Defending Zionism
Every single time I make the mistake of engaging online with an anti-Israel comment, I’m met with the most infuriating responses. I know, I know—my family tells me to stop, to just let it go and not engage. But sometimes, I feel compelled to respond because there are moments when silence feels like agreement, especially when this rhetoric has infiltrated spaces where it doesn’t belong. And it’s everywhere—appearing in unexpected places, even on the sugar decorating sites I frequent, which should remain apolitical. These platforms, once a space for creativity and camaraderie, have now become an unintended battleground for trolling and harassment, so providing a balanced perspective is necessary—not for the most vocal detractors but for those quietly observing the exchange. (Unfortunately, I’m unable to share screenshots of the exchanges directed at me after I called out the politicized nature of anti-Israel posts, as these conversations took place in private groups.)
We know that most young people today gain their knowledge from social media. In the event that a well-thought-out and decent response is read, perhaps it might serve as a foundation for that young person to think critically and form their own opinion. Who knows, although my hope is that people read a mix of primary and secondary sources for a more nuanced and complete picture of Israel’s history. In a world where Israel and its supporters are openly castigated, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of negativity, and it does have a psychological toll.
How many of us have felt the need to hide the Star of David hanging around our neck because the environment around us has been hostile? It’s a stark reminder of the world we live in, where expressing pride in one’s Jewish identity or support for Israel can feel like an act of defiance, perhaps even a risk. It’s something you keep to yourself, and only share with other like-minded people. This reality makes it even more important to stand firm and speak out, ensuring that truth and reason have a voice amid the noise. I say noise but it’s more than that isn’t it?

Antisemitism is often dismissed as paranoia or reduced to an abstract concept, but the evidence proves otherwise. I believe that one of the most challenging aspects of antisemitism today is that it’s not limited to hate speech in the shadows—it thrives in the spotlight, amplified by influential voices who exploit their platforms to incite hostility. The resulting narrative maligns Israel as the root of all evil, perpetuating distorted histories and fostering an atmosphere where calls for peace and understanding are drowned out by hatred.
Modern-Day Blood Libels
Remi Kanazi, a self-described artist, poet, and writer with a following of over 48,000 on social media, exemplifies this dangerous trend. His posts are inflammatory and, at times, terrifying. One such post reads: “If Jesus was [sic] in Gaza, Israel would burn him alive in a tent, and US tax dollars would subsidize the flames that incinerated his flesh. Merry Christmas.” Another declares: “Merry Christmas to all those celebrating, except Christian Zionists. May you all rot and only see misery for the rest of your days.” In yet another, he writes: “All I want for Christmas is the dissolution of the state of Israel.”

These statements are not critiques—they are modern-day blood libels dressed in the language of activism. They stoke the flames of hatred, emboldening followers to take real-world actions that imperil Jewish lives. The genocidal rhetoric targeting Israel and Jews worldwide echoes the dark histories of ethnic cleansing accusations and conspiracy theories that have justified violence for centuries.
The consequences are already evident. Around the world, Jews face mounting hostility: synagogues and cemeteries are defaced, Jewish businesses vandalized, individuals are assaulted for wearing Jewish symbols, and the global Jewish community is increasingly forced to hide their identity for fear of reprisal. Incidents like the synagogue shooting in Pittsburgh, the hostage crisis in Texas, and attacks on Israelis in Amsterdam demonstrate that these acts are not random.
But antisemitism transcends physical violence. Increasingly, it manifests in travel restrictions, discrimination, and social ostracism. Several countries have implemented bans or limitations targeting Israeli citizens. For instance, the Maldives recently barred Israeli passport holders from entering, citing solidarity with Palestine. In Australia, reports have emerged of Israeli nationals facing additional scrutiny or visa denials. And just as I write this I have learned that an IDF soldier vacationing in Brazil had to flee to Argentina in order to avoid an arrest warrant issued by a Brazilian federal court to investigate him for war crimes he allegedly committed by serving in Gaza. The growing list of countries that have decided to arrest Israelis for what they perceive as potential war crimes: Sri Lanka, Thailand, Belgium, Netherlands, Serbia, Ireland, and Cyprus.
The Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS) movement, a cornerstone of many university agendas, targets not only Israeli products but also Israeli scholars, academics, and entertainers. Meanwhile, pro-Palestinian voices dominate many faculties, where dissenting perspectives—especially those supportive of Israel—are drowned out or silenced altogether.

