed to corrective measures.
That finding doesn’t explain this student’s behavior, but it raises legitimate questions about the responsibilities of educational institutions.
Because universities aren’t simply preparing students for careers.
They’re helping shape the next generation of society.
And that brings me to something else that deeply troubles me.
Remember when we were children and our mothers would tell us, “Use your words!”
Well, somewhere along the way, it seems we’ve lost our words.
Apparently, unless someone agrees with everything we believe, they’re no longer worth listening to.
They’re the enemy.
Since when did disagreement become a declaration of war?
And perhaps one of the most devastating reminders of where political hostility can lead was the assassination of Charlie Kirk on September 10, 2025.
A man speaking to students at a university, engaging in political discussion, was shot and killed.
Prosecutors allege that he was targeted because of his political views.
Think about that.
You don’t agree with someone? You don’t like what they stand for? You believe their opinions are wrong?
Then challenge them! Question them! Present your argument!
But take their life? To silence them?
What is wrong with us?
You may not have agreed with Charlie Kirk’s politics. You may have disagreed with everything he stood for. That is your right.
But he also had the right to express his beliefs without being murdered.
To me, we lost a good person. A wife lost her husband, two children lost their father, and a family was left with a loss that no political argument can ever justify.
And this is precisely what frightens me about the direction society is taking.
Isn’t the beauty of humanity that we come from different backgrounds, experiences, cultures, and beliefs?
We each see the world through a different lens. When we genuinely listen to someone whose perspective differs from our own, we have an opportunity to see something we might never have considered.
Perhaps we’ll change our minds. Perhaps we’ll strengthen our convictions. Or perhaps we’ll simply understand another person’s perspective a little better.
Isn’t that how we learn? Isn’t that how we grow?
We’re not supposed to be carbon copies of one another. What an incredibly boring world that would be!
Yet we have more ways to communicate than at any other time in history, and somehow, we’re becoming less capable of actually talking to one another.
And the hypocrisy is remarkable.
People preach tolerance while demonstrating intolerance. They demand acceptance while refusing to accept different perspectives. They claim to defend human rights while finding ways to justify hatred.
I’m also deeply concerned about radical Islamist movements and the antisemitic ideologies they promote, including their influence in countries such as Britain and France. But antisemitism is not confined to one religion or political ideology. It appears on the far right, the far left, and among people who proudly consider themselves progressive.
Too often, people recognize hatred only when it comes from the political side they oppose.
Where is the consistency? Where are the principles?
Honestly, there are days when I feel as though I’ve stepped into an episode of The Twilight Zone.
A world where truth has become fiction, fiction is accepted as truth, and common sense has apparently taken an extended vacation.
The only difference is that in The Twilight Zone, the episode eventually ends.
In this version, even if I change the channel, I’m just watching another episode of the same madness!
But beneath the absurdity lies something far more frightening.
I cannot help but recognize parallels with Europe in the 1930s.
The antisemitic caricatures. The obsession with Jewish money and influence. The public humiliation. The gradual normalization of treating Jews differently.
These were among the methods used to demonize Jews long before the Holocaust reached its most horrific stages.
I’m not suggesting that today’s world is identical to Nazi Germany. But surely the purpose of studying history is to recognize dangerous patterns before they become something far worse.
And what troubles me almost as much as the incidents themselves is the willingness of others to laugh, make excuses, or simply look away.
That is precisely why Douglas Murray’s observation matters.
Antisemitism reveals far more than how a society treats its Jews. It reveals what that society is willing to tolerate.
A healthy society does not need a scapegoat for its failures. It does not mistake hatred for justice or intolerance for enlightenment.
Recently, I watched an interview with Israeli politician Moshe Feiglin that resonated with me.
Asked whether Israel’s deteriorating international image concerned him, he turned the question around:
“It’s not a question of how you see us. It’s the question of how we see you.”
