A recent video by Ashley Steinwald raises a painful but necessary question: where does political criticism end, and where does antisemitism begin?
In the video, Steinwald speaks directly about the way some anti-Israel protests are defended as “just criticism of Israel,” even when the imagery being used is clearly violent, hateful, or historically loaded. Her message is simple but powerful: people cannot hide antisemitism behind the word “anti-Zionism” and expect Jewish people not to notice.
This issue became especially disturbing after reports that Montreal police were investigating a pro-Palestinian protest where hanging effigies of political figures were displayed. The incident drew criticism from Jewish organizations, politicians, and members of the public who saw the imagery as violent, hateful, and deeply antisemitic.
The defense is always the same: “This is not against Jews. This is only against Israel. This is only against Zionism.”
But that excuse collapses when the imagery being used looks like something pulled from the darkest chapters of Jewish history.
A hanging figure is not a normal political sign. A noose is not a policy argument. Public mock executions are not peaceful criticism. They are intimidation. They send a message, not only to Israeli leaders, but also to Jewish people walking in the same city, raising families in the same neighborhoods, and trying to live safely in Canada.
There is a difference between criticizing a government and demonizing a people. Anyone can criticize Benjamin Netanyahu. Anyone can criticize Israeli policies. That is politics. But when protesters bring out violent images, public hangings, or symbols that echo antisemitic history, the conversation is no longer about policy. It becomes about Jewish fear, Jewish vulnerability, and Jewish safety.
That is why Ashley Steinwald’s point matters. She is not saying that every criticism of Israel is antisemitic. She is pointing at something more specific and more dangerous: the way antisemitism often changes its costume. It may no longer say “Jews” openly. Instead, it says “Zionists.” But when the language, symbols, and threats land on Jews as a people, the meaning is clear.
In theory, someone can oppose Zionism without hating Jews. In practice, too many anti-Zionist spaces become comfortable with language and imagery that targets Jews collectively. They say “Zionists,” but the anger often reaches Jewish students, Jewish neighborhoods, Jewish businesses, Jewish schools, and Jewish community centers.
The Montreal case is especially disturbing because Jewish communities in Canada have already been living with rising fear since October 7. Synagogues, schools, and community spaces have faced threats, vandalism, and hostility. Public displays like hanging effigies do not happen in a vacuum. They add fuel to an atmosphere where many Jews already feel exposed.
Freedom of speech matters. Protest matters. Palestinians have the right to be heard. People have the right to criticize Israel, to protest war, and to demand accountability.
But no movement has the right to normalize the public humiliation or symbolic execution of Jews.
If a protest movement cannot condemn hanging effigies, antisemitic caricatures, and violent imagery without hesitation, then it has lost its moral clarity. If its first instinct is to excuse the imagery instead of protecting Jewish neighbors from fear, then the problem is not just political. It is ethical.
The message should be simple: criticize governments, criticize leaders, criticize policies. But do not hide hatred of Jews behind the word “Zionist.”
Because when anti-Zionism uses the language, symbols, and threats of antisemitism, it stops being a political position.
It becomes antisemitism.