The New Crusade: The Return of Anti-Semitism

THE NEW CRUSADE

By Raymond Wacks

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The Montréal Review, December 2024

"Execution of Jews" Illustration from a Bible moralisée, dated c. 1234.

I am driving along a well-remembered highway in Randburg. It is 2005 – the last time I visited South Africa (where I was born and, as they say, bred). Randburg is an anonymous conurbation on the outskirts of Johannesburg. As a student, I had a vacation job here as a cashier in a supermarket.

But is this really Randburg? Formerly a whites-only area, I see only black faces. My supermarket has disappeared. The shopping mall is unrecognisable. I must have taken a wrong turn. Peering at the road sign, I am reassured. This is indeed Hendrik Verwoerd Drive.

Former Prime Minister Hendrik Verwoerd? In post-apartheid South Africa? Surely this architect of evil cannot still be celebrated 15 years after the demise of what he called ‘separate development’? While many towns and public places have been accorded new (or pre-existing) African names, several roads have been reborn to conform to the new ideology. Nelson Mandela features prominently, of course, but there are also streets dedicated to the memory of Che Guevara, Joe Slovo, and other revolutionary heroes.

Perhaps, I thought, policy had simply failed to catch up with principle. Nevertheless, it struck me as astonishing that Verwoerd should continue to be venerated. It was he who famously declared that his government’s role was ‘the preservation of the white man and his state’. Under his premiership, from 1958 until his assassination in 1966, apartheid was not only consolidated, but clothed in philosophical, cultural, and theological validation that drew on the seductive power of Afrikaner nationalism. He had, in fact, presided over the country’s break with Britain and the establishment of a republic. And, under his steely, cerebral leadership, the African National Congress was banned, and Nelson Mandela was sentenced to life imprisonment.

What is ‘apartheid’?

Apartheid, it is frequently forgotten – or conveniently overlooked – was not merely racial segregation. It was an elaborate, intricate project, sustained by a doctrinaire philosophy applied by an authoritarian regime buttressed by draconian legislation. It relied on an unaccountable security force with sweeping powers, a largely enthusiastic legislature and a mostly pliant judiciary. The legal system was the creation of a white minority; the political system disenfranchised every ‘non-white’ person, and the law discriminated against them in almost every facet of social and economic life: employment, land, housing, education, sex and freedom of movement.

Deaths in detention and torture were systemic. ‘He slipped in the shower’ or ‘he jumped from the interrogation room window’ were the stock explanations offered by the security branch. Surveillance, intimidation, and police brutality were routine. Apartheid South Africa was the archetypal modern police state. The Broederbond, a secret, Calvinist, all-male society fostered Afrikaner interests. Jan Smuts described it as a ‘dangerous, cunning, political fascist organisation’.

The neo-Nazi nature of this totalitarian order was one of its fundamental components. I remember the day that Verwoerd’s successor, John Vorster, was elected. We university students greeted each other with mock Nazi salutes. He was detained in 1942 as a result of his membership of the pro-Nazi Ossewabrandwag, which supported Germany during the Second World War.

Resisting injustice

There was, of course, a small minority of whites, including Afrikaners, who opposed the injustice of apartheid. A conspicuous example was the lawyer, Bram Fischer. Despite his impeccable Afrikaner antecedents (his father was Judge President of the Orange Free State; his grandfather, a member of the cabinet) he championed the rights of the oppressed, defending Mandela in the notorious Rivonia trial of 1963-4. Enduring considerable personal suffering and sacrifice, he went underground to wage war against the iniquity of apartheid.

In 1966, he was convicted of furthering the aims of communism – a catch-all charge, since communism was defined to include ‘bringing about any political, industrial, social, or economic change… by the promotion of disturbance or disorder’ or ‘encouraging feelings of hostility between the European and the non-European races… the consequences of which are calculated to further… disorder’. The statute empowered the minister of justice to brand as a communist any person he decided fitted the description.

Fischer was sentenced to life imprisonment, during which he developed cancer. As a result of a fall, he fractured his neck and femur. He was partially paralysed and lost the ability to talk. Three months elapsed before the authorities permitted his transfer to hospital. He died soon thereafter. Ruthless inhumanity and petty vindictiveness were among the hallmarks of apartheid.

Nelson Mandela described Fischer as ‘one of the bravest and staunchest friends of the freedom struggle that I have ever known … displaying a level of courage and sacrifice that was in a class by itself’.