The double standard is glaring. While protests at universities often vilify Israeli scholars, there are no comparable outcries against individuals who support regimes known for egregious human rights abuses. Even if such protests exist, they are so rare and minute that they are overshadowed by the broader reality. This selective outrage underscores a disturbing truth: the aim is not justice but the erasure of Israel and its people.
The toxic rhetoric perpetuated by figures like Kanazi does more than poison discourse—it encourages violence. It emboldens individuals to take dangerous actions against Jews and perpetuates a climate where peace becomes increasingly unattainable. Confronting and condemning this incitement is not just a moral imperative—it is a necessary step toward ensuring safety and equality for all.

This pattern of selective outrage extends beyond academic settings and into cultural spaces, as demonstrated by a recent example involving a concert by Matisyahu in Ventura County, California, on December 10, 2024. While Matisyahu is known for celebrating universal themes through music, the comments section beneath event announcements revealed a disturbing undercurrent of antisemitism. The vitriol was appalling, reflecting a hostility toward Matisyahu not for his words or music but seemingly for his visible Jewish identity, symbolized by his “Chai” necklace.
In the Middle East, the reality is even graver: life is often marked by the constant shadow of violence. Stabbings, kidnappings, and suicide bombings are not distant memories but ongoing threats. The horrific events of October 7, in which Israeli civilians faced unprecedented atrocities, serve as a chilling reminder of the daily peril Israelis endure while living in a nation perpetually forced to defend its right to exist.
Boo, I’m a Jew!

It’s a question that remains both perplexing and troubling: why does anything related to Jews often provoke either indifference or, more concerning, a visceral, irrational anger—sometimes even hatred? Anyone who has witnessed this firsthand knows the intensity. At anti-Israel demonstrations, the vitriol often spills over, manifesting in actions and words aimed at Jews. In Los Angeles, for instance, diners at restaurants have found themselves targeted by protesters who actively seek out Zionists to confront, berate, and dehumanize. The hostility is palpable, the anger unmistakable, and the intensity with which these individuals direct their animus toward Jews is undeniable. It is a raw, seething emotion that demands attention and reflection. The man in the photo is from a pro-Hamas riot that I happened to photograph while shopping at Whole Foods a few months ago. I felt saliva on my face when he screamed at me. Moments later, the person next to him hit me with a flagpole and knocked my phone from my hand. So much for a peaceful protest; these are more akin to riots.
Yet, in stark contrast, movements like Black Lives Matter or LGBTQ+ rights elicit immediate solidarity, as though their struggles with racism and inequality are inherently more deserving of empathy. Meanwhile, Jews are dismissed as “whiny” or caricatured as ultra-right-wing zealots. This disparity is not only bizarre but deeply unsettling. It silences so many, leaving them unable to articulate their strife. After all, where does one even begin to unpack such a profound imbalance of outrage and support?
It’s impossible to ignore the relentless trolling that targets anything related to Jews or Israel. Detractors may dismiss it, claiming that “everyone gets trolled” and it’s not specific to Jews—but that misses the point entirely. Don’t pretend you don’t understand what I’m talking about. We’re being targeted as a group because of our Jewish or Israeli identity. Some detractors go further, drawing comparisons to the global boycott of apartheid South Africa, suggesting this is merely tough love for Israel. But I say, um, no! Nothing like it.

Don’t ever try teaching us about antisemitism, because here’s why this is so fundamentally different: protesting South Africa’s apartheid government was aimed at dismantling a system of racial segregation and institutionalized oppression. It was an unequivocal fight for equality and human rights, with the clear goal of liberating the oppressed and uniting the nation under a shared humanity. By contrast, the BDS movement and the riots against Israel today do not aim to achieve coexistence or equality. Instead, they seek to delegitimize Israel entirely, denying its right to exist as a Jewish state.
The boycotts against South Africa targeted a specific system of governance, not the country’s right to exist. They didn’t vilify South Africans as a people, nor did they call for the erasure of their identity or homeland. In stark contrast, the anger directed at Israel often crosses into outright antisemitism, attacking not only the state but also Jews worldwide, regardless of their connection to Israeli policies. It is not just political—it is personal, pervasive, and deeply rooted in prejudice. This is why these types of comparisons fail. The protests against apartheid South Africa were about dismantling injustice while the protests against Israel are about dismantling Israel itself. Just a “little” detail that makes all the difference.
