We all agree that antisemitism is wrong. There is no debate on that point. Hatred toward Jewish people, or toward any community because of who they are, is unacceptable. It is a moral failure and a danger that must be confronted wherever it appears. But acknowledging that truth does not mean ignoring how the word antisemitism is sometimes used in ways that have nothing to do with protecting Jewish communities. Increasingly, the accusation is deployed as a political tool, a way to silence criticism of Israeli government policies and to shut down conversations about Palestinian rights. This tactic works because the word carries enormous emotional weight. It evokes centuries of trauma and persecution. It demands seriousness. And because of that, it can be used to end a conversation before it begins. Raise a question about human rights and you are accused of antisemitism. Express sorrow for civilians in Gaza and you are accused of antisemitism. Criticize settlement expansion or military occupation and you are accused of antisemitism. Challenge a political leader who supports Israeli policy and you are accused of antisemitism. The accusation appears instantly, often without any engagement with the substance of the critique. But antisemitism and anti-Zionism are not the same. Antisemitism is hatred toward Jewish people. Anti Zionism is opposition to a political ideology and the state policies built upon it. One targets people for who they are. The other critiques systems of power and governance. When these two concepts are deliberately blurred, the consequences are serious. The misuse of the term weakens the fight against real antisemitism by stretching the definition so far that it loses meaning. It becomes harder to identify genuine threats and harder to confront actual bigotry. This tactic also silences Palestinians and those who stand with them. When empathy becomes suspect and when speaking about human rights becomes a liability, entire communities are pushed out of the conversation. Their stories are dismissed. Their suffering is minimized. Their voices are erased. And beyond that, a climate of fear takes hold. Students fear speaking on campus. Journalists fear asking questions. Ordinary people fear posting online. The result is not safety. The result is silence. Silence in the face of injustice has never been neutral. It allows harm to continue without challenge. It protects power rather than people. And it shifts the focus away from the lived experiences of Palestinians and toward policing language instead of addressing reality. The conversation becomes about vocabulary rather than human rights. It becomes about accusations rather than accountability. Yet despite these pressures, the world is changing. More people are beginning to understand the difference between antisemitism and anti-Zionism. They are learning that opposing a government’s actions is not the same as opposing a people. They are recognizing that solidarity with Palestinians is not an attack on Jewish identity. They are seeing that naming injustice is not hatred. It is responsibility. Today, the task before us is clarity. If we are to confront real antisemitism, we must protect the integrity of the word. If we are to pursue justice, we must allow space for truth. And if we are to build a future rooted in dignity, we must refuse to let language be used as a shield against accountability. The question now is whether the world will continue to accept this confusion or whether it will finally demand honesty and courage in the conversations that matter most.
Bob Funke, Stan Robinson, Stephen R. Low, Sofia Rose Wolman, Juliet Salameh Olivier, Dr. Rana Awwad, Professor Yara Rashid, Abby Masri, Tahani Abu Mosa, Reynad Alghool, and editor Mohammed Alghool
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