Killing opponents

The generosity of definition of the Suppression of Communism Act of 1950 was equalled by the Terrorism Act of 1967 which defined ‘terrorism’ as including anything that might ‘endanger the maintenance of law and order’. Life sentences in South Africa were exactly that. And the gallows were kept busy: between 1910 and 1989 more than 4,200 executions were carried out. About half of those met their end between 1978 and 1989 when the struggle against apartheid was at its peak.

The overwhelming majority of those put to death were black; many were political prisoners. At the end of July 1989, for example, a total of 283 prisoners were being held on death row at Pretoria Central Prison. Of these, 272 were black; 11 were white. In March 1988, 53 individuals were hanged for politically related crimes.

Apartheid stands alone

It hardly requires stating that injustice in our world is ubiquitous. But the abomination of apartheid was unique. The United Nations sought in 1973 to crystallise its essence by establishing it as a crime. According to the Apartheid Convention, the offence consists of inhuman acts committed for the purpose of maintaining domination by one racial group over any other, and systematically oppressing them.

The authors of the Convention, in pursuit of greater precision, provided a catalogue of the acts embraced by the crime, including murder, torture, inhuman treatment and arbitrary arrest of members of a racial group, legislation that discriminates in the political, social, economic and cultural fields, separate residential areas for racial groups, the prohibition of interracial marriages, and the persecution of opponents of apartheid.

The text captures the quintessential elements of apartheid as applied in South Africa – even though it drains it of much of the system’s malevolence and authoritarianism touched on above. And, despite the demise of apartheid in 1994, the offence lives on. Thus, in 1998, the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court included apartheid, along with a catalogue of other wrongs such as murder, extermination, enslavement, and torture, as a crime against humanity.

Apartheid exported?

Lawyers – and other pedants – may therefore claim that, notwithstanding the terms of the Apartheid Convention, and its explicit description of the South African situation, apartheid may exist anywhere. This folly has, of course, given rise to the absurd contention that Israel is an ‘apartheid state’. The Jewish state is far from a paragon of virtue, but stigmatising it in this cavalier manner is itself a grotesque injustice – and an affront to those who endured the long years of torment and persecution in South Africa.

The subjectivity of suffering renders any attempt to calibrate injustice, difficult. It is specious and misconceived, however, to describe Israel as implementing apartheid – even by the standards of international law.

Where are the ‘inhumane acts… of an institutionalised regime of systematic oppression and domination’ by one race over another, as specified in the Rome Statute? Unlike blacks under apartheid, Israeli Arabs are enfranchised, stand for election to the Knesset, and are appointed to the judiciary. They have the freedom to attend any hospital, school, or university. They are not denied access to beaches, cinemas, theatres, libraries, sporting facilities. They may choose who to love. And it is reportedly easier for an Arab citizen of Israel to buy an apartment in Tel Aviv or Jerusalem than in Beirut, Bahrain, Kuwait, or Doha.

The search for apartheid

Even Richard Goldstone, the former South African judge who headed the censorious inquiry into Israel’s ‘Cast Lead’ operation in Gaza, conceded that in Israel, ‘there is no apartheid. Nothing there comes close to the definition of apartheid under the 1998 Rome Statute…’ In an article in the New York Times in October 2011, he declared:

I know all too well the cruelty of South Africa’s abhorrent apartheid system, under which human beings characterised as black had no rights to vote, hold political office, use ‘white’ toilets or beaches, marry whites, live in whites-only areas or even be there without a ‘pass.’ Blacks critically injured in car accidents were left to bleed to death if there was no ‘black’ ambulance to rush them to a ‘black’ hospital. ‘White’ hospitals were prohibited from saving their lives.

The plight of those who live in Gaza and the West Bank is plainly different. Combating terrorism and maintaining security inevitably exact a high price. It cannot be denied that many Palestinians encounter hardship, privation, and indignity, especially of course since the war on Hamas in the wake of its barbaric attack on Israel of 7 October 2023. But one might ask: Where is the sympathy and compassion for those who live in squalid camps in various Arab countries?

In Lebanon, for example, up to 400,000 Palestinian refugees live in appalling social and economic conditions, many in overcrowded camps without essential utilities. They are effectively stateless. In 2001, the Lebanese parliament enacted legislation prohibiting Palestinians from owning property. The law also restricts their ability to work in several areas. While a ban on Palestinians holding most clerical and technical positions was terminated – provided they obtained temporary work permits – more than 20 high-level professions are denied to Palestinians. Moreover, Palestinians are not eligible for social security benefits. They are subject also to discrimination in respect of housing, property ownership, inheritance rights, and freedom of movement and residence.

