As a Muslim-American, I Stand Against Antisemitism

Last week, I asked a question at the local mosque: “Why is it so difficult for us, as Muslims, to openly denounce antisemitism?” The response was dead silence, and one I’ve encountered too often in various settings, casual discussions, group meetings, or community events. It’s the same silence that follows Holocaust denial, and often justifies antisemitism as merely “political,” “complicated,” or “not our concern.” Today, I want to emphasize that this silence must end, and it starts with each of us.

First, let's be honest that in many Arab and Muslim communities, antisemitic thoughts, feelings, actions, and behaviors are not merely tolerated; they’re normalized. With time, these attitudes manifest as conspiracy theories which only become more fabricated, false, and filled with hate. We hear it in chants that target innocent Israelis not as individuals involved in specific policies, but as a collective group deserving all blame and punishment.

Unfortunately, many hide behind a familiar excuse: “We’re just criticizing Israel,” but when that criticism crosses the line into denying the Jewish people’s right to exist, or denying the Jewish people's right to self-determination, then celebrating the murder of innocent Israelis, or supporting Hamas' indiscriminate attacks essentially ceases to be political anymore because it simply becomes hate. If we don’t call it for what it is right now, then we’re not just bystanders; we’re enablers of hate.

The Holocaust wasn’t solely a Jewish tragedy; it was a tragedy for all humanity. I have studied the history of the Holocaust throughout middle school, high school, college, and graduate school, and I even had the honor of meeting with Holocaust survivors and their families. Hearing their stories of unimaginable suffering and resilience broke my heart because the world saw it unfold and far too many stayed silent. Visiting Yad Vashem and standing before millions of pages of documents, photographs, and survivor testimonies shook me to my core. It reminded me that silence enables evil, and that we must do everything in our power to eliminate racism, hatred, and antisemitism in all its forms.

It's necessary to understand that the Holocaust did not happen to “them;” it happened to us all. It serves as a stark reminder of what occurs when silence, hate, and dehumanization go unchecked. And yet, in some Arab and Muslim countries, the Holocaust is still, to this day, distorted or denied altogether. Why is that? Because acknowledging the Holocaust would demand recognition of Jewish suffering, a notion that many see as conflicting with their solidarity elsewhere. However, empathy isn't a zero-sum game. We don’t have to erase Jewish pain to affirm Palestinian dignity. We can, and must, do both because that can only encourage critical thinking, build bridges, foster empathy, accept reality, support human rights, strengthen Jewish-Muslim relations, and enhance peace and security in the Middle East and worldwide.

Islam must never be used to justify hatred - ever. As a Muslim-American, my faith is the foundation of my identity, my values, and my moral compass. And that’s exactly why I reject completely and without hesitation any attempt to twist Islam into a tool for antisemitism. There is nothing Islamic about hatred. There is nothing prophetic about prejudice. The Prophet Muhammad (Peace Be Upon Him) honored and protected Jewish communities. He forged treaties with Jewish tribes. He condemned slander against the People of the Book. Early Muslims didn’t merely tolerate Jews, they lived alongside them with dignity and respect, not out of convenience, but out of conviction. If we claim to follow that prophetic legacy, then we must confront a painful question: What does it say about our faith, our principles, and our humanity when we remain silent in the face of rising antisemitism when our Jewish brothers and sisters are being targeted, dehumanized, attacked, and murdered? Our silence is not neutrality. It is betrayal. And it must end.

I fully recognize that sharing my thoughts and feelings in this op/ed may carry personal and professional risks, but I know in my heart that my responsibility and purpose is to stand against antisemitism. Some in my community may profoundly disagree with me, and others may respond with anger or even hostility. I’ve already been criticized for my work, my message, and the values I hold close to my heart. But I’ve made peace with that. Because no matter how difficult the road ahead may be, I will never waver in my commitment to fight antisemitism.

This mission is not just political, it’s deeply personal. It speaks to my conscience, to my identity, and to the kind of world I want to help shape. And I am prepared to pay the price. What’s most important is this: if we, as a people, fail to confront antisemitism openly, directly, and unequivocally, we risk tearing at the moral fabric of truth. Worse still, we risk harming our collective soul because deep down, we all know there is no justification for terrorism, no excuse for hate, and no defense for antisemitism.

There are already Muslims leading with courage and conscience such as: Imams who speak boldly against antisemitism, educators who teach the truth about the Holocaust, youth leaders who build bridges across faiths, and Muslims who unapologetically denounce Hamas and its crimes. I stand with them. I honor their bravery. And I only ask this of the Arab and Muslim world: tell the truth. Denounce hate. Denounce antisemitism. Denounce extremism. Denounce terrorism. And choose to be on the right side of history. Is that too much to ask for?

To my fellow Muslims: The time for silence has passed. The time for whispered sympathy or quiet discomfort is over. We must speak clearly, publicly, and with unwavering conviction. Not behind closed doors. Not with disclaimers. But out loud and without shame. If we want a better future, we must begin by confronting the hate that exists within our own homes, communities, and hearts. Fighting antisemitism is not someone else’s responsibility – it’s ours.

To the Jewish community: You are not alone. There are Muslims who see your pain, who grieve with you, and who stand beside you not just in words, but in action. We are here. We are growing. And we will never stop fighting for a world where antisemitism has no home now, or ever again.

To all people of conscience: Understand that antisemitism is not just a Jewish problem; it is a human crisis. A moral test. And how we respond will shape the very soul of this generation. Will we turn away, or will we rise together and say: not now, and never again?

History is watching. Our children are watching. And one day, they will ask what we did when antisemitism resurfaced in our time. Let the answer be this: we stood together. We spoke the truth. And we refused to let hate go unanswered.

Antisemitism thrives in silence, so let our voices be loud, our actions be clear, and our conscience unshakable because to stay silent now is to surrender our shared humanity.

Zunair Ashfaq, MSW, MBE, is a bioethicist, social worker, human rights defender, and writer

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