The posts I mention don’t even have to be about Jews or Israelis—yet somehow, Jews and Israelis inevitably get dragged into the conversation. Even during the recent tragic LA fires in the Palisades and other parts of the city, comments under photos of destroyed homes quickly shifted to calls to “Free Gaza,” accompanied by the usual litany of fanatical grievances against Israel. Another recent example is the torrent of hate directed at actress Gal Gadot. Though she is no stranger to such attacks, what began as a simple Facebook post celebrating her natural beauty rapidly devolved into a stream of venomous comments. Some even went so far as to call her a “child killer,” as though such baseless accusations were not only acceptable but expected. The ease and fearlessness with which this hatred is expressed has become commonplace these days—a normalization of antisemitism in public discourse.

Screenshot on a public post dated December 20, 2024, on the Facebook page “A Walk to Remember.’” Original post accessed January 7, 2025.
Calling every Israeli a “child killer” is not only grotesque but also profoundly misplaced when contrasted with the reality of Hamas—a regime that has indiscriminately used children as human shields and sent them to the front lines. Who, then, are the true child killers of this century? Yet the narrative is twisted, with the blame unjustly placed on individuals like me, you, Gal Gadot.
My books, which are entirely devoid of political agendas, have become targets of malicious reviews, seemingly in retaliation for my pro-Israel stance. These reviews, disconnected from the actual content of my work, often echo the kind of hatred directed at figures like Gal Gadot—falsely accusing me of lacking compassion and, in the case of my children’s books, claiming they pose some imagined danger to young readers.
Many of these reviews come from unverified buyers, yet platforms like Amazon offer limited recourse against such retaliatory attacks. Despite persistent efforts on my part, over a year has passed without success in removing these baseless comments. This frustrating experience underscores a larger flaw in online review systems: their inability to adequately protect creators from harassment. For Jewish creators, this vulnerability is compounded, as it becomes all too easy for bad actors to weaponize such systems for acts of revenge and bias. Perhaps, through this article, someone, somehow will finally take the necessary steps to remove those harmful reviews of my books.

Another disturbing aspect of this climate is the insidious voices that infiltrate spaces they claim to oppose. One has to wonder: why do these individuals, especially those who promote the BDS movement, spend any time on Jewish or Israeli platforms? Isn’t the very notion of engaging on an Israeli platform contradictory to the core purpose of their cause, which is to boycott anything Israeli? This paradox raises uncomfortable questions about their true intentions and the sincerity of their activism. Why do these advocates of boycotting Israel use the very technologies Israeli ingenuity helped create? How many of them type their condemnations on an iPhone, oblivious to the fact that its microchips were likely designed by Israeli engineers—engineers like my Zionist brother, a former IDF tank commander, who contributes to this innovation year after year?
The disconnect is staggering, but so is the silence. Amid this onslaught of online and offline hate, how do we, as Jews and supporters of Israel, reclaim the narrative and confront this relentless bias?
I don’t know how, really I don’t . . .
Imaginary Hate
Increasingly, those who call out antisemitism are being unfairly attacked and discredited. Jews are finding themselves excluded as reliable arbiters of their own experiences, with some claiming that what we perceive as antisemitism is merely a misunderstanding, a fabrication, or a tactic to silence dissent and criticism of Israel. Consider Piers Morgan’s recent exchange with Candace Owens on his show Uncensored, where he seemed to concede to her claim that criticizing Israel inevitably leads to being labeled an antisemite. Shouldn’t he know better? By giving a platform to a well-known conspiracy theorist and seemingly validating her perspective, Morgan unwittingly amplifies one of the most harmful and distorted narratives about Jews.
Here, I’ll explain this again: criticism of the Israeli government is one thing—fair and legitimate within the bounds of political discourse. But we are well aware when criticism crosses the line into something far more sinister. We recognize the difference between holding Israel accountable and weaponizing that criticism to mask deep-seated biases and bigotry toward Jews and Israelis. For instance, I don’t think Piers Morgan is an antisemite even though he has routinely criticized the Israeli government. I have criticism too; just take a peek at a session inside the Israeli Knesset or the weekly protests in order to understand that there is plenty of criticism going on.
And yet, the refrain persists: dismiss, deflect, deny. This tactic, often employed by anti-Zionists (more on that shortly), serves to undermine Jewish voices while shielding their own prejudices from scrutiny. It’s a disingenuous sleight of hand that perpetuates the very discrimination they claim to oppose.
