Recent attacks on Jewish celebrations abroad have again forced New Zealand’s Jewish community to confront a hard truth: antisemitism adapts, but its target does not. The violence itself is horrifying. What follows it, however, has become grimly predictable. Almost immediately, a familiar refrain emerges — sometimes from outside the Jewish community, sometimes from within it:
Don’t blame Jews for Israel.
This reflex is now so ingrained that it is often treated as prudence or moral seriousness. In reality, it is neither. It is a concession to antisemitism that makes the problem worse.
At first glance, the argument seems sensible. Jews are not a hive mind. Most Jews outside Israel do not vote in Israeli elections. Many have never been there. Some oppose the current government. All of this is true. But none of it addresses the actual problem — because antisemitism has never depended on accuracy, nuance, or political literacy.
By insisting “don’t blame Jews for Israel,” the argument accepts the underlying premise that blame is reasonable in the first place. It does not reject collective guilt; it merely asks to be exempted from it. That is not a moral stand. It is an appeal for special pleading.
This posture has become especially pronounced since October 7, 2023. As antisemitic incidents surged globally, a parallel discourse emerged — Jewish safety would improve, we were told, if Jews clearly distanced themselves from Israel. That same framing has resurfaced following the Bondi Beach attack, where Jews celebrating Chanukah were targeted. Once again, condemnation of antisemitism was quickly paired with reminders that Israel is the real issue — and that Jews should not be associated with it.
In New Zealand, this framing has been advanced by groups such as Aotearoa Jewish Voice (AJV) and Dayenu, and echoed by activists including John Minto of the Palestine Solidarity Network Aotearoa. After Bondi, statements condemned antisemitism while simultaneously stressing that Jews are not responsible for Israel’s actions, foregrounding Gaza, and warning against adopting internationally recognised definitions of antisemitism. The message was unmistakable — the violence was wrong; but the real danger lies in Jews being too closely associated with Israel.
This is precisely backwards.
Antisemites do not attack Jews because they mistakenly believe Jews control Israel. They attack Jews because Israel represents Jewish sovereignty, agency, and self-defence — and because intimidating Jews abroad is one way of attacking that reality. Israel is not the cause of antisemitism. It is the excuse.
No other minority is required to survive by political disavowal. Muslims are not asked to renounce Muslim-majority states. Chinese communities are not expected to denounce Beijing to avoid harassment. Only Jews are told — explicitly or implicitly — that safety depends on distancing themselves from their own people’s state.
The “good Jew / bad Zionist” distinction is therefore not a shield. It is a trap. It teaches wider society that Jewish identity is conditional, that Jewish safety is negotiable, and that Jews who refuse to disown Israel are fair game. Worse still, it isolates those Jews within their own communities, marking them as liabilities rather than targets of hatred.
Too often, Jewish suffering is then carefully balanced against the suffering of others, as though Jewish grief must be morally rationed. Even after Jews are attacked, we are expected to reassure the world of our restraint, our empathy, and our ideological cleanliness. This is not solidarity. It is ritual humiliation.
Let us be clear — those who attack Jews are not confused. They are not making a “leap of logic.” They are acting on an ancient hatred that has simply learned a new vocabulary. Antisemitism has always assigned collective guilt. Today, Israel is the language through which it does so.
Jewish safety has never come from apology or appeasement. It has come from clarity — clarity about who we are, what antisemitism is, and what we will not concede. Our identity, peoplehood, and connection to Israel are not bargaining chips.
At Chanukah, this matters more than ever. The festival commemorates the Maccabees, who refused to survive by erasing themselves, diluting their identity, or seeking approval from hostile powers. Lighting candles is an act of persistence — but Chanukah is not a story of quiet accommodation. It is a story of Jewish refusal.
Refusing false premises. Refusing conditional acceptance. Refusing to disown ourselves to make hatred more comfortable.
Anything less is not wisdom. It is surrender. And surrender has never kept Jews safe.
