When propaganda creates violence: A Georgian Orthodox warning to American Jews

Published June 5, 2026 7:00am ET



Emergency exits are not built after smoke fills a building. They are built while the hallways are still clear, the doors remain open, and the choice to leave is still a matter of free will — not panic.

That lesson has stayed with me throughout my life. And today, watching the United States from the outside, I feel compelled to share it.

I was born and raised in Soviet Georgia — in a family that experienced political repression under the Soviet system. I later served in Georgia’s national security structures, working against Soviet-era intelligence networks and their successors. I know from the inside how systems of power manufacture hatred. I know the grammar of propaganda — not from textbooks, but from childhood.

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Today I live in the U.S. And what I see here, I have seen before.

The one exception in the Soviet empire

Of the 15 republics of the Soviet Union, Georgia was an anomaly. For more than 27 centuries — since the Babylonian exile — Jews and Georgians have lived side by side. Long before the tragedies that scarred Europe in the 20th century, Jewish communities had already become inseparable from Georgia’s social fabric.

I grew up in that tradition. My parents had Jewish friends. I had Jewish friends. We studied together, celebrated together, grew up together. As a child, I rarely thought about who was Jewish and who was Georgian — because the distinction seemed irrelevant. The people around me were simply people.

Yet the Soviet propaganda machine worked regardless.

Through newspapers, television, radio, KGB-concocted jokes, and countless small cultural signals, citizens were exposed to relentless narratives: Jews are cowards. Jews are swindlers who will cheat you at every transaction. Jews are misers who would sell their own mothers for money. Jews are untrustworthy — their friendship is always conditional, always for sale. Jews control the world from the shadows, and every catastrophe can be traced back to their planning. And then the oldest, most savage lie of all: that Jews mix the blood of Christian children into their ritual bread.

These were not fringe whispers. They were state policy — delivered through official channels and, just as effectively, through “harmless” anecdotes and KGB-seeded jokes that gave ancient hatred a casual, domestic face. The goal was not to make every Soviet citizen a violent antisemite. The goal was to make antisemitic ideas feel normal — unremarkable, even amusing.

In Georgia, this poison did not take. Twenty-seven centuries of genuine brotherhood proved stronger than Soviet engineering. But elsewhere, it did take. And the consequences, we know.

What makes this especially relevant today: these narratives did not die with the Soviet Union. They persist — with particular tenacity in Russia and Ukraine, and across much of the former Soviet space. The infrastructure of hatred outlived the system that built it. That is worth remembering as we watch similar narratives gain traction in the West.

That bleak experience taught me a fundamental truth: when a system begins to vent smoke, the most dangerous moment is not when the fire becomes obvious. It is the long, quiet period before anyone calls it a fire.

The prophet they silenced

Over half a century ago, Alexander Galich — one of the great dissident poets of the Soviet era, later assassinated by the KGB in his Paris apartment — wrote lines that his contemporaries read as a lament about Moscow and the fate of Jews inside the Soviet empire. Today, with unsettling precision, those same lines read as commentary on Washington:

“Oh, do not sew liveries, you Jews, Do not march as chamberlains — You will not sit in the Synod, nor in the Senate.”

Galich was not a prophet by choice. He was a man who watched from the outside — and that distance gave him a clarity that those living inside could not possess. Vladimir Jabotinsky had that same clarity in the 1930s.

Jabotinsky traveled across Europe, i.e., Berlin, Vienna, Warsaw, knocking on the doors of affluent, educated Jewish families and repeating the same message: Leave. While the gates are still open, leave.

The response was laughter. Respected Jewish newspapers called him a hysteric. Assimilated German Jews explained, patiently and condescendingly: “This is the 20th century. This is Germany — the land of Goethe, Beethoven, and Kant. The economy cannot function without us.”

Each argument, taken alone, sounded perfectly reasonable. Together, they formed a soothing lullaby — under the comfort of which a historic catastrophe matured.

There is an old observation: a fish does not know what water is, because it lives inside it. A German Jew in 1933 saw only his familiar street, his shop, his neighbors of 20 years. He could not imagine how quickly familiar neighbors could become silent witnesses to persecution.

Jabotinsky saw it because he looked from the outside. I am looking from the outside today. And what I see concerns me deeply.

Sparks across two decades: A pattern, not incidents

What follows is not a list of isolated events. Viewed separately, each episode invites dismissal. Viewed together, they reveal what students of history — and of propaganda — recognize as a systemic pattern.

2010: Helen Thomas — the dean of the White House press corps, who covered eight presidents — tells a camera that Israeli Jews should “go home” to Poland and Germany. Filed and forgotten.

2017: Charlottesville. Americans march with torches, chanting, “Jews will not replace us!” The consensus: fringe marginals. The marchers return to their lives. The chant does not.

2018: Pittsburgh. A gunman enters the Tree of Life synagogue during Shabbat services and murders 11 worshippers — the deadliest antisemitic attack in U.S. history. The memorial candles go out. The pattern continues.

2019: Rep. Ilhan Omar (D-MN) explains American support for Israel as being “all about the Benjamins” — Jews, money, hidden power — drawn from the same propaganda playbook I heard as a child in Soviet Georgia. Many Democratic leaders criticized the remark, but the political consequences proved limited. She remains in Congress.

