Several years ago, I encountered a book that would leave an enduring mark on my heart and worldview: The Roots of Christian Anti-Semitism by Malcolm Hay (originally titled The Foot of Pride, Beacon Press, 1950). As I turned its pages, I found myself repeatedly moved to tears. Hay’s meticulous account of ecclesiastical hostility toward the Jewish people was more than historical documentation, it was a raw unveiling of theological venom that saturated centuries of Christian thought. That same emotional burden surfaces in me when I read about the Armenian genocide or study the horrors of the Arab slave trade. History is replete with examples of cruelty and inhumanity, but antisemitism, and particularly its theological origins within the Church, strikes a uniquely tragic chord.

Recently, while visiting Israel for the first time, I found myself reflecting deeply on this subject. Near the Kotel, seated in a bustling food court, I watched dozens of Jewish schoolchildren, diverse in ethnicity, radiant in innocence, passing by under the watch of their teachers. Some children were of Ethiopian descent, others had olive skin, fair skin, red hair, or raven curls. I was moved by their beauty, joy, and freedom. Here, in a land too often framed by conflict, I felt peace. I felt safer than I do in the streets of my own neighborhood in the Pacific Northwest. But even amid that vibrancy, I couldn’t shake what I know: that these very children, through no fault of their own, have inherited a history of relentless hatred, hatred fostered and codified by some of the most revered figures in Christian history.

Malcolm Hay’s work exposes the disturbing reality that antisemitism did not arise from pagan Europe or foreign invaders, but from within the walls of the Church itself.

Consider the words of St. Gregory of Nyssa (c. 335–395):

“Jews are slayers of the Lord, murderers of the prophets… advocates of the devil… a congregation of demons.”

Or St. John Chrysostom (c. 347–407), whose eight homilies Against the Jews are some of the most virulently antisemitic sermons in Church history:

“The synagogue is worse than a brothel… a den of scoundrels, the temple of demons… the Jews sacrifice their children to Satan… It is the duty of all Christians to hate the Jews.”

St. Augustine, a theological cornerstone of Western Christianity, wrote:

“How hateful to me are the enemies of your Scripture! How I wish that you would slay them (the Jews) with your two-edged sword…”

These voices shaped Church doctrine and popular Christian imagination for centuries, laying the groundwork for systemic discrimination, ghettoization, forced conversions, inquisitions, and ultimately, genocides.

Even Martin Luther, the father of the Protestant Reformation, echoed this hatred in his later writings:

“Be on your guard against the Jews, knowing that wherever they have their synagogues, nothing is found but a den of devils…”

And this theological current continues today, as seen in the venomous statements of figures like Louis Farrakhan:

“Satanic Jews have infected the whole world with poison and deceit.”

This lineage is not merely historical; it is cultural and theological, embedded into the soil of Christian tradition.

As I sat near the Kotel, watching the parade of children so full of life, so reflective of the Abrahamic promise, I felt a wave of sorrow. How many centuries of Christian hostility have these children inherited? How many sermons were preached in Europe, vilifying their ancestors from the pulpits of respectability? During my trip, I spoke with two young Jewish men at the Sea of Galilee. They couldn’t have been more than 25 years old. “We just want peace,” they said. They seemed surprised that I understood their history and stood in support of Israel not as a Christian but as someone who understands. It was a moment of shared humanity, of connection across centuries of broken theology.

Reading Hay’s book did more than educate me, it opened a door to reckon with how antisemitic doctrines and treatises, written under the guise of sacred authority, influenced not only the Church, but New Testament interpretation itself. Over time, the Jewish authors of the New Testament were rebranded as proto-Christians, no longer seen as Jews writing within their own covenantal framework, but as converts to a new religion that distanced them from their own people. This subtle but devastating shift allowed for a false narrative to flourish: that Christianity replaced Judaism, that the New Testament was a rejection rather than a fulfillment of Jewish heritage.

Even cultural symbols have not escaped this bias. Consider the tale of Ebenezer Scrooge, a name of Hebrew origin, written into a story in which redemption comes only after accepting the Christian spirits of Christmas. Once seen as a tale of personal transformation, I now recognize the echo of a deeper trope: the Jew becomes “better” only when he assimilates into the dominant Christian paradigm.

I get more than a little incensed when Christians say to me, “These are fake Jews back in the land,” or when black Americans assert that “Jesus was Black” as though these statements validate some replacement narrative or racial supremacy. For me, one of the greatest miracles of my lifetime is the rebirth of the nation of Israel and the return of the Jewish people to their ancestral homeland in 1948. To ignore or diminish this historic restoration, especially from a biblical perspective, is, in my view, just another expression of antisemitism masquerading as theology. It is a continuation of the same rhetorical replacement of truth, using whatever excuse or modern framework happens to be convenient. We are not called to redefine God’s covenant or the people He established, but to honor it, to stand with it.

Antisemitism did not begin with political movements or racial ideologies, it began with a theological lie, propagated by voices who claimed to speak for God. The consequences have been catastrophic, both for the Jewish people and for the integrity of the Christian witness. It is long past time for New Testament believers to confront the legacy left by Church fathers, reformers, and revered saints who spoke hatred in the name of holiness. If we fail to do so, we continue to empower the very spirit of contempt that nailed Yeshua to the cross,thinking we serve Him, while despising His own kin. .

Sadly, Jewish hatred is currently spreading across the globe with digital expedience. I am wondering if we will continue in the legacy of the church fathers or in the footprint of GOD when it comes to what He is doing through his chosen?

Jeff Morton – , Published Author, Blogger Podcaster, Former Talk Show Host, and Business Owner who lives in Buckley, WA