The new definition of antisemitism is transforming America – and serving a Christian nationalist plan

Illustration: Guardian Design

In 1919, Jacob Israël de Haan, an Orthodox Jewish queer poet and lawyer, arrived in British Mandate Palestine from the Netherlands. Despite his initial sympathies with Zionism, within a few years de Haan would become an outspoken critic of the movement. Driven by what he called a “natural feeling for justice”, he advocated for “another Jewish community in Palestine” – one that sought cooperation with the Arab-Palestinian community. His steadfast opposition to mainstream Zionism made de Haan a controversial figure, drawing the ire of Zionist leadership. On 30 June 1924, de Haan was assassinated by a member of the Zionist organization Haganah.

This political assassination represented not merely the elimination of one man, but a portentous statement about which perspectives would be tolerated in the emerging political landscape. A century later, we are witnessing a similar troubling pattern. As attacks against universities and intimidation of Palestinian activists become ever more rife, those who challenge Zionist orthodoxy – whether out of political conviction, religious belief or ethical principle – face exclusion, vilification and worse. This time, the main tool is a sweeping legal redefinition of antisemitism in American law and policy.

Something unprecedented – and deeply unsettling – is unfolding: under the guise of a legal redefinition of antisemitism, the basic architecture of American public life is being radically transformed. What appears, at first glance, to be a technical change in terminology has become a powerful instrument for political control, solidifying executive power to enforce a narrow, state-sanctioned definition of Judaism. In the name of combating antisemitism, this effort threatens to reshape American public life – and with it, the pillars of American liberalism. But despite what some will have you believe, two things are clear: first, this campaign does not protect Jews – it endangers them; and second, this redefinition plays into a larger Christian nationalist project.

The clash over the definition of antisemitism

Following the horrendous Hamas attack of 7 October 2023, and the subsequent war and utter destruction of Gaza, two sharply contrasting positions have emerged. On the one hand, many Jewish organizations and advocates have seen the emerging pro-Palestinian protest movement as a manifestation of antisemitism, a classic example of the over-scrutinization of Israel, and the denial of Israel’s right to defend itself.

On the other hand, many critics of Israel and of Zionism argue against this conflation and in favor of their right to support the Palestinian struggle. For them, labeling anti-Israel positions as antisemitic is a way to silence dissenting opinions and to prevent an honest discussion of Israel’s actions in Gaza.

Even before this clash entered the mainstream in the last year and a half, American decision-makers and institutions had already taken a clear side, framing anti-Israel positions as antisemitic. A landmark moment in the emergence of this new understanding of antisemitism is no doubt the 2016 International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) definition of antisemitism, which has rapidly become a legal benchmark for defining antisemitism in the US and has a growing presence in both state and federal law.

The redefinition of antisemitism isn’t simply a policy shift – it’s part of a deeper transformation of American democracy

While the core definition makes no explicit mention of Israel, the examples of purported antisemitism that IHRA provides tell a different story. Among the illustrative cases, it notes that antisemitism “might include the targeting of the state of Israel, conceived as a Jewish collectivity”. Other examples include “claiming that the existence of a state of Israel is a racist endeavor”, and “[d]rawing comparisons of contemporary Israeli policy to that of the Nazis”.

Back in his first term, Donald Trump issued a 2019 executive order directing federal agencies to consider the IHRA definition when enforcing Title VI of the Civil Rights Act, which prohibits discrimination in federally funded programs, cementing this problematic standard. It has been formally adopted in multiple federal and state statutes, in which it is used to equate criticism of Israel or Zionism with antisemitism. These laws have been applied in a range of legal and policy contexts – restricting free speech, shaping civil rights protections and even influencing the classification of hate crimes in state criminal codes.

Trump’s January 2025 executive order on “Additional Measures to Combat Antisemitism” marks a dangerous escalation in this trend. The order directs multiple federal agencies to “prosecute, remove, or otherwise hold to account the perpetrators of unlawful anti-Semitic harassment and violence”.

