The Eternal Scapegoat: Why Antisemitism Survives in a Modern World
The Cockroach of Ideologies and the Lazy Man’s Philosophy
The Lazy Man’s Philosophy
It has been said—by me anyway—that antisemitism is the socialism of fools. However, recent trends suggest it has also become the “philosophy” of grifters, cynics, and assorted malcontents—all clinging to a worldview that offers the intellectual rigor of a flat-earth pamphlet found in the bathroom at Candace Owens’ baptism. Antisemitism is a cockroach of ideologies: resilient, adaptable, and tragically antifragile. It thrives in uncertainty and chaos, feeding on the vulnerabilities of societies in flux, and the general ignorance and intellectual laziness of the “masses.” Different forms of antisemitism have existed and today continue to use the same tropes borrowed from previous iterations. The modern iteration ranges from the usual white nationalist crowds, pro-Hamas ideolouges and to a lesser degree on twitter with the groypers—those internet edgelord apostles of adolescent rage—are its latest hosts, proving that even in the Information Age, ignorance can masquerade as rebellion and guys who can’t get laid sure get really angry at other races.
But why does this ancient prejudice persist? The answer lies not only in history but in psychology, economics, and the erosion of what Burke and Kirk referred to as the moral imagination. Antisemitism is appealing precisely because it offers a simplistic narrative—the key here being simplistic—to those who lack the fortitude to confront the complexities of modern life. It turns fear into certainty, failure into victimhood, and resentment into purpose. So with that, let’s dismantle this ideology and expose its appeal for what it truly is: a lazy man’s philosophy.
Antisemitism: A Bad Idea That Refuses to Die
When the powerful seek a scapegoat or the powerless crave an enemy to explain their misfortune, the Jew has been summoned into history’s dock to answer for sins not committed.
In the medieval crucible of superstition, Jews were accused of poisoning wells and spreading the Black Death, though they died in equal misery alongside their accusers. Their communities were razed across the Rhineland in waves of hysteria, proving that ignorance, like a plague, spreads indiscriminately.
In 1492 Spain, antisemitism was institutionalized under Ferdinand and Isabella, who decreed the expulsion of Jews. The same hands that bore the Cross of Reconquista turned the kingdom into an Inquisition of bloodlines, condemning generations to exile or forced conversion. From Iberian shores to Ottoman lands, Jewish refugees carried with them the memories of neighbors who betrayed them and kings who banished them.
Fast forward to the Russian Empire—another iteration of the disease. The pogroms of the late 19th and early 20th centuries were not spontaneous explosions of rage, but state-sanctioned riots that leveled entire shtetls, painting villages with ash and grief. The Jews of Ukraine, Belarus, and Russia became targets of violence orchestrated under the tsar’s approval—lynched for economic downturns, scapegoated for revolutionary stirrings.
Across history, antisemitism has shape-shifted to suit its purpose. In the Enlightenment, Jews were tolerated if they assimilated—encouraged to abandon their identity and religion for “progress.” In modernity, they were demonized for succeeding on merit alone: in finance, medicine, or law. By the 20th century, antisemitism conspired on an industrial scale under Nazi Germany, where centuries of prejudice reached a technological crescendo in the Holocaust—history’s darkest example of the consequences of this eternal hatred.
And yet, like clockwork, antisemitism found new forms in post-war years. Conspiracy theorists accused Jews of orchestrating wars, communism, capitalism—whichever devil suited their political angle. In the Middle East, where colonial resentment merged with nationalism, the ancient slander of Jewish perfidy was refashioned into anti-Zionism, often indistinguishable in rhetoric and intent.
The irony? Antisemitism has always condemned Jews for opposing extremes—for neither bowing to medieval superstition nor surrendering to totalitarian ideologies. The Jews have survived inquisitions, pogroms, and genocides not because the hatred against them has weakened, but because their resilience has proven stronger.
