In the wake of increasing anti-Semitism across the globe, the Center for the Study of Religion and American Culture recently held a pivotal discussion on the history of anti-Semitism in America, featuring scholars Lincoln Mullen, John Turner, Brit Tevis, and Sarah Imhoff.
By Dr. Tim Orr
In the wake of increasing anti-Semitism across the globe, the Center for the Study of Religion and American Culture recently held a pivotal discussion on the history of anti-Semitism in America, featuring scholars Lincoln Mullen, John Turner, Brit Tevis, and Sarah Imhoff. The conversation highlighted not only the long-standing roots of anti-Semitism but also the nuanced ways in which it has manifested in both political and religious contexts. While I found much of the discussion insightful, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own beliefs about the deeper, often unexamined, sources of this hatred and how they intersect with my studies on both Christian and Islamic theology.
One of the central themes that stood out was the panel’s critique of the notion of American Jewish exceptionalism. This idea, which dominated much of early American Jewish scholarship, posits that Jews in the U.S. have experienced relatively little anti-Semitism compared to their European counterparts. As Lincoln Mullen pointed out, this narrative has obscured the very real political and social marginalization Jews have faced in America. Brit Tevis went further, discussing how anti-Semitism in America has often been political, serving to strip Jews of their rights and privileges.
Reflecting on this, I agree wholeheartedly with the critique of American exceptionalism. For too long, the myth of America as a haven for Jews has allowed many to ignore the more insidious forms of anti-Semitism embedded in American culture. When we think of anti-Semitism, we often picture violent pogroms or the horrors of the Holocaust, but what Mullen and Tevis emphasized is that anti-Semitism in America has been far more subtle and structural. Political exclusion, social ostracism, and the denial of full participation in American civic life are all forms of anti-Semitism that do not garner the same attention but are no less harmful.
In my work, particularly on Islamic anti-Semitism, I see a similar pattern. There is a tendency among some scholars to downplay the anti-Semitism present during Muhammad’s lifetime, particularly when it comes to his conflict with the Jewish tribes of Medina. Many argue that this was simply a political conflict devoid of theological implications. However, I find this argument deeply flawed. Much like the political anti-Semitism in America, these early Islamic conflicts were not merely political—they were underpinned by a theological narrative that framed Jews as obstacles to the divine mission. Ronald Nettler’s assertion that Muhammad feared the Jews would expose inconsistencies in his message reflects a truth that is often overlooked: the most dangerous forms of anti-Semitism are those that become intertwined with religious or political identity.
Brit Tevis's discussion on the political uses of anti-Semitism—such as the exclusion of Jews from juries or the enforcement of Sunday closing laws—highlights a crucial point about how anti-Semitism operates as a tool for control. It is not simply an irrational hatred but a strategic means of maintaining power and dominance. Tevis discussed how these legal exclusions were not merely about keeping Jews out of certain professions or denying them economic opportunities; they were about establishing a social hierarchy where Jews were permanently relegated to second-class status.
This resonates with my studies on Islamic dhimmitude, where Jews (and Christians) were relegated to a subordinate position under Islamic rule. In both cases, political and legal systems were weaponized to ensure Jewish communities remained marginalized, unable to fully participate in the social, political, or economic life of the majority. What is striking is how the dominant group often justifies this marginalization to preserve social order or protect religious integrity. Whether in America or the Muslim world, anti-Semitism is often rationalized as a necessary defense against a perceived Jewish threat.
I believe that this perception of Jews as a threat to the dominant order is key to understanding the persistence of anti-Semitism. In Islamic history, Jews were seen as a threat to the legitimacy of Muhammad’s message, as their refusal to accept Islam posed a challenge to his authority. In America, Jews have similarly been cast as outsiders whose success or influence is seen as destabilizing to the social fabric. The roots of this fear run deep, and they are theological as much as political.
John Turner’s exploration of the evangelical relationship with Jews revealed another layer of complexity. Evangelicals have historically been torn between a fascination with Jews—largely due to their role in biblical prophecy—and a lingering suspicion or even disdain for them. Turner’s example of Billy Graham’s private conversations with Richard Nixon, where Graham expressed deeply anti-Semitic views despite his public support for Israel, is telling. This duality is something I have observed firsthand in evangelical circles, where there is often unquestioning support for Israel but little genuine engagement with Jewish identity or culture.