Just days after the order, the administration slashed $400m in federal research funding from Columbia University over what it claimed was a systemic tolerance of antisemitic activity and demanded changes to the school’s policies – a move widely seen as retaliation for pro-Palestinian campus activism, to which Columbia has consented in an extraordinary surrender of its academic freedom. Similar threats have followed against numerous additional universities. In a recent chilling development, the Department of Homeland Security arrested Mahmoud Khalil, a Palestinian permanent resident and student organizer whom the government is now seeking to deport, with more arrests promised. (Indeed, they have begun.) The redefinition of antisemitism isn’t simply a policy shift – it’s part of a deeper transformation of American democracy.

We have never been secular

No doubt, proponents of the IHRA definition raise an important point. To understand why, we need to recognize something distinctive about Jewish identity: it has always been deeply political. Unlike modern Christianity, which developed alongside a strong liberal separation of church and state, Judaism has never drawn such a sharp line. Jewish identity has long resisted the tidy categories that liberal theory prefers – religious or secular, ethnic or political, private or public. From biblical times through the diaspora and into modernity, Jewish communities understood religious life not just as a set of spiritual beliefs but as the foundation of a political community. Jewish religious leadership traditionally held legal and political authority – issuing binding rulings on property, taxation, even criminal law. This isn’t a historical anomaly – it’s a defining feature of Jewish tradition. Zionism, despite the secular aspirations of many of its founders, built on this legacy by channeling the political dimension of Jewish identity into the framework of a modern nation-state.

Accordingly, for many Jews, Israel is a crucial element of their Jewish identity. As Noah Feldman writes in To Be a Jew Today, for many American Jews, “Israel can function as the chosen focal point of their Jewish identity and connection. Caring about and supporting Israel can be constitutive of what makes them actively Jewish.” An attack on that element, a denial of its legitimacy, feels to many like an attack on who they are as Jews.

But this does not necessarily cast anti-Israel opinions as antisemitic. When we criticize something important to someone’s identity, it doesn’t automatically mean we’re attacking their identity itself. When political positions become enshrined as essential components of personhood, substantive disagreements risk being recast as attacks on identity. The result, as the scholar Richard Ford once put it, is the potential to “camouflage” ideological conflict as discrimination.

Take male circumcision – a ritual at the heart of Jewish tradition practiced by most Jewish families worldwide. When medical experts or rights advocates question circumcision based on concerns about bodily autonomy or health risks, most people understand they aren’t being antisemitic. No matter where they stand on circumcision, they recognize critics may be raising ethical questions that exist independently of Jewish identity. This same logic must apply to Israel. Criticizing Israeli policies may, for instance, reflect genuine concerns about human rights rather than prejudice against Jews, even as the criticism is directed at a defining feature of their Jewishness.

The labeling of criticism against Israel as antisemitism has already worked to quash serious discussions on Israel-Palestine in the United States. Even Kenneth Stern, who drafted the original working definition, argued in an opinion piece for the Guardian that the IHRA definition has been weaponized against legitimate political expression.

Silencing dissent

Federal measures such as Trump’s 2019 executive order have fueled a wave of investigations by the Department of Education into universities over pro-Palestinian activism, pressuring administrators to police student speech. At NYU, political statements such as “Fuck Israel” have led to antisemitism charges against students. At Columbia, students faced disciplinary charges for acts as simple as hanging Palestinian flags from dorm windows or displaying them on campus statues, underscoring the growing constraints on Palestine-related activism in academic spaces. Relatedly, recently New York’s governor ordered Hunter College to remove a job posting for a Palestinian studies position, claiming the need to “ensure that antisemitic theories are not promoted in the classroom”. This interference with academic hiring marks a dangerous precedent.

The pressure from federal and state authorities has led universities to internalize this surveillance logic. Last week, Columbia University unveiled an expansive compliance plan in response to the administration’s $400m funding cut, pledging stricter enforcement of student discipline, new security forces empowered to arrest demonstrators, mandatory identification checks at protests and a top-down review of academic programs, including scrutiny of hiring decisions and curricula. These measures reflect not only institutional capitulation, but the chilling normalization of ideological policing on campus.

