Europe’s Unfinished Lesson

When hatred of Jews becomes acceptable, the consequences rarely remain confined to the Jewish community.

Europe has a remarkable ability to remember its history while simultaneously failing to recognize its warnings. Across the continent, monuments commemorate the victims of the Holocaust, politicians solemnly declare that antisemitism must never return, and schoolchildren are taught about the dangers of hatred, discrimination and ideological extremism. Yet outside those classrooms and memorial ceremonies, European societies are struggling with increasing polarization, violent extremism, intimidation and hostility toward Jews. The uncomfortable question is whether Europe has truly learned from its history or has merely become exceptionally good at commemorating it.

Look at the tensions that have affected European cities in recent years. Demonstrations have sometimes descended into violence, political disagreements have become personal confrontations, and ideological movements increasingly demand absolute loyalty rather than thoughtful debate. Not every riot has anything to do with Israel or the Jewish people, and it would be intellectually dishonest to suggest otherwise. Economic frustration, immigration, political alienation and distrust of institutions all contribute to unrest. Nevertheless, there is a historical connection worth examining. Societies that allow hatred against one minority to become socially acceptable weaken the principles that protect everyone else.

And throughout European history, Jews have repeatedly been among the first to discover how fragile those principles really are.

Long before the Holocaust, Jewish communities experienced centuries of exclusion, forced conversion, expulsions, confiscation of property and violence. Jews were blamed for diseases, economic crises, political instability and virtually every misfortune that societies struggled to explain. During periods of uncertainty, accusations against Jews offered a convenient distraction from failures of leadership and deeper social problems. The Jewish population was rarely powerful enough to defend itself against these accusations, yet somehow powerful enough, according to its persecutors, to be responsible for everything.

The Holocaust was the most catastrophic expression of European antisemitism, but it did not emerge from an ideological vacuum. It was preceded by generations of prejudice, conspiracy theories, political opportunism and the gradual normalization of discrimination.

That history matters because hatred rarely begins with mass violence. It begins when people become comfortable with making exceptions to their own moral principles.

Today, the European Union has extensive legislation against discrimination, strong constitutional protections and institutions dedicated to human rights. Nevertheless, the European Union Agency for Fundamental Rights published a deeply troubling survey in 2024, based primarily on research conducted before October 7, 2023. Among the Jewish respondents, 96 percent reported encountering antisemitism during the preceding year, while 76 percent said they concealed their Jewish identity at least occasionally.

Consider what those figures mean. Nearly eight decades after the Holocaust, Jews in democratic Europe still feel compelled to conceal who they are.

How can a continent celebrate freedom of religion while Jewish citizens hesitate to wear a Star of David? How can governments promise equality while Jewish schools and synagogues require extensive security? And how can societies proclaim their commitment to tolerance while allowing Jewish identity to become a source of fear?

These are not merely Jewish questions. They concern the credibility of European democracy itself.

The connection with Israel makes the situation even more revealing.

Israel is a sovereign democratic state whose government, like every government, can legitimately be criticized. Its policies, military decisions and political leadership are appropriate subjects for serious public debate. But criticism crosses a fundamental moral boundary when Jewish citizens of European countries are treated as collectively responsible for decisions made in Jerusalem, or when attacks against Jewish institutions are excused as expressions of anger about events in the Middle East.

A synagogue in Amsterdam is not an Israeli government ministry. A Jewish student in Paris is not responsible for Israeli military operations. A Jewish family in London does not become a legitimate target of intimidation because somebody disagrees with Israel’s prime minister.

These distinctions should be obvious. The fact that they must repeatedly be explained is itself alarming.

The European Commission has acknowledged that antisemitism comes from different ideological environments, including the extreme right, the extreme left and Islamist extremism. These movements may disagree profoundly on religion, immigration, nationalism and political power, yet antisemitic conspiracy theories can appear across their ideological boundaries.

That should concern anyone interested in understanding the broader radicalization of European society.

Hatred is remarkably adaptable. It changes its vocabulary according to the political climate, but its underlying mechanisms remain familiar. It identifies an enemy, simplifies complicated problems, discourages independent thought and offers its followers the comforting illusion of moral superiority.

Once this mentality becomes normalized, the target can change while the method remains the same.

This is where Europe’s growing social unrest becomes relevant. The danger is not that every protest movement is antisemitic, because clearly it is not. Peaceful protest is an essential democratic freedom. The danger emerges when political conviction becomes permission to intimidate, when disagreement becomes justification for violence, and when institutions hesitate to enforce the law consistently because they fear political consequences.

A democracy cannot survive indefinitely if its citizens begin to believe that their rights depend on whether their opinions are popular.

For Israel, this European experience carries an important historical lesson.

The establishment of the modern State of Israel in 1948 was not simply the creation of another country. For the Jewish people, whose historical connection to the land stretches back thousands of years, sovereignty represented the restoration of something that centuries of persecution had demonstrated was indispensable: the ability to take responsibility for their own security and future.

This does not mean that Israel is beyond criticism or that every Israeli government decision is correct. It means that Jewish self determination cannot reasonably be treated as a privilege that must be continually justified while the national aspirations of other peoples are accepted as legitimate.

Europe’s history explains why Jewish sovereignty has such profound significance.

For centuries, Jewish survival depended heavily on the willingness of others to provide protection. Sometimes that protection existed. Sometimes it disappeared almost overnight. Laws changed, political alliances collapsed, neighbors became enemies, and communities that had contributed to European civilization for generations suddenly discovered that their belonging was conditional.

Israel changed that historical equation.

The Jewish people acquired the means to defend themselves as a nation rather than relying entirely on the goodwill of foreign governments. That independence does not eliminate danger, nor does it guarantee wise leadership, but it changes who ultimately bears responsibility for Jewish security.

There is also a lesson here for Europe that extends far beyond its relationship with Israel.

Protecting Jewish life must become more than a commemorative obligation. It requires consistent law enforcement, serious education about antisemitism in all its ideological forms, political courage and an unwillingness to excuse intimidation merely because its perpetrators claim to represent a fashionable or supposedly righteous cause.

The same standards must protect Muslims, Christians, secular citizens and every other community. Human rights lose their meaning when they become selective.

Europe does not need another generation of politicians promising that the mistakes of the past will never be repeated while tolerating the smaller injustices through which those mistakes begin.

It needs the courage to recognize that historical memory without contemporary responsibility is little more than ceremony.

And perhaps that is the most uncomfortable lesson of all.

The real measure of Europe’s commitment to its history is not how respectfully it remembers Jews who were murdered eighty years ago. It is how effectively it protects Jews who are alive today.

Israel exists partly because Jewish history demonstrated the terrible consequences of depending entirely on others for protection. Europe should not interpret that independence as an accusation against its present generations, but as a reminder of the responsibilities that accompany democracy.

Because the moment a society accepts that one community must hide its identity to remain safe, it has already surrendered something essential.

The warning is not that Europe is destined to repeat its history. The warning is that remembering history does not automatically prevent its repetition.

And if Europe wishes to prove that it has genuinely learned from its past, it must begin by ensuring that Jewish citizens no longer have to wonder whether they have a future on the continent where their ancestors lived for centuries.