Opinion: When victimhood masks power 

Protesting Israeli policies is not antisemitism

By Micha K. Ben David - Jun. 25, 2025
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Credit: Sagan Randall

At the Boulder Jewish Community Center (JCC) vigil for the attack on the Israeli march, when the crowd sang Hatikvah — the national anthem of Israel, a state razing Gaza — I didn’t hear healing. I heard nationalism. 

Some may see “Hatikvah,” written in the 1800s and considered an unofficial Jewish anthem before Israel adopted it in 2004, as a simple expression of Jewish pride. But it’s not. It’s the national anthem of a foreign country carrying out occupation, ethnic cleansing and genocide. 

I was ashamed — not of grief, but of the pageantry, the self-congratulation, the refusal to acknowledge the blood being spilled in our name. This wasn’t an apolitical act of mourning. It was a pro-Israel rally in all but name, complete with the Israeli Consul General and Rabbis wearing Israeli military dog-tags on stage. 

You can’t publicly celebrate a military campaign and then cry antisemitism when there’s backlash. That’s not how accountability (or words) work.

As an Israeli veteran, I’ve stood at checkpoints, broken into homes and detained people who vanished into Israel’s military prison system without trial. The occupation is not theoretical. It is daily, dehumanizing domination. And it is ugly.

The JCC was packed — to the point that Boulder County Commissioner Marta Loachamin and Senators Julie Gonzales and Iman Jodeh, who showed exceptional courage in attending as a Palestinian woman offering her sympathies, were herded into the gym like political footnotes. Clergy, Gov. Jared Polis, the state director of the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) and every public official with a speechwriter took turns naming this violence “antisemitism.” 

Antisemitism is real and terrifying. But calling every act of anti-Israel resistance, including violent ones, “antisemitism” flattens reality, distorts public discourse and blocks urgently needed accountability. We can’t afford to conflate identity with ideology, or use fear to silence debate. It erases the distinction between Jewish identity and Israeli state violence, and it’s designed to end the conversation before it starts.

Boulder City Council Member Taishya Adams, Boulder’s only current Black elected official — a consistent, courageous voice for peace and justice — was notably absent. Knowing her presence would distract from the vigil, Taishya walked Pearl Street checking in on business owners and their staff. 

To me, her absence wasn’t incidental. It was an exclusion. Even here, those who refuse to toe the political line are pushed to the margins, their integrity treated as disruption. It’s yet another reminder that for all the talk of community, only some voices are ever truly welcome. 

And then there was Linda Amin Badwan, a compassionate Palestinian woman from Jerusalem who lives here in Colorado. She sat beside me in solemn solidarity, holding in her heart the weight of upward of 70,000 Palestinians killed in Gaza since October 2023, including over 15,000 children. More than 245,000 homes have been destroyed or damaged, leaving nearly 1.8 million people displaced. Essential infrastructure — over 136 schools and universities, 823 mosques, three churches and more than 200 government facilities — flattened. The United Nations estimates that clearing the rubble alone could take over two decades. 

Badwan and Senator Jodeh’s steady presence said more than any podium could. In the face of unimaginable grief, they showed up for ours.

Was the June 1 attack violent? Yes. Do I condone it? Of course not. And I say that not as an armchair activist, but as someone who’s had several Molotov cocktails thrown at my head. I know what that fear feels like. I know the heat, the confusion, the adrenaline. I also know that the people who threw them at me weren’t monsters. They were people reacting — desperately, sometimes violently — to a system that brutalized them daily.

Expressing sorrow for this attack while ignoring the far greater violence done in our name isn’t empathy — it’s complicity. That’s a hard truth, especially for those of us raised to see our identity as inherently righteous. But so long as we remain silent, the blood is on all our hands. 

My heart aches for the Israeli hostages. Every one of them. Every family waiting in silence, rage, fear. They deserve to be free. Just as every Palestinian family deserves to live without occupation, without bombing, without checkpoints or midnight arrests. One pain does not negate the other. One truth does not cancel another. What makes us human is being able to hold them together.

As we grieve for hostages, we must also reckon with the over 9,000 Palestinians who remain detained in Israeli prisons — many without charges or trial. Their families often don’t know where they are or if they’ll return. Somehow, only one side’s grief gets amplified.

It’s wild to me that after all the violence I’ve committed in uniform, I still get a pass. I still get invited to speak, to mourn, to be seen as a person. But others who’ve lived under that violence for generations get reduced to “monsters” the moment they lash out. 

I don’t say any of this to excuse harm. I say it because I think how we talk about harm matters. Accountability isn’t the same as erasure. 

When Gov. Polis declared, “there is no room for hate in Colorado,” I wanted to believe him. But it didn’t sound like a promise. It sounded like a boundary. Like some hate (against Jews) is condemned, while other hate (against Palestinians, Muslims or those who challenge Israeli policy) remains unchallenged. That kind of hate thrives, earning handshakes and standing ovations.

This selective outrage doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It’s fueled by a broader political climate shaped by Christian Zionism, rising authoritarianism and far-right alignment. There are more Christian Zionists than Jews in the U.S., and their influence on U.S. policy toward Israel is massive yet rarely named. 

After the attack, Boulder City Council suspended public comment. There isn’t an opportunity for general public comment until August, and even that may look radically different. On Thursday, council members will discuss further changes to one of the few venues members of the public have for speaking face-to-face with their elected officials.

These may seem like small shifts, but this is how democracy erodes quietly, unless we stand up and defend it.

At the vigil, the ADL representative spoke of Jewish joy. But joy without humility isn’t healing — it’s indulgence. If we want to be proud of our identity, we must also be honest about what’s being done in its name. Trauma doesn’t absolve power. Our history should sharpen our moral vision, not blur it.

Truth must come before comfort, especially if we claim to believe in justice.

If we’re truly students of Torah, let it show. Not through pageantry, slogans or empty statements, but through courage. Courage to face the brokenness within our own community. Courage to stop using Jewish pain as cover for Jewish power. That’s what Torah demands. My parents raised me to follow it with humility and conviction. 

As the prophet says: “What does the Lord require of you? To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.” Because anything less isn’t justice. It’s moral theater. 


Micha K. Ben David is an Israeli veteran and resident of Boulder.

This opinion does not necessarily represent the views of Boulder Weekly.

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Editor's note: This piece has been updated to clarify council's summer schedule.

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