Antisemitism goes back to Moses and Pharaoh
King Pharaoh of Egypt’s propaganda campaign might seem distant, but look a little closer and you’ll see something chilling: The script hasn’t changed much in 3,500 years.
Here are three enduring lessons from the Exodus that can help us better understand the real nature of antisemitism, then and now.
1. Antisemitism isn’t about the stated reasons. It’s about the Jewish spiritual threat.
Pharaoh didn’t say, “We hate the Jews because they believe in one god,” or “They make us uncomfortable because they won’t assimilate.”
No. He claimed that the Jews were a national security threat.
“The Israelites are becoming too numerous. … If war breaks out, they might join our enemies and fight against us,” Exodus 1:9-10.
Really? A group of shepherds and laborers who had lived peacefully in Goshen for generations was suddenly a military threat capable of starting a war?
It was a lie. A pretext. And that’s the first insight: Antisemitism rarely presents itself honestly. It hides behind superficial grievances — economic anxiety, political conspiracy, military suspicion — even the idea that Jews are easy scapegoats, but these are fig leaves.
The deeper truth, as the Torah reveals and Hitler expressed, is that antisemitism is rarely about the superficial reasons given; it’s about the Jews being a spiritual and ideological threat. Hitler said World War II was “ideologically a battle between National Socialism and the Jews.”
Antisemitism is not your run-of-the-mill racism; it’s about the Jewish soul, a light that refuses to be extinguished, threatening those who want to dwell in spiritual darkness. Jew-hatred, in the end, is not about what Jews do. It’s about what Jews are and what they represent.
2. The tragedy of self-hating Jews, then and now.
According to Rashi, only 20% of the Jews left Egypt. The other 80% perished during the plague of darkness (Rashi on Exodus, 12:38). The Exodus story thus reveals a second, more painful truth about antisemitism. It doesn’t just come from external enemies; sometimes, it’s fueled by Jews who turn against their own people, driven by self-hatred or a failure to embrace their Jewish identity.
Some among the 80% actively worked to undermine Moses. The Midrash teaches that there were Israelites who collaborated with the Egyptian taskmasters and would inform on their brethren. Others mocked Moses and Aaron when they came with news of the redemption.
We see this today in the phenomenon of Jewish activists aligning with our enemies, joining campus protests that demonize Israel while it defends itself from terrorism. Groups like Jewish Voice for Peace march under banners that might as well have been written in Tehran or Moscow, accusing Israel of genocide while remaining silent about the atrocities of Hamas.
In the days of the Maccabees, we had the Hellenists — Jews who actively opposed Jewish observance, embraced Greek culture, and persecuted their own brothers for observing Judaism. In Medieval Europe, we saw prominent apostates, baptized Jews, leading anti-Jewish campaigns, helping fuel the Inquisition and blood libels. These were not fringe exceptions.
When society teaches you to be ashamed of your Jewishness, some will run from it, and some will turn against it. On many campuses today, supporting Israel or expressing Jewish pride makes you a target. For many, it’s easier to join the mob than to stand apart. Young Jews often reject their Jewishness to gain acceptance in a “progressive” world that demands we “check our Jewishness at the door.”
But the Exodus reminds us: when redemption came, it was only for those who still knew they were Jews. You didn’t have to be perfect, but you did have to belong.
3. Antisemitism as a Divine tool to awaken our unique identity.
The third insight from the Exodus story is both humbling and profound: Antisemitism often serves as G-d’s tool to remind us of who we are.
The Midrash teaches that the Jews were redeemed from Egypt because they maintained their distinctiveness — they didn’t change their clothes, names, or language, even in the face of slavery (Shemot Rabbah 1:28). Even in the depths of oppression, the Jews understood they were different.
In my book, “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Jew?,” I explore how Jew-hatred often jolts Jews back to consciousness. The yellow star Jews were forced to wear in Germany in 1935 was meant to humiliate and isolate us; yet for many, it awakened a sense of pride and solidarity. And on Oct. 7, in a world where many Jews felt safe, indistinguishable and post-tribal, the masks came off.
Like the Nazis, Hamas didn’t ask who was “religious,” they didn’t check denominational boxes. They reminded us that in the eyes of our enemies — and in the eyes of Heaven — we are one people. As the name of my new film, “Tragic Awakening” (based on the book), expresses, the tragedy of Oct. 7 and the global antisemitism that followed have galvanized Jews worldwide to reconnect with their heritage.
Jew-hatred, as painful as it is both physically and spiritually, is a jarring reminder that we were never meant to blend in and often becomes the crucible through which we rediscover our unique role in the world.
That’s not a comforting thought. But it’s a clarifying one.
Our response to antisemitism must be to double down on our identity and mission.
Conclusion: The first step out of Egypt
In Egypt, we stepped into redemption because we stepped into identity. The first step out of every Egypt — whether ancient or modern — is the rediscovery of who we are.
Antisemitism, as horrific as it is, has a strange spiritual function. It pulls away the illusion of safety, of sameness, and forces us to ask: What does it mean to be a Jew? And more importantly: What are we here for?
If we can remember that — not just in pain, but in purpose — then even the darkest chapters of our story can become part of the Exodus.
Raphael Shore is a human-rights activist, filmmaker and educational entrepreneur, founder of OpenDor Media and the Clarion Project. Write: Columnist@TheJewishStar.com