The new definition of antisemitism imposes a straitjacket of Zionist identity on American Jews

A similar pattern extends to Congress, where lawmakers such as Ilhan Omar and Rashida Tlaib have been formally censured over statements critical of Israel, in effect framing Palestinian advocacy as beyond the bounds of legitimate discourse. Meanwhile, many individuals have lost jobs, been denied opportunities, or faced disciplinary measures for expressing pro-Palestinian views or criticizing Israeli policy. This dynamic narrows the space for legitimate discussion on US foreign policy and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The charge of antisemitism shifts the focus from Israel’s actions to the credibility of its critics. While combating antisemitism is imperative, the sweeping application of this label to pro-Palestinian voices endangers dissenting voices and erodes free expression, making open debate on one of the world’s most enduring conflicts increasingly difficult.

But that’s not the only problem with the new definition of antisemitism. By legally enshrining support for Israel as a defining characteristic of Jewish identity, the new definition of antisemitism imposes a straitjacket of Zionist identity on American Jews, in effect telling them that certain political positions are incompatible with being authentically Jewish. But, precisely because Jewish identity has always also been political, we should not be delegitimizing those whose Jewish identity entails a criticism or even outright rejection of ethno-national Judaism.

The historical diversity of Jewish identity

Jewish communities have always been diverse and plural in their orientations toward Jewish nationality. From the ultra-Orthodox Satmar community that opposes Zionism on religious grounds to the socialist Jewish Bund that promoted cultural autonomy without a state, to current-day Jewish American organizations that oppose Israel’s occupation and military control over Palestinians, anti-Zionist and non-Zionist movements have always been central to Jewish identity.

Many anti-Zionist Jews aren’t rejecting Jewish political life or denying Jews the right to self-determination. Rather, they’re expressing different visions of Jewish political existence and self-determination. Some of them view opposition to the state of Israel as emerging from Jewish values and traditions – whether stemming from religious beliefs about exile and redemption, or interpretations of Jewish ethical traditions that emphasize universal justice and opposition to oppression.

In his recent book The No State Solution: A Jewish Manifesto, the religion scholar Daniel Boyarin reflects on how he moved from Zionism into anti-Zionism, with “my commitment to Jewish identity and identification, Torah study, scholarship, practice, literature and liturgy, and modes of speech and thinking undiminished, even growing stronger and stronger”. Criticism of Israel can stem from deep Jewish religious commitment.

The real question, then, isn’t what the proper connection between Israel and Jewish identity is, but rather how to allow for multiple, sometimes competing interpretations of this relationship. By bootstrapping the definition of antisemitism to Israel, IHRA narrows the boundaries of legitimate Jewish identity. While Palestinians have been, without a doubt, the primary targets of this effort, it also takes aim at a rich Jewish tradition. It restricts the freedom of Jews to define their own identity, limiting the ways in which Jewish beliefs, thought and activism can be expressed.

And indeed, on college campuses and in workplaces, Jews who express solidarity with Palestinians report being called “self-hating Jews”, “un-Jews” or “traitors” by fellow students or colleagues. In fact, just this month, Trump – our self-appointed arbiter of religious authenticity – announced that the Senate minority leader, Chuck Schumer, is “not Jewish anymore”.

Defining antisemitism in the service of conservative Christians

Smearing progressive Jews as “not real Jews” has ramifications that extend far beyond the Jewish community, serving a conservative Christian strategy to exploit religious liberties for the sake of suppressing progressive values.

In recent years the US supreme court has taken a sharp turn towards conservative Christianity, altering the basic liberal structure of American constitutionalism. The court has upheld religious claims challenging pandemic restrictions on gatherings and vaccination requirements, LGBTQ+ non-discrimination laws, and the separation of church and state in public education.

This strengthens conservative Christian influence by transforming political views into constitutional protections – for example, when the supreme court ruled the constitution allowed a Catholic foster care agency to exclude same-sex couples on religious grounds. However, as David Schraub, a professor at Lewis & Clark Law School, has pointed out, this strategy faces a significant obstacle: progressive Jews. Progressive Jews, and any other group whose religious commitments might be threatened by conservative policies, could leverage the expansion of precisely these religious protections to opt out of conservative policy initiatives.

