“Do something!!” If there is one response from Jews to the recent wave of attacks on Jewish targets, it is that. And the demand is urgent. Something must be done. Governments, police forces and public bodies feel the pressure too. But the real issue is not whether action is needed, but what kind of action might actually make a difference.
The usual list of responses is by now familiar. Spend more on security. Ban the marches. Ban antisemitic chants. Prosecute offenders more aggressively. Improve Holocaust education. Expand antisemitism training in workplaces, universities and public institutions. None of these ideas is wrong. Some are plainly necessary. But taken together, they amount more to a set of reactions than a strategy.
Start with security. Protecting lives is the basic responsibility of the state, and Jewish institutions rely on it. But is a future in which Jewish life is sustainable only behind higher walls and heavier policing really acceptable? Or is it a holding operation that, however necessary, also gradually reshapes Jewish life around fear?
The marches raise similar questions. Institute for Jewish Policy Research data from 2024 show that 66 per cent of British Jews experience them as intimidating, even threatening. But would banning them make things better? The same data shows that 71 per cent of British Jews believe that pro-Palestinian marches should be allowed in a democracy like Britain. And if people are angry – legitimately or otherwise – restricting their ability to express that anger is more likely to entrench it than defuse it.
Equally, if certain antisemitic phrases or slogans are banned, activists will quickly come up with alternative creative ways to express exactly the same ideas. Despite the best intentions, such efforts quickly descend into an endless, wearying game of linguistic whack‑a‑mole. The deeper issue is how democratic societies should respond when some actors use democratic freedoms to normalise hostility towards minorities, relying on liberal restraint that they themselves do not share.
Prosecutions matter, of course. Antisemitic offences should be pursued, and consistently. But anyone who has followed the long academic and political debate about how to define antisemitism knows how contested the boundaries are. Failed or over‑zealous cases will generate backlash and deepen polarisation. The question is not whether the law should be enforced, but how to do so clearly and consistently, without over‑reacting or shrinking back when enforcement becomes contentious.
Education often feels like the safest answer. Who could object to more teaching about antisemitism or the Holocaust? Yet education is rarely straightforward. The same curriculum, taught by the same person, can have very different effects depending on the context and the audience. And we have almost no solid evidence about which educational approaches or initiatives genuinely reduce antisemitism, or even clarity on what ought to be taught in the first place. Much of the debate proceeds as if effectiveness were self‑evident, when, in reality, it is largely untested.
Which leads to a more uncomfortable conclusion: we actually know very little about what reduces antisemitism over time. Serious evaluations of interventions designed to combat antisemitism are almost non-existent. All we really know is that antisemitism has existed for centuries, constantly adapting to new political, religious and technological conditions in ways that make it extraordinarily difficult to control, and highly flammable under certain conditions. If there were a simple fix, we wouldn’t still be looking for it.
Bottom line: there is no simple answer here. But governments nonetheless face a choice. They can continue to respond episodically, with gestures and reactive measures, or they can try to constrain antisemitism’s reach, reduce its social acceptability, and limit the devastating harm it can cause, not only to Jews but to society as a whole.
Because that is the danger antisemitism poses. Antisemitism is not only “the longest hatred”, it is also the broadest. It can be manifest almost anywhere – on any part of the political spectrum, in numerous religious and national contexts – and it can be sparked by a whole host of social, economic and political factors. It exists across society at multiple levels, embedded in age-old language, cultural norms, religious and political ideas, anywhere from the highest theatres of academia to the lowest gutters of the street.
And it is profoundly toxic. It was there as a key factor during the Second World War and the devastation that conflict wrought not only on European Jewry, but on countries across the continent. It was there in the Cold War, used as a tool by the Soviets in its battle against the West, influencing geopolitics in the Middle East, fuelling hostility to Israel and sparking devastating conflict. And it’s there in Islam, particularly but not exclusively in Islamist extremism, serving as a powerful fuse to trigger all manner of terrorist atrocities around the world. Antisemitism is the perfect excuse to explain anything and everything, and to prompt some of the most appalling horrors we have seen throughout history. We learn over and again: underestimate it at your peril.
