The Uber-Antisemite

The Jews ultimate enemy.

The “sheep”—or what might be called the lowly useful idiots—are easy to understand. It’s now fashionable and socially acceptable to openly express Jew-hatred. The more vehemently one does so, the higher one’s status among the group. And the more one doubles down, the deeper one sinks into a frenzy of mass self-indoctrination.

I’ve seen these campus activists described as losers who can’t get invited to parties, but I’m not convinced that’s the full story. Consider a typical 19-year-old activist: fully committed, wrapped in a keffiyeh (both literally and figuratively), yet embarrassingly unable to name the river or sea when chanting “From the river to the sea.” This person isn’t doing anything new. The keffiyeh is a substitute for peacock feathers; the strutting is a mating display. On the most basic biological level, a young person can’t be blamed for such behavior. But they can—and should—be blamed when they dress it up in the tired, clichéd, yet deadly costume of moral virtue-signaling.

“The Jews have no right to Palestine!” they shout. “What river? What sea? Wait, let me think... Free Palestine!”

This activist, with barely a whisper of real knowledge in his head, is always shocked when police arrive to clear the tent cities on campus. Finals? Graduation? Those topics never came up in the organizing meetings. What will he tell his parents? Suspension? His friend Omar isn’t answering calls—probably detained too. But wait, there’s Omar in the background on the evening news, still prancing around. His role isn’t to get arrested. His job is to lead the sheep to slaughter.

Yet even organizers like Omar are just a higher tier of sheep. Presumably well-paid, they connect with local handlers—field representatives of groups like the Muslim Brotherhood or, sadly, extreme progressive organizations. The astonishing part is the alliance between these mutually exclusive worldviews. They march under the same banner, but it’s a magical one: some see rainbow colors of progressive causes; others see stark black-and-white jihadi symbols. This deception is a masterstroke, surpassing even the KGB’s invention of “Palestine” as a national identity.

The true architects of this magic are the uber-antisemites. These individuals or committees rarely appear as public figures. When they do, their Jew-hatred is carefully deflected. They have perfected both the hatred of Jews and the art of acting against them wherever Jews are found. They wave another sinister magic flag: to some eyes, it’s traditional antisemitism; to others, mere “anti-Zionism.” Waving this flag grants immunity. The most despicable acts against Jews become deniable—or worse, justifiable. The Jew can’t win; the rules shift constantly to his disadvantage. It’s a hall of magic mirrors and echoes where truth becomes falsehood, good becomes evil, and vice versa.

Forced by supposed allies to engage with this distorted view, Jews in the Diaspora and Israel often feel compelled to listen. In a state of temporary trauma, many have done so. Israeli Jews have awakened fastest, as their danger is immediate. Still, foreign diplomats arriving at Ben Gurion Airport every Monday and Thursday find some audience. A few in power still listen—but that number is shrinking as truth breaks through the illusions. The truth carries one simple message: Crush evil.

Israel’s response, though slow to start, has proven effective. It began with a precise strike at the heart of this magical hatred, a clearing of the mind from webs of deception, and orders for tanks to advance. Exposed to light, uber-antisemites become mere unter-antisemites, retreating to tunnels and darkness.

Diaspora Jews have no tanks. They have eyes, brains, and mouths. Few people argue more effectively than educated Diaspora Jews—perhaps only the ancient Greeks rivaled them. Through rhetoric, they win promotions, court cases, business deals, and success in medicine and the arts. This all happened once before, about 90 years ago in Germany and Austria. Stefan Zweig wrote about it best.

No one says “It can’t happen here” anymore. Some Diaspora Jews initially believe they must acknowledge the “anti-Zionist” flag. A few even salute it, convinced its magic doesn’t apply to them. They might don a keffiyeh for protection, shouting “Not in my name!” in hopes of acceptance or tolerance. The crowd’s body language and smirks tell a different story. He’s welcome to shout—but not invited to the after-party.

What remains? For Israel: war, for the foreseeable future. For the Diaspora: only the Jews living there can decide. Unless the tide of antisemitism reverses, I see nothing good ahead.

The uber-antisemite is flexing his muscles, testing limits—and finding them far wider than expected. He can almost taste final victory. In essence, nothing stands in the way of a continued assault on the Jews.