This article is a part of the HPR Jewish American Heritage Month Collection and represents the independent perspective of the author.
In first grade, a little boy called John announced to the class that no one was to sit next to me during the morning meeting. “She’s Jewish,” he offered as an explanation. Like the Sea of Reeds parting at the staff of Moses, my peers parted from my right and left at the word of John, leaving me sitting as though I was looking into a horseshoe.
Awkward, to say the least.
This little incident was my first foray into a world where, over 75 years after the liberation of Auschwitz, anti-Semitism remains so prevalent that even a first-grader succumbs to its influences. Three years after the deadly massacre at the Tree of Life synagogue, the American Jewish Committee released a report called The State of Anti-Semitism in America, which contained four key findings:
- 25% of American Jews say they have experienced anti-Semitism in the past year (2020-2021);
- 40% of American Jews have personally witnessed anti-Semitism in the past year;
- 40% of American Jews have changed their behavior out of fear, and;
- 82% of American Jews say anti-Semitism has risen over the last five years, while only 44% of the general public agrees.
These statistics reveal something that I feel to be very true and very resonant. Jews experience anti-Semitism and non-Jews largely don’t notice. For example, did you know that a swastika was carved into a corkboard at Currier House this month? I did not until last week. Statements to the entire campus community? None, though the Currier House Faculty Deans responded appropriately by reaching out to the Currier students. Campus-wide outrage? Non-existent. President Lawrence Bacow was asked about growing anti-Semitism on campus on a May 3rd faculty meeting — more than a week after the swastika was drawn — and he did not mention it. Meanwhile, in 2019, a faculty member arrived at her office to find hateful messages about her ethnicity and immigration status taped to her door. Appropriately, FAS Dean Claudine Gay and University President Lawrence S. Bacow signed a statement of condemnation, and The Crimson covered the incident almost immediately.
To be clear, I do not mean to set up a competitive sentiment between marginalized groups, and there are obvious differences between these two cases: The former was a broad symbol of hate, and the latter specifically targeted a faculty member. Rather, I am emphasizing that the Harvard community as a whole must demonstrate equitable concern and support for all marginalized groups on campus, including Jews. This is not the first swastika drawn in an undergraduate house, found in the law school, posted at the school of public health, nor graffitied on campus. It is frustrating that The Crimson did not write an article specifically about the swastika in Currier House. While I know the administration is doing their best to navigate situations such as these, silence across the board on issues affecting the Jewish community is deeply felt.
Recall Jan. 15, 2022, Congregation Beth Israel synagogue in Texas: an 11-hour standoff during which a British national held three congregants and their rabbi hostage during Shabbat morning services.
My reaction was of shock and incredulity: “A hostage situation? Doesn’t that only happen in movies?” In a very Jewish fashion, I thought, “hearing slurs or getting graffitied, or even a shooting, these we know how to handle. But a hostage situation? Now that’s a new one.” Part of my own Jewish practice is not to use technology during Shabbat, so I wouldn’t have known. I’m pretty sure I asked my dad once every 30 minutes for the rest of the day for an update on the situation.
After Shabbat, scrolling numbly through Instagram and Facebook seemed to be the only activity I could emotionally handle. As more and more of my Jewish friends came online after Shabbat, my feed became increasingly populated with posts about the situation:
“Looking at my sweet children’s faces today and hugging them, I wonder about what it means not just for my life but for their future to be Jews. I tell them it’s safe… but it’s a prayer for something I dream may yet be.”
These posts reminded me of the strength and power of the Jewish community, filling me with a sense of pride I didn’t realize was dwindling. However, as the evening went on, I started to realize that I had only seen posts about this situation from my Jewish friends. My non-Jewish friends were eerily silent.
Social media activism is not really my thing, but in 2020, the Pew Research Center found that around a third of social media users have used various platforms to promote a cause. Harvard students do so as well, arguably to a greater degree. My friends are constantly alerting me to a civil or human rights violation worthy of our attention, or circulating a fundraising opportunity which merits our support. Notably, there is not always an obvious connection between their identities and the causes they champion. There is some incredible activism going on, but to my dismay, after this hostage situation, I counted exactly zero non-Jews posting in support of my people, and I felt like the story fell out of the news cycle as quickly as it arrived. Why doesn’t this activism extend to us?
I almost didn’t write this piece; you might be wondering why you’re seeing this months after the situation. There are two reasons. First, honestly, I was afraid to seem like a whiny liberal lamenting a lack of hashtags about some random issue. But anti-Semitism isn’t just “some random issue,” and hashtags aren’t really the point. These past few weeks have been troubling for me as a Jewish person on campus committed both to my identity and to the ideas of free speech and the right to protest. While I did not — and do not — intend to address Israel Apartheid Week, the carving of a swastika at Currier House this month needs coverage. It is shameful that The Crimson did not find this newsworthy enough to cover, and that this incident did not inspire campus-wide outrage. I decided to write this piece because my experience in both the aftermath of the hostage situation, and the campus swastika, highlight what I see as a broader issue facing Jews today.
As Jews, we have this complicated minority status because our privilege has often been the source of our persecution. I can only hypothesize on the effects of this, but I have a few ideas. While Jews comprise many racial identities, our most common racial association is White, so many of us benefit from White privilege, despite our minority status as Jews. Perhaps when prioritizing advocacy work, this privilege exempts many of my people — myself included — from support. Perhaps the conflation between Judaism and Zionism — a topic which deserves its own article — is a barrier for anti-Zionists to speak out on anti-Semitism. Perhaps the Holocaust feels like old news; to the great concern of many, the last survivors of the Holocaust are dying. But Jewish first-graders are still sitting alone in the morning meeting, and synagogues still don’t feel safe. Anti-Semitism is rising; it is not old news.
Ancient Jewish folklore states that Abraham and Sarah’s tent was open on all sides, demonstrating their wholehearted hospitality and setting an example for our people. When the to-be hostage-taker knocked on the doors of Congregation Beth Israel asking for shelter, Rabbi Cytron-Walker — a modern-day Abraham — let him in, pouring him a cup of tea. The Rabbi’s compassion was followed by an act of heroism as he finally threw a chair at the hostage-taker, enabling himself and the congregants to safely escape 11 hours after the ordeal began. Rabbi Cytron-Walker’s bravery sets an example for young Jews everywhere; I wish I could have stood up to John in first grade with the conviction and pride which Rabbi Cytron-Walker displayed throughout that horrific Shabbat.
My pride in my identity remains strong, and the spirit of the Jewish people has not — and will not — be broken by anti-Semitism, whether the rest of the world sees it, posts about it, or ignores it.
Image is licensed under the Pixabay License
