Since beginning university in September 2023, I’ve faced the same question multiple times: What is it like being Jewish on campus?
Truthfully, I’m not overly conscious of it and there are no jaw-dropping answers that people expect to hear.
Before I continue, this is not a means of disregarding the experiences of other Jewish students on campus, many of whom have been battling debilitating and relentless antisemitism. Worryingly, a recent UJS survey found that one in six students of all faiths and none believe that glorifying October 7 should be considered free speech, establishing a concerning consensus – in both size and ideology – for British Jews.
However, I also recognise that my time at university during this ever-too-familiar hostile era towards British Jews has been very fortunate, which in today’s campus environment is often not the case.
Being Jewish at university has never been perfect – for me or for my friends, but we choose to make the best of our situation. We have the Jewish community, representative bodies and significant educational structures that offer support and guidance to ensure a smooth academic ride. Yes, there are demonstrations against university alliances with Israeli companies or false allegations against Israel made by staff and peers alike – and I am not attempting to minimise these. But they cannot define my experience at university.
October 7 occurred less than a month into my student life. I remember being in bed and watching the footage of indescribably brutal attacks pouring through social media. At dinner that evening, in the communal dining room, no one had an appetite. There was no conversation.
The most reassuring part of the entire experience was that no matter what, we all knew we had each other. No one had to explain how or why they felt a certain way; there was an instinctive understanding between all of us.
Before starting university, my entire life had existed in Jewish circles. I had attended Jewish schools, lived in a Jewish neighbourhood and had primarily Jewish friends. This meant I never had to actively think about my Jewish lifestyle, or my personal views.
I knew that at university, I would go to Friday night dinners, dabble in other events led by Jewish student organisations and maintain a Jewish circle of friends. I knew it would be different to what I was used to. However, I was far from having a cultural identity crisis on how to intertwine my Jewishness with the non-Jewish world. But one day in October, I was faced with the reality of how quickly this can change.
I remember when I continued wearing my Star of David necklace post October 7, a lot of people were worried. What would happen if someone confronted me?
Honestly, I didn’t care. Not out of naivety, but with the blunt knowledge that fear of displaying one’s Jewish identity publicly was a millennia-old story. I realised that if I began to hide mine, the more habitual this would become. Wearing my necklace was the first step in preventing this.
A university pro-Palestine encampment (Photo: Getty Images)Getty Images
I also believe that education is a wonderful weapon, and ignorance is an enormous factor in people’s fear. When there’s an inability to defend yourself, then you become anxious about being true to who you are. Through consistently educating myself on Judaism and Zionism, I knew that despite never being able to prevent antisemitism, this would certainly give me the confidence to fight it. With this in mind, I continued wearing my Jewish jewellery daily.
Being a cup-half-full character, rarely do I express upset over my experiences of being a Jewish student. But I do believe that education is one area which requires continuous work to improve its quality of truth and neutrality.
My degree is in philosophy and theology, which consists of regular encounters with fiery students (or even staff), who maintain a very vivid kaleidoscope of views. Considering my confidence in my own beliefs, it is not that I feel concern over sharing my ideas, but rather that I worry about the way in which they may impact academic conduct towards me.
In one lecture, the academic shared PowerPoint slides with photographs of a destroyed Gazan street in Rafah, with commentary next to these pictures discussing the use of concentration camps, genocide, torture and other war crimes. Although there was no direct accusation against Israel, there were discernible implications. So, I did what I like to do: I confronted the issue head on.
Tucking my necklace into my top (to prevent any presumptions when I began the conversation), I went to the lecturer’s office, partly to discuss my work, but mostly to address the lecture content. Making sure I was fully engaged with the facts, that I was calm but firm, and that I absolutely did not let any emotional attachment blind my argument’s presentation, I explained to the lecturer why and how what they had proposed to the class was untrue. Considering that the topic was colonialism, and the PowerPoint slide was insinuating that Israel has imposed “colonialist” rule over Gaza, I demonstrated to the lecturer why this was a fallacy.
Had Israel not withdrawn from Gaza in 2005? Had Hamas not been the political representatives for Gazans since 2007?
Unfortunately, I got nowhere with my discussion. All I received were recommendations of anti-Zionist literature and a suggestion to visit the mental health faculty, in case I was finding the module content “too upsetting”. Also, I was reprimanded for my “sheltered” upbringing, which apparently may have resulted in me having difficulty empathising with multiple angles of a debate.
The point I’m making is that there is very little we can do about individual opinions. This isn’t to say it’s a hopeless situation, but it is often wasteful to argue with people who are intent on sticking to their views.
From witnessing friends who placed little emphasis on Jewish connections before university and who now have built a thriving Jewish social circle, and from my own experiences of my youthful Jewish identity, student life has taught me two lessons to carry with me when I graduate in the summer.
Education and community are everything. Self-assurance in what you believe in and why you believe in it builds confidence. And it’s this confidence that bolsters the ever-growing and ever-necessary Jewish pride which we can use to tackle Jewish hate.
Even more important is establishing a core position within a Jewish community – whether it be a social group, organisation or advocative body – to create a support network, which, I can almost guarantee, every Jewish person will at some point need in their lives.
Despite my security in my identity, university would have been far tougher without the Jewish community I worked so hard on assembling around me.
It is because of my friendships and the Jewish leaders within my campus’ Jewish community – from the rabbi and rebbetzin to my incredible friends, to Jewish Society committee members – that my position as a Jewish student has been so stubbornly upheld and defended.
It is my Jewish peers who have made my university life exactly what I hoped it would be and more: full of pride and full of love for who we are and how we live.
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