This dynamic is especially frustrating because it silences Israel’s advocates before they even have a chance to respond. Any attempt to stand up for Israel’s right to exist or defend itself is immediately portrayed as aggressive, defensive, or intolerant. We’re trapped in a no-win situation where even attempting to correct the record leads to further vilification.
When people respond to me with, “I know many Jews who are anti-Zionists”—you know that one? Sounds familiar? It’s as though the existence of Jewish anti-Zionists somehow validates the rejection of a movement that has safeguarded countless lives and embodied the survival of a people. It’s a response we’ve all encountered, one that has persisted over time yet remains just as unsettling. The term “anti-Zionist” is among the most jarring distortions, laden with implications that both stigmatize and vilify. The denial of Zionism by Jews undermines the Jewish collective history and the lessons learned throughout the centuries. To deny the legitimacy of Zionism, especially when considering the continued challenges Jews face globally, risks disregarding the historical and existential need for a Jewish homeland. To deny the centrality of Zionism to Jewish identity can seem counterproductive or even self-destructive.
At its core, Zionism emerged out of necessity—a movement for Jewish self-determination, born from the urgent need to secure a safe haven after centuries of persecution. It was not merely a response for survival, but a call for justice, an assertion of the universal right of a people to return to their ancestral homeland. It should be recognized as one of the most celebrated terms and movements in modern history, a triumph against overwhelming odds and a testament to resilience rather than interpreted as an ideology rooted in oppression. Yet, Zionism has been distorted and twisted beyond recognition; the term has become one of the most toxic labels in global discourse.
When the word Zionist is spoken, it is often with a tone of sheer contempt, as though it is an established fact that we are dealing with a criminal movement. The confidence of those who speak this way is staggering. On the streets, the reaction is frequently visceral—eyes bulging with rage, voices raised in condemnation, as if confronting the embodiment of evil. These responses are not grounded in fact but fueled by baseless hostility.
The term Zionist has been distorted into a slur that incites hatred rather than understanding. This misrepresentation has led to its erroneous association with occupation, oppression, and systemic injustice. Alarmingly, even movements like Black Lives Matter and certain factions within the LGBTQ+ community have conflated Zionism with unrelated issues, such as police brutality against Black Americans. These narratives then extend to align themselves with Palestinian rights, as though events in the Middle East are directly connected to America’s domestic challenges.
This connection is not only illogical but fundamentally misguided. Zionism is not a movement that seeks to erase Palestinians or deny their rights, as some would have you believe. It has no relevance to the complexities of race relations or police brutality in the United States either. Such false equivalencies distort both the meaning of Zionism and the genuine struggles of marginalized communities.
Jews and the Professor
Yet, it is this homeland—the land of Israel—that lies at the center of an enduring and deeply contentious debate. What many regard as historical fact—a millennia-long Jewish connection to the land—has been recast by detractors as little more than a fabrication, a convenient narrative designed to justify the dispossession of Palestinians. And this is the case even though it is literally impossible, not doable to ignore Jewish history in that region, even after centuries of occupation and subjugation under Islamic rule, which makes books by Professor Nadia Abu El-Haj an interesting study in itself. Her stance is that Israel erases Arab heritage and fabricates its own history. In her books, The Ethnographic State: A Story of the Jews of Palestine and Facts on the Ground: Archaeological Practice and Territorial Self-Fashioning in Israeli Society, she claims that the Jewish historical connection to Israel is a myth.
Denying the Jewish connection to Israel is like denying roots to a tree—literally thousands of years of archaeological, historical, and religious evidence beg to differ.
And you know how shocked we were that on the very day of the October 7 massacre, students across campuses rallied not for the victims—some of whom remain captive in the dark tunnels of Gaza—but in support of the perpetrators? This response didn’t emerge out of nowhere. It reflects a steady, pervasive normalization of ideas like those espoused by professor Abu El-Haj who has built an academic career on the distortion and denial of Israeli and Jewish history.

These narratives, taught in classrooms, have gained a foothold in the minds of students and future leaders, contributing to the rhetoric seen on the streets and online today. Calls for the death of Jews, the destruction of Israel, and even open praise for terrorist acts have become alarmingly commonplace. Just recently, at CUNY, Professor Nick Rodrigo infamously declared, “Shout out to the paragliders,” in apparent reference to the attackers. These sentiments, far from isolated incidents, underscore the profound and dangerous impact of racist academic discourse that has permeated higher education institutions worldwide.