History teaches us that societies that blame the Jew are societies that decay. When antisemitism is tolerated, it is not Jews alone who suffer; it is truth, justice, and the moral fabric of civilization that crumble alongside. For antisemitism, though cloaked in a thousand guises, has never been the voice of righteousness—it has always been the whisper of decay.
Antisemitism thrives precisely because it evolves to fit every new crisis. Economic collapse? Blame the Jews. Rapid cultural shifts? Blame the Jews. Can’t afford to fix your flat tire? You guessed it—the Jews. Its perverse brilliance lies in its ability to distill the bewildering complexity of modern life into a single, convenient villain. It provides a false but seductive sense of order in a chaotic world, a scapegoat to soothe the anxieties of the uninformed.
In an age where populism reigns supreme, the appeal to raw emotion trumps reason, and society becomes eager to carve out villains from mere differences of opinion. Failures are no longer systemic or personal—they are whispered to be the work of shadowy “global elites” or the nebulous 1%. In such an atmosphere, it takes little effort to dust off the oldest, laziest slander of them all: blame the Jews. For antisemitism is not only ancient—it is a regressive instinct, a fevered reversion to the most primal form of blame, where complexity is traded for hysteria and culpability outsourced to those who stand apart.
This convenience comes at a cost. It corrodes societies by promoting lies over truth and prejudice over reason. It reduces individuals to caricatures and flattens the moral imagination. Antisemitism is not just an intellectual failure; what the faithful might call a spiritual failure, a refusal to see the humanity and dignity of others.
The Merchant of Venice and the Persistence of Antisemitism
Even literature—our highest cultural inheritance in Western Civilization—is not immune to threads of antisemitism. Consider one of my favorite works by Shakespeare The Merchant of Venice, where Shylock, the Jewish moneylender, is portrayed as vengeful, greedy, and cruel—an embodiment of centuries old stereotypes. Beneath the antisemitic caricature lies something disturbingly human: the anger of a man whose dignity has been stripped, whose faith is mocked, and whose existence is reduced to a convenient villain for the sins of others. "Hath not a Jew eyes?" Shylock asks—a plea for recognition of shared humanity, one that still echoes unanswered in our world today.
What sticks with me most about The Merchant of Venice is not just its portrayal of the Jew as an “other,” but how seamlessly this trope has been woven into the cultural fabric, making it familiar, even acceptable and a common trope for many who have never even seen or read it. Shylock’s portrayal isn’t an anomaly—it’s a reflection of societies, across eras, that are all too eager to turn the Jew into a symbol, a scapegoat, or a moral lesson. Shakespeare’s play reminds us how deeply rooted these prejudices are, and how they linger just below the surface, ready to resurface in moments of societal unease.
This reality was made painfully clear to me on October 7th, when Hamas terrorists committed unspeakable atrocities against innocent Israelis. The attacks were shocking enough, but what followed served as a brutal confirmation of a truth too many ignore: that Jews, no matter where they are or how much they offer to the world, live in a society still ready to commit violence against them—or worse, justify that violence while oddly also denying it occurred. Suddenly, Jews were not just victims of terror but accused of complicity in global events unrelated to them and even of falsifying the events we all saw occur with our own eyes. On campuses, in protests, and on social media, familiar refrains reemerged, holding Jews collectively responsible for the State of Israel. It became clear to me, as it must to all reasonable minds, that Jews need a refuge—a state of their own—not as a geopolitical curiosity but as a lifeline. I went from indifference to Zionism to being as Zionist as one can get simply because we are not as advanced as we might believe ourselves to be.
The modern world, for all its enlightenment and progress, still bears the same instincts that shaped Shylock’s isolation. Jews—whether in Tel Aviv, Midwood Brooklyn, or Paris—are reminded that their belonging is conditional. The violence of October 7th, followed by the blame thrust upon Jews globally, reveals that antisemitism is not a relic of history; it is woven into the societal fabric, waiting to be pulled like a loose thread. It’s in the operating system.