Stop Pretending Antisemitism is Just a PR Problem

We Stand Against Hate’—Unless You’re Jewish

Pesach Lattin (ADOTAT)
February 07, 2025

I've been in this industry longer than some of its self-proclaimed "thought leaders" have been alive.

And as a very visibly Orthodox Jew, let me tell you, I’m treated like an alien at industry events. The stares, the hesitant handshakes, the “so… what exactly are you?” expressions. And then there are the comments. Oh, the comments.

Some are just plain ignorant—“Wait, I heard Orthodox Jews don’t believe in Jesus?” (Yes, congrats, you understand the basic definition of Judaism.) Others are more insidious, delivered with that condescending, “I’m just curious” tone that people use when they really want to challenge your right to exist. And, of course, my personal favorite: the unsolicited opinions from people who claim to have a Jewish great-great-grandparent and think this gives them the right to lecture me on my own faith.

Let’s not pretend this industry doesn’t have a long history of excluding Jews. Ad agencies used to have unwritten (and sometimes written) rules against hiring Jews, keeping the executive suites free from the "ethnic problem." It wasn’t until the 1960s that some of those barriers cracked open—but the thing about cracks is they don’t mean the structure has actually changed. You still see the same people in power, the same biases baked into hiring and decision-making. Today, it’s less overt but still very real.

And then there’s anti-Judaism, the cousin of antisemitism that doesn’t get nearly enough attention. It’s not about hating Jews as a race or a group, but rather our beliefs. It’s the condescending dismissal of Jewish religious practice, the smug, know-it-all comments from people who barely know what a mezuzah is but feel entitled to tell me what I should believe. And this one’s particularly fun because it often comes from people who call themselves “culturally Jewish,” meaning they eat bagels sometimes and once saw Fiddler on the Roof.

I’ve had to cut ties with PR firms who refused to acknowledge blatant antisemitism because, apparently, it’s perfectly acceptable to make sweeping generalizations about Jews as long as you couch it in “we’re just asking questions” nonsense. And the questions are always the same: Why do Jews control X? Why do Jews believe Y? Why aren’t Jews speaking out about Z? Notice how no one ever asks these things about any other religious or ethnic group. It’s only us who are expected to answer for every person who has ever had a menorah in their house.

Oh, you better believe I have zero patience for this kind of nonsense. Yes, I’ve banned an entire PR firm—and everyone they represent—from ever stepping foot on our shows. Why?

First, they lied about a cancellation. Amateur hour. Said the person was sick and dying, but then they went on another podcast. Liar.

But then, and this is where it gets chef’s kiss grotesque, an employee—bless their incompetence—emailed me from their database without scrubbing the internal notes. And what was next to my name? “The Jew.”

That’s right. Not “journalist,” not “host,” not even a half-hearted “media guy.” Just “The Jew.”

Now, I’m not sure what century they think they’re operating in, but let me be crystal clear: You don’t get to dehumanize me and still pitch me your clients. You get to take your little anti-Semitic filing system and shove it where the sun don’t shine.

Next time, at least have the decency to keep your bigotry off company letterhead. Or better yet, just don’t be a bigot.

And let’s talk about the industry's favorite new game: pretending antisemitism doesn’t exist while loudly proclaiming their commitment to DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion—unless you're Jewish, in which case, good luck). Advertising loves a good progressive branding moment—just not one that includes standing up for Jews.

Brands will trip over themselves to align with social causes, but when Jewish employees point out antisemitism, the response is deafening silence. Or worse, they get gaslit. “Are you sure it was antisemitic? Maybe you’re reading too much into it.” Right. Because history has definitely shown that Jews tend to overreact about these things.

And then there's social media, which has turned antisemitism into a viral marketing opportunity. Hate spreads faster than a meme, and advertising dollars are happily funding platforms that host full-blown Jew-hatred disguised as "free speech." Major brands are still getting caught with their ads running alongside neo-Nazi content, and somehow the response is always shock. “Oh, we had no idea!” Sure. Just like you had no idea that hiring all your execs from the same country club would result in zero diversity.

It’s not just the overt hate—it’s the quiet complicity. The agencies that keep running campaigns with influencers who spread antisemitic conspiracy theories. The brands that do big splashy PR about fighting hate while quietly pulling back from supporting Jewish causes. The executives who think including one token Jew in their DEI report means they’ve done the work.

