Jewish creators are fighting antisemitism with humor and truth

As the influencer economy explodes, a growing number of Jewish voices around the world are harnessing social media not for fame or fortune but for something deeper – to defend their identity, share the truth about Israel, and stay visible in an increasingly hostile online world.

They don’t live only on the Internet. Their online presence is an extension of the work they do in the real world.

Are these creators successful because of their professional credibility offline? Or do their online audiences create opportunities that define their careers?

The answer is both.

By the end of 2025, the global influencer-marketing industry is projected to reach $32.55 billion – up from $24 billion just a year earlier.

Data show that antisemitic content is seen more by Jews than other demographic. The influencers interviewed for this article say they are working to carve out havens online where that isn’t the experience.

“The only thing I am trying to influence is people to connect, laugh, and find moments of joy in difficult times,” said Zach Margs, a popular social media comedian. “I don’t love the term ‘social media influencer.’ I call myself a content creator or comedian.”

Margs, who left a London real estate job to create content full time, said his work started over a fun clip he made for friends.

His first viral video, posted in September 2023, featured him impersonating an Israeli waiter at a Tel Aviv beach café.

A month later, Hamas’s October 7 attack changed everything. Margs traveled to the South to visit the Israeli communities hit hardest, documenting moments that blended heartbreak and humor.

“That trip to the South was one of the most harrowing trips I had ever had,” he recalled. “On that trip, I made three of my most viral videos ever. [It’s important] to find those moments of light in the dark period. To laugh and live – and not feel guilty about that.”

Margs believes that laughter can soften hostility in a way that few arguments can. He says his biggest challenge is that he constantly has to stay fresh.

“Trends die fast. I can spend three hours filming and editing a 15-second video. You need new ideas nonstop, and nothing happens if you don’t leave your house. Every video comes from something I experienced somewhere,” he explained.

Initially, Margs produced content for Diaspora Jews familiar with Israeli culture. Then Israelis started watching. His characters became more authentic as he spent more time in Israel and collaborated with people of every background – Asian, Black, French, Russian, Brazilian, internationals, Sabras (native-born Israelis). Soon, his content broke the echo chamber and began reaching non-Jews as well.

Margs monetizes his work through live comedy shows and some brand partnerships that feel authentic to him. His big dream is to create a Netflix special, to be one of the most recognized Jewish comedic voices in the world – and do it in a positive light.

Another comedian, Max Cohen, better known as Murray Hill Boy, built his following by parodying Jewish family life and campus culture. Within three months of launching his TikTok channel, he hit 10,000 followers – the platform’s threshold for monetization – and soon matched the salary from his former job as a paralegal.

An unusual part of Cohen’s workday includes deleting hateful comments in an effort to keep his page “a safe part of the Internet.”

“Different videos attract different haters. You can block certain keywords. In the gay world, it’s any form of the ‘F’ word. In the Jewish world, people have gotten creative. They use words like ‘genocide,’ ‘soap bar,’ ‘oven,’ ‘Nazi.’ The list of words for antisemitism is growing,” the New Yorker explained.

He deals daily with antisemitic and homophobic abuse but still finds a way to keep lighthearted. “I don’t delete comments about how I walk in heels,” he added.

The online and offline comedian monetizes his work through brand deals and live shows. Though his performances focus on being funny, he often takes time to address pressing Israeli headlines, known circumstances of antisemitism, or to celebrate the hostages coming home. One of Cohen’s favorite characters he plays online is the “Jewish mother.” Those clips exploded.

“People saw their own moms in it – Christian moms, Jamaican moms, Indian moms. And they commented on that. It humanized Jewish families. I think some people laughed themselves into realizing that Jews are just regular people with families, humor, and the same everyday struggles,” he said.

Cohen says his biggest challenge is balancing authenticity with protecting his peace.

“I have more than 300,000 people watching online, plus the people I know in real life, and there’s constant pressure to meet everyone’s expectations,” he said.

“There’s the content I personally want to make, and the content people expect to see – and I try to keep both sides full without losing myself.”

