A popular proverb says that a half-truth is a whole lie. The latest episode of SVT’s Utrikesbyrån about Hamas was a good example of that. That does not mean it wasn’t interesting. It was. Nor is there any doubt that the three participants — former Prime Minister Stefan Löfven, political scientist Marco Nilsson and Middle East analyst Bitte Hammargren — knew what they were talking about. But when it came to the analysis of Hamas, we were given only a half-truth.
The questions the presenter Rebecca Randhawa asked were: what is left of Hamas, will they lay down their arms, and who will govern Gaza. The first and the third questions are almost impossible to answer. Even Israeli intelligence does not know what remains of Hamas’s military capability, and Gaza’s future governance depends on a complicated geopolitical process. The second question, however, can be answered based on a deep understanding of what Hamas is, the choices it has made in the past, and what its ideological and political DNA is.
According to Löfven, Hamas’s power is the result of a paradox. Despite being one of Israel’s greatest enemies, its power originated with Israel’s political leadership. “Such an organization receives support (from Qatar, for example) simply because Israel wants to avoid the Palestinian Authority (PA) gaining any power.” Hammargren agreed and said that Hamas was a political asset for Israel. “Netanyahu’s line was that by letting Hamas grow in Gaza we don’t have to hear about a Palestinian statehood,” she said. This is a common analysis and it is partly true. Netanyahu and other Israeli leaders do indeed oppose a two-state solution. Because of this, his strategy was to weaken the PA, and many argue that one of the ways he did this was by allowing Hamas to grow. But this is only half the truth.
The other half, and the real reason Hamas rose to power and was able to retain it, is much simpler. The source of Hamas’s power is support from large parts of the Palestinian people. Even now, after two years of destruction and death that are a direct consequence of Hamas’s decision to massacre Israeli civilians on October 7, 2023, Hamas is still supported by many Palestinians. The international support from Qatar and Iran that Löfven and Hammargren mentioned is also not hard to understand. Iran’s regime has a long-term goal of eliminating “the Zionist entity,” and Qatar built its international position on supporting its ideological Muslim Brotherhood allies. Sure, Netanyahu miscalculated Hamas’s capacity and misread its intentions, but it was not he who made Hamas’s ideology popular, and it was not he who turned Qatar and Iran into dangerous regional destabilizing powers.
But where is Hamas heading? Utrikesbyrån’s two-and-a-half-minute clip tried to provide background. According to the clip, “Hamas removed the demand that Israel be destroyed, but still does not recognize the state of Israel.” This is not even a half-truth. Hamas is absolutely committed to the destruction of Israel. Yes, it created a new charter for foreign audiences, because the old document contained antisemitic propaganda that was not particularly popular on university campuses and in some Western circles. But even the new charter demands “all of Palestine” from the river to the sea, it does not accept the Oslo Accords or the two-state solution, and it still endorses “armed resistance,” which has been a decisive part of Hamas’s nature long before October 7. That includes blowing up buses and restaurants full of civilians as well as kidnapping, torturing and murdering Jews of all ages, genders and backgrounds. One interesting thing Utrikesbyrån did not mention is that Hamas activists have on several occasions been arrested in Europe for planning attacks on “Jewish targets.” Worth mentioning if anyone took the “new charter” seriously.
Despite (or perhaps because of) the violence, Hamas won the Palestinian elections in 2006 in both the West Bank and Gaza. Palestinians are not blind or politically incapable — they knew exactly what they were voting for. According to Utrikesbyrån’s experts, Netanyahu could have fought Hamas by strengthening the PA. It’s an interesting theory. Only problem is that it’s not true. Not during the years when Hamas was building its reign of terror, anyway. The reasons are that Netanyahu was not Israel’s prime minister at that time. Between 1999 and 2009 the prime ministers of Israel were Ehud Barak, Ariel Sharon and Ehud Olmert. The first was an outspoken advocate for a two-state solution, the second ended the occupation of Gaza, and the third was probably the one who offered the PA the most generous territorial compromise. Hamas was not impressed. It continued to build the fundamentalist, jihadist, genocidal faction within the Palestinian nationalist movement. Hamas did not need Netanyahu for this. It was fully capable of doing it on its own, while many Israelis were still considering peace and reconciliation.
Utrikesbyrån downplayed all of this. In the program there were no blown-up buses, no tunnels, rockets, high-tech international propaganda campaigns or brutal executions of Palestinian “collaborators.” October 7 was only mentioned in passing, as another point on the timeline. No hostages, no burned neighborhoods, no executed families. This is not a complaint that they “forgot October 7,” but a critique of incomplete analysis. How can one answer the question about Hamas’s intentions without taking into account that the organization recruited thousands of people who were willing not only to kill but also to commit gang rapes and sexualized torture in the name of Allah?
Netanyahu can and should be criticized for many things, but not for this. Sure, he did not destroy Hamas before October 7, and through his incompetence and corruption he may have contributed to the opposite. Israelis should hold him accountable for that. But this is far from the cause of the catastrophe. Hamas began building its advanced military capability long before Netanyahu, it remains standing, and many Palestinians still support it. Let us imagine that Netanyahu had decided to wipe out Hamas back in 2014. Now that we know that not even the destruction of Gaza did the job, would Stefan Löfven have supported an Israeli offensive on that scale? Would the Obama administration have allowed it? Would the UN have accepted it? Of course not. Everyone can complain about Netanyahu and everyone can criticize Hamas, but in the end — whose responsibility is it to eliminate Hamas, and who will support such an effort?
It is obvious that Stefan Löfven in no way supports Hamas. In Utrikesbyrån he spoke very clearly about the necessity of a political process with a reformed Palestinian Authority moving toward a two-state solution. But putting the blame for the situation on the Israeli government while ignoring Hamas’s inherently genocidal nature is a classic half-truth. It leads people to believe in conspiracy theories about secret Israeli involvement in the massacre of its own citizens, and more importantly — it shifts the focus to the wrong side. To reach a lasting ceasefire it would be wiser to focus on the “de‑Hamasification” of Gaza and support moderate forces on both sides that can help their communities recover from this two-year trauma and build a future together.
As politicians and dignitaries take part in Trondheim Synagogue's centennial celebrations later this month, for the city's small but growing Jewish population it has become a safe haven from post-October 7 antisemitism.
TRONDHEIM, Norway – When it comes to the attendance list, it's hard to imagine a more distinguished and high-ranking one in Norway. Prime Minister Jonas Gahr Støre will deliver a speech. Mayor of Trondheim Kent Ranum will be there along with other municipal leaders and senior representatives of the Norwegian government. The Royal Family will also be represented alongside leaders of Norwegian Jewish communities, several bishops and leaders of various Christian denominations, an imam and representatives from the Israeli and American embassies in Norway.
The occasion? The 100th anniversary of one of the northernmost synagogues in the world, the Trondheim Synagogue, which will take place on October 26. The synagogue serves the small Jewish community (numbering approximately 200) in Norway's third most populous city, positioned about 350 kilometers south of the Arctic Circle.
Trondheim Synagogue, 2025, photo: Martin Borg
"The events will include religious services, a concert featuring Edan Tamler, a well-known Israeli cantor, and a festive dinner for congregation members and visiting guests," says John Arne Moen, the chairman of the community. Moen, who's a retired journalist and editor, has been a member of the community's board since 2006 and now serves as chairman. "The event will also include a keynote address by Chief Rabbi of Norway, Michael Melchior, who has served as an Israeli government minister and MK (the community itself doesn't have its own permanent rabbi).
The story of Trondheim's Jews goes 150 years back. "The first Jews to arrive in Trondheim came from today's Lithuania and Poland via Sweden in the 1870s," says Moen. "At the end of World War I, there were about 340 Jews in Trondheim and in other towns in Western and Northern Norway. Unlike Jews who came to Oslo, many of whom came from Denmark and German speaking parts of Europe, these were poor immigrants who escaped pogroms and poverty in the Russian Empire."
Moen goes on to say, these Jews "didn't speak Danish or German, which were languages common for educated Norwegians at the time. Instead, they spoke Yiddish and Russian. They came from small shtetls and it must have been really hard for them to settle here. Most of them didn't even intend to stay. They wanted to go to America, and Trondheim was just a stop during which they hoped to make some money for the ship ticket. However, almost all of them ended up staying here."
"These immigrants mostly settled in an area close to the harbor, known for prostitution and poverty, and they transformed it into the only Jewish quarter in Norway. It became rich in Jewish cultural and religious life led by a rabbi who arrived in 1896 from Belarus. A synagogue was founded in a building borrowed and then bought from a Baptist church, and the small community had a women's organization and a Zionist youth organization," Moen says. "There were also unique challenges."
Moen is referring to Trondheim's geographic location. Because of its proximity to the Arctic Circle, the sun in Trondheim sets after 11 p.m. in the summer and before 3 p.m. in the winter. Naturally, this is a challenge for Orthodox Jews when it comes to determining when Shabbat and holidays start and end. "This has been an issue for many years," Moen says. "Rabbi Samuel Brandhändler – the first rabbi in Trondheim – decided to have set times for Shabbat during some weeks in the summer and some winter weeks. Later, in the 1920s, that became the practice year-round making Trondheim probably the only Orthodox Jewish community with set times for Shabbat."
Moen says that the golden age of the community was between the two world wars. It was then that the community moved into its current location – a building which was decommissioned as a train station, purchased by the Salvation Army and then bought by the Jewish community. After extensive renovation work, it was inaugurated in October 1925. The building became the center of Jewish life in Trondheim and it still is today. It serves not only as the synagogue, but also the Jewish community center and home to Jewish Museum Trondheim, the permanent exhibition of this unique community.
"As a museum, we communicate knowledge, we take care of the exhibits, we research and renew," says Agnete Eilersten, 40, who has been the museum's collection manager and curator for the last five years. "The people who come here are mostly school …children [ages] 13 to 18, but we also have [individual visitors] including students, tourists and Norwegians of all ages."
Walking around the museum, Eilersten points out the old ark and Torah scrolls from Trondheim's first synagogue, pictures of the first Jewish families, exhibits about Jewish traditions and an old mikveh (Jewish ritual purification bath) in the cellar. When asked why she was drawn to work at this particular museum Eilersten, who is not Jewish herself, speaks of her fascination with Norwegian-Jewish culture which has been "hidden in many ways." But it's also about combating antisemitism. "We try to counter antisemitism by disseminating knowledge and teaching people about Jewish history," she says, "we believe that more knowledge means less prejudice." And, of course, there's also the war. "It is very important to preserve the history of World War II," she says. "We need to [pass it on] to new generations."
In Norway, this attitude isn't a given. Norway's World War II legacy is complicated by the fact that many Norwegians supported and cooperated with the Nazis. As such, it has remained in the shadows for decades. The Nazis occupied Trondheim and the rest of Norway in 1940. A year later, they took over the synagogue which became barracks for German soldiers. "We think that the soldiers, who were probably drunk, lay in their beds and shot at the ceiling," says Moen, the synagogue chairman. "The building was heavily damaged and during those years more than half of the community's members were deported and murdered. No other Jewish community in the Nordic countries suffered more than Trondheim's."
On the eve of World War II, Norway had around 2,400 Jews, including a few hundred from other nationalities. When Germany invaded and occupied Norway in 1940, the Norwegian king and government fled the country forming a government-in-exile in London, while Norway was ruled by a Nazi official named Josef Terboven, who governed through a pro-Nazi puppet government headed by Vidkun Quisling, the leader of a Norwegian fascist party, Nasjonal Samling (The National Union), founded in 1933. The party cooperated with the Nazis in taking over the country, and in many cases Norwegian policemen, not German Nazis, were the ones who arrested and deported the Jews.
Persecution of the Jews began in 1941 with arrests, property confiscation and some executions on false charges. In 1942, mass arrests of hundreds of Jews were carried out. Most were transported on the SS Donau to Auschwitz. Another ship, the MS Gotenland, transported over 150 more to the same destination in February 1943. In total, 772 Norwegian Jews were arrested or deported. The oldest among them was 80 and the youngest an eight-week-old baby. Fewer than 40 came back. Those who survived had mostly escaped to neutral Sweden. When the war was over, they returned, and although they survived they were deeply traumatized. And even worse – they stood alone.