And let’s be clear: This isn’t just some abstract moral issue. It’s a business one. The same industry that prides itself on understanding audiences is willfully ignoring one of the oldest, most persecuted, and most historically resilient communities. If you can’t grasp why that’s a problem, then you’re in the wrong business.

Pesach Lattin, Editor & Founder
ADOTAT.com

America loves to pat itself on the back for being a melting pot, but let’s be honest—it’s more of a pressure cooker where anyone who doesn’t fit the recipe gets scorched. This isn’t just about Orthodox Jews; it’s about anyone who dares to exist outside the beige, cargo-shorted definition of “mainstream America.” You know, the people who think cultural diversity means adding a taco night to their meal plan.

Take my wife. She covers her hair and works in a public school. And because this country excels in both willful ignorance and unsolicited opinions, she’s constantly mistaken for a Muslim and treated accordingly. (She’s not.)

But she doesn’t bother correcting them, because let’s face it—trying to educate someone who already sees difference as a threat is like arguing with a chatbot stuck in 1953. Pointless.

We aren’t a zoo. We aren’t some anthropological curiosity to be studied at a safe distance. And if you consider yourself a “mainstream American” (whatever that means in a country built by immigrants and run by billionaires pretending to be folksy), maybe take a moment to realize the world doesn’t revolve around your mayonnaise-infused reality.

There are millions of people who don’t look, think, or live like you. And they don’t owe you an explanation. The real problem isn’t diversity—it’s the people who think their comfort level is the gold standard for how everyone else should exist.

A Muslim woman in the industry sent me this letter after I asked about her experiences. It’s worth a read.

There is a peculiar silence in being the only one. It is not the silence of absence but of presence—of being seen, yet unseen. A ghost in the corridors, a participant in the meetings, a contributor to the success, but always slightly apart. Not because anyone has pushed you away, not in a way they would recognize, but because the architecture of the placewas built before you arrived, and it was never designed with you in mind.

The Christmas parties are warm, full of easy laughter, full of traditions that are assumed to be universal. The invitations to drinks after work are casual, the expectation unspoken but firm. The culture thrives in these spaces, in the places where work dissolves into camaraderie, where bonds are sealed over raised glasses and shared experiences. But what if you do not drink? What if the very spaces where relationships are formed are the ones you cannot enter without compromising something essential?

No one is cruel. No one says, you do not belong here. Instead, they do not think to ask what belonging might mean to you. They assume you are comfortable in the world they have constructed, because they are comfortable in it. And why wouldn't they be? It has always been theirs.

For a woman, the exclusion is sharper, edged with contradictions. The men gather at bars, where deals are struck and allegiances formed, and to be present in those rooms is to participate. But those rooms, too, are not built for you. The air is thick with familiarity, with hands that touch too easily, with glances that linger just long enough to remind you that you are out of place.

Then there are the other spaces, the ones you are not even invited to—the strip clubs, the after-hours events where the drinking culture turns to something more. And there, you are absent.

Not because of a conscious decision, but because your existence in that space would be too complicated, too much of a disruption. You are kept out, not to protect you, but to keep things simple for them.

And so you live between these two kinds of absence: excluded from what you cannot accept, absent from what you cannot refuse. You exist in the office, in the formal spaces where work is work and nothing more. But the promotions, the connections, the conversations that shape futures—they happen elsewhere. They happen in the places where you are a guest at best, an interloper at worst.

The company is not bad. The people are not villains. But this is how exclusion happens, not with malice, not with intent, but with an indifference so deep it does not recognize itself as exclusion at all. It is simply the way things are. The world they have inherited, the world they have shaped, does not consider the space you need to exist fully as yourself. And so, you make a choice: to stand at the edges, or to step inside and bear the weight of being foreign even when you are not a stranger.

DEI Doesn’t Mean “Don’t Include Jews”

Let’s get one thing straight: If your diversity initiatives conveniently forget to mention antisemitism, you’re not actually fighting hate—you’re just curating your outrage for maximum applause.

The advertising industry loves to position itself as a beacon of inclusivity. Panels! Summits! LinkedIn posts filled with all the right buzzwords! But when it comes to confronting antisemitism, suddenly, everyone loses their voice. If there’s a PR-friendly movement to jump on, brands are all in.