Abu El-Haj explains that Israeli archaeology has been deeply intertwined with the nation’s political and colonial imperatives, shaping a historical narrative to reinforce Jewish claims to the land while minimizing or erasing the history of other groups, particularly Palestinians. She frames archaeology as not merely a neutral science but as a cultural and political tool, wielded to construct a sense of national identity. Her work critiques how artifacts and interpretations have allegedly been used to consolidate the “Zionist project,” especially in the formative years of Israel’s statehood. She also contends that Israeli archeologist have been leveling sites of Palestinian habitation and deliberately mislabeling Christian sites as Jewish and tearing down churches etc., (p.148, 153, 157, 233 Fact on the Ground).
I read these claims with astonishment, unable to articulate my thoughts clearly. To seek clarity, I called my friend Oren, an archaeologist with the Israeli Antiquities Authority, and asked if he or his colleagues had ever heard of the anthropologist behind these assertions. His answer was a resounding no. I also inquired whether there was any foundation to her claims, given that her source was anonymous. His response was emphatic and angry. He explained that Israeli archaeologists excavate hundreds of Christian and Islamic sites, with many Jewish archaeologists specializing in these fields. While he acknowledged that, after Israel’s independence and up until the 1970s, there was a focus on excavating Jewish sites, he stressed that this was not done with malicious intent. In modern times, and for decades now, archaeological efforts have been conducted equitably, with all sites—regardless of religious or cultural significance—excavated with equal priority and care.
Abu El-Haj doesn’t just twist the facts—she buries them under a veil of pseudoscience and selective storytelling, presenting herself as a scholar while ignoring mountains of real evidence. It’s not just dishonest; it’s an insult to genuine research and to everyone who values truth over propaganda
Her claim that the State of Israel seeks legitimacy from ancient history is baffling on many levels. Israel does not need to concoct a fabricated connection to the land, nor does it need to erase anyone’s indigeneity because what this professor fails to acknowledge is that the international community recognized it long before the establishment of the state of Israel in 1948. The League of Nations formally acknowledged the Jewish connection to the land as early as 1922, and the Balfour Declaration, issued in 1917, laid the groundwork for the recognition of a Jewish homeland. Moreover, when the United Nations voted on the partition plan for Palestine in 1947 (Resolution 181), 33 countries voted in favor of the establishment of the State of Israel, 13 opposed, and 10 abstained. The Jews, for their part, didn’t need to dig very deeply to find a name for their country!
She goes so far as to assert that the Jewish connection to Jerusalem ended after the destruction of the Second Temple; she tries to diminish their historical presence simply because they became a minority in the region (though in some parts of Palestine they were also a majority later on). This confuses me because under the same breath she mentions that the Israelites were a myth? Take a deep breath. It’s exhausting, I know. The constant demand for Jews to repeatedly explain and defend their history in response to such stupid claims is overwhelming, especially when Palestinians are never subjected to the same scrutiny. As a side note, in case you’re not already aware, after the destruction of the First Temple, the Jews returned to Jerusalem, and the city once again became the center of their spiritual life. Following the destruction of the Second Temple, the Romans prohibited Jews from living in Jerusalem, and this prohibition continued under early Islamic rule. When they defeated the Christian rulers, they enforced a Jew-free Jerusalem.
It is important to remember that Arabs, as a Semitic people, arrived in the Middle East much later than the Israelites. The Arabic language, which emerged between the first and fourth centuries CE, is the most recent addition to the Semitic languages. Palestinians, as a distinct national group, are a much more recent development. Islam itself is only about 1,400 years old, originating around 610 CE, while Jewish self-identification can be traced back to at least the 10th century BCE, bolstered by monumental archaeological finds.
One such piece of evidence is the Merneptah Stele (1208 BCE), an inscription by the ancient Egyptian Pharaoh Merneptah that references the Israelites, marking one of the earliest mentions of Jews in historical records. This is just one of many examples of inscription on tablets—in addition to those we have the Assyrian and Babylonian records including the Elephantine papyri—one of the most ancient collections of Jewish documents dating back to the fifth century BCE when Jewish refugees (from Babylonian exile) joined an older community of Jewish mercenaries that had manned the island (Nile river) since the seventh century BCE. These legal documents of marriages, divorces, wills, and property disputes serve to shed light on the portrait of an entire Jewish community. We also learn about their temple and sacrifice rituals.
