29 Apr ANTI-SEMITISM: IT’S NOT WHAT WE’VE DONE WRONG, BUT WHAT WE’VE DONE RIGHT.

Following Holocaust
Remembrance Day, a
leading Jewish
organization combating
antisemitism revealed

that incidents of Jew-
hatred and violence are

at their highest since the Holocaust. This
sobering reality forces us to confront an
enduring and painful question: Why is there
such deep-rooted hatred toward the Jewish
people?
Some might argue that antisemitism stems
from centuries of Church indoctrination,
teaching that Jews were responsible for the
death of their god and prophet. While the
church is absolutely responsible for inciting
Jewish hatred, if that were the root cause, why
have Jews been persecuted for generations by
Muslims, who do not even believe in that
crucified deity?
Others claim the hatred arises because of the
State of Israel, seen by some as an occupying
force. But if that’s the case, how do we explain
the violent pogroms against Jews in nearly
every Arab country long before the modern
Jewish state ever existed?
Could it be about race? That doesn’t hold
either. Jews come from every continent and
reflect the appearance, language, and customs
of the societies they lived in. Sephardic Jews
ate the same food as their neighbors, and so
did European Jews.
Perhaps it’s about being visibly different—
like the Chassidic Jews who dress in distinct
traditional garb. But then again, the most
virulent Jew-hatred of the last century came
from Germany, where Jews largely looked and
acted just like everyone else.
So what, then, is the reason?
Chief Rabbi of Israel, Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau
Shlita, shed some light on this phenomenon:
“In advance of the International Holocaust
Remembrance Day ceremony in 2009, I
received an official invitation to speak at the
United Nations General Assembly. It wasn’t
the first time, but this time the topic was
defined. I was asked to deliver a lecture on
‘the causes and reasons behind global
antisemitism,’” Rabbi Lau recounts.
A single question hovered in the air, one I was
asked to attempt to answer: What causes the
Jewish people to be persecuted for generations
over thousands of years?
I stood at the podium, facing representatives
from many countries and nations. The moment
itself dictated the words ‘Ladies and
gentlemen,’ I began, ‘if you examine the story
of the Jewish people, both its near and distant
past, you’ll discover the answer to your
question. I’ve done it for you. I looked into
this complex story and formed a clear
conclusion.’
Antisemitism has no logical explanation! One

cannot rationally explain the roots of Jew-
hatred and persecution of the Jewish people. I

tell you—don’t even try,’” said Rabbi Lau
firmly, and he offered the following proof.
I was a Jewish child born in Poland. Around
us lived tens of thousands of Jews—citizens
of Poland—who were easily identifiable.
They had long beards and prominent sidecurls,
wore distinctive kapotes, donned hats or
shtreimels, and spoke mainly Yiddish. In
short, we were visibly different from the rest
of the population.
Often we heard harsh criticism. It was claimed
that our insistence on remaining separate—
through our names, language, clothing, and
culture—was what fueled the hatred. And
honestly, many among us tended to believe
that. The thought was that if only we would
get rid of the shtreimel and kapote, start
speaking Polish, and integrate into public
roles, everything would change for the better.
The hatred would end, the neighbors would
learn to appreciate our talent and knowledge,
and antisemitism would disappear.
Just a few kilometers from our home,’ Rabbi
Lau continued telling the ambassadors, ‘lay
the German empire. There too lived tens of
thousands of Jews. But they behaved entirely
differently. For hundreds of years, they were
careful not to wear kapotes or shtreimels.
They shaved their beards, dressed accordingly,
spoke refined German—more polished than
the Germans themselves—read Goethe and
Schiller, and strove to integrate in every
sphere.
Thousands of Jews in Germany and Austria
fought shoulder to shoulder with their fellow
Germans in World War I. Others became part
of the high culture industry, composed works,
performed music—not to mention the layer of
bankers who supported the national economy,
and the scientists and scholars who advanced
higher education, research, and modern
science.
Amazingly, these Jews were met with the
exact opposite accusations. Everyone claimed
they were going too far, that they needed to be
more modest and not take over the country.
The Protocols of the Elders of Zion portrayed
them as plotting to dominate culture and the
economy, and we all know how that ended.
In Poland, they hated us for being different. In
Germany, they persecuted us for being the
same, Rabbi Lau cried out in pain.
They threw us out of Europe because we were
guests, and they hate us because we act like
natives.
And here’s another piece of evidence, another
memory from Rabbi Lau’s childhood: “In
almost every subway station across Europe,
you could find graffiti in various languages:
‘Jews, go to Palestine.’ As a small child, I saw
that phrase in at least four languages, including
French,” he told the nations’ representatives.
There was a certain claim in that. They hated
us because we were subtenants in a house not
our own. Painful as it was, there were moments
we almost believed the cry of our neighbors,

