On Oct. 7, 2023, as I turned 58 and completed the Sleeping Bear Half Marathon, my thoughts were not of personal triumph but of distant tragedy.
The news of the massacre, rapes and abductions in Israel weighed heavily on me, evoking memories of my grandfather’s experiences in Paks, Hungary, where he witnessed a pogrom as a child. I grew up on his stories of violence and murder against Jews and was always conscious of his warnings that, if conditions were right, it could all happen again.
The recent events have left many in our community emotional and upset. They are losing lifelong friends. Progressive Jews are losing allies. We are feeling alone and isolated. We see lies masquerading as truth, amplified on social media and in street protests. We see Jews being endangered on college campuses. Despite what you may read about a powerful Jewish lobby, Jews represent just 0.2% of the world’s population. We are a vulnerable minority, often perceived as more powerful than we are because of ingrained antisemitism.
In 2017, after the Charlottesville, Va. “Unite The Right” rally (Tiki-torch guys chanting “Jews will not replace us”), Betsy Coffia invited me to speak at an anti-Nazi vigil near the courthouse.
Back then, I felt like things were going to get bad, but also that fellow progressives had my back. I don’t feel that way anymore.
There was just a tiny scattering of people at a Traverse City vigil after the Oct. 7 massacre in Israel. Then an anti-Israel “discussion” came to the Traverse Area District Library on Nov. 15, and it was so crowded that I wasn’t able to get in.
Yet, I knew that the invited speakers there have a track record of rhetoric that crosses the line from anti-Israel to antisemitic. In my work as a journalist specializing in Jewish and Mideast issues, I know the difference.
The official definition of antisemitism, as stated by the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance, is “a certain perception of Jews, which may be expressed as hatred toward Jews.
Rhetorical and physical manifestations of antisemitism are directed toward Jewish or non-Jewish individuals and/or their property, toward Jewish community institutions and religious facilities.”
It does not define any criticism of Israel as antisemitic. It does, however, say that it is antisemitic to deny “the Jewish people their right to self-determination, e.g., by claiming that the existence of a state of Israel is a racist endeavor.”
Jews are constantly lectured about how “criticism of Israel isn’t antisemitism.” On the surface, no. Yet what is often heard is not criticism of Israel, but rhetoric calling for its destruction. That is what I hear and see in protests around the world. I hear chants of “From the River to the Sea, Palestine will be free,” which is a call for the genocide of 7 million Israelis. When I hear calls to “Globalize the Intifada,” it is an invitation to target Jews for violence around the world. Holding Jews everywhere responsible for the actions of the Israeli government is not “pro-Palestinian,” it is antisemitic.
On a personal note, I was managing editor at the Jewish Telegraphic Agency in New York in 2000 and helped lead our coverage of peace talks between Ehud Barak and Yasser Arafat at Camp David. When talks broke down, and Arafat chose Intifada rather than a Palestinian state, I quit my job in disgust and stopped writing about the Mideast for the next 16 years. I didn’t pick it up again until 2016, when the rise of Trump also led to a rise in antisemitism.
However, to attribute antisemitism to any single political party is to misunderstand its nature and ability to morph and adapt to any ideology. There is antisemitism on both the right and the left – and my mother always taught me to look both ways before crossing the street.
So, what’s within our power to do?
Education is key. There are many who, once informed, would not advocate for harm against Jews.
We need to engage in conversations, whether online, on campuses, in politics or in the workplace, to dispel myths and share truths.
We must decide whether to block or engage with antisemitic rhetoric online and, when engaging, whether to respond with anger or education.
It’s about reaching those who are open to understanding, not just those who argue.
Locally, we’ve seen bright spots, such as Rabbi Laibel Shemtov’s efforts to bring the Jewish community together in Traverse City. His work with Chabad, reaching out to Jews and non-Jews of all backgrounds, including the recent Menorah Lighting, gives me hope for our community.
As we navigate these complex times, I urge you, regardless of your background or beliefs, to reach out to your Jewish friends and neighbors. Ask how you can support them.
Understand that acknowledging Jewish pain does not diminish others’ suffering. It’s about standing together against hatred and bigotry – in all its forms.