Selective outrage

Where is the expression of indignation at these measures? Is Lebanon not an ‘apartheid state’? What about Syrian discrimination against Sunnis and Christians? Or its gulag of extermination camps in which thousands of political opponents are executed and tortured? Why is Israel singled out for censure and boycotts? Even in the case of Gaza and the West Bank it is mendacious and mischievous to describe Israeli policy as apartheid. Is the Israeli government really an ‘institutionalised regime of systematic oppression and domination by one racial group?’

Whatever traction its advocates seek to gain from the South African archetype, the argument actually undermines the Palestinian cause. If there is injustice, let us call it by its name. Simplistic sloganeering is unhelpful. It is no less so than in the increasingly fashionable designation of ‘Holocaust’ to instances of barbarity that, while plainly heinous, fall far short of the depravity of the Third Reich. There are, of course, all too many examples of egregious attempts at genocide around the world but they are usually confined to a single nation and spring from internecine tribal or religious divisions. The ‘final solution’ – the wholesale extermination of the Jews (not merely in one country, but across all of Europe) – stands alone as a paradigm of inhumanity and iniquity. Let it be.

It is no answer to assert that these usages are merely metaphorical. Metaphor often enriches language. But it may also debase. The capricious abuse of ‘apartheid’, along with ‘massacre’, ‘genocide’, and ‘occupation’, has lamentably become commonplace.

Factual and linguistic precision is more likely to generate solutions to intractable political problems. Reckless rhetoric may appeal to the demagogue; it has no place in the quest for peace and justice.

(I have now discovered – thanks to Google maps – that Hendrik Verwoerd Drive has been renamed. It is now Bram Fischer Drive.)

Lawfare

Israel is confronted not only by military adversaries on several fronts, its enemies have launched attacks in both international tribunals of the United Nations: the International Court of Justice (ICJ) and the International Criminal Court (ICC).

In an earlier essay (The Montréal Review, January 2024) I described how South Africa has assumed the role of conscientious accuser, allegedly with moral and financial support from Iran. In fact, a mere ten days after 7 October, South Africa’s then foreign minister, Naledi Pandor, held a telephone call with the then leader of Hamas, Ismail Haniyeh, to express the country’s ‘solidarity and support’ for the Palestinian people. This was followed in January by a delegation of three Hamas officials to Pretoria.

South Africa’s application to the International Court of Justice (ICJ) seeks a ‘provisional measure of protection’ in order to impose a ceasefire to halt the conflict. The case was brought under the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, enacted after the Holocaust. It defines genocide as a number of acts ‘committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group…’

Intention is plainly a fundamental requirement of the offence. In its pleadings, South Africa enumerated a long catalogue of events, going back decades, that, it alleged, constituted factual evidence of genocide. It sought to convince the Court that various bellicose statements, uttered in the aftermath of the gruesome attacks, demonstrated the requisite intention by Israel to commit this ‘crime of crimes.’

I suggested that it was not wholly unreasonable, following the atrocities of 7 October, that certain political and military leaders impetuously uttered strident calls to arms, promising vengeance and retaliation for the unspeakable suffering that befell so many of their innocent citizens and foreign visitors. To treat such injudicious remarks—made in the heat of a national tragedy—as evidence of a State’s intention to commit genocide, I argued, is both disingenuous and tendentious, especially as they included comments made by individuals with no role in Israel’s military decision-making.

I also contended that to allege genocidal intent by Israel is even less credible, given that it is engaged in a response to an enemy that is committed to the Jewish state’s annihilation. The 2017 revised Hamas Charter is explicit in its ambition to continue its resistance until Israel is obliterated:

Palestine symbolizes the resistance that shall continue until liberation is accomplished, until the return is fulfilled and until a fully sovereign state is established with Jerusalem as its capital … [Palestine] was seized by a racist, anti-human and colonial Zionist project…

A pronouncement that needs little elucidation.

Several countries have joined, or have expressed an intention to join, South Africa’s case against Israel. They include Belgium, Turkey, Mexico, Colombia, Chile, and Spain. On 11 December 2024 Ireland declared that it would intervene in the action. With breathtaking chutzpah, it also requested the Court to broaden its interpretation of what constitutes the commission of genocide by a State: ‘We are concerned that a very narrow interpretation of what constitutes genocide leads to a culture of impunity in which the protection of civilians is minimised.’