This farcical performance of concern would merely be amusing were it not for the very real possibility that it serves as a prelude for persecution

Progressive Jewish communities have already begun to challenge conservative policy agendas on religious freedom grounds – most notably around reproductive rights. In the wake of the Dobbs decision overturning Roe v Wade and the wave of state-level abortion bans that followed, Jewish women, congregations and community leaders have filed lawsuits asserting that such bans violate their religious freedom. In some cases, plaintiffs have argued that Jewish law not only permits but may even require abortion under certain circumstances. While many of these cases are still pending, in a landmark ruling in April 2024, the Indiana court of appeals recognized, for the first time, the legitimacy of such claims.

One way conservatives can eliminate this risk to their project is by questioning liberal Jews’ Jewishness. “If liberal Jews can be erased – either pushed out of the public eye or denied as genuine or authentic specimens of Judaism – then the challenge of liberal Jews disappears with it,” Schraub explains.

This isn’t just a theoretical concern – it’s already happening. Project Esther, a new initiative launched by the Christian nationalist Heritage Foundation known for Project 2025, offers a blueprint for combating antisemitism that targets not only pro-Palestinian groups but what it calls a broader “coalition of leftist, progressive organizations” – including Jewish groups – through tools such as anti-terrorism prosecutions, deportations, public firings, and efforts to “disrupt and degrade” dissenting movements. Despite its use of Jewish religious language, the plan has virtually no Jewish authors and is riddled with basic errors, including misrepresentations of Jewish texts. It chastises American Jews who don’t align with its worldview, calling them “complacent” and their positions “inexplicable”.

This farcical performance of concern would merely be amusing were it not for the very real possibility that it serves as a prelude for persecution.

Reclaiming Jewish religious freedom from the state

The increasingly aggressive use of “antisemitism” as a political instrument was never about Jewish safety. It has always been about power: consolidating a political order that merges religion, nationalism and authoritarianism under the veneer of minority protection.

The ease with which progressive Jews have been thrown under the bus makes this painfully clear. Their erasure is not a side effect – it is the mechanism through which this agenda advances. Because once Jewish identity is defined from above – even with the active participation of some Jews – any Jew who resists can be disqualified and delegitimized. This was true for de Haan, and it is true today.

The threat is immediate and ongoing. Already, whole sectors of society – educators, students, artists, political activists and immigrants – are paying the price. And if this continues, we can expect the same logic to be applied across a wider range of policies: tightening ideological control, redefining constitutional norms and re-engineering public institutions in the image of an authoritarian state.

But there is another path. The unique position of progressive Jews offers a way to push back against the rise of the far right in the US, both with regard to Israel-Palestine, but also more broadly. Recognizing the unique harm caused to Jews by the new definition of antisemitism allows us to develop new ways to combat it.

The establishment clause of the US constitution, for instance, prohibits the state from intervening in religious disputes. By adopting the IHRA definition into law, the US government has in effect taken sides in an intra-Jewish debate, recruiting Zionist Jews to side in a war against its ideological opponents. The redefinition of antisemitism is therefore not only an attack on political dissent – it is an intrusion into Jewish religious life. By codifying support for Israel as a requirement for being Jewish, these laws function as a state intervention in an ongoing Jewish theological and ethical debate.

By pushing against the legal redefinition of antisemitism, Jews can refuse to surrender their identity to the state. By continuing to anchor it firmly in their communities, they can resist the instrumentalization of Judaism against others.

Reclaiming religious freedom from the state, as part of this act of resistance, would not just protect Jewish dissenters – it would offer a broader framework for resisting state attempts to control religious identity. No government – not the Israeli government, and surely not the American government – should have the power to define what it means to be a Jew.

• Itamar Mann is an associate professor of law at the University of Haifa, and currently a Humboldt fellow at Humboldt University. He holds a doctorate from Yale Law School

• Lihi Yona is an associate professor of law and criminology at the University of Haifa. She holds a doctorate from Columbia Law School. Her research focuses on antidiscrimination law in the United States and Israel