Last week, I led around 50 classmates in nigunim — wordless melodies from the Jewish Hasidic tradition — and other Jewish songs and prayers in Yale University’s Beinecke Plaza. Despite being a Jewish tradition, most of those singing with me that day were not Jewish.
That’s because both Jewish and non-Jewish students had gathered for a week-long sit-in inspired by anti-Apartheid protests in Beinecke Plaza decades earlier. Their demand was clear: Yale must divest the portion of its endowment invested in the stocks of military contractors supplying weapons to Israel for its conflict with Hamas in Gaza. The students were part of the Occupy Beinecke coalition, which includes Yale Jews for Ceasefire, a group advocating for a ceasefire in Gaza and sustainable peace and equality in the region.
Recent arrests of students, along with similar incidents at Columbia University, have once again brought campus clashes and concerns about antisemitism into the spotlight.
I acknowledge the concerning rise in antisemitism over the past few months, including instances at Yale and in New Haven. Last fall, a professor's post on X (formerly Twitter) seemed to praise Hamas’ attack, leading to a petition for her dismissal.
I've had numerous difficult conversations with close friends to explain how their rhetoric sometimes downplays the killing and hostage-taking of Israeli Jews, causing harm to Jewish classmates, including myself.
But when people see pro-Palestinian protesters being arrested alongside warnings from President Joe Biden and others about a rise in antisemitism on college campuses, they often default to a simplistic narrative — pro-Palestine activists portrayed as antisemitic against Jewish pro-Israel activists. As a fourth-year Yale student, I find this characterization deeply frustrating because it does not reflect reality. At every step, I've encountered a community of activists eager to listen, learn, and include Jewish voices.
For instance, in the effort to create an inclusive protest environment, organizers have listened to Jewish voices in deciding on protest language. As a result, chants like “There is only one solution: Intifada revolution,” which made some Jewish students feel unsafe, were not approved or initiated by protest organizers. This ongoing dialogue has shaped the protest movement.
Last semester, I led a Chanukah candle-lighting outside Yale President Peter Salovey’s house, followed by communal singing and prayer until the candles burned out. We demanded an immediate ceasefire in Gaza and pledged to protect campus free speech after Columbia University banned pro-Palestinian student groups. This semester, Jewish students have led singing and prayer protests against the war in Gaza every Friday afternoon in Beinecke Plaza.
Throughout the past week, students of various faiths have joined together in singing “Mi Shebeirach,” the Jewish prayer for healing, and “Olam Chesed Yibaneh,” a call to build a world guided by compassion. Last Saturday, fellow students led a havdalah ceremony to mark the end of Shabbat, and on Monday night, students and New Haven residents organized a Passover seder — all on Yale’s campus.
These experiences have been deeply meaningful for me, not only politically but also spiritually. Denying this experience and invalidating the Jewishness of those calling for an end to violence in Gaza when Yale protests are swept up in accusations of antisemitism is disheartening.
Indeed, Yale Jews for Ceasefire reflects our Jewish values, rather than contradicting them. According to the Talmud, we must not sell weapons to those we suspect of using them criminally. Therefore, we have a moral obligation to disrupt the manufacture and sale of military weapons causing harm to Palestinians.
With more than 1 million people in Gaza facing starvation, according to a recent UN report, and the recent loss of seven World Central Kitchen workers in an Israeli airstrike, the urgency for peace is clear.
During Passover, Jews are reminded of the suffering of oppressed people. We eat bitter herbs to recall the bitterness of slavery in Egypt and dip parsley in saltwater to symbolize the tears of our ancestors. It is our duty to combat oppression in all its forms, for Jews and non-Jews alike.
We also learn from the story of Nachshon, who bravely stepped into the Red Sea as the Jewish people fled Egypt. Despite the uncertainty, he had faith he would reach the other side. By taking the first bold steps, he became a leader, guiding his people forward.
Despite disagreements about our Jewish values, we can draw inspiration from Nachshon's courage. At Yale, organizers from various faiths are building a community dedicated to moving forward together with Jewish students, rather than against them.
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