He then invoked the words of our Torah:
מְבָרֲכֶיךָ בָרוּךְ וְאֹרְרֶיךָ אָרוּר
“Blessed are those who bless you, and cursed are those who curse you.” — Bamidbar 24:9
I found his response thought-provoking.
Why is Israel constantly expected to defend itself before the court of international public opinion, while those passing judgment are so rarely asked to examine their own conduct?
This doesn’t mean Israel is above criticism. Respectful disagreement is something we should embrace.
But there is an enormous difference between holding a government accountable and demonizing an entire people.
And for me, the deeper significance of Feiglin’s response isn’t political.
It’s spiritual.
But before I get to that, I have to admit something.
I’m tired.
Not tired of being Jewish. Not tired of believing. But tired of watching the hatred, the lies, and the seemingly endless inability of people to treat one another with basic human decency.
It’s exhausting living through this physical reality.
Everywhere you turn, another incident. Another accusation. Another example of humanity seemingly losing its moral compass.
And it’s sad. Deeply sad.
I don’t particularly like using the word depressing, but sometimes that’s exactly how it feels.
Not because I’ve lost hope, but because it’s painful to witness what humanity is capable of becoming.
And I think this is where our emunah is truly challenged.
It’s one thing to believe that Hashem has a plan. It’s another to live through events that make so little sense and still hold on to that belief.
We’re challenged to look deeper, to try to see the bigger picture, while recognizing that we cannot possibly understand the entire picture ourselves.
We see fragments. We see suffering, confusion, and injustice. We ask questions, but we don’t always receive answers.
And sometimes, having faith doesn’t make what we’re witnessing any less painful. It simply gives us the strength to keep going despite not understanding it.
That is where I find my comfort.
And perhaps it’s why something my grandmother used to tell me about my grandfather has been on my mind so much lately.
He would often describe this world in Moroccan Arabic as being full of kdoub—lies.
That what we see isn’t necessarily the truth, and the world isn’t always what it appears to be.
I find myself thinking about him and those words more and more.
How extraordinary that something my grandfather used to say so many years ago, passed down through my grandmother, resonates so deeply with what I’m witnessing today.
And then I think about what our sages taught us.
The Gemara in Sotah 49b describes the period preceding Mashiach:
והאמת תהא נעדרת
Truth will be absent.
When I read those words, I look at a world of sheker, where lies are repeated until they are accepted as facts, where people cling to narratives even when confronted with contradictory evidence, and where truth seems to matter less than ideology.
It feels like tohu va’vohu.
A world turned upside down.
And spiritually, I cannot help but wonder whether this confusion is part of the upheaval our sages described preceding the coming of Mashiach.
I don’t pretend to know when Mashiach will come. None of us do.
But I find comfort in believing that even when the world appears to be losing its moral compass, there is a greater purpose beyond what we can presently understand.
As Jews, we have survived centuries of persecution, exile, and discrimination. We have witnessed civilizations rise and fall, yet we continue to learn, build, innovate, contribute, and believe.
And after thousands of years, we have returned to our homeland.
For me, living in Israel makes this especially meaningful.
I am not simply reading about Jewish history.
I am living another chapter of it.
And while I cannot control the hatred that exists in the world, I can choose how I respond.
I can choose truth over lies, contribution over blame, meaningful conversation over hostility, and faith over despair.
Perhaps the greatest tragedy isn’t that humanity has forgotten what happened in the 1930s. Perhaps it’s that we remember the history, yet still fail to recognize the warning signs when they reappear.
Never Again cannot simply be a promise to remember the past. It must also be a commitment to recognize and challenge hatred in the present.
And that responsibility belongs to all of humanity, not only the Jewish people.
As for me, I will continue to hold on to the words with which our sages conclude their description of these troubled times:
ועל מה יש לנו להישען? על אבינו שבשמים.
And upon whom can we rely? Upon our Father in Heaven.
May we merit a world where truth is no longer obscured, where differences become opportunities for understanding rather than reasons for hatred, and where humanity finally learns to live up to its potential.
And may we merit the coming of Mashiach, במהרה בימינו. אמן.
