Eighty-five years after the Wannsee Conference, the world continues to confront one of history’s most persistent forms of hatred. Antisemitism has survived monarchies, revolutions, dictatorships, democracies and technological revolutions. It has repeatedly changed its language, symbols and ideological justifications while preserving its essential character.
In every generation, antisemitism adapts itself to prevailing political and intellectual fashions. In medieval Europe, it was justified through religious doctrine. In the 19th and early 20th centuries, it adopted racial theories. Later, it found expression through nationalist and totalitarian ideologies. Today it often appears in the language of anti-Zionism, social activism and political protest.
The purpose of this essay is not merely to analyze antisemitism as a historical phenomenon, but to examine its contemporary forms, its political utility and its impact on Jewish communities throughout the world.
The observations presented here are not purely academic. They are rooted in personal experience acquired during the final years of the Soviet Union, when many Soviet Jews feared that state-sponsored anti-Zionism was evolving into something far more dangerous.
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The reflections presented in this article have deep personal roots.
On June 20, 1987, when I was 27 years old, I took minutes of a meeting of prominent Jewish intellectuals and activists outside Moscow. At that time, I was still living in the Soviet Union and waiting for permission to emigrate. Seven years had passed since I first applied to leave the USSR on Aug. 3, 1980; after seven years, I remained a refusenik.
On that day, nine leaders of the underground Jewish movement gathered in a secluded country house outside Moscow. The meeting was conducted in secrecy. We had assembled to discuss a dangerous political phenomenon that was beginning to shake Soviet society.
An organization known as Pamyat (“Memory”) had emerged onto the Soviet political stage. Although its leaders described it as a Russian patriotic and nationalist movement with hundreds of thousands of supporters throughout the country, its platform contained unmistakable anti-Zionist and antisemitic elements.
For Soviet Jews, this development generated enormous concern. Since the Six-Day War of 1967, we had lived under a constant barrage of official anti-Zionist propaganda. Yet for the first time in decades, Soviet Jews witnessed mass public demonstrations in major Soviet cities under slogans such as “Zionism is a form of fascism,” “Israel is an apartheid state” and “Jews have no place in the USSR.”
The appearance of these demonstrations raised alarming questions. Could anti-Zionist rhetoric evolve into open antisemitism? Could organized hostility toward Jews lead to violence? Could the Soviet Union witness a new wave of pogroms?
My friend, the distinguished journalist Mark Deich, described the nature of the Pamyat movement in his book Pamyat as It Is. He documented what many Soviet Jews perceived as the emergence of a nationalist and antisemitic movement operating in the final years of the Soviet regime.
The purpose of our secret meeting was simple yet profound: What should we do? How should Jewish leaders respond? How could we protect Jewish communities if antisemitic agitation escalated into violence?
The minutes of that discussion, written almost 40 years ago behind the Iron Curtain, remain surprisingly relevant today. The Soviet Union has disappeared, but many of the questions we debated in 1987 continue to confront Jewish communities throughout the world.
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One of the defining characteristics of modern antisemitism is its frequent appearance in the form of anti-Zionism.
Criticism of particular Israeli governments and policies is a legitimate part of democratic discourse. However, when opposition is directed not at specific policies but at the very existence of a Jewish state, anti-Zionism becomes something fundamentally different.
In practice, anti-Zionism often serves as the contemporary political language through which traditional antisemitic attitudes are expressed. The target has changed from “the Jew” to “the Jewish state,” but many of the accusations remain strikingly familiar.
For this reason, many Jews view anti-Zionism as one of the principal manifestations of modern antisemitism.
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Throughout history, antisemitism has adapted itself to the intellectual fashions of each era.
In medieval Europe, it was justified through religion. In the early 20th century, it adopted racial theories. Later, it found expression in totalitarian ideologies.
Today, in certain academic, political and cultural circles, anti-Zionism has become fashionable. Positions that would be considered unacceptable when directed at other minorities are often tolerated or applauded when directed at Jews or the Jewish state.
The normalization of such attitudes creates fertile ground for the resurgence of antisemitism.
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Antisemitism has rarely been spontaneous. Throughout history, it has served as a political instrument.
Political movements frequently seek a symbolic enemy onto whom they can project public frustrations, economic anxieties, social tensions and political failures. Jews have often been assigned this role.
The success of antisemitic movements demonstrates that hatred alone is not enough. Every political movement requires organization, leadership, financing, communication systems, ideological messaging, recruitment mechanisms, media support and effective propaganda.
Modern technology has dramatically increased the ability of antisemitic movements to coordinate internationally, spread propaganda, mobilize supporters and influence public opinion through media, TV and newspapers.
Understanding these organizational structures is essential for understanding how modern antisemitism spreads and gains influence.
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Jews living in the Diaspora are not responsible for the rise of antisemitism.
Antisemitism originates within the societies that produce it. It reflects deeper political, cultural and psychological problems. Like a malignant growth, antisemitism is not a disease of the Jews; it is a disease of the society in which it develops.
It signals insecurity, intolerance, extremism and the search for scapegoats.
For this reason, antisemitism should be understood not only as a threat to Jews but also as a warning sign of broader democratic and moral decline.
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For thousands of years, Jews have been accused of virtually every imaginable crime.
They were accused of betraying Pharaoh, killing Jesus, using the blood of Christian children for Passover rituals, undermining the French Republic, organizing the Russian Revolution, murdering the Romanov family, controlling global finance, controlling global communism, shaking the Soviet Union, attacking Arab neighbors and Soviet allies.
The accusations change with every generation. Often they directly contradict one another. Yet the underlying pattern remains constant.
The central lesson of Jewish history is that antisemitism is not based on evidence. It is based on prejudice.
Therefore, Jews should not waste their energy attempting to prove their innocence before those who are determined to find them guilty. The burden of proof belongs to the accuser, not to the accused.
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History demonstrates that antisemitism frequently produces consequences opposite to those intended by its advocates.
Rather than destroying Jewish identity, it often strengthens it.
Periods of hostility encourage Jews to support one another, strengthen communal institutions, preserve historical memory and deepen their connection to Jewish heritage.
The emergence of antisemitic movements has repeatedly reinforced Jewish solidarity.
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The establishment of the State of Israel fundamentally changed Jewish history.
For the first time in nearly 2,000 years, Jews possessed a sovereign homeland capable of providing refuge, protection and national self-determination.
As antisemitism rises in different parts of the world, many Jews increasingly view Israel not merely as a state but as the center of Jewish continuity and collective security.
History suggests that sustained antisemitic pressure often strengthens the connection between Diaspora communities and Israel and may encourage new waves of aliyah.
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When we met secretly outside Moscow in June 1987, our greatest concern was how to respond to a growing antisemitic movement before it became a greater danger.
Nearly 40 years later, the political systems, technologies and slogans have changed, but the essential challenge remains remarkably similar.
Modern antisemitism continues to evolve. It adopts new language, new platforms and new political justifications. Yet its purpose remains the same: to isolate Jews, delegitimize Jewish state and challenge the legitimacy of Jewish self-determination.
The struggle against antisemitism is therefore not merely a Jewish concern. It is a test of the moral and democratic health of every society in which it appears.
I hope that the experiences of Soviet Jewry, the lessons learned by the refusenik movement, and the courage of today’s young Jewish leaders may help guide a new generation confronting the challenges of antisemitism in the 21st century.
The names have changed. The methods have changed. The technology has changed.
Yet the challenge remains.
NOTE: The article was written behind the Iron Curtain in Russian, before the collapse of Soviet Union and translated by Google AI on June 18, 2026.