But her public Jewish identity has made her a magnet for hostility. Austin always wears her Star of David, no matter the environment.

“The hate comments get to me and can often leave me feeling pessimistic,” she said.

In one incident, while she was covering a boxing match in Ireland, an angry man started screaming in her face.

“My dad had to intervene,” she said, suggesting that had her father not been there, the episode could have turned violent.

Despite the danger, Austin refuses to retreat. Her social media following – built through sports and pop culture reporting – now doubles as a megaphone for advocacy.

When asked if her huge online persona has made a dent in the fight for Israel, Austin said that ultimately, antisemitism runs too deep to change so many hearts.

“I’m surprised by how many people hate Jews,” she said. “For a while, I believed the narrative that it was about Israel. It went from ‘Free Palestine’ to ‘Heil Hitler.’ They really just want Jews dead.”

Even through this tough understanding, Austin keeps working on her professional goals and chipping away at the fight for the Holy Land. Her north star is the idea that one day her future children will be able to live in a less hateful society and that they will see their mother as “fierce” and “unafraid.” Still, she thinks about others who have not backed down from their position and paid the ultimate sacrifice.

“It’s hard when Charlie Kirk is getting killed… but I can’t expect anything from others if I am not doing it myself.”

Her next goal is to produce her own long-form content on YouTube and work on building up yet another platform to expand her reach. Austin has made several trips to Israel and government offices during the current war in an effort to bring attention to the many crises that have rolled out since 2023.

Few stories capture the cost of public Jewish advocacy like that of Eve Barlow.

Once a top Los Angeles-based music journalist – deputy editor of NME and contributor to The Guardian, Pitchfork, GQ, New York Magazine, Vulture, LA Times, Vice, and more – Barlow saw her career implode after a single post.

Following the 2020 riots in the US after George Floyd’s death, she posted: “How dare you bring the Jewish nation and community into the killing of Black American lives.”

She woke up the next morning to images of vandalized synagogues bearing graffiti like “FREE PALESTINE” and “F–- ISRAEL,” and she commented about pop star Dua Lipa’s “antisemitic posts.” The backlash was immediate.

Barlow was dropped by nearly every publication she had written for.

“My only source of income right now is [the online publishing platform] Substack,” she said. “I am grateful for the paid subscribers I have, and I am trying to build there and make people want to pay. My content is free, and it’s important to me to get it out far and wide. And those who can pay $10 a month, that’s great. I don’t get paid by any organization to post online, which is why I don’t relate to being an influencer. I am a public intellectual.”

Her Substack essays mix political commentary with cultural analysis. “It’s sort of what my take is on the 24/7 emergency that seems to be our experience right now,” Barlow said, describing the constant demand to react in real time to world events.

But the transition from glossy magazines to self-publishing hasn’t changed her mission.

“Are my words working hard enough for me? Are they maintaining the audience I have while growing? It’s about the message. It’s always been about the message,” she said.

“I have the understanding that the world is far away from common sense, and I need to spread rationality.”

For Barlow, carving out her own career through social media and modern Internet platforms has been more than a way to attain visibility for her ideas – it’s her way of surviving in exile. She believes Israel’s war against Hamas has not only been existential but has also made it acceptable for Jews to be pushed out of mainstream media.

Across all four profiles, the through-line is unmistakable: Each one sees posting on social media not as a career but as a duty. Whether through jokes, broadcasts, or essays, they are determined to hold space for Jewish voices in a digital environment that can be openly hostile. And many reported thinking that if they weren’t going to dispel the hate and lies, no one else would.

They experience the full paradox of visibility – gaining influence while absorbing and recognizing pure antisemitism. However, they persist, each balancing personal mission with public exposure. Their collective stories show how digital life has blurred the boundary between profession, identity, and activism. And, of course, if you operate from your cellphone, the work never stops.

Whether their audiences laugh, learn, argue, or unfollow, these creators remain online – shaping a conversation that others might prefer to silence. In an era where misinformation moves faster than truth, their posts, tweets, and livestreams are more than content – they are acts of Jewish endurance.■