The Poison

The television was on, but I wasn’t listening. It was the second time that day Netanyahu appeared, delivering his words with the academic tone of someone trying to teach history to its author. He spoke of anti-Semitism, but what I saw was a desperate man, locked inside his own arrogance, wielding a sacred word as a key to unlock the gates of the International Criminal Court.

I sat down—not because I wanted to listen, but because I needed to bear witness. Something is sickening about the way he turns historical weight into political currency. He doesn’t speak to Jews; he talks about Jews as though we were abstract symbols in his political chess game. Each word carried the mechanical cadence of a man who has sold his narrative so many times that he has forgotten the value of what he’s selling.

What angers me most isn’t him but what he leaves behind. Every time Netanyahu trivializes anti-Semitism, he removes another brick from the wall that protects us. He makes the world believe it’s just a weaponized word, a tool to silence critics, rather than a real, living threat that has spanned centuries and massacred millions. And we, here, allow it. We applaud. We repeat it.

I thought of my Uncle Solomon, with his thick Polish accent and the almost theatrical way he measured each word. He never spoke of the years he spent running, but he always said: “Anti-Semitism is not an excuse, boy. It’s poison. Do you understand? Poison. Use it wrong, and it comes back inside.” I never knew if he was speaking of his own story or ours, but now I understand. It’s a warning, and almost no one is listening.

As Netanyahu droned on, I wondered how many leaders in how many countries were watching and laughing, not at us, but at what he made possible. Today, Netanyahu uses anti-Semitism as a shield against a tribunal; tomorrow, others will use it for anything they desire. And when everyone plays this game, what will be left for those needing protection?

Destruction often begins with language. It isn’t an explosion or a fire; it’s the slow decay of meaning. First, you say anti-Semitism is any criticism of Israel. Then, you say it’s any criticism of you. And before anyone realizes it, the word carries no weight. It’s just a sound, hollow and stripped of memory and strength.

When his speech ended, I remained on the sofa, unmoving. Not because I was tired but because indignation pinned me there. It wasn’t just Netanyahu who had failed us; it was all of us. Those who watch in silence, who accept out of fear of dissent. Because perhaps, deep down, we’ve grown too comfortable hearing lies when they come packaged with promises of power.

I got up and walked to the window, but the view was the same: poorly sketched shadows and lights that didn’t illuminate anything real. I thought the problem wasn’t the man but the people who allowed him to get there. And the worst part is that, in this silence, the poison keeps spreading.