Irene Levin turned the hundreds of notes her mother left behind after her death into a book chronicling the story of Norwegian Jews during the Holocaust.
When Irene Levin's mother was 96, she left her apartment in Oslo and moved into a Jewish old age home. Levin and her two children wanted her mother's – and their grandmother's – new home to feel like a miniature version of the elegant, meticulously arranged apartment she had lived in for decades. To do so, they moved in the gilded-upholstered furniture, the paintings, the silverware, and the mirrors her mother never passed without briefly checking her reflection. As part of the process, they also cleaned and organized the apartment.
It took Levin more than five years to understand the significance of what she found during that process. "There were notes everywhere," she told Haaretz in an interview. "Some were hidden in piles of newspapers, other were tucked away in drawers, on shelves, and in cupboards. Some had only one or two sentences, others were full pages written in my mother's handwriting. Although they weren't dated, her handwriting showed they spanned different time periods – the 1960s, 70s and 80s.
"When I first found the notes, I didn't read them. They became just one more thing I would get to when I had time. For five years, they stayed enclosed in an envelope." Levin's mother, Fanny Raskow, died in 2013 at the age of 101. "After she passed away, and after I retired, I started reading the notes," Levin recalls. "Mostly the notes were about World War II, but also about her upbringing before the war in a family that had escaped to what is now Lithuania. There were many unfinished sentences, especially those dealing with the arrest and deportation of her father, my grandfather. It's unclear who the notes were meant for. Maybe she wrote for herself, as a way of venting, or perhaps she hoped I would eventually find them. But she never mentioned them".
Levin says the notes revealed the dilemmas and choices her mother faced. "My mother blamed herself all her life for not being able to save her father," she says. "It haunted her constantly, until the end of her life. In all my upbringing there was a silence, and the war was never discussed openly. If it came up, it was always indirectly or through broken, incomplete sentences." At a certain point, Levin realized that her mother's story was also the story of other Norwegian Jews. The result was her book, ("Vi snakket ikke om Holocaust. Mor, jeg og tausheten," Gyldendal, 2020, literally translated as "We Didn't Talk About the Holocaust: Mother, I, and the Silence"). The English version, titled "Everyday Silence and the Holocaust", was published by Routledge last year.
"My mother was trapped in a history that had been imposed on her, and one that for decades remained almost unspoken in Norwegian society," Levin says. "When I began researching in the National Archives of Norway in Oslo, I tried to see whether other Jewish families' stories were similar to that of my mother. I started asking new questions about my personal history and discovered experiences and events that had always been there, just not talked about.
"As a child, I simply acted on behaviors that seemed normal. As an adult – and as a professional – I began questioning my own story. Are the gaps in the stories significant? The fact that the life of our tiny nuclear family was defined by specific, historical events was something I simply knew. Just as one learns one's mother tongue intuitively, I learned about 'the war'. I lived my whole life in a community of World War II survivors, yet I still didn't really know much, despite believing I knew the whole story."
'What Happened to Our Jews?'
The story of Irene Levin is, to a great extent, the story of an entire generation of Norwegian Jews. Her grandparents' families emigrated to Norway around 1905 from Lithuania, fleeing poverty, hard conditions, and persecution. Levin explains that this migration differed from that of other Scandinavian countries. While Denmark and Sweden received "Ost-Juden" – Jews from Central Europe – there were already established Jewish communities in those countries. Some were prominent figures in society and openly identified as Jews. In Norway, by contrast, Jews were only permitted to enter starting in the mid-19th century. They were few in number, poor, and mostly uneducated.
Less than 40 years after her grandparents arrived in Norway, they and their children had to flee. This time, it was due to the German occupation during World War II, and their destination was Sweden, the neutral and thus safe neighboring country to the east. Levin's parents were among hundreds of Jews who left Norway as the Nazi persecution escalated, peaking in the fall of 1942 when hundreds of Norwegian Jews were deported to Auschwitz.
Levin's parents received help from a neighboring family, and their escape was aided by friends and members of the resistance movement, who hid them from the Gestapo and the Norwegian police in various locations. Their journey took 23 days. Levin's mother was pregnant during the escape, and she gave birth to Irene, her first and only child, in the Swedish town of Norrköping, where the family stayed until the war ended.
After the war, Levin, her mother, and father returned to Norway and began rebuilding their lives. She was less than two and a half years old and doesn't remember Liberation Day, but it's clear to her that even then, silence began to play a significant role. "We didn't talk about the war," she recalls. "The fact that the family went through a disaster was always present, but it wasn't spoken about. In the 1950s, when I was ten, we could be sitting with guests around the dinner table, and someone might suddenly say something like, 'It was Norwegian police who made the arrests, not the Germans.' And someone would reply, 'It doesn't matter, we're not getting them back either way.' Then the conversation would switch to the previous topic, and no one would ask, 'What do you mean?' Everyone knew what it meant, they just didn't talk about it for decades."
Did the silence begin right at the end of the war?
"You can tell from the Norwegian press how knowledge about what had happened slowly evolved. The free press resumed operations as early as May 14, 1945. On the second day, the country's largest newspaper, Aftenposten, asked, 'What happened to our Jews?' The article reported, 'There is reason to fear that many Norwegian Jews have died,' and quickly added that no confirmation had been received. In the weeks that followed, reports ended with phrases like, 'There is no reason to lose hope.' On May 17, the same newspaper reported, 'We have 750 Jews in Germany. So far, we've heard from only nine or ten.' Slowly, the news worsened, and by May 23, it was reported that the Jews had been taken to 'the notorious concentration camp Auschwitz.'
"After a while, the topic was no longer written about. It resurfaced in the trials of Norwegians who had collaborated with the Nazis, and in the court case of the Norwegian traitor Vidkun Quisling [a Nazi collaborator who headed the government of Norway during the country's occupation by Nazi Germany] where two survivors testified. One of them, the later well-known psychiatrist Leo Eitinger, told of Jews being gassed. When asked by the judge if Norwegian Jews were treated in the same way, he answered 'Yes, I swear to God.'"
The outcome of the war was catastrophic for Levin's family. Thirty-two members of her extended family, including her maternal grandfather, were murdered in Auschwitz. Her grandfather was deported along with hundreds of other Norwegians –men, women, and children – on November 26, 1942. Levin's mother tried to spare him by putting him in a hospital but he was taken from there, arrested and, the next day, loaded onto the ship SS Donau. After four days in its cargo hold, he and the others arrived in Stettin, where they were crammed into cattle cars. On December 1, they reached Auschwitz-Birkenau. Levin's grandfather's exact fate remains unknown. He was one of an endless number of victims who didn't survive and never returned to Norway.
The facts about World War II in Norway and the fate of its Jews are well-known. On the eve of the war, Norway had around 2,800,000 inhabitants, of whom about 2,400 were Jews, including around 500 from other nationalities. During World War I, Norway had remained neutral, and hoped to maintain neutrality again during World War II. But events took a different turn. A Norwegian fascist party, Nasjonal Samling (The National Union), founded in 1933 by officer and politician Vidkun Quisling, offered the Nazis cooperation in taking over the country. Germany invaded Norway and Denmark on April 9, 1940, in Operation Weserübung. Denmark surrendered within hours, while battles in Norway lasted around two months before the German victory, achieved after the Allied forces retreated and Narvik – a strategic port used for shipping iron ore from Sweden – was captured.
As the Germans occupied the country, the Norwegian king and government fled and formed a government-in-exile in London. Civilian rule in Norway was overtaken by Nazi official Josef Terboven, appointed Reichskommissar by Hitler. Terboven governed through a pro-German puppet government headed by Quisling. The Norwegian parliament was dissolved, all parties banned except Quisling's, and the judiciary was subordinated to German control.
Persecution of the Jews began with sporadic decrees early in the occupation. In 1941, arrests were made, property confiscated, and some Jews were executed on false charges. In 1942, mass arrests of hundreds of Jews were carried out, most of whom, including Levin's grandfather, were transported on the SS Donau to Auschwitz. Another ship, the MS Gotenland, transported 158 more Jews to the same destination in February 1943. In total, 772 Norwegian Jews were arrested or deported. The oldest among them 80, the youngest an 8-week-old baby. Fewer than 40 came back. Those who survived the war had mostly escaped to neutral Sweden or Britain.
The facts were known for decades, but their meaning has been the subject of public debate – one that Irene Levin, after publishing her book, is now central to. Levin is a professor emeritus of social sciences at Oslo Metropolitan University. Her work started in the area of family studies with emphasis on new family forms and gender studies. In recent years, she has moved her area of research into history and Holocaust studies and has been closely connected to the Norwegian Center for Holocaust and Minority Studies, including working with surveys on antisemitism. She has worked with Soviet Jewry and been active in applying for Norwegian non-Jews receiving the Righteous Among the Nations award, granted by Yad Vashem.
Her recent book adds to numerous other publications she's written or edited, covering topics from social sciences to remembrance, and the Holocaust in Norway.
Her new book generated considerable attention in Norway. Positive reviews appeared in major newspapers; she was interviewed by media and gave lectures across the country for over a year. Headlines focused on themes like "The Holocaust That Always Sat Within the Walls" or "The Mother Who Dealt with Trauma Through Silence." Critics noted that Levin "presents her family's history as a gateway to understanding the Jewish tragedy in Norway," "gives us a micro-history that opens wounds – with painful, terrifying details," and "breaks the silence, telling dramatic stories of fate."
Is the silence of the survivors and Norwegian society similar to that of survivors in other countries, or does it have unique characteristics?
"The phenomenon of silence is not unique, but circumstances vary. What's special about Norway is that it had a small number of Jews and geographically, with the long border with Sweden and the long coastline to England, one would think that it would be possible to hide more".
"Moreover, Norwegian Jews loved Norway. They learned the language and embraced the culture; they embraced the Norwegian love of nature and even changed their surnames to make them easier for their neighbors to pronounce. That's why what happened shocked them. They told themselves that they were arrested by the Gestapo – when, in fact, it was the Norwegian police.
"My mother always said: 'It took such a long time until we really understood, Irene.' Those who survived and returned weren't like the other Norwegians coming back after the war – the resistance fighters or political exiles. They weren't heroes. They won the war. The Jews had not won the war. They were deported or fled because of who they were, not what they did – and that came with a sense of shame. They asked themselves, 'What kind of Norwegians are we now?'"
Levin explains that other elements were involved. Some blamed themselves for failing to save relatives. They were grief-stricken, and many had to face the painful, often unsuccessful process of reclaiming seized property. Homes and businesses had been confiscated or auctioned off. Only in the 1990s, following a media campaign and the creation of a restitution committee, did Norwegian society begin to seriously reckon with the Holocaust. Survivors received compensation, and the Norwegian Center for Holocaust and Minority Studies was established.
"Until the 1990s, the story of the Jews was not integrated into the national historical narrative," Levin says. "It's not that people didn't know what happened – there were books and survivor testimonies – but Jews were not part of the main story. The Holocaust in Norway was like an appendix to Norwegian history, not part of the official narrative."
So, if the Holocaust wasn't part of Norway's war story, would it be accurate to say that Norway didn't take responsibility for what happened to its Jews?
"In three major historical books that shaped the narrative and were published in 1950, the extermination of the Jews was described merely as a 'detail'. Later, in the 1980s, six volumes titled 'Norway at War' asked: What happened to the Jews? The answer is mostly covered in the third volume, spanning 18 pages with photos. In the final section, the question is raised – could more have been done to help the Jews? could they have been warned about what deportation meant? the answer the book gives is that Jews in all occupied countries and even in the free world underestimated the cruelty of the SS. That is, responsibility was ultimately shifted to the Jews themselves – because they didn't resist arrest.
