Not all antisemitism wears swastikas

There is a particular sentence now repeated so often in certain Jewish circles that it has become almost liturgical: “Criticizing the Israeli government is not antisemitism.”

Of course it isn’t.

Democracies should be criticized. Governments must face scrutiny. Israelis themselves criticize their governments endlessly, loudly, and often harshly.

But slogans are often most revealing not in what they say, but in what they carefully avoid saying.

Recently, both J Street⁠ and T’ruah⁠ shared this message.

J Street posted a graphic saying criticism of Israel is unfairly “flattened into antisemitism,” making “real antisemitism” harder to fight.

T’ruah opposes the IHRA definition of antisemitism that is supported by many antisemitism scholars, warning that it can suppress legitimate criticism.

Both groups have also supported legal efforts against state adoption of the IHRA framework.

The issue, however, is not whether criticism of Israel can ever be legitimate. It obviously can. The issue is whether people admit that obsession, double standards, selective outrage, and moral exceptionalism can become antisemitism — even if wrapped in universal ethics.

This dynamic becomes even more striking when expressed explicitly in the language of love and moral responsibility. Rabbi Jill Jacobs, the head of T’ruah, recently defended signing a letter supporting protests against Israel’s president, Isaac Herzog, speaking at the upcoming JTS commencement.

In explaining herself, she wrote that her criticism stemmed from “deep love and concern for the Jewish people” and Israel’s obligation to be “a light unto the nations.”

Yet Herzog is not an extremist figure. He is Israel’s largely ceremonial president and widely regarded as one of its more moderate public voices.

When even Herzog becomes morally beyond the pale in some Jewish circles, many Jews begin to suspect that the issue is no longer merely criticism of specific Israeli policies.

Imagine the following scenario.

A person from a visibly identifiable minority drives every day to a hospital for ongoing medical treatment. Because that person is caring for children and trying to hold together ordinary family responsibilities, he or she is often running late. If he or she does not arrive on time, there is a real chance the hospital will refuse treatment that day. The condition may not be immediately life-threatening, but missed treatments can cause serious deterioration and could eventually become life-threatening.

So this person speeds to the hospital, each day.

And, one morning, is pulled over.

Looking around, our subject may notice that many other cars are speeding as well — some slower, some at the same speed, and some far faster. Still, only this person alone is stopped and ticketed.

The next day, it happens again.

This time, the driver asks the officer, “Why am I the one pulled over when everyone else is speeding too?”

The officer responds: “We have to start with someone,” and dismisses any comparison to others as “whataboutism.”

Day after day, week after week, the same thing happens. Others speed openly with little consequence, while this individual is repeatedly singled out.

Then one day, the driver notices one of the officers who pulls them over has a tattoo associated with hostility toward the driver’s ethnic group.

When questioned, the officer responds with comments like: “People like you think you’re better than everyone else,” or “You think the rules don’t apply to you.”

At this point, the driver suspects that this ticketing is not really about traffic enforcement.

But the response from bystanders is immediate: “You broke the law.” “You deserved the ticket.” “Stop trying to make yourself special.”

Later, the driver unexpectedly runs into a cousin at a store and vents about the situation.

The cousin quietly admits to calling the police regularly to report the driver and ask officers to watch for that car.

Shocked, the driver asks why.

The cousin replies: “Because I love you. Speeding is dangerous. If you stop, maybe others will too. I’m doing this out of care.”

The driver responds: “But you know why I’m rushing. You know I need these treatments. You know, missing them could seriously harm me.”

The cousin nods solemnly: “I know. But our shared values require me to act. Even if it causes you suffering. Even if you miss treatment. Even if, eventually, it could endanger your life.”

Then the driver asks: “Do you also call the police about everyone else speeding?”

And the cousin answers: “Sometimes I think about it. Maybe once in a while I do. But you are my cousin, so I feel especially responsible to stop you.”

At some point, it becomes difficult to pretend that those calls are no more than the outcome of a principled concern about speeding.

And this is the point where many Jews and Israelis today feel gaslit.

We are told that relentless focus on the Jewish state is merely a moral concern. That uniquely applying standards to Israel somehow reflects universal ethics. That fixating on Jewish power, Jewish nationalism, Jewish military force, Jewish moral failure, or Jewish responsibility is unrelated to older patterns of antisemitism because the vocabulary has changed.

But antisemitism has always adapted itself to the moral language of the age.

In medieval Europe, Jews were condemned as Christ-killers. In modern racial Europe, Jews were condemned as biological contaminants. In Soviet discourse, Jews became “rootless cosmopolitans” and Zionists.

Today, Jews are often recast as uniquely oppressive nationalists whose state becomes the symbolic repository for the world’s moral anxieties.

Again: criticizing Israeli policy is not antisemitic.

But treating the Jews and the Jewish state as the singular moral emergency of our age while ignoring, excusing, or contextualizing comparable or vastly worse behavior elsewhere often is.

Demanding of Israel standards that are not expected of other countries often is.

Insisting that Jewish self-defense alone requires endless moral interrogation often is.

And when Jews or Zionists express discomfort with these patterns, only to be told that they are weaponizing antisemitism to avoid criticism, the conversation becomes even more revealing.

The IHRA definition is imperfect. No definition is flawless. But one of its most important insights is its recognition that antisemitism can manifest through double standards uniquely applied to Israel.

Not all criticism of Israel is antisemitic. But not all antisemitism announces itself with swastikas either. Sometimes, antisemitism arrives disguised as justice, ethics, or even love.