The Oldest Hatred in a New Mask

Anti-Semitism, Israel, and the Cost of Silence

Anti-Semitism is often called the world’s oldest hate—and for good reason. It outlasted the Roman Empire, the Spanish Inquisition, the Russian czars, and Nazi Germany. It has adapted to every political era like a virus, mutating into whatever form will survive: religion-based hate, race-based hate, conspiracy-laced hate, politically convenient hate. And today, in our fractured, digitally amplified, hyper-polarized world, it is thriving once again.

We all know about the Holocaust. Or at least, we say we do. It’s one of the most widely taught historical atrocities in the West. Six million murdered. Entire villages wiped off the map. Gas chambers, death camps, children shot in the street. The scale of industrialized extermination still defies comprehension. And yet, somehow, people forget. Or distort. Or deny.

The phrase “Never Again” became a sacred vow. But slogans don’t protect people. Memory doesn’t guarantee action. The Nazis were defeated in 1945, but anti-Semitism didn’t vanish—it simply shape-shifted. In recent years, it’s returned with a vengeance. Synagogues attacked. Jewish students threatened on campuses. Ancient conspiracies dressed up in new language and spread like wildfire on TikTok, Reddit, and YouTube.

Today, the hate comes from all sides. From the far right: white nationalists chanting “Jews will not replace us” with torches in Charlottesville. From the far left: reflexive demonization of Israel that spills over into classic anti-Jewish tropes. From the conspiracy-addled center: a stew of “globalist elites,” Rothschild cabals, and shadowy financial powers whispered about in podcasts and populist talking points.

Let me be clear: anti-Zionism is not inherently anti-Semitic. But when opposition to Israeli policy slides into attacks on Jews everywhere—when protest signs say “Hitler was right” or synagogues are vandalized after an IDF strike in Gaza—then we are no longer talking about politics. We are talking about hate.

I believe the Jewish people need—and deserve—a homeland. After millennia of exile, persecution, and genocide, a sovereign state offers not just refuge but a powerful affirmation of existence. That state is Israel. But loving Israel does not mean surrendering moral judgment. It does not mean supporting a government blindly. And it does not mean remaining silent when atrocities are committed in the name of Jewish safety.

Which brings us to Benjamin Netanyahu.

For over a decade, Netanyahu has pursued a cynical, ruthless, and morally bankrupt strategy of entrenching power at all costs. Under his leadership, Israel has moved steadily toward authoritarianism, with a right-wing coalition that includes religious extremists and openly racist factions. His government’s treatment of Palestinians in Gaza and the West Bank—particularly in recent months—has crossed from aggressive to unconscionable.

Entire neighborhoods flattened. Civilian infrastructure destroyed. Thousands dead, including women and children. Collective punishment on a massive scale, under the banner of counterterrorism. Yes, Hamas is a terrorist organization. Yes, Israel has a right to defend itself. But what Netanyahu has overseen is not defense—it is vengeance, waged with the blunt force of overwhelming military power and little regard for proportionality or international law.

And the consequences are global.

Every missile that kills a family in Rafah becomes a recruiting poster for anti-Semites around the world. Every time a hospital is bombed or a journalist is silenced, the backlash doesn’t stop at Israel’s borders. It spills into Europe, into America, into Latin America, into Asia. It hits Jewish communities that had nothing to do with Netanyahu’s decisions. It feeds the lie that all Jews are complicit. It breathes new life into ancient hatreds under the guise of “solidarity” with Palestine.

Netanyahu knows this. He is not naive. But he does not care. Because for him, fear is useful. Fear justifies repression. Fear consolidates power. And fear—of Iran, of Arabs, of anti-Semitism itself—allows him to wrap himself in the mantle of Jewish survival while enacting policies that endanger Jews everywhere.

Here lies the cruel paradox: Netanyahu presents himself as the protector of the Jewish people, but his actions have made them more vulnerable than ever. Not just in Tel Aviv, but in Paris. In Brooklyn. In Buenos Aires. He has blurred the line between Judaism and his own nationalist ideology, making every Israeli airstrike a litmus test of Jewish loyalty, and every criticism a supposed threat to Jewish existence.

That’s not leadership. That’s exploitation.

It is possible—essential, even—to stand against anti-Semitism while also standing against Israeli human rights violations. The two are not mutually exclusive. In fact, to truly oppose anti-Semitism, we must oppose all systems of oppression, including those carried out by Jews against others. Moral consistency is not betrayal. It is integrity.

But we also must not allow our rightful outrage at Israeli policies to morph into blanket hatred of Jews. That’s the trap many are falling into now. Social media is flooded with posts that start with legitimate critiques of Gaza policy and end with anti-Jewish slurs, Holocaust denial, or praise for terrorists. In some activist circles, simply being Jewish is seen as suspect—as if ethnicity equals endorsement of Netanyahu. This is ignorance masquerading as righteousness.

It’s also dangerous.

History tells us what happens when this line is crossed. Jews were blamed for plagues, for economic crashes, for war. Now, in some corners of the world, they are blamed for every Israeli bullet. The right-wing populists seize on this to stoke their base. The far-left purists fall into it with blinders on. And the centrists, confused or indifferent, say nothing.

This is how the oldest hate survives.

The solution is not silence. It is clarity.

We must be clear that anti-Semitism is real, growing, and deadly. We must also be clear that the current Israeli government is acting immorally and must be held accountable. We must separate Jewish identity from political nationalism. We must defend Jewish lives and Palestinian lives with equal urgency. We must refuse to be manipulated by fear, by propaganda, by the zero-sum lie that says if you support one, you must destroy the other.

Jewish trauma is real. So is Palestinian suffering. If we cannot hold both truths, we are not serious about peace—or justice.

This is a call for nuance in an age of rage. A call for courage in an age of cowardice. And a call to remember that the real enemy of both Jews and Palestinians is not each other—it is hatred, it is power unchecked, it is the kind of thinking that reduces human beings to symbols and lives to statistics.

The oldest hate is knocking again. Dressed in new clothes, speaking new slogans, but driven by the same ancient rot. It is our duty—not just as Jews, not just as Palestinians, but as human beings—to slam the door.

And then open another one. Toward something better.

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Until we meet again, let your conscience be your guide.