"When I first read these, I thought that they did the same as my mother, blaming herself for her father's arrest, as did society at large. Both the minority and the majority put the responsibility on the Jews. But I realized that when my mother blamed herself, she was taking the burden on herself, bearing the responsibility – as a Jewish woman and a daughter. When the author, as a representative of society, blamed the Jews, it was the opposite: it was the removal of responsibility."
Do you think this perspective still echoes in Norway in 2025, amid rising antisemitism and claims that Norwegian society is abandoning its Jews?
"For the Jews in Norway [the community numbers approximately 1,500 people], October 7 is an echo from the war, while knowing that it was not the same and that the Holocaust is unique. But Norwegian society at large did not hear the same echo. They only heard the voice from Hamas and very quickly defined the attack as a continuity of occupation.
"It was a shock that the empathy that the Jews in Norway had earned due their history during the war, suddenly disappeared. I never thought that during my lifetime, I would experience a rise of antisemitism. When researching the Holocaust and antisemitism, I was doing it as something belonging to the past to ensure it would not happen again. Suddenly, the Jewish state was attacked and its legitimacy was at stake. The Jewish voice has lost its legitimacy.
"My grandmother would always tell me: 'Die Juden sind schuldig' – the Jews are to blame, always. I thought that was relevant to the shtetl, not my everyday life. There is a shift in the perception of responsibility and legitimacy – the focus has changed, and it is no longer in our favor. I demonstrated on Women's Day and my fellow feminists didn't allow us to participate! They questioned whether there were even sexual assaults on October 7; and if they did accept that they happened, they minimized their significance, treating it as something that 'naturally' happens in every war.
"In my research on silence, an important factor is the interaction between the individual and society. After World War II, it was not only the Jews who were silent. The society at large was silent, too, but for different reasons. The space the minority has is shaped by the majority. It took Norwegian society 50 years before it recognized its responsibility in the atrocities. In the current situation, the Jewish voice has little legitimacy and the connection with society at large is of distrust. But can we Jews wait for the society to show us such a space? We have to take it. In that sense, it's like a revolution."
At the end of the interview, Levin returns to the topic of silence, which she sees as the common thread between the biographical and the historical. It's a silence shared by many survivors of the war, but Levin suggests that it is an even broader phenomenon.
"If you had asked me about the Holocaust while I was growing up – if you had asked me whether I knew about the war and what happened to the Jews – I would have said yes," she says. "But today I know that I didn't know. I didn't have the details; I didn't know what really happened. What I had was a sense that a catastrophe had occurred, and that it had happened to the Jews. Nothing more.
"And maybe that's similar to other disasters, like what happened on October 7. Even though information spreads much faster today, the feeling is similar. We know a disaster occurred, we think we understand it, but as time passes, we realize in hindsight that we didn't know everything, that we didn't grasp the scope, and that we still haven't dealt with all the implications."
Amanah was one of the most important Jewish-Muslim cooperation projects to exist in Europe before October 7. Founded eight years ago in the Swedish city of Malmö by Moshe David HaCohen, then the city's rabbi, and Salahuddin Barakat, a local imam, it aimed to build trust between the city's Jews and Muslims and to counter discrimination. This specific name for the organization was chosen because in Hebrew and Arabic, Amanah refers to the principles of faith and trust.
When it was still active, Amanah ran school programs and developed digital tools to combat racism and monitor social media, addressing many of the challenges for which Malmö had gained notoriety: Holocaust denial in schools, rising incidents of antisemitism every time violence broke out in the Middle East; and escalating Islamophobia culminating in the burning of Qurans by right-wing extremists on multiple occasions.
Amanah's activities were put on hold immediately after October 7, initially because of a statement posted on Facebook by Barakat's Islamic Academy that was deemed highly offensive to the Jewish community. "As Muslims, we stand with our oppressed brothers and sisters in their right to fight against these injustices for freedom, justice, and peace," read the post, which was written when the October massacre was still ongoing. While the post was later updated to offer condolences "to all the innocent victims of violence," the damage had been done. Although dialogue between HaCohen and several Muslim leaders continued and even helped prevent violence during the Eurovision Song Contest in Malmö last May, Amanah officially disbanded in December 2024.
Moshe David HaCohen, Photo: Herald Nilsson
HaCohen is now launching a new organization named B.R.I.T – an acronym for Building Resilience Identity and Trust, and a reference to the Hebrew word for "covenant." He says the organization will work to foster relations between Jews and Muslims in several European countries, based on the premise that security and safety "can't only be based on fear, guards and security cameras – it needs a deeper understanding and working together to overcome the problems."
Jewish-Muslim bridge-building initiatives have been tested in other Scandinavian countries as well over the past year and a half. Before October 7, Jews and Muslims in Oslo regularly held dialogue meetings under the auspices of the Council for Religious and Life Stance Communities (the umbrella organization for Norwegian religious organizations).
"After October 7, cooperation became a serious challenge to both sides," says Rabbi Joav Melchior, the leader of Oslo's Jewish community. "For members of the Jewish community, it was a challenge to deal with Muslim leaders who claimed Israel was committing genocide and spread anti-Israeli conspiracy theories," he adds. "Muslim leaders, on the other hand, saw the support of Zionism as a challenge and expected their Jewish counterparts to denounce it."
Although no major interfaith events have been held in the city over the past year-and-a-half, Melchior says Jewish and Muslim clergy continue to meet and share their thoughts in more intimate gatherings organized through the umbrella organization. "There is a will to improve relations, even though it won't be like it was before October 7," says Melchior, stressing the importance of continuing to talk.
Salaam Shalom was a Danish initiative launched a decade ago that aimed to facilitate dialogue between Middle Eastern communities based in Copenhagen. Inspired by a similar program in Berlin and partially funded by the European Union, the program, which ran for four years, was started by Tali Padan, an Israeli who grew up in the United States and now lives in the Danish capital.
After October 7, Padan wanted to arrange a get-together of some of the former activists and proposed holding a Hanukkah candle-lighting event. The response was not especially encouraging.
"In that first meeting we had only one Muslim, about 20-to-30 Israeli and Danish Jews, and some non-Jewish Danes," she recalls. "The atmosphere was heavy, but there were group activities. We talked, and we lit candles despite it all."
Padan was pleasantly surprised not long thereafter when one of her former Muslim partners, of Lebanese origin, suggested reviving the program. "I was shocked by his initiative because some of his family members were killed in an Israeli air-strike," she says. "Still, we went ahead and the first event took place this January. This time, the room was full. About 50 people, Danish Jews and Muslims, talked about activism and building bridges with a new energy."
Tali Padan, Photo: Thomas Busk
In contrast to the past, she says, in this latest iteration of her Jewish-Muslim partnership organization, the feel-good experience is not the main point. "This time it feels like people are making a powerful choice to commit to unity and peace," says Padan. "They know it's the only way forward."
As Sweden is marking 250 years of Jewish life, the reactions to the October 7th massacre, the war in Gaza and the tone of the rhetoric in the public debate are reasons to be concerned about Swedish antisemitism. But what is the true extent of this scourge, what is its impact on Sweden’s Jewish community, and how is it being addressed by the authorities? By placing these issues in a broader historical context, David Stavrou’s investigation, which we are publishing as part of our partnership with the DILCRAH, seeks to answer these questions.
In 1973 a young Moroccan army officer named Ahmed Rami arrived in Sweden asking for political asylum. He said he needed protection because he was part of an unsuccessful coup d’état in his homeland the previous summer. More than a decade later, after obtaining asylum in Sweden, Rami started broadcasting Radio Islam, a radio program which subsequently turned into a newspaper and later, a web-site. The focus of these enterprises became clear right at the beginning – it was not about Islam; it was about Jews. The radio program and the website featured some of antisemitism’s greatest hits; conspiracy theories about how Jews and Zionists control the world, Holocaust denial, Nazi propaganda, lists of influential Swedish Jews and Israel bashing. During the last three decades, Rami has been investigated, charged, convicted and fined for hate speech and hate crimes and his radio station was shut down by the authorities more than once. Still, now aged 78, Rami’s legacy lives on. He has published books, voiced support for Hezbollah and neo-Nazi groups, his website is still very much alive and the internet allows his work to continue.
Radio Islam is an important landmark in the history of Swedish antisemitism for several reasons. One of them is that the precedential trial which sent Rami to prison for six months also gave a small and relatively unknown Swedish organization called The Swedish Committee Against Antisemitism (SCAA, or SKMA in Swedish) an important role in the Swedish public arena. “SCAA is a religiously and politically unaffiliated NGO which was founded in 1983”, says Mathan Shastin Ravid, the organization’s office manager, “it was founded by a group of activists who wanted to raise awareness about antisemitism. It was a period with a clear wave of antisemitism in Sweden and other European countries during and after the Lebanon War in 1982. Antisemitism was not a new phenomenon in Sweden back then, but this was on a new scale, there were all these accusations with motives and images that targeted not only Israel, but Jews as a group. When the Radio Islam broadcasts started in the end of the eighties, it was clear to us that the radio station was a megaphone for anti-Jewish hatred and propaganda. On the basis of SCAA´s report to Sweden’s Chancellor of Justice, Rami was convicted of hate speech. But it was clear that in those days we stood pretty much alone. Not many people understood the problem, people did not want to talk about it and there were many known figures who came to Rami’s defence saying it was only criticism of Israel, not antisemitism”.
A lot has changed in Sweden since then and SCAA probably has an important part in the change. Shastin Ravid says that since the nineties, the organization has become more than just an activist watchdog. It now also focuses on education. “These days we stand on two legs”, he explains, “one of them is monitoring, information and advocacy, as we try to follow what is happening in Sweden and the world and follow the Swedish and international debate regarding antisemitism. We then react when we see antisemitism in different forms. The other leg is education. We have educational programs for different target groups such as teachers and pupils in Swedish schools, journalists and politicians. We also work with some governmental authorities like the police, which often lack a deeper knowledge of contemporary antisemitism and how it spreads. It is my understanding that there is more awareness in this area today than there was ten years ago and that positive things are happening as part of a higher level of knowledge and consciousness in general in Swedish society today when it comes to antisemitism. But there is still much work to do..”
When Shastin Ravid is asked for an up-to-date description of antisemitism in Sweden, he starts by saying that more research is needed to get a better understanding of the problem. That said, it is clear that in many ways Sweden is not different from other countries. “The development in Sweden is connected to global developments”, he says, “antisemitic conspiracy theories have been spread and legitimized by important political actors in recent years. In Europe we have for example seen it in countries like Hungary and Poland amongst right-wing nationalist parties and governments, but we have also seen it in other countries including the US where amongst others Donald Trump, Elon Musk and the MAGA movement have legitimized and spread antisemitic propaganda. This global phenomenon has affected Sweden too and has sparked hate speech and hate crimes. And then there is, of course, the strong global wave of antisemitism after Hamas’ attack in Israel on the 7th of October 2023 and the war in Gaza. It is not the first time an escalation of the Israel-Palestinian conflict triggers antisemitism in Sweden and other countries, but the level of propaganda, hate, threats and attacks against Jews has been unusually high.”
“Studies show that antisemitism in the form of negative beliefs and attitudes towards Jews exists, in varying degrees, in all Swedish society, in many different groups and milieus. Within Swedish mainstream politics, the problem has long been visible in the right-wing nationalist Sweden Democrats party. For years, the party has tried to portray itself as a party which opposes antisemitism and is pro-Israel, but antisemitism continues to be a problem in the party. We often find high- and low-level representatives of the party spreading antisemitic propaganda and we see many connections between the party and right-wing and even Nazi extremists. In addition, the Sweden-Democrats do not deal with antisemitism within their ranks unless they are exposed by the media, and even then, there are many cases of people within the party who have kept their jobs after they were exposed”. The party’s proclaimed “Zero Tolerance” policy towards racism and extremism, including antisemitism, Shastin Ravid says, is “a joke”.
