On Monday morning of what was supposed to be a restful long weekend, I woke up to a WhatsApp message with a screenshot of a cartoon posted on Instagram by the Harvard Undergraduate Palestine Solidarity Committee and African and African American Resistance Organization.

The message read “this looks antisemitic to me.”

It was. The cartoon is old news by now, and it evoked a torrent of condemnation from every corner. Later that day, down it went, and up came an apology from the PSC and AFRO: “Our mutual goals of liberation will always include the Jewish community — and we regret inadvertently including an image that played upon antisemitic tropes.”

Their apology came alongside another apology, this time from Harvard Faculty and Staff for Justice in Palestine, which had reposted the cartoon to their Instagram story: “It has come to our attention that a post featuring antiquated cartoons which used offensive antisemitic tropes was linked to our account.”

All of them just made me angrier. This time, the “apologies” are simply not enough.

How does one “inadvertently” stick a blatantly antisemitic cartoon into an infographic? What could make a person look at a hand etched with the Star of David, containing a dollar sign and holding a noose, and say ‘yep, this is fine’?

This image didn’t just flutter into your slides by itself. No, someone put it there with purpose and intent. And that someone won’t even come forward, or have their organizations publish an apology that doesn’t use the passive voice.

In his book “Jews Don’t Count,” David L. Baddiel writes about how antisemitism has transformed over time from overt to nearly invisible.

Throughout history, antisemitism was highly visible; it manifested in multitudes of ways, from the clothes and badges Jews were forced to wear, to restrictions on where they could live, to the jizya tax they had to pay. It was in the pogroms and the Talmud burnings. For centuries, antisemitism was loud and proud.

Modern antisemitism, however, is the antisemitism of inattention and silence. It’s the antisemitism of not giving a damn. It’s the antisemitism of a blatantly racist cartoon sneaking its way into a carefully-crafted Instagram post without culprits having put it there.

It’s the antisemitism of half-baked apologies.

These days, nobody can issue a direct apology, one that doesn’t insist on obfuscating language about symmetry and universal inclusion. The PSC and AFRO’s apology made sure to note that they share “fundamental values of justice and liberation,” as do we all (I hope).

But it wasn’t an Islamophobic, anti-Black, or anti-LGBTQ+ cartoon they posted — it was an antisemitic one. Why, for once, can they not just apologize to the Jewish community without ifs, ands, or buts?

Because, as Baddiel writes, what you hear most when it comes to modern antisemitism is the silence.

If nothing else, the cartoon has been enlightening. It illustrates the reason that antisemitism can tacitly flourish on campuses, notwithstanding their ostensible liberalism: Antisemitism assumes that Jews are simultaneously both inferior and powerful, controlling, and inherently oppressive.

If Jews really are all that, is showing a Jewish hand holding a noose really antisemitic? Or is it just speaking truth to power?

For those who believe them, consciously or not, dismantling the antisemitic myths of the powerful Jew, the malevolent Jew, or the Jew Who Cares About You Enough to Harm You, is difficult. Because if one does that, then one might have to contend with the fact that Israhell — the devil state — is, ultimately, just a state. That it is doing what any state in the world does: Trying to survive, and thrive, in a nasty set of circumstances, without having to prove anything to anyone.

So, instead, the myths remain intact, and people go on not caring. Because to care would mean that, suddenly, antisemitism becomes as important as all other forms of racism. It would mean that Jews need to be protected; that Israelis — the prime manifestation of the powerful evil Jew — deserve to be protected.

To many, these thoughts are anathema. Scratch that — not even anathema, but entirely unthinkable.

But you, reader, must start thinking them. If you ever want to confront your antisemitism — the antisemitism you continue to assure us you reject — you must come face-to-face with the cartoon of the noose-holding, money-hungry Jew.

Theoretically, I’m supposed to end this piece on a constructive note. But I won’t do that. The onus of change, in this case, is not on me.

You, the non-Jewish majority, must understand that you have a problem that runs deep in your cultural consciousness, look that problem straight in the eyes, and strive to solve it. That’s what antiracism is all about.

Have fun, and in the meantime, don’t say sorry and then move on until something is, once again, bad enough to cause a ruckus. Do something now; change yourselves.

If you do change, I don’t need your tepid, passive-voice apology. And if you don’t change, I certainly don’t want it.

Genia Lukin is a second-year Ph.D. student at the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences.