What Is Campus Life Like for a Jewish Zionist Student?

A guest essay by Maya Rackoff

Almost daily, we see images and read news stories about the effect of the Gaza War on college campuses. The dynamics of those stories vary from campus to campus—every university has its own particular student culture and its own administrative response. For an outsider, it can be difficult to understand the complex social dynamics at work beneath the protests and rallies. The opposing demonstrators and counter-demonstrators know each other and may even consider each other friends. They have classes together, live in the same dorms, and eat in the same dining halls. And yet, when the placards are raised and the chants begin, they often level accusations at each other that would seem to make friendship, or even peaceful coexistence, impossible going forward.

My intern, Maya Rackoff, is a student at Brown, where I teach. She is a proud and open Jewish Zionist, an identification that, at this famously liberal school, comes with a social price, despite the fact that she is deeply sympathetic to the plight of ordinary Palestinians. I wanted to know how she is navigating campus life now that her beliefs and identity are at the forefront of world events, and students like her often feel demonized and scapegoated. She wrote this essay in response. It offers an insider’s account of one of the many ways that the Gaza War is altering life here in the US.

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Students at Brown University protest after three Palestinian students were shot and wounded. Source: Reuters

A Sense of Paralysis for Jewish Zionist Students

by Maya Rackoff

I am a junior at Brown University majoring in history. I’m originally from New York City, where I grew up immersed in the Upper West Side Jewish community. At Brown, I’ve become very involved in our Hillel, the primary center for Jewish student engagement on college campuses.  

I am truly scared about the rise in antisemitism on college campuses, and I worry about my safety whenever I am in the Hillel building. Before October 7, I walked around the building with ease. Now, the building is monitored by more security guards than ever, and I worry each time I see someone unfamiliar. I especially fear the days when there are pro-Palestinian rallies on our main green, in which hundreds of students verbally intimidate Zionist and Israeli students. 

I recognize that some of my fear is likely a reaction to national news rather than an accurate reflection of the threat level at Brown. But recently, a swastika was carved into a wall of our main dining hall, and two weeks ago, demonstrators marched through the University of Wisconsin’s Madison campus waving swastika flags. It is terrifying that certain people are embracing a symbol that has historically signified the annihilation of the Jews. Still, I’m not sure if the coverage these antisemitic incidents receive accurately reflects a meaningful increase in antisemitism. Any increase in antisemitism is cause for concern, but a few swastikas do not necessarily indicate a widespread growth of Jew-hatred across college campuses. It’s impossible to know how much the latter is occurring. Few college students will self-identify as antisemites, but I wonder about the nature of conversations that go on behind closed doors 

Beyond displays of blatant antisemitism, I quiver when I hear protesters chant, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.” Many protesters use this slogan according to its literal semantic meaning: Palestinians who live in Gaza and the West Bank should enjoy the same freedom as Israeli citizens. But others use it to suggest something else: the State of Israel should cease to exist. Though the actualization of the former has proven incredibly difficult to achieve, I am a fervent supporter of that ideal. However, the latter is, for me, unacceptable. I will join a protest against the occupation and settlements in the West Bank. I will protest against the conduct of the IDF in Gaza and the West Bank. But under no circumstances will I join a protest that is explicitly anti-Zionist.

Being a Jewish and Zionist student is more challenging now than ever. I love participating in the pursuit of knowledge; I am a proud and dedicated Jew; I also try to be as compassionate as I possibly can. In fact, the Jewish values I’ve inherited from birth implore me to be compassionate and tell me that I must not demonize my “enemy.” It is hard to embody this ideal when so many of my peers have accused me of the worst moral sin possible: being a génocidaire.

