“So what’s antisemitism on campus like?”
It’s the question every Jewish college student has heard a million times, whether at synagogue, in passing, or at the Sabbath table. It’s the question we’ve rehearsed a set, nearly scripted answer to over the course of the past two years. “Yeah, here and there … noisy demonstrations, the encampment messed up my finals, they got Neturei Karta to come to one of the protests. One time, they made a ‘Gaza Solidarity’ sukkah in front of the Hillel, whatever that means…”
We’ve built up a whole lot to say. Now, in a post-ceasefire, what should our new answer be?
In 2023, Rutgers was a hotspot for new and trending anti-Israel social activism. Jewish students saw vicious posters, messy encampments and active protests on and off campus. It triggered a slew of higher-management interventions, lawsuits, and even the occasional student arrests. We were scared and in need of protection and support, and dealing with this invisible tension targeted us across campus.
I can tentatively say that the anti-Zionism craze has passed. There is the occasional BDS poster on the street, mostly calling for Rutgers to dissociate from its Tel Aviv University program. But even before Oct. 7, this type of rhetoric was common.
There are no more active encampments on campus. Most students are blasé about the whole topic, aside from the typical geopolitical chitchat. Social media justice warriors have seemingly redirected their pent-up saviorism elsewhere. And thankfully, most Jewish, Israeli and Zionist students I know no longer face that sort of aggression every day. So why does our community’s defensive posturing still stand?
Supportive Jewish discussions with community members still turn into, “You’re on the front lines. You are our soldiers.” Every conversation about school spins into antisemitism. While this reactive form of thinking was useful and arguably necessary, it’s time to embrace more proactive approaches to building and maintaining our communities.
Constant fearmongering has left Jewish students entering universities with caution instead of excitement, and the cost of this is becoming more apparent by the day. According to national surveys, 64% of Jewish parents reported that their children have eliminated specific colleges from their list due to concerns about antisemitism; 80-87% of Jewish high school parents say campus antisemitism is now a “somewhat” or “very” important factor in deciding where their child will apply. Instead of asking which school has the best Jewish environment to support my child, the question has become about which has the least amount of overt antisemitism.
Through this mindset, our presence on campus will only shrink. I have observed prospective students opt out of environments they perceive as hostile and current students retreat from public life to avoid conflict, effectively ceding the space we have been trying so hard to protect.
We believe these actions help minimize harm to our communities, but instead, we’re defining ourselves by opposition.
While the concern over systemic antisemitism deserves to be treated seriously, we need to start redirecting this energy toward something positive. For centuries, Jews have been victims of the cycle of antisemitism, and there are no exceptions now. But our secret to survival has never been embracing victimization. We must stop letting our external critics dictate our agenda and instead focus on deepening the religious, cultural and social ties that make campus life worth protecting in the first place.
We’re seeing the consequences of this now unhelpful strategy at Rutgers in real time. This past February, Hillel announced it was reducing its hours. Students speculated that this unexplained change was due to budget cuts, as Hillel has been unable to maintain the high-level security in place for long hours. As a result, there is less available time to host late-night Jewish events, morning prayers are rushed, and students have less access to a space meant for them to relax, study and learn.
We need to take the energy we’ve spent looking for enemies and turn it inward. Instead of just asking who hates us, we should be asking how we can ensure our campus remains a center for Jewish joy.
This starts with a shift in our spending and our priorities. Hillel should reassess the trade-off of limiting its hours; we shouldn’t be sacrificing the very events that bring us together just to maintain an invisible layer of defense. By reallocating part of the security budget toward hosting more cultural festivals, music events and open-door programs, we can transform the campus atmosphere. Students should be shown that Rutgers isn’t just a place where we are protected, but a place where our traditions and successes are celebrated out in the open.
We need to remind ourselves of how important it is to support our institutions and one another, not just because we have enemies, but because it is necessary for Jewish life on campus to flourish. Stop asking Jewish students what antisemitism is like on campus. Ask them what Jewish life is like on campus.
This article was originally published in the Jewish Link.
