What Is Antisemitism?

The

“Official”

Definition

The IHRA (International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance) defines antisemitism as:

“A certain perception of Jews, which may be expressed as hatred toward Jews. Rhetorical and physical manifestations… are directed toward Jewish or non-Jewish individuals and/or their property, toward Jewish community institutions and religious facilities.”

The definition is accompanied by examples of behaviors that, depending on context, may be antisemitic. These include:

  • Justifying harm or violence against Jews in the name of ideology or religion

  • Spreading conspiracy theories about Jews controlling governments, media, or finance

  • Blaming all Jews for the actions of one Jewish individual or group

  • Denying or distorting the Holocaust

  • Accusing Jews of exaggerating the Holocaust

  • Alleging dual loyalty (e.g., that Jews are more loyal to Israel than their own country)

  • Denying Jews the right to self-determination (e.g., calling Israel a “racist endeavor”)

  • Holding Israel to standards not expected of any other democratic nation

  • Using antisemitic imagery to characterize Israel

  • Drawing comparisons between Israeli policy and that of the Nazis

  • Holding all Jews collectively responsible for Israeli government actions

The IHRA emphasizes that criticism of Israel is not antisemitic unless it includes these or similar patterns.

The IHEA Definition doesn’t explain much

While useful, the IHRA’s definition focuses on observable behavior but overlooks the underlying psychology behind antisemitism.

It doesn’t address the cognitive biases and emotional instincts that make antisemitic thinking feel intuitive to some.

As a result, some interpret the definition as a tool for censorship rather than education, potentially alienating those who would benefit most from a deeper understanding.

Antisemitism isn’t a character flaw—it’s a cognitive reflex.

Like confirmation bias or tribalism, antisemitism is a psychological shortcut that simplifies complex realities. It stems from an ancient instinct to rebalance perceived power imbalances to protect group fairness.

In early societies, if one person hoarded too much wealth or influence, others felt threatened. Calling it out helped preserve cohesion and survival. That instinct helped humans detect exploitation, but in modern societies, it misfires.

When people see a small, distinct group like Jews succeed across generations, that ancient reflex kicks in. Instead of recognizing resilience, education, or cultural values, the brain sees unfairness. A helpful survival instinct becomes a tool for scapegoating.

Antisemitism isn’t personal hate—it’s an old mental reflex reacting to modern complexity. Many wonder how just 0.2% of the world's population can be so visible in media, finance, or science. The honest answer—trauma, adaptation, and strong cultural continuity—is too nuanced for a brain craving simple stories.

So it invents them: conspiracies, secret control, hidden influence. These aren’t rational beliefs—they’re emotional narratives, built from fear, envy, and the desire for balance. Antisemitism spreads not because it’s true, but because it feels true.

That’s why it thrives even in political or intellectual spaces. It bypasses logic and feels like justice, especially in ideologies that promise fairness or purity. What once protected tribes now fuels dangerous myths in the modern world.

Antisemitism is psychologically intoxicating.

It creates a narrative that explains why the world feels unjust—why some succeed while others struggle.

It feeds on the human need for clarity, order, and emotional balance in the face of complexity and perceived inequality.

It creates a powerful feeling of meaning and purpose.

It removes a sense of responsibility from those who are unhappy with their place in life.

When someone feels powerless or confused, antisemitism offers a simple story:

That power is rigged, and Jews are the ones rigging it.

It removes the discomfort of nuance by assigning blame to a group that appears both successful and distinct. 

This is not rooted in evidence but in emotion—envy, fear, resentment—and it taps into ancient instincts about rebalancing perceived unfairness.

Like a drug, antisemitism provides a temporary high:

The relief of “understanding” the world, the thrill of resistance, the self-righteousness of fighting an imagined oppressor.

But it bypasses rational thought entirely.

It’s not interested in facts or context.

It is a shortcut to certainty, and like most shortcuts, it leads to a dangerous destination.

Antisemitism is not compelling because it is true.

It’s captivating because it feels true to a brain desperate to make sense of an imbalance. That’s what makes it so persistent—and so dangerous.

Learn more about the history of Antisemitism