Israel’s inclusion of European parties with openly antisemitic pasts in an international antisemitism conference in Jerusalem this week grants them symbolic rehabilitation.
The inclusion of European ultranationalist parties with extremist or openly antisemitic pasts in an international conference on antisemitism hosted by the Diaspora Affairs Minister Amichai Chikli was not an accident or the result of a misunderstanding or bureaucratic inertia. It is part of a deliberate political process. And precisely because it was deliberate it deserves to be examined critically, not excused as political realism.
The logic behind the invitations to this week’s Jerusalem confab is fairly clear. Israeli decision-makers operate in an environment of growing diplomatic isolation and ideological polarization. They assume that once-marginal political movements may soon hold power in several European states and see early engagement as a hedge against future hostility. There is also a fear – not unfounded – of a growing convergence between radical anti-Zionist and far-right elements in the West. Keeping ultranationalist movements “close” is viewed as a way to prevent them from drifting into openly anti-Israel or antisemitic territory.
This reasoning is not naive. But realism alone does not make for sound policy. There is a profound internal contradiction in inviting movements with antisemitic legacies to a conference devoted to combating antisemitism. It is not merely symbolic; it is structural. Antisemitism is not an incidental blemish in the histories of many of these movements; it has often been at the center of their worldview. Treating it as a regrettable episode of the past, correctable through dialogue and symbolic gestures, risks trivializing the very phenomenon the conference claims to confront. Supporters of the inclusion argue that the parties have changed; they now defend Israel publicly and share Israel’s concerns about radical Islam and political violence. But alignment against a common enemy does not erase deeper ideological foundations. Many of these movements continue to promote exclusionary definitions of nationhood, in which Jews in their own countries remain conditional members of the national community at best.
Their support for Israel is often externalized. Israel is admired as a strong nation-state capable of defending its borders and asserting its identity. But Jewish minorities at home are often viewed with suspicion, ambivalence or outright hostility. This is not a contradiction for these parties; it is part of their internal logic. Israel is acceptable because Jewish sovereignty is exercised elsewhere. History should make Jews particularly sensitive to this pattern. For centuries, European antisemitism was fueled not only by religious or racial hatred but by the assertion that Jews did not truly belong to the nation, that they lacked loyalty and participated in society without fully sharing the national destiny.
Today’s ultranationalist movements may praise Israel precisely because it resolves this “problem” externally – by relocating Jewish collective existence outside Europe. That is not a break with antisemitism; it is a reformulation of it. Inviting such movements to Jerusalem does more than open a channel of communication; it grants them symbolic rehabilitation. It allows them to present themselves as legitimate actors in the fight against antisemitism without demanding a serious reckoning with their ideological assumptions. In doing so, Israel risks shifting the burden of moral clarity from them onto itself.
There is also a deeper conceptual danger. By framing antisemitism primarily through the prism of external enemies – radical Islam, the far left, militant anti-Zionism – Israel risks narrowing its definition. Antisemitism manifests not only in explicit calls for violence against Jews or the destruction of Israel, but also in conditional acceptance: admiration for Jewish power coupled with rejection of Jewish presence; praise for Israel alongside hostility toward Jews as equal citizens elsewhere.
A conference that fails to confront these distinctions risks obscuring rather than illuminating the problem. None of this implies that Israel should refuse all contact with objectionable political actors. States must sometimes interact with forces they distrust. But there is a difference between maintaining discreet channels and offering a public stage. Between dialogue and endorsement, strategic necessity and symbolic legitimacy. The question isn’t whether Israel can talk to these movements; it’s whether it should invite them to help define the global struggle against antisemitism.
At some point, realpolitik must confront its limits. A fight against antisemitism that sacrifices moral clarity may secure short-term alliances. But it risks hollowing out the meaning of the struggle and repeating, under new guises, mistakes Jews have already paid for dearly.