2022: Kanye West publicly declares admiration for Adolf Hitler and denies the Holocaust before tens of millions of devoted followers. He is called mentally ill. But those tens of millions heard every word.

2023: In the aftermath of Oct. 7, 2023, Jewish students at elite universities hide Stars of David under their clothing to enter lecture halls. At Columbia, a protest leader declares: “Zionists don’t deserve to live.” Congress debates whether “From the river to the sea” — which many Jewish communities interpret as a call for Israel’s elimination — qualifies as antisemitic. Forty-four members vote: No.

2025: Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro’s (D-PA) residence is set on fire while his family is inside. Tucker Carlson hosts Holocaust revisionist Nick Fuentes for a warm two-hour conversation before 20 million viewers. Candace Owens recommends The Protocols of the Elders of Zion to millions of listeners as essential reading on who the “real enemy” of black Americans is.

And in that same year, two young Israeli embassy staffers — Yaron Lishinsky and Sarah Milgrim — are murdered outside the Capital Jewish Museum in Washington, D.C. Yaron had been planning to propose to Sarah.

2026: Physical attacks on Jews in the United States reach their highest recorded level in fifteen years.

Now look at this timeline as a whole.

From the Right: Jews control everything. From the Left: Zionists — a transparent euphemism — have no right to exist. On campus: Jews do not deserve to live. The word “antisemitism” has grown unfashionable because it evokes gas chambers. So the hatred rebranded itself: anti-Zionism, anti-colonialism, “criticism of Israel.” Three different suits. One anatomy.

Whether it arrives from the Left or the Right, the fist always hits the same face.

This is no longer whispered in basements. This is the country’s most-listened-to podcasts. This is the floor of the U.S. Capitol. These are America’s most prestigious universities. From top to bottom. From Left to Right.

The mechanism: How normalization precedes violence

I want to be precise about what I am and am not arguing.

I am not saying Americans are antisemites. I am not saying most people wish Jews harm. The majority of people in any society are ordinary — not evil, not cruel. They want to be left in peace. They want their children fed. They want tomorrow to be no worse than today.

I am describing a mechanism that history documents with painful consistency.

The Soviet system understood this mechanism well. It did not need every citizen to become an antisemite. It only needed enough citizens to become comfortable hearing antisemitic ideas without objecting. Once that threshold was crossed, the rest followed.

The process is predictable: stereotypes become jokes. Jokes become explanations. Explanations become political narratives. Political narratives create permission structures. What was unthinkable yesterday becomes acceptable today.

What concerns me is not merely the existence of antisemitic incidents — antisemitism has existed for centuries. What concerns me is a growing pattern of selective condemnation: prejudice denounced when it comes from political opponents, rationalized when it comes from political allies. The practical result, regardless of intent, is the same: normalization.

In the U.S. today, antisemitism does not reliably end careers. It does not end congressional terms. At most, it produces a symbolic censure — a piece of paper. History suggests that when prejudice stops carrying consequences, it does not remain static.

Build the backup exit

I am not calling for panic. I am not suggesting abandoning lives, burning bridges, or departing tomorrow morning.

I am calling for prudence — and I am calling for it now, while the doors are still open.

Every commercial aircraft has emergency exits. Passengers almost never use them. Most flights end safely. Yet nobody argues that emergency exits are unnecessary. Their value lies precisely in the fact that they exist before they are needed.

For Jews around the world, the modern State of Israel represents something historically unprecedented. For nearly 2,000 years, Jewish communities had no such option — no place on earth that would take them in unconditionally. Today that place exists.

To American Jewry — and to Jews everywhere — I say this:

Claim your citizenship under the Law of Return. It is your birthright — a right earned through the immense suffering of your ancestors. Do not allow it to remain theoretical.

Secure a foothold. Open a bank account. Rent or purchase a small apartment, even if you never live there full-time.

Send your children for a year of study. Let them learn Hebrew. Let them know the land that will always receive them without conditions.

Build professional and social connections. Make Israel real in your life — not a symbol, not a political position, but a physical place where you have roots.

This is not cowardice. This is sovereignty. The difference between a refugee who runs and a person who walks with dignity is exactly this: preparation.

For 2,000 years, your ancestors ended every Passover Seder with the same words: “Next year in Jerusalem.” They had nothing but hope. You have a passport and an airline ticket. Do not treat that historic privilege as theoretical.

The person who has an emergency exit sleeps peacefully. History records what happened to those who did — and to those who did not — prepare while there was still time.

A note from Georgia

Georgia demonstrated that genuine, centurieslong brotherhood between Christians and Jews is possible — even under totalitarian pressure, even when a hostile state machine worked to destroy it. I write these words out of that spirit: not fear, not politics, but the bond between two peoples who have walked together through history’s most difficult corridors.

I sincerely hope that these concerns prove unnecessary. I would be grateful to be proven wrong. The patterns I have described may not lead where historical patterns have often led. Institutions may hold. Societies may self-correct.

But history also teaches that the time to act is while acting remains a choice — not after it becomes a necessity.

The forest is dry. The sparks are flying. Build the exit while the doors are still open — while this is a choice, not a flight.

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Care for your children.

Because if history is any guide, the time to prepare is now — while the choice is still yours to make freely.

Emzari Gelashvili is a former Member of the Georgian Parliament (2008–2012); former senior official in Georgia’s Ministry of State Security, Ministry of Defense, and Ministry of Internal Affairs. He is based in San Francisco.