The Meaning of a Word
Reflection on Misused Antisemitism
This reflection is the first in a pair. The companion piece—“The Absence of a Word”—asks what happens when there’s no word at all to name suffering. You can read it here.
There’s a word that once meant protection.
It was carved from ash.
Watered by grief.
Handed down by those who survived being forgotten.
Antisemitism.
It named something real.
Something enduring.
Something horrifying.
Something we never wanted to forget.
And for a while, it meant what it was supposed to mean:
Never again.
But now?
Now that word is being held up like a mirror —
not to see, but to deflect.
Not to remember, but to silence.
It’s being diluted, and washed of its meaning.
It’s being used as a way to cast people out —
the exact thing it was meant to guard against.
Worst of all, it’s being weaponized to protect power —
not people.
We’re watching a word that once named unspeakable harm
get reshaped into a shield for political advantage.
Not to defend Jews.
But to defend authority from criticism.
To silence protest.
To erase Palestinian suffering
by making every act of solidarity seem like hate.
And it’s not just dishonest.
It’s dangerous.
Let’s be clear:
You can criticize the Israeli government —
especially when it bombs hospitals, blockades civilians, or turns protest into a punishable offense —
without being antisemitic.
You can stand with Palestinian lives
without hating Jewish ones.
You can oppose injustice
without erasing anyone’s past.
Antisemitism is real.
It’s deadly.
It demands vigilance.
But weaponizing it for political gain only weakens it.
It hollows it out.
It makes it harder to name — and harder to fight — when real hatred appears again.
Antisemitism, while rooted in Jewish experience, has also become a symbolic touchstone for all forms of othering, scapegoating, and exclusion.
It represents the dangers of what happens when a people are made into a target —
and when their suffering is first dismissed, then later repurposed by the powerful for their own ends.
We owe that word more.
We owe those who survived it more.
We owe ourselves more.
Because when we let even one word lose its meaning —
we lose the truth it was meant to protect.
Postscript:
If this piece resonated with you, I hope you’ll also read the companion reflection, “The Absence of a Word.”
It explores what happens when a people are bombed, starved, and displaced—and there’s no word that stops the world.
Together, these reflections ask not just how language protects... but what it sometimes erases.