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ABE WON’T BE SILENT - There’s an old Gershwin song that goes:
“You like potato and I like po-tah-to. You like tomato and I like to-mah-to.
Potato, po-tah-to, tomato, to-mah-to. Let's call the whole thing off.”
Lately, the song has been singing in my head, and I’ve been wondering: what if we replaced the words tomato and potato with antizionism and antisemitism? Granted, the song loses its innocence, but honestly, I’d like to call this whole thing off, too.
Not because the words are identical or interchangeable. They aren’t. Rather, because we have become so consumed with debating the terminology, we seem to have lost sight of the horrendous reality underneath it: the vile persistence of Jew-hatred — a phrase that, even as I write it, makes my skin crawl.
Within the Jewish community, there is a serious and ongoing — ad nauseam — debate about how to define this moment. To the media, to our friends — our frenemies — at public speaking engagements, on podcasts, in our own heads. It’s exhausting.
There are brilliant, thoughtful, well-meaning intellectuals, writers, and activists who insist on drawing a bright line between antizionism and antisemitism. They argue whether criticism of Zionism or even opposition to Zionism as an ideology is not inherently hatred toward Jews.
We’re even arguing about the official spelling of these words!!! Dash, no dash. OY!
I’ve recently heard this gem, “We mustn’t use the term antisemites because technically, Arabs are Semites.” Yeah, perhaps, etymologically speaking. But if you think marketing this campaign is going to go over well — think of lead balloons. And boy, do I have a bridge to sell you.
There is another question we have to consider: what happens when language becomes a shield or a smoke screen which prevents us from seeing what is actually happening?
There are people I deeply respect who believe the word “Zionist” itself has become a burden — a moot point. Their argument is: Zionism achieved its historical purpose in 1948.
Theodor Herzl’s vision had become a fait accompli. The State of Israel was established, our peoplehood achieved sovereignty after centuries of exile and persecution, and although we’ve been fighting for our place in the sun ever since, surrounded by our Islamist enemies, their philosophy is like the Gershwin song. Why continue fighting over a word that has become so divisive? Let’s call the whole thing off.
I get it. But October 7 changed everything.
For many Jews, especially those who had lived comfortably as assimilated Jews in America and the diaspora, the day after, we saw a grand, profound awakening. Many who had rarely — if ever — thought about Zionism suddenly found themselves embracing the word — not because they became more political, but because they realized that Jewish safety and our self-determination were not abstract concepts. In fact, watching the outpouring of vile, JEW-HATRED left many of our hearts cold to the communities we were connected to. Suddenly, we felt betrayed and alone. We found solace in each other. New connections, WhatsApp groups sprang up, and a deep connection to our heritage became a badge of honor, no longer hidden by so many Jews who just wanted to fit in.
Now, what? You think anyone can simply tell these October 8 Jews to abandon the word Zionist? They are not clinging to a political slogan. It's an emotional coming of age — of all ages. They are connecting to an ancient history—stretching back even before Moses — of people who fought, sacrificed, bled, and dreamed of a homeland where one day their descendants, Jewish and Christian alike, would not depend on the goodwill of others.
Can you oppose certain policies of Israel and not hate Jews? Of course.
Can someone have a complicated relationship with Zionism and still be a loving, committed member of the Jewish people? Absolutely.
After October 7, many Jews began asking whether antizionism, in practice, had become the language through which antisemitism was increasingly expressed.
And while we debate definitions, many Jews are experiencing something very real: fear, isolation, and the feeling that the world has once again become a place where Jewish identity must be explained, defended, or even hidden.
At some point, the argument over words begins to feel disconnected from the lived experience of the people being targeted.
We are stuck in a verbal conundrum — a merry-go-round of semantics as if they will definitely bear the final solution. No pun intended. We cannot talk our way out of hatred. It never goes away. It lays dormant — and will again.
Talk is cheap.
Tweets are cheaper.
Hashtags are cheapest.
The challenge before us is not simply finding the best argument. To our detractors, we will never be right — as right as rain as we are.
Our bigger challenge is to find the courage to change the things we can.
Our greatest, to have the wisdom to know the difference.
To be present. To stay proud. To refuse intimidation. And let hate roll off our backs because we’re protected by the history of our resilience. We have not one thing to prove. History is on our side.
Tomato. Tomahto. Let’s just call off our haters by letting them stew in their propagandized mindlessness.
(ABE GURKO is a writer and author of Won’t Be Silent—Don’t Stop ’til It Matters, and a producer of the documentary. LOUDER: The Soundtrack of Change. He is an opinionator and host of the podcast Won’t Be Silent, engaging in conversations from the edge of democracy. Abe is a contributor to CityWatchLA.com)