“But the nationalist and populist right is just part of the problem. Antisemitism does, for example, also regularly appear within the pro-Palestine movement and parts of the Swedish left, where it is often related to Israel and the Israel-Palestinian conflict. In these circles there is sometimes a denial or an unwillingness to see the problem of antisemitism, sometimes rooted in the misperception that Jews are “white” and therefore cannot be victims of racism. In the last year, there has been a big debate in Sweden about the fact that several representatives of the Swedish Left Party have spread antisemitic propaganda, many times on social media. And when criticized, those party representatives have been backed by many others within and around the party who have denied that the propaganda is antisemitic. The SCAA and many others have strongly criticized all of this, and the fact that the party leadership many times has been slow to act and condemn the spread of such anti-Jewish racism and those party members who defend and excuse it.”
“And of course, movements linked to radical Islamism must also be taken into account”, Shastin Ravid adds. According to him, antisemitism is most virulent within those movements and Nazi and other right-wing extremist movements. “For all of them, antisemitism is an ideological foundation, a “worldview,” a way of understanding and describing events both locally and globally. Jews are constantly portrayed as conspirators and blamed for all the world’s ills”. Furthermore, Shastin Ravid adds, “antisemitism has long been a weapon of regimes in the Middle East, where it is deeply rooted, openly expressed, and legitimized. The spread of this type of propaganda via the internet by regimes such as Iran has contributed to the globalization of this hatred. Recently, it was revealed that the Iranian regime is suspected of having planned to murder Swedish Jews, among them Aron Verständig, the chair of the Official Council of Swedish Jewish Communities (Judiska Centralrådet). According to the Swedish Security Services (Säpo), Iran has also recruited Swedish criminal networks to carry out attacks against Israeli and Jewish targets. The Swedish National Centre for Terrorist Threat Assessment (NCT) has reported that the biggest terror threats in Sweden come from violent Islamists and right-wing extremists, which both have Jews and Jewish institutions as some of their primary targets”.
Even without physical violence, Swedish antisemitism is present in the public sphere and one of its main outlets are the numerous demonstrations in support of the Palestinians and denouncing the “genocide” in Gaza. The days right after October 7th, and before the Israeli ground attack on Gaza began, were a good example. While the massacre in southern Israel was still ongoing, there were a couple of spontaneous demonstrations in southern Sweden which included music, dancing and convoys of cars honking their horns in support of the Hamas attack. Right after that, in the course of one weekend in Stockholm, three different organizations demonstrated separately but with similar slogans. A part from the mainstream Pro-Palestinian movements, there were more radical organizations on the streets. One was Hizb ut-Tahrir, a radical Islamic group advocating the creation of a caliphate governed by Sharia law from Uzbekistan to Morocco, with a small branch in Sweden. It was granted permission to demonstrate despite being banned in several countries. Next came the Nordic Resistance Movement, a neo-Nazi group with a few hundred members who demonstrated in support of the Hamas attack. They were followed by the Revolutionary Communist Youth, which claims that Palestinians have the right to “fight by all means against the occupying power to liberate their land.” The latter described the October 7 attacks as an act of liberation that “caught the Zionists in their beds.” Both organizations, one neo-Nazi and the other Marxist-Leninist, support the Palestinian slogan calling for “crushing Zionism.”
Since then, there have been numerous demonstrations in Sweden, many of them on a weekly basis. These demonstrations are legal, the organizers deny that they feature antisemitic content and they are seen by many Swedes as legitimate opposition to Israel and solidarity with Palestinians. However, they often include slogans which are considered antisemitic by many such as supporting a “global intifada” and “crushing Zionism”, promoting antisemitic conspiracy theories and calling for a “Free Palestine from the River to the Sea”.
Still, demonstrations are not the main concern when it comes to current Swedish antisemitism. There have been numerous reports of activists who have used school classes, universities and even pre-schools to spread radical anti-Israeli political propaganda which is seen by many as antisemitic, the culture world has been full of calls for boycotting Israel and ending cooperation with Israeli artists, the BDS movement which was hardly present in Sweden before the war has been publicly active in promoting boycotts against companies which they claim are complicit with Israel’s “illegal occupation and apartheid politics” and parts of Swedish academia have become hostile to Jewish and Israeli students. In Gothenburg University, for example, activists were allowed to take over the premises of the university’s art and design school and they distributed Hamas propaganda. In Stockholm, Lund and Uppsala there have been reports in Swedish media of pro-Palestinian encampments and so-called “liberated zones” which together with harsh rhetoric from members of senior university staff who are also political activists made students hide their Jewish identity and caused concerns about their safety and well-being.
Demonstration in Stockholm, June 2025
How prevalent are antisemitic crimes?
“Many Jews in Sweden have experienced antisemitism in one way or another”, Shastin Ravid says, “we need more research, but studies have indicated that many Swedish Jews have been targeted by antisemitism and many of them have not reported these incidents. This is also true for other hate crimes, most of them are probably never reported to the police”. Some of the studies Shastin Ravid is referring to were made by the Swedish National Council for Crime Prevention (Brottsförebyggande rådet, Brå). They show that there is a small and inconsistent increase in the number of reported antisemitic hate crimes over the years, but some years there is a sharp rise. “These are often the years when the conflict between Israel and the Palestinians has escalated, like the last war in Gaza. According to a study from Brå, there was a sharp rise in reported antisemitic hate crimes during the last part of 2023, almost 5 times as many as during the same period the year before”.
But other global events may also have been important in this respect. “The pandemic, for example, brought at least two kinds of antisemitic effects”, Shastin Ravid says, “First, there were accusations against the Jews, who were blamed for starting the pandemic and for profiting from it. Then, there were parts of the anti-vaccination movement which instrumentalized and diminished the Holocaust, claiming that they are treated the same way as the Jews in Nazi Germany. The war in Ukraine also triggers antisemitism on a global scale as do the discussion about Quran burnings and the debate about migration and refugees which fuels the antisemitic so-called replacement theory. These days antisemitic propaganda is often spread online with code words replacing the word Jews. Instead, it is Zionists or Globalist or specific names like Soros or Rothschild. These words are used globally as symbols of a big Jewish conspiracy, and they are widely spread in Sweden too”.
Another study Shastin Ravid speaks of was made by a government agency called The Living History Forum (Forum för Levande historia), which was founded in the beginning of the 2000s to “work for democracy and equality between all people, using lessons learned from the Holocaust”. According to Shastin Ravid, the study from 2020, showed that there had been a decline in antisemitic attitudes and notions over a period of 15 years, but that antisemitism still exists within different parts of the population. “I think that this is an important point to make”, he says, “the study showed that around 5 % of the respondents displayed antisemitic attitudes with a stronger intensity, which is a rather low figure compared to many other countries. However, if you broaden it and look at the group of people who agreed with one or more of the study’s antisemitic statements, the number is 34 %. This does not mean that 34 % can be said to be antisemitic, but it indicates that antisemitic ideas exist among a bigger part of the population than many think. We should not only focus on the most extreme groups. According to the study, higher levels of antisemitic beliefs correlated among other things with, and were more common amongst people who are: older, have lower levels of education and have a low trust in public institutions. Antisemitic beliefs were also more common among people who have sexist and anti-immigrant attitudes, people who sympathize with the Sweden Democrats party, people who were born outside Sweden or Europe, and people with a Muslim religious affiliation. Another interesting factor is that traditional and Holocaust related antisemitic beliefs tended to be slightly more common among men, and Israel-related antisemitic attitudes and notions tended to be slightly more common among women”. However, Shastin Ravid points out, the study is now a few years old, and many things have happened since that could affect the results of the next study, which is supposed to be published in 2026.
One group which is particularly exposed to antisemitic hatred is the group of school pupils and teachers who in many cases are scared to be open with their Jewish identity. “We have studies from among other places Malmö and Stockholm which show that there are serious problems with antisemitism in some Swedish schools. Sometimes it is related to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, sometimes the word Jew is used as a curse and sometimes we see antisemitic conspiracy theories which fascinate youngsters. We also see jokes about the Holocaust, swastikas on benches or lockers, and Nazi salutes. Jewish pupils often feel that their teachers and schools do not take the matter of antisemitism seriously, and they say that there is a lack of knowledge and support. This is something that many Swedish youngsters have told us at the SCAA through the years”.
Sweden is home to the largest Jewish community in Scandinavia. It’s estimated that about 15,000 Jews live in the country which has a population of just over ten million. That said, there are probably many more Swedes who have a Jewish background, as Jewish immigration to Sweden dates back to the 18th and 19th centuries and many have married into Swedish families. The largest community in the country is the one in the capital Stockholm which has three synagogues, including the conservative Great Synagogue adjacent to the Raoul Wallenberg and Holocaust monuments and an office building which houses various Jewish organizations. A few minutes’ walk away, there’s a relatively new cultural centre called “Bajit” which houses a Jewish primary school, a Jewish kindergarten and a variety of Jewish activities for all ages, as well as a Kosher shop and a café. Smaller Jewish communities and associations exist in Malmö, Gothenburg and a couple of other smaller towns. Sweden’s Jewish communities are united under an umbrella organization, the Official Council of Swedish Jewish Communities (Judiska Centralrådet) which usually takes part in national discussions concerning Jewish life in the Swedish Parliament, Government and other authorities.
Since the problem of antisemitism isn’t new to Swedish society, it’s no surprise that in recent years the Swedish government has made many attempts to address it. After decades of ignoring the problem, dismissing and repressing it, recent Swedish governments have put it on their agenda and have tried many different approaches. Petra Kahn Nord who served as the World Jewish Congress’ representative in the Nordic countries, says that the current Swedish government appointed a special inter-ministerial task force in order to combat antisemitism and improve the conditions for Jewish life in Sweden. “This government task force was set up to be a ‘one point of contact’ authority, which is something we’ve suggested before”, she says, “it was founded in January 2023 and the first issue that it focused on was government funding for security for Jewish institutions like synagogues and schools. The second issue was, and still is, addressing antisemitism”. Kahn Nord explains that the previous government had the political will to secure security funding, but the budget mechanism didn’t really work. The current government, however, addressed the issue, increased funding and gave additional funding after October 7th. But protection against violent antisemitic incidents isn’t all that’s needed.
In 2021 Sweden hosted The Malmö International Forum on Holocaust Remembrance and Combating Antisemitism. The conference, hosted by then-Prime-Minister, Social-Democrat Stefan Löfven, asked the participating countries and organization to make concrete pledges that would strengthen Holocaust remembrance and tackle Holocaust distortion, Holocaust denial and contemporary antisemitism. The Malmö forum was seen by many as a natural continuation to the steps another Social-Democratic Prime-Minister, Göran Persson, made twenty years earlier. Persson founded what is now called the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) and initiated the Stockholm International Forum on the Holocaust which brought together political leaders, state officials, religious leaders, survivors, educators, and historians from around the globe. When Löfven initiated the 2021 events, one of Sweden’s pledges was to form an inquiry on strengthening Jewish life in the country. The idea was that fighting antisemites is one thing, but making Jewish life flourish was another subject. One that has been neglected for many years.
This indeed happened and various issues which Jews in Sweden were concerned about were discussed seriously. These included the threats of illegalizing Jewish circumcision and banning the import of Kosher meat which were supported by some political parties. Another important issue was the status of Jewish schools in Sweden which doesn’t have almost any real private schools. There are so-called independent schools, including a couple of Jewish ones, within a charter system, but because of reports of radicalization in some of Sweden’s independent Muslim schools, new legislation was put in place which affected Jewish schools too. The new legislation imposed the definition of “denominational schools”, and with-it necessary restrictions, on existing Jewish schools. Another concern was an initiative to limit the establishment of new denominational schools. These were all concerns in the Swedish-Jewish pre-October 7th reality. Community leaders were saying then that “Swedish Jews may be able to survive a terror attack, but not legislation forbidding Brit Mila or Jewish schools”.
