Last Refuge of a Scoundrel

The rabbi at Sha’are Tikvah mentions the graffiti.
Of course I’ve seen it.

Turns out the artist is Israeli. Rabbi Raphi even knows the guy. Troubled soul, apparently.

As antisemitic graffiti goes, it’s actually quite respectful.

For a start, the setting. The soft cobbled streets of old Lisbon.

And the colours. Blue on white, like an Israeli flag. Undercover patriotism.

Then there’s the wording itself, “Zionists Out!”
Out of where? Out of here? Out of the closet?
The Nun looks like a Chet, Tamir points out. Maybe it reads “ZioChim Out!” ZioChim, a new, cute term for Jews holidaying in Portugal.

But let’s say it really is “Zionists”. At least it’s in Hebrew.

When antisemitism is written in English, it’s aimed at a broad audience. A chant, not a message. Let’s shout together. Let’s make the Jews feel watched, uneasy, unwelcome. It’s exclusive, ‘The Jews’ are left out of the discussion.

Death, Death to the IDF.
From the River to the Sea. Palestine Will Be Free.

By contrast, “Zionists Out” in Hebrew is radically inclusive.
It’s only for Jews. Only an Israeli, or a fairly clued-up Jew, can even read it. A message addressed inward, to the community itself.

Perhaps our graffiti artist is simply saying:

My dear fellow Zionists, heed this warning. Portugal is no paradise. The custard tarts lure, the wooden cockerels mock. Rain will drown your dreams in winter; summer will bake your illusions to ash.

Don’t stay. Don’t linger. Don’t let the sun, the tile streets, the soft Atlantic air convince you it’s worth it. You will argue with bakers for gluten free rolls, beg for kosher meat, explain yourself to strangers who do not care and make strange glottal sounds when they speak.

Get out while you still can.
Before the streets themselves decide to spit you out.
Before Lisbon swallows you whole, leaving nothing but a blue and white smear.