There are moments in history when the classroom ceases to be a space apart from the world and becomes, instead, one of its frontlines. Teaching a course on contemporary antisemitism during a time of war is one of those moments. The boundaries between academic inquiry and lived reality blur. Students do not enter the room as passive learners; they arrive as witnesses, participants, and, at times, as targets.

This is not an abstract subject. It is not safely confined to the past, nor reducible to the familiar horrors of the twentieth century. Contemporary antisemitism is dynamic, adaptive, and increasingly embedded in political discourse, digital ecosystems, and social movements. In times of conflict—particularly in the Middle East—it intensifies, mutates, and often cloaks itself in the language of justice, resistance, or moral urgency The challenge, then, is not simply to teach about antisemitism, but to teach through it.

Since February, the classroom has once more become a space of tension. Students bring in fragments of the world outside, either through viral videos, protest slogans, headlines, or personal fears. Some Jewish students sit with a quiet vigilance, measuring whether it is safe to speak. Others, deeply engaged in questions of human rights and war, struggle to understand where legitimate criticism of Israel ends and antisemitism begins. Sadly, I have seen still others resist the premise altogether, viewing the topic as politicized or even suspect.

The role of the instructor, in my opinion, in such an environment is delicate but essential. It requires intellectual clarity without rigidity, moral seriousness without moralism, and, above all, a commitment to truth that resists simplification.

One of the first tasks is definitional. What is antisemitism today? It is not enough to rely solely on historical examples or overt expressions of hatred. Students, regardless of age, must grapple with more ambiguous and contested forms: conspiratorial thinking about Jewish power, the application of double standards to Israel, the erasure or denial of Jewish peoplehood, and the transformation of political critique into collective blame. In my ten plus years of teaching university students, I can state categorically that these are not always easy distinctions to draw, but the difficulty itself is pedagogically valuable. It forces students to think critically about language, intent, and consequence.

Equally important is context. Whether it is a lecture on foreign policy or a module on national security or, as is the case this semester in my course dedicated solely to this topic, Antisemitism does not exist in isolation; it intersects with broader currents of polarization, identity politics, and information warfare. Social media accelerates its spread, rewarding outrage over nuance. In this environment, misinformation thrives, and narratives harden quickly. Therefore, teaching students to interrogate sources, question assumptions, and recognize rhetorical patterns becomes as important as the content itself.

Yet, there is also a human dimension that cannot be ignored. As was the case last year after the 12-Day War and in the past two academic years following the October 7th massacre, amplified emotions, either fear, anger, or grief, entered the classroom. I have endeavored to find a balance, not purely detached and analytical that risks alienating students who feel personally affected and, at the same time, avoiding an overly emotive environment. The balance is fragile but necessary.

Creating a space where students can speak honestly, listen carefully, and challenge one another respectfully is perhaps the most difficult task of all. It requires setting clear expectations, knowing that evidence matters, and maintaining dignity even in the face of profound difference.

There are moments when the conversation falters. When a comment crosses a line, or even when silence speaks louder than words. These moments, though uncomfortable, are often the most instructive. They reveal the stakes of the subject matter and the limits of our understanding. They also offer an opportunity for instructors and students to pause, to reflect, and to recalibrate.

Teaching contemporary antisemitism in a time of war is, ultimately, an exercise in intellectual and moral resilience. It demands that we resist the pull of simplification in an age that rewards it. It asks us to hold multiple truths at once: that criticism of governments is legitimate and necessary, that antisemitism is real and rising, and that the two can, at times, become entangled in ways that are difficult to disentangle.

For students, the course is not just about learning a subject; it is about learning how to think in a world that is increasingly resistant to complexity. For us teachers, it is a reminder that education is not merely the transmission of knowledge but the cultivation of judgment. In times of war, that task becomes not less important, but more so.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)