Today, after October 7th, it’s clear that the majority of political parties, and certainly the ones which are part of the Swedish Government, are committed to addressing these Jewish concerns. Antisemitism, however, is not necessarily a problem which the government can easily address since its origins are well-rooted and widespread in many parts of Swedish society. All recent Swedish governments have therefore realized that combating antisemitism is as complicated as it’s important. And it’s a work in progress. Petra Kahn Nord mentions two major shifts in the last few years. “First, before 2015 it was not acceptable to talk about antisemitism which came from immigrant groups from the Middle-East. This made members of the Jewish community feel abandoned. Sweden has now changed and it’s now possible to talk about it and deal with the problem”, Kahn Nord says, “the second shift has to do with the fact that the populist right-wing Sweden-Democrats party is supporting the government. So far, however, the party hasn’t caused any policy shifts aimed at the Jewish minority. But October 7th created a new reality. We’ve seen an increase in the number of antisemitic incidents in schools and universities, we’ve seen politicians, especially in the Swedish Left, who spread antisemitic propaganda and we’ve seen support for Hamas in demonstrations and online”. Kahn Nord says that schools and social media are a particular concern. “The problem in these arenas is serious”, she claims, “and it can’t be dealt with by using old “action plans” that previous governments suggested. Many of these plans, including pledges made in Malmö four years ago, focused on Holocaust education and educational strategies against racism in general, as opposed to antisemitism as a specific phenomenon. The Malmö Pledges, for example, included the pledge to establish a new Holocaust Museum in Stockholm (which has indeed been opened since then) and another to contribute 5.5 million SEK to the Auschwitz-Birkenau Foundation. “There’s a Swedish tendency to focus on dead Jews”, Petra Kahn Nord says, “perhaps now, especially after October 7th, it’s time to focus on the living ones”.
And indeed, when it comes to living Jews and real concrete Jewish communities, combating antisemitism and taking measures to improve Jewish depends on strong support and clear stands by governments.
In Sweden, the subject of antisemitism has been on the agenda for decades and different governments have handled it in different ways. Today, the government minister who holds the relevant portfolio is Parisa Liljestrand, a forty-two-year-old minister from the center-right Moderate party. Liljestrand, immigrated to Sweden as a young child from Iran and worked as a teacher and school head-master before getting involved in local politics. In 2022 she received her first post on the national political scene and became Sweden’s Minister of Culture. In an interview conducted in her Stockholm office she explains that one of her responsibilities is addressing issues connected with Sweden’s five national minorities. The minorities and their languages, which are considered official minority languages in Sweden, were recognized in the year 2000 and they include Jews and Yiddish; Roma and Romani Chib; the Sami and the Sami language; the Swedish Finns and Finnish and the Tornedalers and their Meänkieli language.
“Our government was appointed in October 2022 and the Prime Minister made it clear, as early as his first government statement, that strengthening Jewish life and working against antisemitism would be one of our priorities”, she says, “When we started our work, we decided that we need to understand what’s been done in Sweden today and to listen to the Jewish organizations which are active in Sweden. We wanted to understand what they think is needed. What we found out was that a lot of important work is being done, but there are things which still don’t work and there are things which are lacking. Sweden ranks well in global measurements of antisemitism, but there’s still widespread antisemitism in Sweden which we need to actively fight. This became even more evident after Hamas’s horrific attack on October 7, 2023. As in many other countries, we have seen the threat perception towards Swedish Jews increase, as has open antisemitism. The government takes this very seriously.
But it is not enough to work against antisemitism. We need to strengthen the possibility to live a free Jewish life, both in terms of Jewish culture and in terms of Jewish religious life. This is why we need to gather the work that’s done by different government ministries and by Jewish organizations. When we talked to the organizations, we found that it was sometimes hard to understand who’s responsible for what issue and it was important to make sure that things don’t end up in the wrong place. That’s why we founded the Government Task Force for Jewish Life as an inter-governmental work group which, beside the Prime Minister’s office, has eight more government offices represented in it”.
When asked if the fact that her government is supported by a party with roots in neo-Nazism doesn’t affect her attempts to fight antisemitism, Liljestrand tells a story of one of her meetings. “I met a Jewish father who told me about his son who went shopping while he was wearing a necklace with a Star of David. The father said that when the boy came to the cashier, the person who was working there told him that he was not welcome in the shop. This story really hurts. This can’t be our reality. This isn’t Sweden. We have a clear mission – making Sweden a free country to live in and supporting those groups who cannot live a de-facto free life here. So, I don’t feel the Sweden-Democrats are stopping me from doing this. I understand that there’s a concern, but I’m clear, and the government is clear in its message. One must remember that antisemitism is about gathering and capitalizing violence from various directions. That’s what makes it different from regular racism”.
Parisa Liljestrand, Photo by Ninni Andersson Regeringskansliet
Part of the violence Liljestrand is talking about is online and much of it is aimed at young people who have to grow up with it. “It’s extremely serious when antisemitism becomes a natural part of day-to-day life and it isn’t limited to the physical space and instead it’s spread digitally”, Liljestrand says, “it’s worrying and we need to fight it and work towards the goal of not having another generation which is exposed to the same kind of difficulties living a Jewish life or the same kind of antisemitic hate which previous generations were exposed to”.
Liljestrand seems to be serious about this particular aspect of her job. “I myself, with my background, know exactly what it’s like to live in a society which treats you differently if you have a different skin color or if you have a different culture”, she says, “I know what it’s like to fight your way into society and have the will to be part of it while still keeping a part of your culture and heritage”.
When it comes to antisemitism and the struggle against it, Sweden is indeed an interesting case. For much of its post war history, antisemitism wasn’t taken very seriously. Neo-Nazi movements operated freely while the close ties to Nazi Germany were ignored. This came together with a widespread ignorance about the Holocaust, antisemitic attitudes within the Swedish elite and free import of antisemitism with large waves of immigration from other countries. Then, in the last couple of decades, all that changed. Sweden became a world leader of Holocaust education and combating antisemitism. At least that’s what it presents itself as being. But are the museums, task forces, international conferences, research projects and educational initiatives really working?
On the one hand, it is clear that Sweden is much more aware of the problem and much better equipped to combat it than it has ever been. But any honest assessment of the situation must admit that, in many cases, Swedish schools and universities remain hostile dangerous places for Jewish students and teachers, who continue to suffer from harassment, social pressure and occasionally also violence, while teachers and principals avoid confronting the aggressors. It has been reported that in some schools, Shoah survivors haven’t been invited to share their stories because of the disrespect shown by some students.
Outside the education system, other problems remain unresolved. Although physical violence against Jewish targets is not common in Sweden, it has occurred and, according to police and the press, it remains possible. Molotov cocktails have been thrown at Jewish cemeteries, funeral homes, and synagogues, the Israeki embassy has been attacked and other cases of physical and verbal assaults against Jews have been documented.
The resurgence of pro-Palestinian demonstrations since October 7—where strongly antisemitic slogans, signs, and rhetoric have been documented—is also a cause for concern. The scale of the protests against singer Eden Golan’s participation in the Eurovision 2024 final in Malmö made international headlines, but the truth is that although those demonstrations may have been the biggest, they weren’t the most aggressive.
For many Jews who live in Sweden it’s not about the size of the demonstration and not about the legitimate right to demonstrate. Anyone who’s uncomfortable with these demonstrations can just avoid them. The problem is that when Sweden’s Jews see thousands of people who are collectively calling Israel, which is an important part of their identity, the worse things in the world and promoting a very high level of hate, they know that in that crowd there may be familiar faces – perhaps their children’s pre-school teacher or their local clinic’s nurse or doctor. And it’s not only that. The separation that some of the demonstrators try to make between criticizing Israel and attacking Jews doesn’t always work. When demonstrators wanted to burn an Israeli flag in Malmö in November 2023, they didn’t get on a train and go to Israel’s embassy in Stockholm. They did it outside the local synagogue. A couple of months later protesters from a group called ”Together for Palestine” chanted anti-Israeli slogans at people who were entering Stockholm’s Great synagogue for a Holocaust Remembrance Day ceremony. Some of the people who encountered this were Holocaust survivors. The demonstrators demanded that Sweden’s Jews will denounce Israel and its war in Gaza. These events send a message that 250 years after Jews were officially allowed to live and create a community in Sweden, their legitimacy is now conditional. If they speak out against their historic homeland and its government, they are tolerated. If not, all hell may to break loose.
A look at the Radio Islam website is a thought-provoking experience. It features lengthy texts about subjects like how Jews have controlled Sweden for centuries, how they “instrumentalize the Holocaust” and how racism, hatred and cruelty are the driving forces of the Torah and the Talmud. In a way this brings us full circle. Sweden has gone a long way fighting antisemitism since Radio Islam was persecuted back in the eighties. Since then, Swedish governments, Jewish organizations and civil society organizations have turned Sweden into a country known for its rigorous combat against antisemitism. However, with populist and racist political movements on the rise, with Islamist propaganda on and off-line, with an increasingly aggressive discourse against Israel and Zionism, demonstrations, boycotts, and burnings of flags and books on a weekly basis, it’s now clearer than ever that the fight against antisemitism still has a long way to go.
Irene Levin turned the hundreds of notes her mother left behind after her death into a book chronicling the story of Norwegian Jews during the Holocaust.
When Irene Levin's mother was 96, she left her apartment in Oslo and moved into a Jewish old age home. Levin and her two children wanted her mother's – and their grandmother's – new home to feel like a miniature version of the elegant, meticulously arranged apartment she had lived in for decades. To do so, they moved in the gilded-upholstered furniture, the paintings, the silverware, and the mirrors her mother never passed without briefly checking her reflection. As part of the process, they also cleaned and organized the apartment.
It took Levin more than five years to understand the significance of what she found during that process. "There were notes everywhere," she told Haaretz in an interview. "Some were hidden in piles of newspapers, other were tucked away in drawers, on shelves, and in cupboards. Some had only one or two sentences, others were full pages written in my mother's handwriting. Although they weren't dated, her handwriting showed they spanned different time periods – the 1960s, 70s and 80s.
Levin's mother, Fanny Raskow, died in 2013 at the age of 101. "After she passed away, and after I retired, I started reading the notes," Levin recalls. "Mostly the notes were about World War II, but also about her upbringing before the war in a family that had escaped to what is now Lithuania. There were many unfinished sentences, especially those dealing with the arrest and deportation of her father, my grandfather. It's unclear who the notes were meant for. Maybe she wrote for herself, as a way of venting, or perhaps she hoped I would eventually find them. But she never mentioned them".
Levin says the notes revealed the dilemmas and choices her mother faced. "My mother blamed herself all her life for not being able to save her father," she says. "It haunted her constantly, until the end of her life. In all my upbringing there was a silence, and the war was never discussed openly. If it came up, it was always indirectly or through broken, incomplete sentences."
At a certain point, Levin realized that her mother's story was also the story of other Norwegian Jews. The result was her book, ("Vi snakket ikke om Holocaust. Mor, jeg og tausheten," Gyldendal, 2020, literally translated as "We Didn't Talk About the Holocaust: Mother, I, and the Silence"). The English version, titled "Everyday Silence and the Holocaust", was published by Routledge last year.
"My mother was trapped in a history that had been imposed on her, and one that for decades remained almost unspoken in Norwegian society," Levin says. "When I began researching in the National Archives of Norway in Oslo, I tried to see whether other Jewish families' stories were similar to that of my mother. I started asking new questions about my personal history and discovered experiences and events that had always been there, just not talked about.
"As a child, I simply acted on behaviors that seemed normal. As an adult – and as a professional – I began questioning my own story. Are the gaps in the stories significant? The fact that the life of our tiny nuclear family was defined by specific, historical events was something I simply knew. Just as one learns one's mother tongue intuitively, I learned about 'the war'. I lived my whole life in a community of World War II survivors, yet I still didn't really know much, despite believing I knew the whole story."
The story of Irene Levin is, to a great extent, the story of an entire generation of Norwegian Jews. Her grandparents' families emigrated to Norway around 1905 from Lithuania, fleeing poverty, hard conditions, and persecution. Levin explains that this migration differed from that of other Scandinavian countries. While Denmark and Sweden received "Ost-Juden" – Jews from Central Europe – there were already established Jewish communities in those countries. Some were prominent figures in society and openly identified as Jews. In Norway, by contrast, Jews were only permitted to enter starting in the mid-19th century. They were few in number, poor, and mostly uneducated.