This is as preposterous as a prosecutor calling upon a judge to widen the definition of murder to include an accidental homicide. Its hubris recalls Humpty Dumpty’s diktat in Alice in Wonderland: ‘When I use a word it means just what I choose it to mean.’

For Israel this was the last straw. It withdrew its embassy in Dublin. Israel’s foreign minister, Gideon Saar, stated that ‘the extreme anti-Israel policies of the Irish government’ had crossed ‘every red line’. He added that ‘the actions and anti-Semitic rhetoric used by Ireland against Israel are rooted in the de-legitimisation and demonisation of the Jewish state, along with double standards.’

Irish Taoiseach (prime minister) Simon Harris described Israel’s decision as ‘deeply regrettable’. Adding, ‘I utterly reject the assertion that Ireland is anti-Israel. Ireland is pro-peace, pro-human rights and pro-international law.’ Nary a mention of the atrocities committed by Hamas or the human rights of those raped, murdered, or taken hostage.

Language

The capricious abuse of ‘genocide’, ‘apartheid’, ‘colonialism’, and ‘massacre’ has lamentably become commonplace. Factual and linguistic precision is more likely to generate solutions to complex political problems than reckless rhetoric which despite its appeal to the demagogue, has no place in the quest for peace and justice. Nor is it an answer to assert that these usages are merely metaphorical. Metaphor frequently enriches language. But it may also debase.

The ICC

On 25 August 2012 the writer, Douglas Murray, published an article in The Spectator, questioning whether the International Criminal Court (ICC) served any useful purpose, and wondering whether the real issue was not ‘How can we bring these leaders to justice?’ but rather ‘How can we get these leaders off their people’s backs?’ In addition, he doubted that the conviction of malevolent dictators acts as an effective deterrent to other wicked leaders.

My response, published the following week argued that deterrence was not the purpose of a judgment of the Court. Nothing, I suggested, would dissuade a monster from carrying out his iniquitous conduct. Instead, I wrote:

The principal objective of the ICC must therefore be simple retribution. Why create an offence if a transgression is met with impunity? Tyrants who commit crimes against humanity deserve punishment, not to deter others (even the gallows are unlikely to achieve that), but because they must suffer for their evil.

Murray contends that instead of prosecuting these ogres, innocent lives might be saved if, like Idi Amin, oppressors are given sanctuary by, say, Saudi Arabia. But this is cold comfort for their victims, or indeed anyone who yearns to see justice done. If the purpose is to eliminate a wicked leader, then his speedy dispatch – as with Caesar, Mussolini, and Gaddafi - would surely be a more efficient method. Even those domestic tribunals that ‘tried’ and executed Saddam Hussein and the Ceausescus offer a more expeditious solution than a safe haven elsewhere.

I mention this merely to demonstrate my general support for the establishment of the ICC, and its role as the legitimate forum in which genocide and other heinous crimes may be judged and penalised.

The Rome Statute

The ICC was established on 17 July1998, under the Rome Statute, an international treaty, and came into force in July 2002. Some 120 States have signed up to the Court’s jurisdiction.

Its creation reflected the need for a permanent international tribunal to prosecute crimes allegedly committed in the pursuit of war. The Court of eighteen judges elected by member States claims that its main purpose is to help ‘end impunity for the perpetrators of the most serious crimes of concern to the international community.’

It has so far notched up 32 cases, issued 59 arrest warrants—the latest being for Binyamin Netanyahu, the former defence minister, Yoav Gallant, and the presumed late, unlamented Hamas leader, Mohammed Deif, a major strategist of the 7 October atrocities who was accused of crimes against humanity, including murder, torture, sexual violence. and hostage-taking. (An unobserved acknowledgement that the events of 7 October actually occurred, were committed by Hamas, and were not, as certain malicious individuals and groups have maintained, concocted).

The decision

According to the ICC, the circumstances leading to its decision to issue the arrest warrants were as follows:

On 1 January 2015, the State of Palestine lodged a declaration under Article 12(3) of the Rome Statute accepting jurisdiction of the Court since 13 June 2014.
On 2 January 2015, the State of Palestine acceded to the Rome Statute by depositing its instrument of accession with the UN Secretary-General. The Rome Statute entered into force for the State of Palestine on 1 April 2015.
On 22 May 2018, pursuant to Articles 13(a) and 14 of the Rome Statute, the State of Palestine referred to the Prosecutor the situation since 13 June 2014, with no end date.
On 3 March 2021, the Prosecutor announced the opening of the investigation into the situation in the State of Palestine. This followed Pre-Trial Chamber’s decision of 5 February 2021 that the Court could exercise its criminal jurisdiction in the situation and, by majority, that the territorial scope of this jurisdiction extends to Gaza and the West Bank, including East Jerusalem.
On 17 November 2023, the Office of the Prosecutor received a further referral of the situation in the State of Palestine, from South Africa, Bangladesh, Bolivia, Comoros, and Djibouti, and on 18 January 2024, the Republic of Chile and the United Mexican State additionally submitted a referral to the Prosecutor with respect to the situation in the State of Palestine.

