Walking With Dignity: A Response to Modern Antisemitism

In the last year and a half, as Israel has fought a seven-front war, and Jewish Americans have faced a rise of virulent antisemitism, we have found ourselves unified in waves of grief, fear, and resolve in ways that seemed impossible just days before October 7th. As my friend and colleague Dr. Mijal Bitton poignantly put it: the pain you are feeling is peoplehood—a visceral, soul-deep connection that many of us never imagined experiencing so profoundly in our lifetimes.

And for many of our closest friends and colleagues, there has been a second, more disorienting grief—the loss of a political and moral home. Progressive, and even liberal, spaces that once offered purpose and belonging have, for many Jews, become unrecognizable or even hostile. Jewish leaders who have long stood shoulder to shoulder with allies and friends in struggles for justice are now discovering that some of those allies and friends either do not take antisemitism seriously, or worse, perpetuate it.

You, my fellow Jews, abandoned by progressive colleagues and friends, have responded with courage and clarity. You’ve knowingly risked alienation to speak the painful truths of modern-day antisemitism on television, in op-eds, and in private conversations. You’ve said plainly: blaming American Jews for the suffering of Palestinians is antisemitic. And you are right.

But I want to offer a painful, necessary clarification.

American Jews are not being targeted because of Israeli policies. We are not being marginalized because we believe that Israel has a right to exist, that we identify as Zionist, or even because we support the IDF. The murder of Sarah Milgrim and Yaron Lischinsky, the firebombing of elderly Jews in Boulder, the vandalism of synagogues, and the chants calling for Jewish death under slogans like “globalizing the intifada”—have very little to do with actual Palestinian human rights. They are acts of pure, unadulterated antisemitism, and we must name that plainly.

Together, we are witnessing a new and deeply synergized iteration of antisemitism—one that has taken hold of the minds of many impressionable and misled young Americans, who have conflated their presumptions of Jewish identity with oppression, and thus justify or excuse antisemitism as part of their advocacy. We are watching, in real time, the most recent blood libel of Jews as genocidal, settler-colonial Nazis. We are also seeing what happens when our collective suffering is deemed unworthy. And internally, so many of us are experiencing the emotional pitfalls of privileging Western political and social frameworks over Jewish moral frameworks, such as the rabbinic teaching of kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh—the idea that all Jews are responsible for one another.

And in the contemporary Jewish American pursuit of belonging in spaces that leaned overly-critical or even hostile towards Israel—many well-intentioned Jews ignored or dismissed the decades-long warning cries of Jews from Arab countries, and of those who fled Soviet oppression. Today, we are witnessing the fusion of Soviet-style antisemitism and Islamist ideologies—two movements that, while different in origin, share a deep animus toward Jewish peoplehood and sovereignty. The precedent of these particular brands of antisemitism and indoctrination are clear—and it is incumbent upon us to study their blueprints.

During the Cold War, the former Soviet Union systematically used anti-Zionism as a cover for state-sponsored antisemitism. While officially claiming that anti-Zionism was mere opposition to a political ideology, Soviet authorities equated Zionism with fascism and imperialism, portraying Jews as bourgeois agents of foreign influence and disloyal citizens. This narrative justified surveillance, arrests, and discrimination—especially targeting Jews who expressed religious or cultural identity or any connection to Israel.

Arab nationalist regimes such as Nasser’s Egypt, Syria, Iraq, and the PLO actively imported and adapted Soviet anti-Zionist propaganda. In the mid-20th century, country after country in the Middle East passed laws or decrees criminalizing Zionist activity, often without clear definitions. This legal ambiguity enabled severe antisemitic persecution. Jews were denied legal protections, subjected to imprisonment, torture, and even public executions—such as the infamous 1969 Baghdad hangings—on accusations of dual loyalty or ties to Zionism. This campaign contributed directly to the ethnic cleansing and displacement of nearly one million Jews from Arab countries.

This particular strain of antisemitism—cloaked in anti-Zionist rhetoric—has found new life in certain progressive activist spaces. When combined with ideological elements rooted in Muslim Brotherhood teachings—many of which adopted antisemitic themes influenced by Nazi propaganda—the result is a toxic narrative now poisoning parts of our civil discourse. Today, young Americans are exposed to messages that cast Jews as white, powerful, and complicit in the oppression of BIPOC communities—an inversion of historical reality rooted in deeply antisemitic frameworks. The language of social justice is now too often weaponized to mask and perpetuate one of history’s oldest hatreds.