Less than 40 years after her grandparents arrived in Norway, they and their children had to flee. This time, it was due to the German occupation during World War II, and their destination was Sweden, the neutral and thus safe neighboring country to the east. Levin's parents were among hundreds of Jews who left Norway as the Nazi persecution escalated, peaking in the fall of 1942 when hundreds of Norwegian Jews were deported to Auschwitz.
Levin's parents received help from a neighboring family, and their escape was aided by friends and members of the resistance movement, who hid them from the Gestapo and the Norwegian police in various locations. Their journey took 23 days. Levin's mother was pregnant during the escape, and she gave birth to Irene, her first and only child, in the Swedish town of Norrköping, where the family stayed until the war ended.
After the war, Levin, her mother, and father returned to Norway and began rebuilding their lives. She was less than two and a half years old and doesn't remember Liberation Day, but it's clear to her that even then, silence began to play a significant role.
"We didn't talk about the war," she recalls. "The fact that the family went through a disaster was always present, but it wasn't spoken about. In the 1950s, when I was ten, we could be sitting with guests around the dinner table, and someone might suddenly say something like, 'It was Norwegian police who made the arrests, not the Germans.' And someone would reply, 'It doesn't matter, we're not getting them back either way.' Then the conversation would switch to the previous topic, and no one would ask, 'What do you mean?' Everyone knew what it meant, they just didn't talk about it for decades."
Did the silence begin right at the end of the war?
"You can tell from the Norwegian press how knowledge about what had happened slowly evolved. The free press resumed operations as early as May 14, 1945. On the second day, the country's largest newspaper, Aftenposten, asked, 'What happened to our Jews?' The article reported, 'There is reason to fear that many Norwegian Jews have died,' and quickly added that no confirmation had been received. In the weeks that followed, reports ended with phrases like, 'There is no reason to lose hope.' On May 17, the same newspaper reported, 'We have 750 Jews in Germany. So far, we've heard from only nine or ten.' Slowly, the news worsened, and by May 23, it was reported that the Jews had been taken to 'the notorious concentration camp Auschwitz.'
"After a while, the topic was no longer written about. It resurfaced in the trials of Norwegians who had collaborated with the Nazis, and in the court case of the Norwegian traitor Vidkun Quisling [a Nazi collaborator who headed the government of Norway during the country's occupation by Nazi Germany] where two survivors testified. One of them, the later well-known psychiatrist Leo Eitinger, told of Jews being gassed. When asked by the judge if Norwegian Jews were treated in the same way, he answered 'Yes, I swear to God.'"
The outcome of the war was catastrophic for Levin's family. Thirty-two members of her extended family, including her maternal grandfather, were murdered in Auschwitz. Her grandfather was deported along with hundreds of other Norwegians –men, women, and children – on November 26, 1942. Levin's mother tried to spare him by putting him in a hospital but he was taken from there, arrested and, the next day, loaded onto the ship SS Donau. After four days in its cargo hold, he and the others arrived in Stettin, where they were crammed into cattle cars. On December 1, they reached Auschwitz-Birkenau. Levin's grandfather's exact fate remains unknown. He was one of an endless number of victims who didn't survive and never returned to Norway.
The facts about World War II in Norway and the fate of its Jews are well-known. On the eve of the war, Norway had around 2,800,000 inhabitants, of whom about 2,400 were Jews, including around 500 from other nationalities. During World War I, Norway had remained neutral, and hoped to maintain neutrality again during World War II. But events took a different turn. A Norwegian fascist party, Nasjonal Samling (The National Union), founded in 1933 by officer and politician Vidkun Quisling, offered the Nazis cooperation in taking over the country. Germany invaded Norway and Denmark on April 9, 1940, in Operation Weserübung. Denmark surrendered within hours, while battles in Norway lasted around two months before the German victory, achieved after the Allied forces retreated and Narvik – a strategic port used for shipping iron ore from Sweden – was captured.
As the Germans occupied the country, the Norwegian king and government fled and formed a government-in-exile in London. Civilian rule in Norway was overtaken by Nazi official Josef Terboven, appointed Reichskommissar by Hitler. Terboven governed through a pro-German puppet government headed by Quisling. The Norwegian parliament was dissolved, all parties banned except Quisling's, and the judiciary was subordinated to German control.
Persecution of the Jews began with sporadic decrees early in the occupation. In 1941, arrests were made, property confiscated, and some Jews were executed on false charges. In 1942, mass arrests of hundreds of Jews were carried out, most of whom, including Levin's grandfather, were transported on the SS Donau to Auschwitz. Another ship, the MS Gotenland, transported 158 more Jews to the same destination in February 1943. In total, 772 Norwegian Jews were arrested or deported. The oldest among them 80, the youngest an 8-week-old baby. Fewer than 40 came back. Those who survived the war had mostly escaped to neutral Sweden or Britain.
The facts were known for decades, but their meaning has been the subject of public debate – one that Irene Levin, after publishing her book, is now central to. Levin is a professor emeritus of social sciences at Oslo Metropolitan University. Her work started in the area of family studies with emphasis on new family forms and gender studies. In recent years, she has moved her area of research into history and Holocaust studies and has been closely connected to the Norwegian Center for Holocaust and Minority Studies, including working with surveys on antisemitism. She has worked with Soviet Jewry and been active in applying for Norwegian non-Jews receiving the Righteous Among the Nations award, granted by Yad Vashem.
Her recent book adds to numerous other publications she's written or edited, covering topics from social sciences to remembrance, and the Holocaust in Norway. Her new book generated considerable attention in Norway. Positive reviews appeared in major newspapers; she was interviewed by media and gave lectures across the country for over a year. Headlines focused on themes like "The Holocaust That Always Sat Within the Walls" or "The Mother Who Dealt with Trauma Through Silence." Critics noted that Levin "presents her family's history as a gateway to understanding the Jewish tragedy in Norway," "gives us a micro-history that opens wounds – with painful, terrifying details," and "breaks the silence, telling dramatic stories of fate."
Is the silence of the survivors and Norwegian society similar to that of survivors in other countries, or does it have unique characteristics?
"The phenomenon of silence is not unique, but circumstances vary. What's special about Norway is that it had a small number of Jews and geographically, with the long border with Sweden and the long coastline to England, one would think that it would be possible to hide more".
"Moreover, Norwegian Jews loved Norway. They learned the language and embraced the culture; they embraced the Norwegian love of nature and even changed their surnames to make them easier for their neighbors to pronounce. That's why what happened shocked them. They told themselves that they were arrested by the Gestapo – when, in fact, it was the Norwegian police.
"My mother always said: 'It took such a long time until we really understood, Irene.' Those who survived and returned weren't like the other Norwegians coming back after the war – the resistance fighters or political exiles. They weren't heroes. They won the war. The Jews had not won the war. They were deported or fled because of who they were, not what they did – and that came with a sense of shame. They asked themselves, 'What kind of Norwegians are we now?'"
Levin explains that other elements were involved. Some blamed themselves for failing to save relatives. They were grief-stricken, and many had to face the painful, often unsuccessful process of reclaiming seized property. Homes and businesses had been confiscated or auctioned off. Only in the 1990s, following a media campaign and the creation of a restitution committee, did Norwegian society begin to seriously reckon with the Holocaust. Survivors received compensation, and the Norwegian Center for Holocaust and Minority Studies was established.
"Until the 1990s, the story of the Jews was not integrated into the national historical narrative," Levin says. "It's not that people didn't know what happened – there were books and survivor testimonies – but Jews were not part of the main story. The Holocaust in Norway was like an appendix to Norwegian history, not part of the official narrative."
So, if the Holocaust wasn't part of Norway's war story, would it be accurate to say that Norway didn't take responsibility for what happened to its Jews?
"In three major historical books that shaped the narrative and were published in 1950, the extermination of the Jews was described merely as a 'detail'. Later, in the 1980s, six volumes titled 'Norway at War' asked: What happened to the Jews? The answer is mostly covered in the third volume, spanning 18 pages with photos. In the final section, the question is raised – could more have been done to help the Jews? could they have been warned about what deportation meant? the answer the book gives is that Jews in all occupied countries and even in the free world underestimated the cruelty of the SS. That is, responsibility was ultimately shifted to the Jews themselves – because they didn't resist arrest.
"When I first read these, I thought that they did the same as my mother, blaming herself for her father's arrest, as did society at large. Both the minority and the majority put the responsibility on the Jews. But I realized that when my mother blamed herself, she was taking the burden on herself, bearing the responsibility – as a Jewish woman and a daughter. When the author, as a representative of society, blamed the Jews, it was the opposite: it was the removal of responsibility."
Irene Levin and her mother on 1943. Photo: Irene Levin
Do you think this perspective still echoes in Norway in 2025, amid rising antisemitism and claims that Norwegian society is abandoning its Jews?
"For the Jews in Norway [the community numbers approximately 1,500 people], October 7 is an echo from the war, while knowing that it was not the same and that the Holocaust is unique. But Norwegian society at large did not hear the same echo. They only heard the voice from Hamas and very quickly defined the attack as a continuity of occupation.
"It was a shock that the empathy that the Jews in Norway had earned due their history during the war, suddenly disappeared. I never thought that during my lifetime, I would experience a rise of antisemitism. When researching the Holocaust and antisemitism, I was doing it as something belonging to the past to ensure it would not happen again. Suddenly, the Jewish state was attacked and its legitimacy was at stake. The Jewish voice has lost its legitimacy.
"My grandmother would always tell me: 'Die Juden sind schuldig' – the Jews are to blame, always. I thought that was relevant to the shtetl, not my everyday life. There is a shift in the perception of responsibility and legitimacy – the focus has changed, and it is no longer in our favor. I demonstrated on Women's Day and my fellow feminists didn't allow us to participate! They questioned whether there were even sexual assaults on October 7; and if they did accept that they happened, they minimized their significance, treating it as something that 'naturally' happens in every war.
"In my research on silence, an important factor is the interaction between the individual and society. After World War II, it was not only the Jews who were silent. The society at large was silent, too, but for different reasons. The space the minority has is shaped by the majority. It took Norwegian society 50 years before it recognized its responsibility in the atrocities. In the current situation, the Jewish voice has little legitimacy and the connection with society at large is of distrust. But can we Jews wait for the society to show us such a space? We have to take it. In that sense, it's like a revolution."
At the end of the interview, Levin returns to the topic of silence, which she sees as the common thread between the biographical and the historical. It's a silence shared by many survivors of the war, but Levin suggests that it is an even broader phenomenon.
"If you had asked me about the Holocaust while I was growing up – if you had asked me whether I knew about the war and what happened to the Jews – I would have said yes," she says. "But today I know that I didn't know. I didn't have the details; I didn't know what really happened. What I had was a sense that a catastrophe had occurred, and that it had happened to the Jews. Nothing more.
"And maybe that's similar to other disasters, like what happened on October 7. Even though information spreads much faster today, the feeling is similar. We know a disaster occurred, we think we understand it, but as time passes, we realize in hindsight that we didn't know everything, that we didn't grasp the scope, and that we still haven't dealt with all the implications."
STOCKHOLM – Years before the Nazis rose to power, Hugo Valentin, a prominent member of Stockholm's Jewish community, recognized the dangers of Nazi ideology. A historian and scholar, he warned against the "wild psychosis of hatred" as far back as 1930, and even before the outbreak of World War II, he cautioned against the "total eradication of German Jewry." When the Third Reich began implementing the Final Solution, he was among the first to inform the Swedish public that the Jews of Europe were being annihilated. Already in 1942, he wrote in a Swedish daily newspaper that 700,000 Polish Jews had been murdered, and he continued to report about the mass killings of Jews around Europe over the next few years for the Swedish Jewish Chronicle.