The Court found reasonable grounds to believe that Netanyahu and Gallant were criminally responsible for acts including murder, persecution, and starvation as a weapon of war as part of a ‘widespread and systematic attack against the civilian population of Gaza’.

On 26 September 2024 Israel challenged the Court’s jurisdiction over both the situation in Palestine and over Israeli nationals on the basis of Article 19(2) of the Statute. It also requested that the Court to order the Prosecution to provide a new notification of the initiation of an investigation to its authorities under Article 18(1) of the Statute, and requested it to halt any proceedings before the Court, including the consideration of the applications for warrants of arrest for Netanyahu and Gallant, submitted by the Prosecution on 20 May 2024.

The ICC held that the acceptance by Israel of the Court’s jurisdiction is not required, as the Court can exercise its jurisdiction on the basis of territorial jurisdiction of Palestine. In addition, pursuant to Article 19(1) of the Statute, States are not entitled to challenge the Court’s jurisdiction under Article 19(2) prior to the issuance of a warrant of arrest. It therefore decided that Israel’s challenge was premature.

Five flaws

There are at least five critical flaws in the Court’s decision to issue the arrest warrants.

First, the central question of the Court’s jurisdiction just mentioned, was challenged by Israel, but dismissed by the judges in a fairly cavalier fashion. Israel argued that Palestine lacked ‘the competences required under international law to be able to delegate territorial jurisdiction to the Court.’ It cited the Court’s decision in 2021 that issues of territorial jurisdiction may be raised by interested States based on Article 19 of the Statute. It claimed that it is a State from which acceptance of jurisdiction is required under Article 12 of the Statute—even if there is another State which has delegated jurisdiction to the Court for that same situation.

This, it held, was incorrect as a matter of law. ‘[T]he acceptance by Israel of the Court’s jurisdiction is not required, as the Court can exercise its jurisdiction on the basis of the territorial jurisdiction of Palestine.’ In other words, when there is one jurisdictional basis pursuant to Article 12(2)(a) or (b) of the Statute, there is no need for an additional one. This is not an uncontentious point, and it is at least arguable that the Court may lack the authority to issue the warrants against Israeli nationals. An essential principle of public international law is that it is only by virtue of a State’s consent that it is bound by the jurisdiction of an international court. Israel along with the United States, Russia, and China, has not acceded to the Court’s authority.

On the other hand, it is true that the Rome Statute empowers the Security Council to refer crimes of atrocity committed in any country to the Court for investigation. (It referred Sudan to the Court in 2005 in relation to the humanitarian calamity in Darfur, and Libya in 2011. Neither have accepted the Court’s jurisdiction). I submit that these cases may be distinguished from the present situation which involves the prosecution of individual nationals of a State that is not signed up to the Court.

Secondly, it is questionable whether food insecurity in a warzone is ineluctable evidence of the commission of a war crime. Indeed, this would be the first time the Court has sought to prosecute this practice. Moreover, there is substantial evidence to indicate that the delivery of aid to Gaza has been hampered by the failures of aid agencies, and the looting by Gazans themselves, including, in all probability, armed members of Hamas.

Thirdly, the ICC’s jurisdiction is based on the concept of ‘complementarity’: the principle that its power kicks in only when domestic authorities lack the capacity or inclination to investigate and prosecute alleged offenders. This hardly describes the position in Israel where the independence of prosecutors and courts are not in doubt.

Fourthly, it is not unreasonable to express grave misgivings about the impartiality of the Court (let alone the UN in general). Before issuing the arrest warrants, the Chief Prosecutor, Khan, sought the advice of an ‘expert panel’ the members of which he personally selected. It has been pointed out that at least two of those members had previously accused Israel of international crimes, and two others had personal links to Mr Khan.

Fifthly, Israel contended that its claim that ‘Palestine is not a State on the territory of which the alleged conduct occurred is in itself sufficient to make it the sole State whose acceptance of jurisdiction is required.’ Israel submitted that all that is required for it to have standing under Article 19(2)(c) is that its claim is prima facie tenable, and that it had an ‘immediate right’ to challenge jurisdiction under Article 19 given the current stage of the proceedings.

