Italy: The new face of an old hate

It was the deadliest attack on Rome’s Jewish community since the Second World War, a moment that seared itself into the memory of Italian Jewry. Nevertheless, more than four decades later, justice remains elusive.

Only recently did Rome’s Public Prosecutor’s Office conclude its investigation, identifying five Palestinians – three living in Jordan, one in the West Bank, and one imprisoned in France – as suspected participants in the attack. None have ever been brought before an Italian court. Newly released documents suggest that Italian authorities may have had prior intelligence warning of the attack, yet failed to act.

For many, that failure now feels less like a relic of the past and more like a warning that was never properly understood. Today, across Italy there is a growing sense among Jews that something deeper has shifted. The threat is no longer only external or episodic. It has seeped into society itself, becoming ambient, normalized, and increasingly personal.

Maurizio Molinari, one of Italy’s most prominent journalists and until recently editor-in-chief of La Repubblica, remembers that day in 1982 with chilling clarity. He was just 18 years old. “One of the terrorists was two meters away from me and tried to kill me,” he recalls. “I survived the worst terrorist attack on the Jewish community of Rome since 1945.”

Yet even for someone who has lived through that moment, he says what has unfolded since the Oct. 7 massacre is something fundamentally different. “Taking that into consideration, what Italian Jewry went through since Oct. 7 is unprecedented. A big shock, above our imagination. Even for me.”

Italy has known waves of hostility before. During the 1982 Lebanon War, there was a surge of anti-Zionist sentiment across the country. However, Molinari is careful to draw a distinction. “In 1982, during Operation Peace for Galilee, there was a wave of intolerance and anti-Zionism in Italy,” he says. “But there were no physical aggressions against individual Jews on the streets or in schools. Jewish kids in public schools didn’t have to suffer.”

Today, that line has been crossed.

“IN THE current antisemitic wave, the threshold of individual physical aggressions was crossed by too many people,” he continues. “This was a shock for us. Why are Jewish kids still being attacked in 2025? Why do Jews walking in the center of Milan, Rome, Genoa, or Turin not feel safe wearing a kippah in Italy, my country?”

He describes how fear has entered even the most intimate spaces of Jewish life. “Traditionally, Jewish friends of mine invited me to dinner in Rome. I have known this couple for years. They put flowers now to cover the mezuzah on their door. I asked them why they did it, and the lady told me: ‘When I order a delivery, I don’t know who will bring it to me. Most of them are Muslims, and we are afraid.’

“This atmosphere, which Jews in France, Belgium, and the UK had known for years, this physical fear, never existed before in Italy. Now it’s here.”

What has changed is not only the presence of hostility but its diffusion.

“After Oct. 7, the first wave of hate against the Jews came from extremist Muslim groups living in Italy,” Molinari explains. “In a couple of months, this contagious behavior reached Italians themselves. Having street protests of small groups of Islamist extremists in Milan shouting against the existence of Israel or against the Jews because they are connected to Israel was something that we could expect in connection with the war in the Middle East.

“But when we started seeing Italians, middle-aged men and women, educated people, first in the hundreds, then in the thousands, going down to the streets and joining the Islamists in demonizing not only the State of Israel but Zionism and Zionists, we could not understand what the hell was going on.”

The progression was rapid and unmistakable. “It wasn’t against the Israeli government. It was against the State of Israel, then against Zionists, and then against Jews. This transformation happened very fast.”

What shocked him most was how quickly this hostility turned personal. “Since I am a journalist, I have been invited to many public events, discussions, and debates,” he says. “What happened to me first in Naples during April 2024 was a kind of revolt inside the university, aiming to forbid me even from entering. The protesters told the police that if I entered, they would destroy the department of history that invited me to speak.”

He chose not to escalate the situation, but he sought dialogue. “I decided to step back, but I asked to speak with the protesters. I wanted to hear from them why they hated me so much. They replied that they didn’t even want to meet me, since they despised me. Not my ideas. Me personally. It never happened to me before.”