who shouted at us: ‘Get out of our country.
Establish your own home, and we will respect
you. Just don’t live at our expense.’
Years passed, and we returned home. We
survived the Holocaust, and all we wanted
was to go to our land. And what do you know?
Suddenly, the gates were closed. We had to
sneak in on illegal immigrant boats, smuggle
across borders, and struggle.
After we finally arrived and settled in our
home, nothing helped. Just two and a half
years after the Holocaust, we found ourselves
facing seven Arab armies seeking to throw us
into the sea, and we were horrified to see the
world silent once again.
They threw us out of Europe because we were
guests, and they hate us because we act like
homeowners.’
These contradictions only deepen. In Russia,
they persecuted us because we were perceived
as capitalists. In Germany, they hated us
because we were communists. And to this day,
look at the college campuses in Europe and
the U.S.—on the surface, there is no visible
difference between Jewish students and their
peers, yet they are hated.
I have no other explanation but this,” Rabbi
Lau concluded his painful speech,
“antisemitism is a collective mental illness.
Don’t try to find a logical explanation.”
Although Rabbi Lau shlit”a didn’t offer a
specific explanation, I believe there is one
common thread that may lie at the root of this
hatred: Jewish success. Throughout history
and across the globe, Jews have consistently
excelled—intellectually, financially,
professionally, and spiritually. And success,
more often than not, breeds jealousy.
As someone once pointed out, in a classroom,
it’s not the top student who mocks those who
struggle—it’s usually the other way around,
those who feel left behind are the ones who
lash out at the good students.
This pattern repeats itself on a national scale.
The Jewish people have long been
successful—not just materially, but in
wisdom, ethics, and cultural contribution. We
have a rich heritage, a deep and meaningful
religion, and an undeniable presence in the
fields of education, business, science, and the
arts. Even in appearance, Jewish boys and
girls are often blessed with a refined and
dignified look.
Perhaps it’s not what we’ve done wrong that
draws hatred, but what we’ve done right.
I always remember the way King David
expresses it in Tehillim (chapter 144). He
begins by describing his readiness for battle,
and then shifts to highlighting the differences
between the Jewish people and their enemies.
What’s the connection? King David is
teaching us that this clear distinction—
between our values, character, and way of life
and that of our enemies—provokes jealousy
and resentment, which ultimately lead to
conflict. He fights not for conquest, but to

defend his people from those who cannot
tolerate that difference.
The pasuk states: “For our sons are like
saplings, nurtured from their youth; our
daughters like cornerstones, fashioned in the
form of a palace.”
King David draws attention to the nobility of
the next generation—our sons, growing
straight and handsom; our daughters, dignified
and refined.
One doesn’t even need elaborate commentary
to grasp this truth. Just look at the Jewish
youth in colleges and yeshivot, and compare
them to the universities protesters—or rather,
rioters. Our youth are modest, respectful,
well-mannered, and refined. The contrast
couldn’t be starker, even just externally. But
more than that, the internal difference—
values, purpose, and morality—is even
greater.
The next pasuk says: “Our storehouses are
full, overflowing with all kinds of produce;
our flocks multiply by thousands and tens of
thousands in our fields.”
Here, David Hamelech notes the material
blessing and prosperity that follow the Jewish
people. We are builders of life, not destroyers.
We cultivate, develop, and enrich the world.
We are blessed with professionals in every
field — medicine, law, education, finance,
engineering, science, technology, the arts, and
beyond. In contrast, our enemies invest in
destruction. Israel’s transformation into a
global hub of innovation and development in
just over seventy years is a living example of
this pasuk.
Then he shifts to leadership: “Our leaders
carry themselves with dignity; there is no
breach, no going out, and no outcry in our
streets.”
Jewish leadership, at its core, is rooted in
Torah—guided by righteous scholars and
moral clarity. In contrast, the leaders of our
enemies often incite violence, exploit their
own people, and hide behind civilians while
calling for war. While their leaders are busy
blaming others for their misfortunes, often the
result of their own destructive actions, our
leaders teach us not to cry or blame others, but
to strive for excellence.
These are just a few of the many distinctions
between good and evil—but they are enough
to stir envy, and that envy often leads to hatred
and violence.