There were also Persian decrees, and accounts from Greek and Roman historians that provide further documentation of the Jewish presence in the region. The ongoing discovery of new archaeological sites continually reinforces this narrative. Notably, the Dead Sea Scrolls offer unparalleled insight into Jewish life during the Second Temple period, and they remain a foundation of historical and cultural scholarship. The Cairo Geniza is the much larger and broader collection of one of the largest and most significant collections of ancient Jewish manuscripts, discovered in the Ben Ezra Synagogue in Cairo, Egypt, in the late 19th century. It contains over 300,000 fragments, dating from the 9th to the 19th centuries. These texts were preserved in the Geniza (a storage area) in accordance with Jewish religious law, which requires the respectful disposal of sacred texts containing God’s name once they are no longer in use. The Geniza includes a vast range of materials—religious texts (such as Torah scrolls, prayer books, and commentaries), personal letters, legal documents, business contracts, medical writings, poetry, and scientific works. How, then, can anyone possibly claim that Jewish life was either nonexistent or inconsequential when we have such a rich and undeniable body of evidence? (For more detailed evidence, refer to my articles, Beware of a Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing—Mohamed Hadid’s Polemic on His Palestine, Part One and Two.)
Notably, Abu El-Haj is not a biblical scholar explains anthropologist Alan F. Segal (Campus Watch, Some Professional Observations on the Controversy about Nadia Abu El-Haj’s First Book, September 21, 2007), and she ignores “. . . hundreds of inscriptions from the First Temple period, together giving much interesting and debated evidence of an ethnicity called Israel who worship a divinity called YHWH.” Her work avoids engagement with foundational aspects of the historical and linguistic context required to make informed judgments, such as proficiency in ancient languages like Hebrew, Aramaic, and Ugaritic, as well as familiarity with comparative Semitic grammar and epigraphy. Without this expertise, her critiques of Israeli archaeology come across as unfounded and ideologically driven rather than rooted in rigorous academic inquiry. Not to mention that the language that we speak today has been in existence for thousands of years and evolved from ancient Canaanite, the name Israel is also found on ancient coins from different periods. Remind me again, what language do Arabs speak?
The Curious Case of Pre-Modern Palestine
In stark contrast, there is a noticeable absence of historical evidence for the existence of a Palestinian nation in antiquity. While the modern Palestinian identity has undeniably developed over the past century, attempts to project this identity into ancient history are misleading. No records exist of a sovereign Palestinian state, distinct Palestinian language, or unified Palestinian political entity in the pre-modern era while Jewish sovereignty in the region is well-documented by evidence that is both substantial and irrefutable.
The Jewish connection to the land of Israel is not just an intellectual exercise or a historical claim—it is a deeply embedded part of Jewish life, embedded in daily prayers, customs, and laws. Perhaps with better Hebrew (she claims to be fluent) she would understand the Amidah, the central prayer of Jewish liturgy, where Jews pray for the rebuilding of Jerusalem and the return of the Jewish people to their land. One of the concluding prayers in this section, “And to Jerusalem Your city, may You return in compassion,” underscores the deep emotional and religious connection to the land. This is one of many prayers that evoke this type of sentiment. What about Yhudah Halevi’s writings (1075), and his pining for a return to Zion:
My heart is in the East, and I am at the ends of the West.
How can I taste what I eat, and how can it be sweet?
How shall I render my vows and my bonds,
while yet Zion lies beneath the fetter of Edom,
and I in Arab chains?
To deny this is to dismiss an integral part of Jewish identity that has existed in parallel with the archaeological evidence and continues to thrive in the hearts of Jews worldwide. This connection is inescapable, far-reaching, and cannot be erased by any distorted narrative or external attempt to rewrite history.
Abu El-Haj expresses deep concern over the erasure of indigeneity by settler-colonialist states, frequently referencing indigenous peoples in Africa, the Americas, and Australia as examples. However, she fails to recognize the irony in her own scholarly work, which, at its core, seeks to erase the Jewish people’s historical and indigenous connection to their ancient homeland. Funny how Jews have been rejected by white societies for being Semitic i.e., non-whites, but now we’re all conveniently white, and how convenient when Muslims themselves use it against us at a time when color is lauded and when they know all too well about Jewish life in Palestine and communities that existed in Arab lands. These lands for the most part are Jew-free these days, but as of late I have already been reading their inventive response for that too—you guessed it, “the Zionists occupiers forced them out.”