Until his death in 1963, Valentin was considered a leading authority on antisemitism. He connected ancient, medieval, and modern antisemitism and argued that "it is not the Jews who are hated, but an imaginary image of them." A pioneer of Swedish-Jewish studies, Valetin was also a vocal supporter of Zionism and of the young state of Israel. In 2009, nearly half a century after his death, Uppsala University – Sweden's oldest institute of higher education and one of its most prestigious – merged its Center for Multiethnic Studies with the Program for Holocaust and Genocide studies. Since Valentin had been a distinguished scholar of the history of the local Jewish community and antisemitism, as well as Nazism and genocide, it seemed only natural to name the center after him.
And so, the Hugo Valentin Center was established – the only academic center in Sweden named after a Jew. Late last year, the university announced that a decision had been taken to change its name: As of January 1 this year, it would be called the Uppsala Center for Holocaust and Genocide Studies.
Hugo Valentin apparently got cancelled.
"The removal of Valentin's name is part of a dangerous trend of taking antisemitism out of the Holocaust," said Aron Verständig, chairman of the Council of Jewish Communities in Sweden. Speaking with Haaretz, he described the deceased historian as "the foremost writer of Jewish history in Sweden and one of the first to write about the Holocaust."
Pontus Rudberg, an associate professor of history at Uppsala University who was previously affiliated with the center, was also concerned. "It's disgraceful," he said. "It supports the trend that removes Jewish perspectives and Jewish history from Holocaust and genocide studies. It's also disgraceful because you don't remove the name of the person your institution is named after unless he's done something wrong."
Rudberg said he was surprised by the decision-making process. "I was asked by the director of the center for my opinion in a vague way during an informal meeting a week or two before the decision was made," he told Haaretz. "I said I was against it, but I didn't realize it was an actual process, and I found out about the decision, which was made with no informed and open debate, only when it was published just before the Christmas holidays."
In a protest letter addressed to Anders Hagfeldt, vice chancellor of the university, Professor Emeritus Harald Runblom, another Uppsala historian, wrote that "erasing a name in this context is like tearing down a statue, and it raises legitimate questions. Has he become persona non grata? Is there political opportunism behind this?"
Another letter addressed to the vice chancellor, signed by 93 international scholars, warned that erasing Valentin's name could set in motion "a broader trend of distancing Holocaust and genocide studies from Jewish history" and described the move as "an affront to Hugo Valentin's legacy and a diminution of his remarkable contributions." Among those signed on this letter were the distinguished Holocaust historians Christopher Browning and Jan Grabowski.
Weighing in on the controversy, journalist Nathan Shachar recently penned an op-ed in Dagens Nyheter, a leading Swedish daily, titled "Uppsala University embarrasses itself – does not dare to be linked to Sweden's most famous Zionist." "In the difficult reality since October 7, the center wants to tone down its Jewish affiliation for populist reasons of convenience and avoid being associated with the most famous of Swedish Zionists," he wrote.
Rudberg offered a somewhat different explanation for Valentin's erasure. "It's ignorance, rather than bad intentions," he said, "The people who made the decision don't know much about Valentin. They think he was mostly involved in Jewish history and antisemitism studies. They don't understand he was also a pioneer in Holocaust and Genocide studies."
Still, the decision seems to be in line with the current zeitgeist on campus. In November, a group of 131 university members published a letter in the Swedish daily Aftonbladet demanding that the university cuts all ties with Israeli universities "complicit in the genocide."
The letter was the latest in a series of calls at Uppsala to boycott Israel, and although the university's leaders have refused to bow to such demands from student groups, the fact that many professors and researchers support such sanctions against Israel has many Jews on campus feeling uneasy. Since October 7, the Uppsala campus has emerged as a hotbed of the Swedish pro-Palestinian protest movement. On a number of occasions during the past year, students disrupted university activities and the administration made the decision to summon police over what it perceived as threatening disruptions to campus life.
Several Jewish students, who agreed to speak with Haaretz on condition of anonymity, said they felt protests against Israel have crossed the line into antisemitism. They said that posters sighted at demonstrations and encampments on campus over the past year have supported violent resistance and denied Israel's right to exist.
Asked for comment, Elsa Bådagård from Uppsala University's office for Humanities and Social Sciences, issued the following statement: "Uppsala Center for Holocaust and Genocide Studies is a center within the Faculty of Arts, and the decision regarding its name has been made by the faculty board upon request from the board of the Hugo Valentin Center in December 2024.
The different reactions to the name change have been received and noted by the Faculty of Arts. However, since the request originated with the center, the faculty will not overturn its collegial decision on the basis of these opinions. Furthermore, the proposition to change the name has the support of the current employees at the center."
Bådagård insisted that the reason for the name change was that the board wanted it to reflect the primary field of research of the center, which is Holocaust and Genocide Studies. "It was not part of any political agenda, and the name change will not lead to any change regarding the focus of the various activities at the Center," she said, adding that "this is a purely organizational decision, and should not be read as a wish for the Faculty of Arts to distance itself from Hugo Valentin and his work."
Defendants face prison and community service, while court acknowledges claim that Maccabi Tel Aviv fans were involved in violence but condemns attacks on Israeli soccer fans.
An Amsterdam court on Tuesday sentenced five individuals for their involvement in an attack on Maccabi Tel Aviv fans last month, following the team's Europa League match against Ajax.The sentences ranged from community service to six months in prison, although the prosecution had sought much harsher penalties. For instance, a defendant who received a six-month sentence had initially faced a prosecution request for two years in prison.
The court acknowledged the claim that the Israeli fans were involved in violence and considered the context, but stated it "sees no justification for violence against Maccabi fans." Defense lawyers argued that the evidence used against the defendants was unlawfully obtained, claiming it involved privacy violations through phone hacking. However, the court rejected these arguments, as well as accusations that the events had been exploited for political gain by local politicians. Both sides have 14 days to appeal the sentences.
The defendents are:
Sefa Ö., 32, a Turkish barber, was filmed attacking Israeli fans in Amsterdam's Dam Square and was sentenced to six months in prison for assault.
Umutcan A., 24, a Turkish-born resident of The Hague, was filmed striking a fan and stealing his scarf. He was sentenced to one month in prison.
Rachid A., 26, from Utrecht, was convicted of sharing information and participating in the violence. He received a 10-week prison sentence.
Lucas D., 19, from outside Amsterdam, was accused of throwing stones at police and attempting to breach their defensive line. He was sentenced to 100 hours of community service.
Karavan S., 26, a night-shift hotel worker in Amsterdam, was found guilty of inciting violence and sharing the location of the fans. He was sentenced to one month in prison.
In November, Israeli fans were attacked by locals who waited for them as they returned from the stadium on the outskirts of Amsterdam.
Five fans required hospitalization. Dozens of suspects were arrested in the days following the attack, which was widely documented and triggered a diplomatic dispute.
The five defendants and two others are the only ones to have been charged so far.
More than physical violence, antisemitism against European Jews now reveals itself through incidents such as school bullying and ostracism at the workplace. Israeli expat communities on the continent could become a bridge between Israeli and European societies.
STOCKHOLM – The rioting that followed the soccer match between Maccabi Tel Aviv and the Dutch team Ajax in Amsterdam at the beginning of the month engendered mixed reactions in Israel. Initially, there was shock over its blatant antisemitic character and lamentations over "the Islamization of Europe." That was followed by claims that the violence was prompted by the conduct of Maccabi Tel Aviv fans and that comparisons to Kristallnacht trivialized the Holocaust.
Such arguments merit discussion, but, to delve more deeply, it's worth considering the European perspective in addition to the Israeli one. First of all, when Maccabi Tel Aviv fans faced physical violence, they were facing a very extreme expression of anti-Israelism and antisemitism. However, for Jews who live in Europe, it's just one manifestation of antisemitism, albeit perhaps the most frightening one, but certainly not the most common.
Other manifestations are less photogenic, but they impose a heavy burden on the lives of European Jews: pestering at school, aggressive campaigns on social media, cultural and academic boycotts, hurtful comments, and tension and ostracism in the workplace. Physical violence is rather rare.
Secondly, antisemitism is much more than an individual case of racism. In European public discourse, there is a nascent recognition that it's a kind of conspiracy theory. Those falling into its net and spreading it might be people who have never met a Jew, and perceive themselves as liberals who "have nothing against the Jewish people." They don't even need to use the word "Jewish." The conflict in the Middle East and the so-called gray area between what is antisemitic and what is anti-Israel has made it possible to use code words such as "globalists", references to George Soros – and, of course, Zionists.
It's not a new phenomenon, but it involves a world of new concepts. Instead of old-style antisemitism in which the Jews were considered Christ's killers, or more modern antisemitism accusing the Jews of controlling the world through the banking system, revolutionary movements and secret societies, there are contemporary allegations that prove confusing even to those who don't hold clearly racist views. The most popular ones claim Jews spread COVID-19 to profit from vaccines, are behind the war in Ukraine, and are breaking up nation-states. In addition, the well-known conspiracies about Jewish control of the media and the financial markets are still going around.
The Israeli left has also sometimes fallen into the trap. Since it rightly opposes continued Israeli control of the West Bank and the war crimes in Gaza, it finds European partners for its worldview. Sometimes they're serious and honest partners, however, other times, they're actors spreading allegations of genocide who support Islamist terrorist groups and propaganda advocating Israel's destruction.
Just as the Israeli far-right finds neo-Nazi partners as a result of their campaign against Muslims, some on the left find antisemitic partners because they oppose the occupation – even if its opposition is to Israel's 1949 armistice borders rather than to those post-1967.
Third, real-life antisemites, unlike those portrayed in the media, aren't two-dimensional figures. The coverage of what happened in Amsterdam focused on scenes of masked men of Middle Eastern origin looking for blood. In the real world, antisemitism has been hiding behind more familiar faces with other characteristics, other backgrounds and motives: young Europeans who read Trotskyite literature, high school students using antisemitism as a means of abusing classmates, and university lecturers attempting to attract attention to themselves.
Not all immigrants are antisemitic. Not all antisemites are immigrants, and the antisemitic incidents in Europe aren't necessarily spontaneous outbursts of hate or protest. They're also a product of campaigns financed by actors such as Qatar, Turkey and Russia. Just as most rapists don't look like monsters and don't lurk behind bushes in dark parks, the antisemitic monster sometimes lives within ordinary and seemingly unthreatening figures.
When soccer fans come to Europe and witness demonstrators spreading hate against Israel under the banner of the Palestinian flag, they experience it as a physical threat. When European Jews witness the same demonstration, more than violence, they fear that the hostile crowd includes their children's kindergarten teacher, their bank clerk or their nurse at the local clinic.
And one last point. We're used to identifying the victims of antisemitism in Europe with members of local Jewish communities. In Amsterdam, the victims were Israeli tourists who experienced it for the moment and then returned home. But among those two distinct groups, there's another. In recent years, groups of Israeli expats in Europe have established communities engaged in education, culture and social initiatives; the Hebrew language and secular Israeli identity are flourishing there.
These communities experience and deal with antisemitism differently, constituting both an opportunity and a risk in that regard. On the one hand, they're liable to constitute an attractive target for violent attacks and antisemites. On the other hand, their members might build a bridge for dialogue between Israeli and European societies that could help to deal with the sickness of antisemitism that the continent has been suffering from for centuries.
Since my article about Amnesty and Swedish schools was written and published in Swedish and since the debate with Amnesty Sweden's Secretery Genral in Svenska Dagbladet was also in Swedish, I finally got round to translating the original texts into English so that non-Swedish speakers can see what the all the fuss was about…
When a Jewish woman from Umeå was featured on DN's first page after she decided to leave town, at least one writer, Göran Rosenberg, was critical. The article explained that the woman was leaving because of decades of antisemitic harassment. Still, Rosenberg wasn't impressed. "Today, DN publishes on its entire front page that a woman in Umeå (of Israeli origin) intends to leave the city because of her experiences of antisemitism ", he wrote and added that DN failed to explain the background: "consequently, we are not told that the same woman was very active in supporting Israel in the Gaza war". A couple of days later he explained in Expressen that antisemitism is being used as a political weapon. The woman from Umeå, it seems, had it coming. After all, she's not a "Swedish Jew", rather she's "a woman in Umeå (of Israeli origin)". Rosenberg's message is clear: while Antisemitism against regular Jews like himself, is despicable, Zionists and Israelis just "experience" antisemitism which is actually just good old criticism of Israel, or as Swedes elegantly call it – Israelkritik.