It’s not hard to grasp the psychological mechanisms at play: cognitive dissonance, projection, groupthink. Nor do I need to belabor the point, as the so-called ‘crime of Zionism’ has been codified into policy across the Arab world, written about here, here, here, and documented extensively by historians and scholars of antisemitism. But it bears repeating: every Jewish leader confronting antisemitism today must take these historical lessons seriously. Doing so requires intellectual honesty and historical clarity—not wishful thinking. Ignoring this reality—out of fear of alienating allies—will not make it disappear. It will only leave our communities more vulnerable to its corrosive effects.

So what can we do?

First and foremost, we must unify behind a clear and shared definition of antisemitism. If we don’t define it on our terms, others will—often in ways that erase our experiences and distort our histories. This kind of definitional ambiguity allowed antisemitism to flourish under legal cover in much of the Arab world during the 20th century. It is for this reason that JIMENA has been a strong advocate for the state of California to adopt the IHRA definition of antisemitism. Our communities know all too well the consequences when antisemitism—and its modern manifestation in anti-Zionism—are left undefined or mischaracterized.

We must reclaim the language. No one gets to define antisemitism or Zionism for us. We must speak with clarity, pride, and courage—rooted in our strength, our contributions to the world, our moral tradition, and our relentless curiosity. And we must stop issuing statements that reassure the world that American Jews are not responsible for the actions of the Israeli government. We already know that. And so do they.

So, instead of saying, “Don’t blame American Jews for Israel.” We must say, “Excluding Jews, murdering Jews, scapegoating Jews, and holding Jews to a different standard simply for being who we are—is antisemitism. And antisemitic acts of hate and the incitement leading to them have nothing to do with Palestinian human rights.” We must continuously isolate the problem and demand others do the same.

We must stop trying to prove our worth to organizations, coalitions, and universities that have shown us they do not take antisemitism seriously. It is time to walk away from spaces, even elite institutions we have invested in and benefited from, that tolerate or excuse antisemitism. We have tried to educate. We have tried to build trust. We have shown up with compassion and conviction. And still, we have been ignored. So walk away—not with bitterness, but with dignity.

We must build new alliances, investments, and relationships—boldly and unapologetically. The Abraham Accords offer a glimpse of what is possible: Jewish-Muslim partnerships rooted not in grievance but in shared dreams. We may find ourselves working alongside those with whom we disagree politically, and that’s okay. We should evaluate initiatives—whether from the left or the right—based on substance and impact, not partisanship alone.

We must also support deradicalization efforts. Education reform—at home and abroad—is essential. We should advocate conditioning US foreign aid on the removal of antisemitic content from school curricula around the world, and we must stay deeply engaged in the local schools we send our children to. Jewish business leaders, investors, and philanthropists should leverage their influence and funding to advance both domestic and international reforms aimed at curtailing antisemitism. And we must approach these efforts with compassion, not shame. Shaming backfires. But real conversation and care can break cycles of hate.

And finally, we must return to our ancient Jewish inheritance.
This is a moment to turn to our elders, to our collective memories, and to our particular family histories—because we all have them. Each and every one of us comes from lineages of people who demonstrated miraculous resilience, and who passed down material, spiritual, and cultural gifts that we can choose to unpack if we wish—to help carry us forward.

We are not merely a community defined by past traumas—we are a covenantal people defined by purpose. By memory. By Jewish values. By commitment. By language. We must remind ourselves that the Western frameworks shaping contemporary discourse around identity, power, and oppression are not the frameworks that gave our ancestors the resiliency that enabled us to be here today. They are not part of our Jewish covenantal inheritance—and it is okay, even necessary, to challenge them for the benefit of all humanity.

Judaism offers us something enduring: a framework built on the inheritance of responsibility, the sanctity of choice, the power of transgenerational bonds, the meaning of exile- and thereby indigeneity- the strength of peoplehood, and the pursuit of transcendent morality. This is our compass. It has gotten us through much darker times and will get us through these days of uncertainty.

Let’s use it with unwavering pride and goodness.