But standing up for Jews? That’s when the excuses start rolling in. “It’s complicated.” “We don’t want to alienate anyone.” “We’re just asking questions.” Right.

And I’m just rolling my eyes so hard they’re about to dislocate.

Step One: Stop Pretending Antisemitism Is an Afterthought

Newsflash: Jews don’t just sometimes experience hate. Antisemitism isn’t some rare, niche issue that pops up only when Kanye West has a meltdown. It’s an ancient, deeply embedded form of discrimination that persists, in new packaging, century after century. And yet, when companies roll out their Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) reports, Jews are often left out—or worse, lumped into vague “white-adjacent” categories that erase our history, our struggles, and our very identity.

Let me be clear: If your company claims to be anti-hate but remains silent when antisemitism rears its ugly head, you are not inclusive. You are selective. And let’s not pretend we don’t see through it.

Step Two: Hold Platforms Accountable—Or Admit You’re Complicit

Big brands love to make a show of their values—until those values require actual accountability. Social media has become a megaphone for antisemitic conspiracy theories, yet ad dollars continue flowing into platforms that allow this garbage to thrive. Sure, some brands pause advertising when a scandal breaks, but the moment the headlines fade? Right back in the pool.

If you’re a CMO or media buyer still pouring money into platforms that profit off hate speech, let’s just say it plainly: You’re complicit. You know where your ads are running. You know what kind of content is being monetized. Stop playing dumb.

And don’t give me the “we don’t control where our ads go” excuse. You control exactly where your ads go when it comes to brand safety concerns for other groups. So why is it that antisemitism is always a blind spot?

Antisemitism in the workplace isn’t just some abstract problem floating in the ether—it’s a harsh reality backed by cold, hard data. And the numbers for 2024 and 2025 paint a grim picture of bias, discrimination, and outright hostility that Jewish professionals are facing on the job. Here’s the rundown:

Nearly one in three Jewish employees (30%) have either experienced or actively avoided antisemitic incidents at work in the past year. That’s according to a February 2024 report from the American Jewish Committee (AJC). Let that sink in—this isn’t just a handful of isolated incidents; it’s a systemic issue where Jews are weighing their safety before even stepping into a meeting.
Jewish employees are hit with more microaggressions and workplace discrimination than their Muslim colleagues. A study by Pearn Kandola from June 2024 found that Jewish professionals were more likely to face casual yet insidious biases at work—comments, exclusion, subtle digs—all adding up to a workplace environment that’s far from inclusive.
Antisemitic incidents across the board skyrocketed by 140% in 2023, hitting an all-time high of 8,873 cases. The Anti-Defamation League (ADL) crunched the numbers, and while this isn’t just workplace-specific, it’s impossible to pretend this kind of hate doesn’t seep into professional spaces. If antisemitism is breaking records in society, it’s absolutely showing up in the office.
Jewish job candidates face nearly a 25% harder time getting that crucial first response from employers. An ADL-sponsored study from late 2024 revealed that Jewish applicants get ghosted at a higher rate than their Western European counterparts—because, apparently, even hiring bias needs a scapegoat.
Israeli Americans have it even worse—having to send 39% more job applications to land the same number of positive responses as their Western European peers. If you think antisemitism is just some relic of the past, explain why Jewish candidates in 2024 are practically fighting an uphill battle just to get an interview.
Jewish professionals are more reluctant to discuss their religion at work than their Muslim colleagues. The fear isn’t paranoia; it’s based on real experiences of exclusion and backlash. Keeping quiet becomes a survival mechanism.
Physical harassment against Jewish employees is higher than what Muslim employees report. This isn’t just about mean looks or snide remarks—Jewish professionals are facing outright intimidation and, in some cases, physical hostility in spaces that are supposed to be professional.

The bottom line? The workplace is far from a safe haven. These numbers don’t just suggest an uncomfortable work environment; they reveal an outright hostile one for many Jewish professionals. And ignoring it won’t make it go away.

Step Three: Hire Jewish Employees—And Actually Listen to Them

This one should be obvious, but somehow it’s not. Hiring Jewish employees doesn’t just mean sprinkling a few into junior roles and calling it a day. It means putting Jews in actual leadership positions—ones where they have the power to make decisions, shape policies, and call out antisemitic nonsense before it turns into a full-blown crisis.