I feel as though everything I think and say can be interpreted as an existential threat to different groups of people. Many students perceive any defense of the IDF as an expression of settler colonialism and even complicity in genocide. When I express my unwavering commitment to the continued existence of the Jewish state, i.e. my Zionism, I am accused of enabling an oppressive, apartheid regime. To me, this is absurd. Despite the way the term has been culturally manipulated, my Zionism means nothing other than a belief in the right of the Jewish State of Israel to exist. Criticism of Israeli politics is in no way mutually exclusive with Zionism. In fact, my parents taught me that criticism of Israeli politics can be an embrace of Zionism; if I wasn’t so committed to the State of Israel, I wouldn’t care this much about its improvement.

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I do not believe my self-proclaimed anti-Zionist peers intentionally support antisemitism. I do believe, however, that anti-Zionism has existential consequences for the largest Jewish population in the world. The State of Israel is a tiny island in a sea of Arab nations. Unfortunately, many Arabs in the Middle East embrace Sharia law and believe in the murder of Jews. Without stable borders and a strong defense force, Israeli Jews are undoubtedly in existential danger. For this reason, protesters must reevaluate their positions on Israel’s existence. 

All nations, to varying degrees, have morally tarnished pasts and presents. That fact does not justify calls for a nation’s dissolution. Rather, it calls for an effort to correct those sins. To the extent that the IDF employs far too much aggression, people should fight for military reform. To the extent that the Israeli government curtails democracy, people should fight for governmental reform. It’s become clear to me that many student protestors believe in this idea for all countries save one. 

Two weeks ago, I signed an open letter from Jewish students at Brown in defense of Zionism and in opposition to a ceasefire. The reason I opposed a ceasefire at the time was because I was deeply skeptical that Hamas would adhere to the conditions—which we now know they haven’t—and I believed they might use the opportunity to redouble their efforts to kill Israelis and Jews. I believe Hamas committed the October 7 terrorist attacks knowing that Israel’s response would result in mass civilian death. In fact, given that Hamas leaders champion Palestine as a “nation of martyrs,” I believed they hoped for this outcome.

If Israel’s and the Jewish people’s existence is on the line, I will always support the most vigorous defense of our safety. Some claim that Israel and the Jews do currently face an existential threat. As a student bombarded by biased reports coming from all sides, it is hard to know what’s on the line right now. Is the immediate destruction of Hamas, with all the casualties that that effort is incurring, absolutely necessary for Israel’s security? 

I’m confident that the overall mission of the IDF is not the eradication of Gazans but the security of Israel. It is very possible that their tactics to secure the latter are excessive. Certain Israeli militants wouldn’t be bothered by the destruction of Palestinians, but these Israelis are the fringe. 

At the same time, I’m terrified and disgusted by the news of deaths and the footage of carnage that emerges from Gaza every day. My whole life, I’ve been involved with humanitarian organizations, often volunteering with refugees abroad. I am profoundly sympathetic towards those whose lives have been upended by forces beyond their control. Naturally, the news coming from Gaza makes me question what on Earth could be worth this horror. 

What makes humanitarianism so difficult in this instance is that a significant portion of Gazans not only want Israelis and Jews dead but intentionally place Palestinians in the line of fire. I am deeply resentful of those Palestinian leaders who have continuously denied their people the better lives that a two-state solution would have brought. 

Too many Gazan leaders are willing to sacrifice their own people. I wonder, when protestors advocate Gazan freedom, which Gazans are they referring to? I do not support freedom for Hamas. Moreover, the sad truth is that many non-combatants share Hamas’s anti-Jew ideology. That fact does not justify their deaths, but it presents a serious obstacle for Gazan freedom. How, then, does an outsider advocate for Gaza when its very leaders refuse to protect their own people, and many civilians expressly hate Jews?

Every Jewish student you speak to will have different thoughts and feelings on this topic. This has been an incredibly difficult time to navigate campus life. We Jewish students are losing friends who now call us genocide enablers and colonizers. It is impossible to engage in discourse when the “other side” is convinced they are the freedom fighters and I am the genocide perpetrator. As a result, communication has shut down, and we Zionist students stick largely to ourselves. A sense of paralysis has set in. I will always speak my mind, regardless of the social consequences, but presently no one outside our circle is willing to listen.    

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