As someone who has spent much of my career in interfaith dialogue, I find this evangelical relationship with Jews troubling. I see the Jews as part of Biblical prophecy, especially in Romans 11. So, I am not troubled, though I do not share all of the dispensational theological commitments. My criticism of dispensational eschatology when it comes to Israel is that it tends to take a rigid, overly literal approach to prophecy. It often places too much emphasis on the modern political state of Israel, treating it as the key to understanding God's plan. While I believe God has a plan for Israel, as Romans 11 clarifies, I take a more nuanced approach. I recognize Israel’s significance, but I’m cautious about fully embracing the geopolitical conclusions drawn by dispensationalists. It’s about focusing on God’s redemptive plan without getting overly tied to modern political developments.
With that said, because Jews are reduced to a group that fulfills biblical prophecy, too often, Jews are reduced to mere instruments in a Christian eschatological narrative. Their significance is not as a people with their history, faith, and covenant but as a prophetic tool necessary for the return of Christ. This reduction of Jewish identity to a role in Christian prophecy strips Jews of their humanity and perpetuates a subtle form of anti-Semitism that is often overlooked.
If evangelicals are truly to engage with Jews, we must move beyond this prophetic fascination with Israel. I believe that a more authentic relationship with Jews requires evangelicals to grapple with the complexity of Jewish identity and history, not merely through the lens of prophecy but through a sincere effort to understand Judaism as a living, breathing faith. This means challenging some deeply ingrained theological assumptions and rethinking how we approach interfaith dialogue altogether.
Perhaps the most contentious part of the discussion came when the panel addressed the intersection of anti-Zionism and anti-Semitism. John Turner and Sarah Imhoff both acknowledged the rise of anti-Israel sentiment on college campuses and the fertile ground it has created for anti-Semitism. Turner pointed to the correlation between the growth of the anti-Israel movement and an increase in anti-Semitic incidents, particularly on university campuses. While Imhoff emphasized that not all critiques of Israel are inherently anti-Semitic, she urged caution in how we navigate these conversations.
I agree with both Turner and Imhoff, but with an important caveat. While I recognize the need for a distinction between legitimate criticism of Israeli government policies and anti-Semitism, I believe that much of the contemporary anti-Zionist rhetoric crosses the line into anti-Semitism far more often than many are willing to admit. In my work on Islamic anti-Semitism, I have seen how anti-Zionism is frequently used as a cover for more virulent forms of anti-Jewish hatred. The rhetoric around the Israeli-Palestinian conflict often devolves into sweeping generalizations about Jews as a people, blaming all Jews for the actions of the Israeli state. This, to me, is a clear form of anti-Semitism, and it must be called out as such.
I somewhat share Imhoff’s concern about the pressure being placed on Jewish anti-Zionists to conform to a pro-Israel narrative. Indeed, the Jewish community is not monolithic, and there have always been voices within Judaism that have critiqued Zionism, particularly in its early stages. So, I believe it is essential to protect the space for these internal Jewish debates without labeling all Jewish anti-Zionists as traitors or self-hating Jews. This is a delicate balance, but one that is necessary if we are to have a candid conversation about the intersection of Jewish identity and political Zionism.
As I reflect on the discussion, I am left with a deep conviction that we must go beyond simply cataloging instances of anti-Semitism and move towards a deeper understanding of its roots—both theological and political. Anti-Semitism, whether in its Christian or Islamic forms, is not just a social ill to be condemned but a deeply embedded worldview that must be critically examined and dismantled.
For me, this means also engaging with the theological narratives, both Christian and Islamic, that have fueled anti-Semitism for centuries. It means challenging the political structures that continue to marginalize Jewish communities, both in America and the broader world. And it means fostering a more authentic interfaith dialogue, one that moves beyond superficial gestures of support for Israel or empty proclamations of solidarity with the Jewish people.
If we are to truly confront anti-Semitism in all its forms, we must be willing to interrogate our own beliefs, challenge the narratives we have inherited, and build bridges based on genuine understanding and respect. Only then can we hope to move forward toward a world where Jews are not seen as threats or tools in a larger religious or political agenda but as equals with their dignity, history, and faith?
Tim Orr is a scholar, Evangelical minister, conference speaker, and interfaith consultant with over 30 years of experience in cross-cultural ministry. He holds six degrees, including a master’s in Islamic studies from the Islamic College in London. Tim taught Religious Studies for 15 years at Indiana University Columbus and is now a Congregations and Polarization Project research associate at the Center for the Study of Religion and American Culture at Indiana University Indianapolis. He has spoken at universities, including Oxford University, the University of Tehran, and mosques throughout the U.K. His research focuses on American Evangelicalism, Islamic antisemitism, and Islamic feminism, and he has published widely, including articles in Islamic peer-reviewed journals and three books.
