As they continue to weather nearly 21 months of a multi-front regional war, Israelis have been reminded once again that some governments in the democratic world are far more reliable than others.

There are those, like Ireland and Spain, that have been truly awful: embracing the Hamas framework for understanding the conflict, trying to change the definition of “genocide” solely to convict Israel of this monstrous crime, and playing to the antisemitic sentiments that have surged among their respective populations.

And there are those, like Canada and Australia, that have been profoundly disappointing, seeking to embargo weapons supplies to Israel, and misrepresenting Israel’s war of survival against Iran and its proxies as a war of choice—again as antisemitism surges among their populations.

Then there are those, like France and the United Kingdom, that have been grimly predictable: vociferously condemning the Hamas pogrom in southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, and vociferously condemning Israel for trying to eliminate the conditions that enabled the massacre in the first place against a background of widespread, frequently violent Jew-hatred in the public square.

The boycott extends to Coca-Cola, which has been replaced by something called “Gaza Cola,” whose sales proceeds will supposedly fund “humanitarian projects” in the coastal enclave.

Finally, there are those like Hungary, Germany, the Czech Republic and Italy, who have shown pretty much consistent support for Israel.

Yet as Italy demonstrates, just because the central government supports Israel, it doesn’t mean that local governments or the population more generally will follow suit.

Earlier this month, posters appeared across locations in Milan bearing the words—in garbled English that would be comical were it not for their meaning—“Israeli Not Welcome.” One Jewish resident told The Times of Israel, “They say ‘Israeli,’ but they mean Jews and everyone who does not dissociate themselves from what happens in Gaza.”

That such a message could make yet another appearance in a country that allied with the Nazis for most of World War II, having already donated the word “ghetto” to the English language, is chilling enough, especially as it wasn’t an isolated incident. Recent weeks have witnessed at least two violent antisemitic assaults in Milan—where 7,000 of Italy’s Jewish community of nearly 30,000 live—with one incident involving two Jewish teenage boys, one of whom was wearing a kippah, being beaten and robbed by a gang of Egyptian thugs.

The events in Milan are part of a national trend on the streets and at the political level, with a critical role being played by local governments. As the Italian Jewish journalist Daniel Mosseri noted in an excellent recent survey of anti-Zionist agitation in Italy, “city councils and regional parliaments are now lending institutional weight to the hostility.”

This is particularly worrying in a country like Italy, with its infamous electoral turbulence sweeping into power very different kinds of governments through what has at times looked like a revolving door.

Giorgia Meloni, the current right-wing prime minister, has been a firm friend of Israel throughout the conflict, resisting pressure to suspend military, commercial and diplomatic ties with Jerusalem. But the government that eventually replaces hers could plausibly take Italy on the path followed by the Irish and the Spanish. If it is a government of the left, that outcome is frankly likely, as the present situation at the regional level in Italy would seem to indicate.

Already, four Italian regions with leftist governments—Apulia, Emilia-Romagna, Sardinia and Tuscany—have adopted measures to suspend any contact or cooperation with Israeli government institutions or companies unless their interlocutors denounce “Israel’s genocide” and dissociate themselves from the government of Benjamin Netanyahu. Other regions are considering similar action.

The impact of these decisions is being felt far beyond local government bureaucracies. As the air has thickened with enmity toward Israel, two supermarket cooperatives managing more than 450 stores in northern and central Italy have announced a boycott of Israeli products. The boycott extends to that unmistakably American product, Coca-Cola, which has been replaced by something called “Gaza Cola,” whose sales proceeds will supposedly fund “humanitarian projects” in the Strip.

The drive to quarantine Israel and Israelis from all aspects of life—and, by extension, the vast majority of Diaspora Jews who must endure these boycotts—is also manifesting through demonstrations and other performative actions.

That such a message could make an appearance in a country that allied with the Nazis for most of World War II, having already donated the word “ghetto” to the English language, is chilling.

One initiative, titled “50,000 Shrouds for Gaza,” draws on traditional Christian anti-Jewish motifs that resonate particularly in Italy, the home of the “Turin Shroud,” an ancient cloth said to have held the remains of Jesus following his crucifixion by the Roman authorities. Artfully connecting Jewish “genocide” in Gaza with the historic libel of Jewish collective responsibility for the execution of Christianity’s figurehead, the Gaza shrouds project calls for the hanging of white sheets on the outer walls of municipal buildings and public squares. So far, nearly 20 major city councils have signed on to the initiative, among them those of Verona and Bologna, as well as dozens of smaller ones.

Separately, a June demonstration convened by three left-wing opposition parties—the 5 Star Movement, the Democratic Party, and the Green and Left Alliance—featured speakers who compared the plight of the Palestinians with the German Nazi Holocaust. The demands of the demonstration focused on suspending relations between the European Union and Israel; unilateral recognition of a Palestinian state; and a formal recognition and condemnation of Israel’s so-called “genocide” and “war crimes.”

Giuseppe Conte, the leader of the 5 Star Movement, which supports sanctions on Israel but has opposed them in the case of Russia’s brutal invasion of Ukraine, has even issued what some would consider a barely veiled warning to Italian Jews. “My Jewish friends, distance yourselves—silence is complicity,” he declared in March. Meanwhile, Democratic Party leader Elly Schlein (who, when elected to the party’s helm two years ago, reacted to barbs about her prominent nose by woundedly insisting that hers was a “typically Etruscan nose” not inherited from her Jewish father) has endorsed a total embargo against Israel.

There are no serious indications that Meloni will be swayed by public anger with Israel to pivot to the pro-Hamas bloc in the European Union led by Ireland and Spain, or to take the “even-handed” approach of France and the United Kingdom. Even so, Italy has become yet another illustration of the pattern of antisemitism in this century. Rather than casting Jews as religious or racial outlaws, they are instead defamed as over-privileged political outlaws who must be forced to choose between their desire to remain in Italy and their support for Israel.

As is always the case with anti-Zionism—or antizionism, as I prefer to call it—the ostensible focus is the State of Israel, but the real targets are the Jews who have no option but to share their streets, their offices, their children’s schools and other public spaces with those who agitate against them.

Souce: JNS