By Leonard Saxe
Wednesday, October 07, 2026
Three years ago, early in the morning on October 7, 2023,
I spoke with a close friend in Israel who told me that his daughter and
son-in-law, Deborah and Shlomi Mathias, had been murdered in their home at
Kibbutz Holit. Deborah and Shlomi were peace-loving musicians who helped to
found a bilingual Jewish-Arab school where they also taught. They were the
parents of a teenager and two young adults. Their 16-year-old son, at home with
Deborah and Shlomi during the assault, survived only because his mother shielded
him with her body. His older sisters lived elsewhere on the kibbutz and were
able to hide from the Hamas terrorists.
By profession, I am a social psychologist. I try to
understand complex human behavior and develop research to address social
problems. What happened on October 7 and in its wake is horrific. My heart
breaks for the Israeli and Palestinian lives cut short and the families left to
grieve for them. My head is puzzled by the resurgence of antisemitism and the
hatred that has erupted in the shadow of Israel’s war against Hamas in Gaza.
The expressions of antisemitism that have become so
prevalent are often framed as part of a critique of Israel. But for many of us
who study anti-Jewish attitudes, it appears to be a new variant of the
historical hatred and persecution of Jews. While criticism of Israel is not
necessarily antisemitic, justifying Hamas’ violence and calling for the
elimination of Israel crosses a line for many—Jews and non-Jews alike. But
where is that line exactly, and how extensive was the antisemitic fallout for
U.S. Jews and others?
Beginning shortly after October 7, my colleagues at
Brandeis University and I set out to answer these questions as they related to
antisemitism and prejudice in higher education. Campuses were, unfortunately,
near-perfect laboratories. Anti-Israel protests broke out on campuses the day
after Hamas launched its attack on Israel, and their impact reverberated across
schools and other social institutions.
Initially, our focus was on studying the war’s impact on
Jewish students. The research evolved to include faculty and non-Jewish
students. Our goal was to create
an evidentiary base that could serve as a resource when trying to design
more effective policies and programs to combat antisemitism and other forms of
hatred.
A fundamental question has been how to identify
antisemitic speech and behavior. Formal definitions are informative but often
unhelpful. Hostility toward Jews, like other forms of hatred, is expressed in
multiple ways that change over time. Antisemitism has been expressed as a
religious hatred, as racism, and as a conspiracy about world domination.
Context matters.
Not surprisingly, antisemitism is seen differently by
non-Jews and Jews. A non-Jewish student may not recognize parallels between
October 7 and the history of discrimination and violence directed at Jews,
while Jewish students’ knowledge of the Holocaust and the persecution of Jews
in the Soviet Union and elsewhere may inform many of these students’ reactions.
Jewish students are more likely to perceive antisemitism than non-Jews, even
though they also recognize that not all critical words or acts represent
anti-Jewish hatred.
But the broader context is also important. Our most
recent student survey suggests that members of other minority
groups perceive more hostility to their group than do non-members. Just as
Jewish students often feel that their campus environment is hostile to Jews and
Israel, non-Jewish students who identify with other groups (Asian, black,
Muslim) also feel targeted by prejudice and hostility.
Today, larger forces are making antisemitism and other
forms of hatred even more difficult to address. The fractious political debate
that has disrupted many societal institutions has left young adults
particularly affected.
That hostility is “in the air” helps to explain some of
what has happened on campuses but does not entirely unravel the dynamics
underlying hatred expressed either toward Jews or Israel. In many cases, Jews
faced hostility even as the violence that began on October 7 was still
unfolding. What triggered the immediate turn to anti-Israel protests, sometimes
laced with anti-Jewish rhetoric, rather than expressions of empathy?
A key question, along with the evidentiary issue, is
whether the charges of genocide and expansionism against Israel are driven by
antisemitism. As many scholars, historians, lawyers, political scientists,
psychologists, and sociologists have argued, the charge that there is a Jewish
conspiracy to achieve world domination is one that has been around for hundreds
of years.
When my colleagues and I survey young adults, one of the
attitudes that separates those who are anti-Israel from those who are not is a
belief that Israel does not have a right to exist as a Jewish state. It is
difficult to reconcile the acceptance of that view separate from the history of
false claims about Jewish power and desire to control other people.
Rekindling age-old hatred of Jews is not just a problem
for the Jewish people and Israel. In the modern world, where weapons of war
have become more lethal than ever before, hatred-fueled violence risks
ever-widening wars and expanded risk not only for Jews, but for all peoples.
I fervently hope for peace and the end of bloodshed in
conflicts around the world. A step forward on this path would be to cease
blaming the victims. Deborah and Shlomi Mathias did not deserve to be killed
simply for living in the world’s lone Jewish state. Honoring Deborah and Shlomi
also means remembering them for what they tried to do to enable Arabs and Jews
to live together. Despite the challenges, the tragedy and failures of October 7
must move us closer to a standpoint of empathy for the suffering of all people.
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