A second incident, he says, was even more disturbing. “It was in Cagliari, Sardinia. I was invited to a small village to talk about my latest book. There was an audience of around 100 local people. A small group of Palestinian immigrants remained throughout the whole event, shouting at me: ‘Throw the Zionist out of Sardinia.’ ‘We will not let you speak,’ ‘We are all Hamas and Hezbollah, we will destroy Israel and the Jews.’ I kept speaking while they were shouting aggressively.”

For Molinari, the conclusion is unavoidable. “The reason why these pro-Hamas groups targeted me was not because of who I am or what I did in my life. It was because of my identity. They wanted to forbid me from speaking.”

THE DATA support these lived experiences.

According to the 2025 report by Milan’s Center of Contemporary Jewish Documentation (CDEC), antisemitic incidents in Italy have surged dramatically. Nearly 1,000 incidents were recorded, representing a sharp increase compared to previous years, a doubling since 2023 and a fourfold increase since 2022. The rise is not only quantitative but qualitative. Discrimination has doubled. Physical assaults have increased by more than 200%.

Equally troubling is the source. The majority of incidents are now linked to discourse surrounding Israel. Ancient antisemitic prejudices, accusations of cruelty, conspiracy, and moral corruption are being transferred onto Zionism and the Jewish state.

These are not fringe opinions. They signal a shift in what is considered acceptable.

Stefano Gatti, a researcher at the CDEC Observatory, sees continuity beneath the change. “Antisemitism is the oldest form of prejudice,” he says. “With antisemitism, you can explain everything, since behind all the problems of the world, there is a Jew.”

What has changed is the language. “The new antisemitism is not new,” he says. “The images might be new, but the slogans and stereotypes are old.”

He points to the growing use of Christian imagery in anti-Israel narratives. “The ‘Christianization’ of the Palestinian cause started after the Six Day War,” he says. “After Oct. 7, the use of these images exploded. We see graffiti and cartoons presenting Palestinians as Christ, as the Madonna with a dead child. The message is clear: The Zionist Jews are killing Jesus again.”

This imagery resonates deeply within Italian society, even among the secular. “Italy is a secular society,” Gatti says, “but it is deeply rooted in Christianity. Even if you are an atheist, you still have Christian roots. If you use the image of Christ or the Madonna with a keffiyeh, the message is immediately understood.”

Murilo Cambruzzi, another researcher at the CDEC Observatory, who also works on teaching programs on Jewish life and culture, states that this distortion has profound consequences.

“In some churches, we have seen nativity scenes where they put keffiyehs around the figure of the newborn Jesus,” he says. “This is extremely problematic because it completely erases the connection of Jesus to the Land of Israel and Judaism. Jesus was born Jewish and died as a Jew. The Romans crucified him as king of the Jews, not as king of the Palestinians. They are using Jewish history against the Jews.”

For Cambruzzi, the line is crossed when political protest targets Jewish spaces. “If you have an anti-Israeli protest in front of a synagogue, the line has been crossed. Synagogues are not Israeli consulates.”

Yet increasingly, Jews are treated as proxies for Israel. “Now, if they see Italian Jews as Israelis, they say Jews should go home,” he says. “But where should they go? If they go to Israel, it’s a problem. If they stay here, it’s also a problem. There is no place where Jews can exist that is not problematic.”

FOR MANY, the most painful transformation is social. Claudia Fellus, until recently president of the European Council of Jewish Communities (ECJC), former vice president of the Jewish community in Rome, and activist in various civil rights movements, describes how her world shifted after Oct. 7. “I come from the Left,” she says. “I used to say that [Palestinian political leader Yasser] Arafat was my best friend.”

Her connection to Judaism was largely through Israel. But that connection suddenly became a dividing line. “All of a sudden, my friends started thinking that what the Palestinians did on Oct. 7 was justified resistance against colonialism,” she says. “They saw Israel as the last colonial power in the world.”

The consequences were deeply personal. “People around me tried to make me something dark, dirty, abnormal,” she says. “Being Zionist or defending Israel was much worse.”