I thought of this when I talked to an organization called "Zikaron" last week. This small but extremely important organization offers lectures on the fates of Holocaust survivors to Swedish schools. The lectures are carried out by young people, grandchildren or great grandchildren of survivors who are taking over the historic burden of remembrance. Naturally, this has nothing to do with Israel. The Holocaust took place before there was an Israel and the victims were not "settler colonialist" or responsible for the "blockade of Gaza". And yet, it turns out that sometimes even the Holocaust is too problematic for some schools. When I talked to one of Zikaron's organizers, she told me that after the massacre of October 7th last year there were about ten schools that cancelled their lectures due to reasons like "wrong timing" or "sensitive timing" and since then, there has been less demand for their lectures. Could this also be "Israelkritik" or is it just that Swedish schools are too scared of upsetting the sensitive souls who find Holocaust education provocative. Or perhaps they don’t want to get in trouble with activist bullies who didn't get the memo saying that it's ok to talk about dead Jews from the 40s and the problem is only with the other kind of Jews, the ones with guns from the Middle-East. Whatever it is, anyone who's worried about Swedish schools being cowards can rest assured. They found their courage elsewhere.
While Holocaust education may be too sensitive, foreign policy political activism seems to be no problem at all. Otherwise, how could 39 Swedish schools be "partner schools (samarbetsskolor)" of Amnesty, a political organization which is as far from mainstream as it gets. These schools use Amnesty's "Schools for Human Rights" model (skola för mänskliga rättigheter) for teacher's education, planning "theme days" (temadagar) and providing material and lectures. They even take part in global campaigns. This model may be great for highlighting human rights and democracy, but there's a serious problem when it comes to the conflict in the Middle-East, since Amnesty is anything but impartial.
In recent years Amnesty International positioned itself clearly as opposed to everything Israeli. It has disproportionately targeted Israel for years, it has supported boycott campaigns and some of its campaigners and partners have supported or even been linked to terror organization and Islamist movements (to name some: Yasmin Hussein, Saleh Hijazi and Moazzam Begg). It almost entirely ignores attacks against Israel and atrocities committed against its civilians, it bases its information about Gaza casualties on Hamas' propaganda and it makes claims which are obviously false like "Israel's military operations in Gaza continue to kill people on a scale that has never been seen before".
But it's not only talk. Amnesty Sweden actively campaigned against policies of the Swedish government, like the decision to pause funding for UNRWA (based on information that some of its employees took part in the October 7th massacre) and the decision to stop funding Swedish Ibn Rushd study circle (after accusations that the organization has ties to the Muslim Brotherhood and spreads antisemitism). In fact, whoever wants an idea of what Amnesty really supports can take a look at the kind of people it awards its prizes to. Elin Forghani, a Vänsterpartiet activist from Östersund just won Amnesty's new "Noismaker" prize after publicly claiming that: "Israel is a colonial project and an outpost of the West in the Middle East and always has been". And just to make clear what should be done with the colonizers she wrote: "we can make Israel and their sponsors sweat, tremble and fall. Liberation is in sight".
Naturally, in a democracy political activism is more than legitimate. However, it's also clear that Amnesty is in no way neutral or objective. It's a political player in global geo-politics, but it's still marching into Swedish schools, presenting itself as a non-biased public informer and bearer of a universal truth. Although political parties and organizations are allowed in Swedish schools and naturally Democracy and human rights should be part of their education, this isn't a case of mainstream education. Amnesty is getting a special "partner" status as a long-term official partner while other political actors are just guests, implying that Amnesty represents facts while the others represent opinions.
It's unclear why Swedish schools should be discussing the war in Gaza in the first place, but if they must, the material should be written and supervised carefully by serious state actors. This isn’t the place to start outsourcing. I spoke to a few parents and students in a Stockholm high school. They told me about their complaints to the school management regarding Amnesty's Gaza war education material and about lessons using material from Globalis, an organization run by "Svenska FN-förbundet" an organization which claims to "work for a better and stronger UN ". The UN in the title shouldn't be confused with impartiality. When I spoke to one student, he told me that since the lessons about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict started "it feels like I have to go to school to defend Israel twice a week. It's not that the teacher lies but it's so one-sided. For example, there were two lessons about the Palestinian Nakba and only half a slide about the expulsion of Jews from Arab countries and Iran and even that, according to the teacher, could be understood as a result of "Mossad activity". When the students were given texts on the subject, they were given guiding questions like: "what support is there for the claim that Israel is an apartheid state?". Student I spoke to talked about feeling very uncomfortable and worried about their classmates. "I feel I have to give the other side", one of them said, "because the other students in the class don't know the whole picture".
In an incident in another school, UN day was celebrated in the schoolyard by waving flags of different countries. According to one of the teachers, when some angry spectators who were passing by threatened to enter the school and remove the Israeli flag, the reaction wasn’t standing up to the threatening bullies and informing the police. Instead, the flag was removed and the person waving it was asked not to wave it again.
It seems that our schools are becoming a ridiculous case of Dr. Jackyle and Mr. Hyde. On one hand, they're wannabe rebels, dealing with the world's most complicated conflicts by employing radical political activists, while on the other hand, they're so afraid of controversy and conflict that they can't even wave a flag of a UN member country or talk about the Holocaust.
It's true, only a few schools cancelled Holocaust lectures and only some are Amnesty partners. But it's also true that only some pro-Palestinian demonstrators support violence (which is what shouting "Intifada!" means), only part of vänsterpartiet supports the PFLP and only a handful burned an Israeli flag outside a synagogue. Not to mention that just several thousand attended a Hamas conference in Malmö, and only a few hundred contribute to Islamist, antisemitic movements, and only one Imam praised Hezbollah's leader and only one or two artist spread antisemitic conspiracy theories, and only a small minority screamed at Holocaust survivors entering a memorial ceremony. How many minorities will it take to get the message? and when will our schools become part of the solution instead of part of the problem.
Amnesty Sweden's comment (originally in Swedish):
Our schoolwork is based on international conventions and Swedish school's governing documents.
On December 10th, 1948, the newly formed UN adopted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. For the first time, the world had an agreement that viewed all people as free and equal, regardless of gender, skin color, religion or other beliefs or characteristics.
In 2011, knowledge of human rights was incorporated into the Swedish curriculum. Since 2012, Amnesty has been supporting upper secondary schools with teaching materials, lectures, and a model for working with human rights, based on both international conventions and Sweden's school governing documents.
David Stavrou, guest columnist for Svenska Dagbladet, criticizes Amnesty for supporting upper secondary schools in their work on human rights education, by making directly false accusations about Amnesty as an organization and our work. But these claims are easy to refute: No, Amnesty does not support the call for a boycott of Israel. Yes, Amnesty has condemned attacks on civilian Israelis and called for those responsible for these war crimes to be held accountable. No, our teaching materials and lectures are not about Israel and Palestine.
David Stavrou claims that we are a biased organization and that our criticism of Israel is disproportionate. This is a direct false statement that is often made by representatives of the Israeli government. Amnesty is an impartial, politically independent organization. We do not accept government funds because we want to be free to investigate human rights violations without being dependent on anyone. Our demands and criticisms are based on international law and respect for human rights. And we assess all states by the same standards.
Even though our lectures in high schools this fall did not address the war in Gaza, high school students have asked many questions about the situation in Gaza. Human rights, contrary to what David Stavrou suggests, apply both in times of peace and in conflicts. Amnesty's focus in all conflicts is the protection of civilians and their human rights.
Amnesty is not alone in criticizing Israel's indiscriminate attacks on civilians, the forced displacement of Palestinian civilians, and the denial of humanitarian aid into Gaza, three clear examples of violations of the laws of war. Knowledge of human rights is necessary. We are happy to contribute to helping upper secondary schools fulfill the curriculum, providing students with more knowledge and the conditions to protect their own rights and work to ensure that others' rights are respected, both now and in the future.
Anna Johansson, Secretary General, Amnesty International Sweden.
David Stavrou's reply:
It’s great that Amnesty Sweden takes texts which are published in Svenska Dagbladet seriously. However, it’s a bit surprising because, during the process of writing the article, I contacted their press service to ask questions that had arisen after conversations with students at their partner schools. No one responded. To avoid mistakes, I wrote again, but I was ignored once more. On the other hand, Amnesty’s response suggests it might not matter – it’s filled with answers to questions no one asked and avoids addressing the questions that were actually raised.
No one suggested that schools shouldn’t teach human rights and democracy. No one asked whether human rights are important during wartime. Even if one appreciates the Secretary General of Amnesty’s inspiring words, that wasn’t at all what the article was about. Everyone knows human rights are important. The question is whether her organization is qualified to be the one teaching our children about them.
One question that goes unanswered, however, in the one addressing Amnesty’s partners abroad that have had connections to terrorist organizations and Islamist movements. Perhaps it’s because she is aware of the collaboration with Moazzam Begg, for example. Begg, a former Guantanamo detainee, was invited to Sweden by Amnesty despite having supported the Taliban. This isn’t something I’m claiming – it’s what a senior official within Amnesty in London, Gita Sahgal, said. She argued that collaboration with "Britain’s most famous Taliban supporter" and links to groups promoting Islamic right-wing ideas damage Amnesty’s integrity and pose a threat to human rights. Amnesty’s reaction – she was dismissed.
Then there’s the claim that Amnesty doesn’t support a boycott of Israel. If that’s the case, why did Amnesty’s Regional Director for the Middle East and North Africa write the following: "We urge the international community to cease all forms of support – whether direct or indirect, through actions or omissions – for Israel’s apartheid system"? (Direct quote from Amnesty’s website).
As for Amnesty having condemned attacks on Israeli civilians, it is true that they’ve done so on certain occasions. After October 7th, it would have been absurd if they hadn’t. But anyone familiar with Amnesty’s publications knows that the Secretary General’s statement is misleading. During September and October, Amnesty International published 14 texts on their website criticizing Israel. That’s as many as the texts about Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq – combined. Iran received seven texts during the same period, Sudan and South Sudan six in total, and Belarus only four. During these two months, 7,517 rockets were fired at Israel. Amnesty published nothing about these attacks, which kill and injure and have forced over 140,000 Israeli citizens to live as internally displaced persons for more than a year.
"We assess all states by the same standards," writes Amnesty’s Secretary General. That’s hard to believe when reading about their "regional activist seminars" in Stockholm and Malmö in November. The program begins with "Palestine then and now" and continues with "a deeper understanding of the Palestine issue through a Palestinian perspective." Then there’s a lecture on the Palestine groups in Malmö, followed by "panel discussion: Academics for Palestine." Later in the day, there’s "panel discussion: on Palestine, struggle, and conflict." It seems like the Rohingyas, Uighurs, the Belarusian opposition, and Tigrayans from Ethiopia will have to wait for the next seminar because the next workshop is "What can I do? A guide to action for Palestinian liberation." This is organized by, drumroll, BDS Sweden. Yes, BDS – Boycott, Divestment, and Sanction (remember the Secretary General’s statement: "But these claims are easy to refute: No, Amnesty does not support the call for a boycott of Israel." Does she think we can’t read?).
None of the speakers at the seminar are pro-Israel; instead, it’s full of well-known pro-Palestinian activists. And that’s entirely okay. The Svenska Dagbladet article wasn’t about whether Amnesty is right or wrong or about their right to be pro-Palestinian. It was about impartiality. I wonder if any of the young people who participated in the activist seminar are students from one of Amnesty’s 39 partner schools. I suggest that Sweden’s school principals take what the Secretary General wrote seriously. When she writes that she’s glad to "give students more knowledge," it becomes clear that their schools are her recruitment ground.
דיויד סטברו 