On Sunday, an image of a swastika was projected onto the outer wall of a dormitory at a Wisconsin college, while another large swastika was drawn in the snow covering a pond in Falmouth, Massachusetts. And these are just two very recent cases. Alvin Rosenfeld observes:

In addition to swastika graffiti and a range of anti-Jewish hate messages appearing in public places in New York city and elsewhere, the Nazi symbol frequently shows up in anti-Israel street protests, sometimes in novel ways. Examples include people in crowds holding up cellphones whose screens show large swastikas. More elaborate are handmade posters featuring a large swastika pointing to the words “Israeli Military = Nazis.” Or signs with blood-stained swastikas intertwined with the Star of David. Or large swastikas supplanting the Star of David in the middle of refashioned Israeli flags. . . .

Haters need to hate, and anti-Semitism, always in recruitment mode, is readily available, open to all, and a common, easily accessible hatred. Those who embrace it on social media, college campuses, on the street, in the entertainment and sports worlds, and elsewhere, quickly find likeminded allies and probably believe that those they hate and are dedicated to hurting won’t hurt them back. That may have been true when Jews were set upon in the past. It is not true of Israeli Jews. When they are hit, they hit back, and hard. For that, they and Jews everywhere are hated even more.

If Iran succeeds in obtaining nuclear weapons, the war in Gaza, let alone the protests on college campuses, will seem like a minor complication. Jonathan Schachter fears that this danger could be much more imminent than decisionmakers in Jerusalem and Washington believe. In his view, Israel seems to be repeating the mistake that allowed it to be taken by surprise on Simchat Torah of 2023 and Yom Kippur of 1973: putting too much faith in an intelligence concept that could be wrong.

Israel and the United States apparently believe that despite Iran’s well-documented progress in developing capabilities necessary for producing and delivering nuclear weapons, as well as its extensive and ongoing record of violating its international nuclear obligations, there is no acute crisis because building a bomb would take time, would be observable, and could be stopped by force. Taken together, these assumptions and their moderating impact on Israeli and American policy form a new Iran concept reminiscent of its 1973 namesake and of the systemic failures that preceded the October 7 massacre.

Meanwhile, most of the restrictions put in place by the 2015 nuclear deal will expire by the end of next year, rendering the question of Iran’s adherence moot. And the forces that could be taking action aren’t:

The European Union regularly issues boilerplate press releases asserting its members’ “grave concern.” American decisionmakers and spokespeople have created the unmistakable impression that their reservations about the use of force are stronger than their commitment to use force to prevent an Iranian atomic bomb. At the same time, the U.S. refuses to enforce its own sanctions comprehensively: Iranian oil exports (especially to China) and foreign-currency reserves have ballooned since January 2021, when the Biden administration took office.

Israel’s response has also been sluggish and ambiguous. Despite its oft-stated policy of never allowing a nuclear Iran, Israel’s words and deeds have sent mixed messages to allies and adversaries—perhaps inadvertently reinforcing the prevailing sense in Washington and elsewhere that Iran’s nuclear efforts do not present an exigent crisis.