Lilah Shapiro is Associate Professor of Instruction and Charles Deering McCormick Distinguished Professor of Instruction at the Northwestern University School of Education and Social Policy
On a brisk fall morning last academic year, I listened as my undergraduates enthusiastically explored the idea of plausibility structures, sociologist Peter Berger’s classic theory of how realities are constructed and maintained. The students were particularly intrigued by the ways that individuals and groups selectively seek out and take in information that allows them to uphold their realities and simultaneously filter out or reject ideas that threaten the foundational ideas and structures they hold sacred. Toward the end of class, a student explained and critiqued her Jewish roommate’s response to a recent incident on campus that many in the on-campus Jewish community experienced as antisemitic, offering it as an illustration of the process Berger describes. Her roommate, she said, was engaging in selective uptake, speaking only with other Jewish students who shared her viewpoint and categorically avoiding and rejecting evidence or perspectives challenging or threatening her reading of the situation. My student then openly and directly contested her roommate’s interpretation of events, insisting that what had transpired was not a case of antisemitism.
My student isn’t Jewish, and I was struck by her willingness not only to question, but to categorically reject her Jewish roommate’s self and group-expertise and her right to interpret and label her own experience. Undoubtedly, some would view this student’s rejection of her roommate’s view to be, itself, antisemitic. I quickly discovered that my student was not alone in critiquing her roommate’s perspective. Many other campus stakeholders, including other Jewish students, either saw the on-campus events with nuance or emphatically rejected the label of “antisemitism.” In the days and weeks following this classroom discussion, I found myself preoccupied by my student’s comments and the campus controversy and what they suggest about the complicated and complex nature of how, when, and why antisemitism is employed as an interpretive framework. Who gets to decide whether a given incident or experience is antisemitic and under what conditions?
The stakes of categorizing an incident as antisemitic or not has deep implications beyond any one given event, as it holds the power to define and contour reality for Jews and the broader population alike, ultimately affecting not only if and when we feel safe, but even more critically, ensuring that we are safe. Some noted authorities claim that debates over definitions detract from the real issue of combatting antisemitism. I argue, however, that it is challenging to combat any ill, big or small, without a substantive understanding of the social processes generating and perpetuating the problem, and the ways in which the issue is being experienced and used by various stakeholders. Crafting a single, perfect definition is neither possible nor productive. However, understanding how and why various groups approach the question of antisemitism differently sheds light on the problem in a way that a definition alone cannot do, creating broad opportunities for enhanced inter- and intra-group dialogue, renewed education, and new forms of mitigation.
The most prominent voices claiming an active public role in crafting how we identify antisemitism are Jewish organizations, lobbying groups, and public figures. Their voices are helpful, and they are generally granted authority. But those claiming authority are not always entirely in agreement, and at times it can be difficult to untangle their leadership on this issue from their other agendas and concerns. These conflicts were evident in the White House’s recent efforts to produce the nation’s first formal National Strategy to Combat Antisemitism. The committee’s report, published in May, does not explicitly choose among competing definitions put forward by different groups over the last several years.
Many agree that they “know antisemitism when they see it,” but what people see is contingent on their constructed realities—their past lived experiences and what is important to them—or, in other words, their plausibility structures. People, even ostensibly highly similar people, don’t always “see” the same thing. This can lead to conflict and lack of understanding among individuals trying to make sense of extremely fraught and potentially high-stakes situations, like determining whether a particular event is antisemitic. Below, I offer a possible explanation as to why some see antisemitism where others do not and consider the sociocultural implications of these debates for Jewish identity and the everyday experiences of Jewish lives.
One possible factor shaping why individuals may see events differently is less about Jewish-specific needs and more a result of seeking the cognitive and even physical certainty that all people crave. Antisemitism as an interpretive framework, ironically, can offer a sort of comfort. It is a reliable and plausible schema that explains irrational behavior and otherwise terrifyingly random acts, anchoring them within a known pattern and giving them predictability and meaning (albeit horrifying). Circumstantial evidence frequently makes this framework easy to use. Oftentimes attackers and/or speakers publicly identify with right-wing extremist groups, their ideologies branded onto their skin, displayed on their clothing, performed via their rituals, and explicitly articulated in their words. Extremist ideology, and white supremacy in particular, is about hate, and Jews are among those most commonly assigned blame for the disenfranchisement and sense of threat that these groups feel. Antisemitism within these groups and people affiliated with them is, most definitely, a problem. But at the same time, it isn’t clear that every violent act undertaken by people who happen to hate Jews or who offer social critique involving Jews is an act of antisemitism.
Below, I begin by describing the larger picture of antisemitism in America today. I consider three types of scenarios in which antisemitism is employed as an interpretive framework, with varying degrees of agreement and controversy. First, I consider acts of explicit antisemitism, where perpetrators’ motivations are unambiguous and generally uncontestable. Second, I analyze situations for which there is potential evidence of antisemitism but for which others, both Jews and non-Jews, offer equally plausible alternate explanations. Finally, I discuss events where there is either minimal, strictly circumstantial, or no evidence of antisemitism but about which many (most typically Jews) vehemently assert that hatred and bigotry are at play.
I argue that differing interpretations of specific incidents result from the relative importance and viability of three related and often competing plausibility structures, the myth of the American Dream, Jewish privilege, and Jewish vulnerability. I further argue that the last may, ironically, offer American Jews the greatest sense of security.