The judges rejected the argument that merely because it claims that Palestine could not have delegated jurisdiction to the Court, it would have to ignore its previous binding decision. It took the view that there is a fundamental difference between granting a State standing on the presumptive validity of its claim to have jurisdiction, on the one hand, and one granting it standing on the basis of an argument, already ruled upon, that a particular State Party does not have jurisdiction.

In any event, Israel’s standing was not an issue; the real question, it held, was whether Israel is entitled, or indeed obliged, to challenge its jurisdiction before it has decided on the issuing of warrants of arrest. It decided that it was not entitled to challenge its jurisdiction prior to the issuance of a warrant of arrest or a summons. On 13 December 2024 Israel lodged an ‘appeal’ against the issuing of the warrants.

As a supporter of the ICC, I regard it as tragic that its credibility has—at a stroke—been grievously diminished by this exercise of bias which the Israeli Prime Minister has castigated as antisemitic. In consequence of this travesty, the Trump administration may well impose sanctions against the Court thereby emasculating its vital powers. The world’s dictators and terrorists will be jubilant.

Dark days

The attacks on Israel of 7 October 2023 by Hamas and other jihadist groups were followed the next day by an unremitting hail of rockets launched by the Lebanese terrorist group, Hezbollah, that eventually resulted in Israel’s decision to retaliate against it in September 2024. Two waves of electronic device attacks targeted Hezbollah’s communication systems, and the IDF assassinated the group’s leading figures, including secretary-general Hassan Nasrallah.

In northern Israel, the continuing conflict has compelled some 96,000 people to leave their homes, while in Lebanon, over 1.4 million individuals have been displaced. Hezbollah vowed that it would continue its attacks on Israel until the IDF ceased its military operations in Gaza. Israel has stated that its attacks would end only when its citizens could return safely to the north.

On 27 November 2024, a 60-day ceasefire agreement came into force. It requires Hezbollah to move its fighters north of the Litani River, while Israel has begun withdrawing its forces from southern Lebanon. The Lebanese army is to deploy about 5,000 troops to monitor the situation and maintain peace. The ceasefire is being supervised by a panel of five countries, directed by the United States.

The manifold reverberations of these events include a relentless international crusade against Israel in numerous countries. ‘Pro-Palestinian’ campaigns, protest marches, campus intimidation, boycotts, arms embargoes, are merely some of the measures deployed in this endeavour to convert the Jewish State into a pariah. More sinister and disquieting is the rise of antisemitism which frequently parades as anti-Zionism, but some of it is hard to distinguish from the pogroms of the last century, or the calumnies against Jews of antiquity and the Middle Ages.

Since the establishment of the State of Israel, its Jews have become ‘normal’ members of society, albeit a predominantly Jewish one. Whereas in the diaspora, Jews were—and often continue to be—treated as outsiders, this prejudice, as Professor David Nirenberg admirably illuminates, is rooted in what he terms ‘anti-Judaism’ which is fundamental to antisemitism (they are not the same thing). It consists in the longstanding opprobrium visited upon Jews based on a number of myths, shibboleths, and fabrications. But since Israelis have largely shed this stigma and scapegoating, hostility is directed instead at Israel itself. It has replaced the despised Jew, and become the despised country.

The warped scruples of the campaign against Israel frequently rest on an unsavoury brew of mendacity and hypocrisy. Whatever the alleged transgressions of Israel’s military, or the provocative violence of extremist settlers, it is contemptible that the scourge of antisemitism should, in the twenty-first century, resurface in the guise of defending human virtue. Especially in the face of increasing geopolitical turbulence, the frailty of freedom is ignored at our peril. This disturbing moral paralysis portends dark days ahead that endanger justice and security everywhere.

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Raymond Wacks, Emeritus Professor of Law and Legal Theory, is the author of fifteen books, several of which have been translated into more than a dozen languages, on legal philosophy, privacy, and theories of justice. He is also the co-author of five books, and editor of ten. His monograph, The Rule of Law Under Fire? (Bloomsbury) appeared in 2021. Oxford University Press will publish the seventh edition of his Understanding Jurisprudence: An Introduction to Legal Theory in 2025. It published the third edition of Law: A Very Short Introduction in 2023. Earlier versions of parts of this essay appeared on 27 January 2012 in the Jewish Chronicle, and on 2 October 2023 and 25 November 2024 in The Lay of the Land.

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