Antisemitism is often framed as a Jewish community problem because Jews bear its consequences most directly. But that is misleading. Antisemitism thrives where societies are fractured, institutions unstable, and resentment in search of simple explanations. As Vassily Grossman famously observed in his book Life and Fate, antisemitism is rarely an end in itself; it is a means, a mirror reflecting deeper social and political fractures and failures. When it is underestimated, the damage rarely remains contained.
Because of this – because antisemitism is complex, contested and poorly understood – responses to it are rarely steady or coherent. They tend instead to oscillate between overreach and underreach. We see those dynamics in the discourse today. Crack down too hard on the demonstrations, for example, and you risk undermining civil liberties, provoking backlash and feeding conspiracy narratives. Do too little and you send a signal that intimidation is tolerated. Somewhere between those poles is a workable position – but without an overarching system and framework, governments tend to lurch from one pole to the other. And when they retreat into symbolism or muddle through without a coherent strategy, extremists fill the space.
There have been recent attempts to address this. The EU and the United States have each developed detailed, long‑term strategies in the past few years to combat antisemitism, both of which are critical documents to review for anyone serious about addressing the issue. And several of the underlying principles in their plans are important. Both recognise that antisemitism is not a problem that can be tackled simply when violence erupts; it needs sustained, long-term attention. Both recognise that antisemitism is multifaceted, spanning law, politics, culture, education and the digital sphere, so initiatives are required in multiple spaces, across society. And both understand that combating antisemitism is not just about suppressing hostility to Jews, but also about strengthening Jewish life as part of a healthy democratic society.
And yet, despite their best efforts, antisemitism persists. Indeed, if anything, it is getting worse. So what is missing?
One key element, it seems to me, is the absence of sustained, professional oversight. A problem as enduring, volatile and politically charged as antisemitism cannot be addressed through occasional initiatives or crisis‑driven responses, even if collected together as parts of an overarching strategy. What is needed is a standing, cross‑disciplinary team that, collectively, holds expertise and technical skill: in antisemitism of course, but also in public policy, law, economics, intelligence, theology, education, psychology, behavioural science, media and technology and social statistics, as well as in the study of contemporary Jewry and Judaism. Taking antisemitism seriously means building a specialist team with that breadth and depth of knowledge and experience to work with government and the Jewish community to devise a comprehensive, coherent and joined-up strategy.
That strategy needs to include carefully considered interventions in multiple arenas – academia, law, politics, business, media, the arts, sport, civil society, schools, online – activating different initiatives grounded in different philosophical understandings of antisemitism.
Key hypotheses need testing. Is antisemitism best addressed directly, focusing on it specifically, or is it better addressed as part of broader anti-racism or social cohesion strategy? Does Holocaust education serve as an antidote to contemporary antisemitism, and if so, how? Can educational or cultural interventions about Jewish life and/or Israel education help to combat antisemitism? Is it more effective to combat antisemitism directly, loudly and openly, or quietly, subtly, behind-the-scenes?
Moreover, interventions need to be consistently tested, evaluated and refined, and scaled up if effective or abandoned if not. That requires ongoing research and evaluation by technically skilled social statisticians – not as a technocratic exercise, but as a way to measure impact, monitor trends, and identify unintended consequences.
And the entire endeavour requires cross-party ownership at a state level. Antisemitism is not something the Jewish community should be expected to manage on behalf of everyone else. Nor is it an issue that can be subjected to the whims of different governments of varying ideological persuasions. It needs consistency. It is a recurring national vulnerability with wider democratic consequences. Governments already accept this logic in areas like counter‑terrorism, public health and climate resilience – not because those problems can be solved once and for all, but because ignoring them is worse.
This approach offers no catharsis or guarantees. It does not promise to end antisemitism – that is not an achievable goal. What it demands instead is seriousness: a refusal to confuse activity with impact, and a willingness to tackle a hard problem over time rather than react to it in moments of panic.
Anything less is papering over the cracks. And whether democratic states are willing to approach it with the seriousness it demands tells us something important – not only about their commitment to Jewish citizens, but about how seriously they take their wider responsibility to protect democracy itself. Because when antisemitism rises, that is what is at stake.
Dr Jonathan Boyd is executive director of the Institute for Jewish Policy Research
To get more from opinion, click here to sign up for our free Editor's Picks newsletter.