And here’s a wild thought: Once you hire them, listen to them. If your Jewish employees say something is antisemitic, believe them the first time. Don’t gaslight them with, “Oh, are you sure? Maybe it wasn’t meant that way.” Jews don’t get the luxury of misunderstanding centuries of persecution.

And while we’re at it—stop treating us like a monolith. Judaism is a diverse, global community, not just a handful of media-friendly stereotypes. Ashkenazi, Sephardi, Mizrahi, religious, secular—we’re not all the same, and pretending we are is just another way to erase us.

Step Four: Acknowledge Anti-Judaism as Its Own Issue

Antisemitism gets all the headlines, but anti-Judaism—the outright rejection and mockery of Jewish religious beliefs—is just as pervasive. This industry is full of executives who would never dare mock another religion but think it’s perfectly fine to dismiss Jewish observance as outdated or inconvenient.

I can’t count how many times I’ve been made to feel like an inconvenience in this industry just for existing as an observant Jew. Kosher dietary restrictions? “Ugh, why can’t you just eat vegetarian?” Needing to leave early for Shabbat? “Wow, must be nice to have a weekly holiday!” Right, because explaining to an entire room why I can’t check email on Saturday is definitely a luxury.

If your company is rolling out inclusive policies for religious minorities but still making observant Jews feel unwelcome, guess what? You’re part of the problem.

Step Five: Call Out Antisemitism—Not Just When It’s Easy

It’s easy to tweet about fighting antisemitism after a synagogue attack makes national news. It’s easy to throw in a generic “we stand against hate” statement when the backlash is big enough. You know what’s hard? Speaking up when there’s no PR pressure to do so. Calling it out when it’s happening in your own industry. Standing up for Jews even when it might not be the popular thing to do.

Because let’s be real—most people in this industry only call out antisemitism when there’s zero risk involved. They want to be seen as “good allies,” but only when it doesn’t require them to challenge actual power structures. If you’re only against hate when it’s convenient, you’re not against hate at all.

Final Thought: Either Mean It, Or Stop Pretending

Inclusion is either for everyone, or it’s for no one. You don’t get to pick and choose which types of hate are worth fighting based on how easy they are to market. If your company claims to be committed to diversity but treats antisemitism like an afterthought, your DEI statement is nothing more than corporate cosplay.

So here’s the challenge: Next time you hear an antisemitic remark, don’t brush it off. Next time your company releases a DEI initiative, ask why Jews aren’t mentioned. Next time an ad platform profits from antisemitic content, pull your money—not just for a week, but until they actually do something about it.

Because the advertising industry loves to talk about inclusion. It’s time to actually mean it.

Stay bold. Stay curious. And stop pretending Jews are invisible.

Oh, you want the unvarnished truth? Here it is: Being an Orthodox Jew in business isn't just about dodging the usual industry nonsense—it's about dealing with an entirely separate, vicious layer of hate that people pretend doesn't exist.

In 2011, a group of so-called "affiliate marketers" (read: scammers with a LinkedIn profile) decided they didn’t like that I was calling out their garbage tactics. So what did they do? They launched a full-blown antisemitic harassment campaign. We’re talking about actually calling my clients and telling them, flat-out, that if they did business with me, a Jew, they’d be put out of business. That’s right—this wasn’t some fringe Reddit troll nonsense. It was real-world, straight-up extortion laced with hate.

One client, SiteImpact, found themselves in the middle of it when their CEO got exposed and arrested for data theft. The choice they were given? Fire me, publicly slander me with antisemitic garbage, or be taken down themselves. Instead, they paid a ransom. That’s how bad it got.

And it didn’t stop there. The FBI, police, and my attorneys got involved. We tracked these guys down, pressed charges, sued them into oblivion. One got arrested. Another—perhaps realizing there was no escaping the consequences—ended up committing suicide in San Diego.

And here’s the kicker: No one in the industry batted an eye. Because back then, in 2011, apparently it was still acceptable to slander a Jew in business as long as you wrapped it in corporate-speak. Like, “Oh no, we’re not being antisemitic, we’re just looking out for our company.” It was the most surreal and revealing moment of my career.

So what did I do? Launched Performance Marketing Insider, took on the entire industry, and made millions while watching these frauds eat themselves alive. Because if they were going to try and run me out, I was going to run the table. And I did.