When Jerry Seinfeld recently told a Duke University audience that the “Free Palestine” movement is, in a way, worse than the KKK, predictable outrage ensued. The Klan, he argued, is at least blunt about its hatred, but the phrase “Free Palestine” often serves as a more insidious tool. Just as Hamas used dual-use materials for terror infrastructure, the anti-Israel campaign employs “dual-use terminology.” “Free Palestine” is an example of a phrase with just enough plausible deniability to be defended as legitimate political speech, yet it is often deliberately deployed to troll, harass and undermine the safety of Jewish spaces.

Seinfeld’s observation reflects a core challenge facing the Jewish community. Our adversaries have mastered the art of weaponizing language to force us into endless, unproductive debates over definitions of antisemitism while real harm continues. By obsessively trying to parse the precise meaning of a phrase, we fall into a semantic trap, ignoring context and, most importantly, intent.

Valerie Terranova/Getty Images for Bob Woodruff Foundation

Jerry Seinfeld performs during the 18th Annual Stand Up For Heroes Benefit Presented By Bob Woodruff Foundation And New York Comedy Festival at David Geffen Hall on Nov. 11, 2024 in New York City.

This isn’t a theoretical problem: It’s happening in the heart of our communities. 

We recently held a strategy seminar for Jewish professionals where we presented a case study of a well-meaning employee at a Jewish community center who posted on Facebook about finding “Free Palestine” stickers repeatedly placed on JCC flyers, which were posted on a bulletin board inside the center. Her response? “I’ve just moved it to a different spot on the board,” she wrote. “I don’t take it down or anything like that.” When a sticker was placed over a child’s face on a poster, she moved it again and added a note: “Our kids are innocent.”

This professional was, by her own account, an Israel-engaged individual. Yet she lacked the ethical clarity to identify a targeted act of provocation for what it was. She acted as she believed a compassionate, universalist Jewish professional should act. When we asked the other seminar participants for their thoughts, the vast majority approved of her response. “A JCC is not a JCRC,” they argued, suggesting it must remain a neutral, welcoming space for all.

Our response was simple: “A JCC is not a JCRC, but it’s also not a Planet Fitness — the ‘J’ must mean something.” 

We then asked them to measure the employee’s action against a single, strategic goal: Does this contribute to neutralizing the normalization of antisemitism in the mainstream?

Silence. Hesitation.

The question is not whether the phrase “Free Palestine” is inherently antisemitic. The question is, what was the goal of the person who repeatedly placed that sticker in the center of a Jewish institution? Was it to start a genuine dialogue? Of course not. Was it even a legitimate protest? No. The address for that would be the Israeli consulate, not a community center where children take swimming lessons.

The intent was to troll the Jewish community. It was an act designed to violate a safe space, to create unease, and to force Jewish people to either accept the provocation or be labeled as intolerant censors. By refusing to simply remove the sticker, the JCC professional unknowingly validated the tactic. She chose a posture of universalist patience over the particularist responsibility to protect their community’s lived experience.

This is the “October 8th conceptsia” in action: a collective failure to grasp how deeply our enemies’ tactics have penetrated our discourse. We must stop fighting on their terms. The first step is to establish clear red lines within our own communal spaces. We must apply a Jewish standard. In a JCC, a synagogue, a day school and any other Jewish institution, we don’t need to engage in a public debate on the nuances of Middle Eastern politics to know when we are being targeted. When a phrase, regardless of its dictionary definition, is used to intimidate and disrupt our communal life, the only appropriate response is to remove it. No apologies, no relocations, no hand-wringing notes.

This ethical clarity is precisely what is missing for so many parents and students navigating today’s hostile environments. This is why Atchalta has developed technological tools like Parent Dome and Student Dome, with a demo of Student Dome open to the readership of EJP for a few days. These AI-powered strategy hubs are designed to help unengaged individuals move past confusion and helplessness. When a parent or student describes an incident of subtle bias or harassment disguised as activism, our tools provide clarity, validating their concerns and offering structured, strategic action plans. They empower the silent majority to move from feeling isolated to taking effective, confident action.

As we approach Rosh Hashanah, a time for introspection and setting a new course, the Jewish community must make a fundamental shift. We must move from a defensive, reactive posture to a confident, proactive offense. We must stop allowing others to define the terms of our safety.

To that end, before the High Holy Days, Atchalta will be publishing “The Playbook to Fighting Antisemitism in America.” This comprehensive document outlines a new strategy, one that reframes the fight as a defense of Western democratic values and champions a proud, particularistic Jewish identity. It is a strategy that begins with the simple, powerful act of securing our own spaces. By drawing our own red lines, we reclaim our agency and begin the crucial work of making antisemitism unacceptable again — not just for us, but for everyone.

Eran Shayshon is the founder of Atchalta.

Dor Lasker is the deputy CEO at Atchalta.