From the moment I saw news of the atrocities this past weekend, I knew that the individuals whose lives were viciously taken in Israel would not be the only Jews affected by this unjustifiable act of terror. That is part of what it is to be Jewish — to carry with you the hurt of a people who have been slaughtered, enslaved, pogromed, exiled, hated, and distrusted as far back as we can trace our existence on this Earth. To be Jewish is to know that pain can be shared across borders, and passed down through generations.
My Jewish heritage is part of what allows me to empathize with the plight of the Palestinian people, who, like us, confront a world indelibly shaped by the legacy of their ancestors. I do not blame the people of Palestine for the horrors that transpired this weekend. I know that they could not have wanted this for themselves. They did not seek to have their apartments leveled, their city destroyed, their lives uprooted. I know that Hamas does not represent all Palestinians in the same way I know that Benjamin Netanyahu and his far-right government do not represent all Israelis, let alone all Jews. I have vocally criticized the Israeli government for its human rights abuses against Palestinians, and I will continue to do so for as long as Palestinians are deprived of their right to live within an independent state under a just government. I am devastated at the prospect that Palestinian children will grow up orphans because of this preventable war. I am outraged that many parents will lose children they love to retaliatory missile strikes.
I know that there is history here that cannot be overlooked, and deep-seated emotions that cannot be stopped from rising to the surface upon seeing such terror. I believe in acknowledging the complexity of this situation.
That is why I was horrified upon reading the joint statement of Harvard’s Palestinian solidarity groups holding “the Israeli regime entirely responsible for all unfolding violence.” Without even acknowledging the murder of hundreds of innocent civilians, or the thousands more wounded and missing, 34 organizations on this campus cast singular blame upon a nation in mourning. Hundreds of my peers endorsed a statement dismissing the kidnapping, rape, and torture of Jewish civilians as wholly justified.
The letter states, “Today’s events did not occur in a vacuum.” I want the signatories of this disturbing letter to understand that their words were not delivered in a vacuum either.
An attack on any Jew is an attack on Jewish people everywhere. This Saturday marked the killing of the most Jewish people in any single day since the end of the Holocaust. We are a small community; such a destructive act of terror against us means that a large portion of Jews not only mourn the violence against their people as a whole, but also the loss of a real person they knew and cared for, or someone they know cares for. Personally, I am grappling with the unknown whereabouts of a recent alumna of my high school, a graduate a year younger than me who is feared to be part of the group of Americans held hostage by Hamas in Gaza. Her mother is among the missing as well. I did not know either of them myself, but I am constantly burdened by the knowledge that there are many people in my small hometown who will never feel whole again.
I am not unique in having such a connection, nor does my experience come close to describing those of members of the Jewish community at this school most affected by violence. We have many Israelis in our student body, several of whom likely lost friends, family, and even entire neighborhoods they once knew. Every Jewish person on this campus is hurting, and we should not have to ask in order for people to recognize this and share in our sadness.
And if you cannot find it in your heart to feel sorrow for Israel as a nation, or the Jewish people as a wounded faith — and I truly hope that you can — at the very least grieve for the loss of humanity. The killing of civilians, whether in Israel, in Gaza, or anywhere else in the world is an unfathomable tragedy, an indefensible crime. In failing to acknowledge this entirely, the Palestinian Solidarity Committee, and all who stood by their statement, showed a disregard for the most fundamental principles of human rights.
This should be a time for healing. We should be able to come together as a university and condemn what is wrong and discuss what needs to be done. I have immense faith in the ability of open-minded, well-intentioned people to achieve powerful things. I believe our school has the capacity to exist above the divisiveness that fractures our world.
And yet, when I look towards my campus seeking comfort, all I feel is betrayal. Student groups whose events I had before supportively attended, mentors who I had previously looked to for guidance, and friends who I once shared dinners and dance floors with all watched the slaughter of my people, and used it as an opportunity to tell us that we had it coming.
There is nothing that can be done to heal the pain that your Jewish friends and classmates feel right now, but at the very least we should not be made to defend ourselves against further blows in our time of need. In a moment when we should be gathering in community, and collecting money and items to support those on the ground who are still reeling from the chaos, we are instead being forced to spend our time pushing back against those who are sowing further hate and distrust against us.
But even through our pain we will continue fighting back against the harmful ideas being spread because we know we will never be safe so long as they persist. Because we have gone through this before. And we will go through this again. Until the world listens.