Her identity shifted in response. “For the first time in my life, I felt Jewish above all,” she says. “Before, I felt Italian, Libyan, a woman, many different things. Now I felt Jewish because they made me feel different.”

The accusations themselves, she notes, are ancient. “We became again the Jews of the Middle Ages, accused of killing children.”

Meir Brauner, dentist and vice director of Keshet Italy, the local Jewish LGBTQ association, describes a similar experience within the LGBTQ community. “We expected solidarity,” he says. “Instead, we were excluded.”

At Pride events, Jewish participants were booed and had objects thrown at them. “People followed us with signs saying they don’t believe women were raped on Oct. 7,” he recounts.

“These are spaces that claim to be safe,” he adds. “But for Jews, they are not safe at all. You stop feeling like a human being.”

Livia Ottolenghi was recently appointed president of the Union of Italian Jewish Communities (UCEI), representing 21 Jewish communities, mainly in central and northern Italy. Approximately 30,000 Jews live in Italy today. Ottolenghi, a university professor of dentistry, comes from an old Jewish Italian family.

“The specificity of antisemitism in Italy is that we experienced a very high rise in the percentage of antisemitic acts from Oct. 7 on,” explains Ottolenghi. “It actually started already with the COVID pandemic. Then it was mainly expressed online. In the last two and a half years, we have had a 200% increase in direct antisemitic acts. We are a community with a very long history. We have been here for 22 centuries. So, we have a very strong tradition and connection to the country, we have very tight cooperation with the institutions here – the government, the police, the army. They are all very supportive of our communities. So, we can go on living quite well.

“However, within the wider society after Oct. 7, there was a rise in antisemitic acts. Every one of us has experienced such a situation, and it is not always bearable.

“Politicians here in Italy have been very sensitive to this issue,” continues Ottolenghi. “The Senate just approved a law proposal on combating antisemitism. It focuses on cultural, educational, and organizational approaches. However, it was not approved unanimously as we had hoped. Some leftist parties opposed or abstained. But overall, it was for us a positive signal.”

FOR YOUNGER Jews, the pressure is particularly intense. Ottolenghi notes that students increasingly feel unable to express their identity. “Youngsters suffer more,” she says. “In schools and universities, they experience the impossibility of expressing themselves as Jews or as supportive of Israel.”

This pressure is driving some to leave. “You will see more aliyah of youngsters,” Molinari predicts. “Because they are suffering the most.”

Yet even as societal hostility grows, Italian institutions remain largely supportive. Security has been increased. Laws are being developed. The state continues to engage.

“The institutions defend us,” Molinari says. “This is very different from the past.”

Nevertheless, this creates a fragile balance. Jews may be protected by the state, yet increasingly feel exposed within society.

For Molinari, the most troubling aspect is not only the hatred itself but its moral framing. “The characteristic of this antisemitism is that the one who hates the Jews believes he is a good person,” he says.

Hatred is no longer seen as prejudice but as virtue, as justice, or as solidarity.

“It is a revolt for the good,” Molinari says. “And in that revolt, they justify hatred against Jews.”

This moral inversion is what makes the current moment particularly difficult to confront. When hatred presents itself as righteousness, it becomes harder to identify, harder to challenge, and much easier to spread. Those who express it do not see themselves as bigots but as defenders of universal values. In that framework, Jews are not individuals or a community with a complex identity but symbols, placed on the “wrong” side of a moral divide that has already been decided.

THAT SHIFT has consequences beyond the Jewish community. It reshapes the broader democratic space. When certain voices are excluded not because of what they say but because of who they are, the boundaries of acceptable discourse narrow for everyone. The silencing of Jewish perspectives in universities, cultural institutions, and public debate is not an isolated phenomenon. It reflects a deeper erosion of pluralism itself.

At the same time, the normalization of antisemitic language lowers the threshold for more overt forms of hostility. What begins as rhetoric can, over time, translate into action. Italy has already begun to see that transition, with incidents moving from online abuse to physical intimidation and assault. The concern among many observers is not only about what is happening now but about what may follow if these trends continue unchecked.