The professor bangs on and on about Israel being a settler occupier nation but never mentions that during centuries of Islamic rule in Palestine, several actions obscured Jewish ties to the land. Jewish holy sites were converted into mosques, and places were renamed with Arabic names, such as Hebron becoming “Al-Khalil.” Jews were also restricted by dhimmi status, limiting their religious practices and public presence. Access to sites like the Western Wall was often restricted, and Jewish immigration was sometimes prohibited. Over time, Islamic historiography emphasized Arab history while minimizing Jewish heritage, diminishing the visibility of Jewish connections to the land.
Professor Abu El-Haj may write and speak in academic terms that initially lend her ideas a veneer of credibility. She uses language that could convince a naive reader that her methodology is sound, her research thorough, and her conclusions fair—however, upon closer inspection, there’s nothing kosher about her scholarship. Beneath the academic jargon lies a simplistic conspiracy theory about Jews and Israel. The more one listens to her arguments about Israel, the clearer it becomes: her work is less scholarship and more ideological bias, masquerading as academic inquiry. What she presents is a distorted narrative that misrepresents the facts, and when examined critically, reveals itself as nothing more than another iteration of conspiracy-driven rhetoric.
At the same time, Abu El-Haj simultaneously dismisses the undeniable and well-documented surge in antisemitism, particularly on college campuses, where Jewish students increasingly face harassment and threats. Despite mounting evidence, including testimony from Jewish students before Congress, she downplays these incidents as “perceived threats,” thereby disregarding the emotional and psychological trauma Jewish students face. This dismissal not only undermines the lived experiences of Jewish individuals but also perpetuates a dangerous narrative that contributes to the vilification of Jews across multiple spheres—on campuses, online, and in public spaces—creating an environment where hatred is legitimized and invites violence. The testimonies from Jewish students before Congress included descriptions and photographic evidence of physical assaults and intimidation, demonstrating that these acts are far from benign or nonthreatening.
I wonder how she feels about stalking?

Proudly Zionist
The debate over Zionism is not merely about territory; it is a clash over narratives, identities, and historical truths. For many Jews, Zionism represents the culmination of a struggle for survival and the affirmation of a long-denied right to sovereignty.
Yet today, “anti-Zionist” has become a weaponized slur. The way it is spat out, the way it is shouted in protests and online, carries echoes of a darker history. The venom with which it is used recalls the old-world antisemitism that once imbued the word “Jew” with scorn and hatred, now transposed onto “Zionist.” The rejection of Zionism is more than an ideological stance—it is a distortion of history, a denial of justice, and a blow to the very essence of what it means to fight for a future free from persecution. And no number of Jewish anti-Zionists can change that truth. For that lot an honest reckoning with history is a task that remains as urgent as it is elusive.
Here’s the clincher, the persistence of antisemitism today underscores the enduring need for such a movement. The reality that Jews still require a safe haven should be a sobering reminder of humanity’s capacity for irrational hatred. This deeply ingrained prejudice raises troubling questions about whether intolerance is an inherent flaw within society, a defect not merely of education or circumstance but perhaps something more fundamental.
While the notion of hatred as a “genetic defect” is a provocative hypothesis, it also invites scrutiny. Is prejudice a product of nature, or does it reflect generations of learned behaviors perpetuated by fear, ignorance, and propaganda? The persistence of antisemitism, in its many forms, suggests that combating such biases demands more than addressing individual acts of hate; it requires dismantling the structures that allow them to flourish.
In an era marked by increasing polarization, the survival of Zionism as a concept and practice continues to reflect the resilience of a people who have endured against the odds. Yet, it also serves as a litmus test for humanity’s ability—or failure—to confront its darker impulses.
For many, the question arises: Should such hate be ignored to avoid escalation, or should it be met with unwavering responses to challenge its normalization? The dilemma is profound. Ignoring it, risks allowing the hatred to fester unchecked, while responding can sometimes amplify the vitriol and expose individuals to greater harm.
This digital reality, however, is more than an abstract issue; it is the lived experience of countless Jews who must reconcile their identity with the hostility they encounter daily. It is a microcosm of the danger on the ground—a stark reminder that antisemitism, far from being a relic of the past, continues to shape the present.
In the face of this, the resilience of those who refuse to retreat into silence is an act of defiance. Yet, the collective challenge remains: to address not just the symptoms of this hate but the systems that perpetuate it, ensuring that the digital battleground does not become the blueprint for a more divided, dangerous world.