There is also a growing awareness within the Jewish community that this is not a temporary spike but part of a longer trajectory.

Uriel Perugia, secretary-general of the UCEI and delegate to the EU working group on combating antisemitism, relates that after Oct. 7, the UCEI created a special task force to follow up reports on antisemitic incidents.

“We decide what to do with reports,” Perugia explains. “Some incidents are awful but lawful. Some incidents require the intervention of the authorities. In the last two years, we have collected more than 55 cases that have been brought before judges. We have special relations with national institutions. We send every relevant case to the Ministry of Interior and the national coordinator to combat antisemitism. This mechanism helps us manage the tsunami of antisemitism that we have been facing since Oct. 7.

“In Italy and in Europe we have faced antisemitism for 2,000 years, long before the Shoah,” reminds Perugia. “Many Italians and Europeans connect persecution of Jews only to the Shoah. But antisemitism is basically under the skin of people. There is an unknown and unconscious antisemitism in society.

“After Oct. 7, the curtain of shame to be antisemitic has fallen, and what was under the skin surfaced. That is what we are living with now.

”Although our situation is hard, it’s one of the better situations in Europe,” stresses Perugia. “We feel hatred within the society that is getting stronger and structural. It’s something that we shall have to live with. It’s not episodic, happening every now and then.

“At the same time, the Italian institutions are very close to us, and the police forces are very attentive. They understand the threat. The national coordinator renewed the national strategy to combat antisemitism. The minister of the interior increased the capabilities to protect Jewish communities and to investigate and analyze antisemitic incidents.

“I have no idea how the situation would be without this support. However, we wonder what will happen when politicians start to chase certain votes.”

That visibility, paradoxically, brings both clarity and danger. On one hand, it exposes dynamics that might otherwise have remained unspoken. On the other, it risks normalizing them. When antisemitism becomes part of everyday discourse, it loses its capacity to shock. It becomes one opinion among many rather than a red line.

ITALY REMAINS, in many respects, one of the safer environments for Jewish life in Europe. Its institutions are engaged. Its leadership has taken the issue seriously. There is cooperation between the state and Jewish organizations that provides a degree of security and stability. However, beneath that framework, the social climate is shifting in ways that cannot be addressed by security measures alone.

The question increasingly being asked within the community is not only whether Jews are safe but whether they are fully accepted. Safety can be provided by guards and legislation. Acceptance depends on something deeper, on the willingness of society to see Jews as an integral part of its fabric rather than as outsiders or symbols of a distant conflict.

For now, that question remains open.

“Today, Jews are increasingly targeted not for what they do but for what they are perceived to represent. They are held collectively responsible for the perceived actions of the State of Israel, regardless of their personal views, nationality, or identity. This is a standard that is applied to no other community. No one would consider it acceptable to attack Muslims for the actions of governments in the Middle East, Africa, or Asia, or to blame other communities connected through religious, national, or ethnic ties to a state involved in a conflict. Yet when it comes to Jews, this logic is not only tolerated, it is often legitimized.

“This is not criticism of Israel. Legitimate criticism exists in every democracy and is essential. What we are seeing instead in many countries today is the transformation of political discourse into a vehicle for the oldest hatred in a new form. It is the rebranding of antisemitism in language that makes it appear acceptable, even virtuous,” Kantor says.

“When Jews in Italy are afraid to display their identity, when they are excluded from public spaces, or attacked because of a supposed connection to Israel, we must be clear: This is antisemitism, plain and simple. And if it is excused, justified, or ignored, it will not remain confined to one community. History has shown us that it never does.”

History rarely repeats itself in identical form. More often, it returns in fragments, reshaped, reframed, and adapted to the language of the present. In Italy today, many believe they are witnessing not the emergence of something entirely new but the reappearance of something very old, dressed in contemporary terms and justified by contemporary narratives.

And that, perhaps, is what makes this moment so difficult to confront, and so important not to ignore.