Written by Talia Field, NCJW Engagement & Leadership Intern

This past year has been unlike any other, filled with mourning, confusion, anger, and exhaustion. Since October 7, 2023, antisemitism has surged across college campuses, including my own. I am currently a Junior at George Washington University studying political science. I’m originally from Chicago, Illinois where I grew up immersed in the Jewish world and established my love for Israel. I went to Schechter, was a Ramah Wisconsin camper, was heavily involved with Jewish Federation, and had been to Israel four times before going to college. 

My daily routine today, however, is very different. 

I’ve walked past swastikas on my way to class, heard fellow students calling for an intifada, and scrolled past acquaintances’ many hateful, anti-Zionist posts on social media. This proliferation of hate and violent rhetoric was surreal. I found myself unable to process my experiences; I didn’t want to talk about it. It was my attempt to mask my discomfort. 

The faint, now familiar, chants from the protests ring throughout campus have become a part of  my daily life. Since October 7, being a Jewish college student has meant living every day with my heart in Israel while being told your my is in the wrong place.  

When the news broke about the attacks on October 7, I was with my friends. None of us anticipated the severity or duration of the ongoing war when it began, but from the beginning, we were all there for each other. Together, we walked past antisemitic slogans projected onto the library; we went to vigils; we flooded our group chat with articles and pictures; and nearly every time we hung out we ended up talking about Israel. This constant togetherness made me feel safe. We are all Jewish and have all felt the impacts of October 7 in our own ways. We shared an unspoken mutual understanding that we all needed each other. 

It is easy to assume mourning is the opposite of joy, but in Judaism, we are taught to embrace both simultaneously. Rather than pushing aside joy to fully feel suffering, we must allow them to coexist. Being able to sit with our sadness shouldn’t diminish our happiness. Rather, it allows us to enact more depth and gratitude in our joy. Even the Jewish calendar is a testament to how we balance suffering and joy—Tisha B’Av is quickly followed by Tu B’Av, and Sukkot is only 5 days after Yom Kippur. When my great-grandmother passed away in 2019, we celebrated my sister’s bat mitzvah that same week. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks provides a deeper insight into the Jewish understanding of joy, explaining that joy is inherently communal. In our connection to one another, we find a collective joy that sustains us, even in the most difficult moments. By coming together, we gain the strength of community, and in the past year, I have found exactly that. 

I spent this summer in Israel in Tel Aviv. When you walk through the city streets, it is impossible to forget that the country is at war and hostages are still held captive by Hamas. Graffiti-covered buildings beg for the war to end, posters of the hostages adorn lamp posts, and weekly gatherings at Kikar HaChatufim (Hostage Square) are accompanied by protests that echo across the city. Israel is mourning and angry, and I saw that every day this summer. But I also witnessed joy. I was greeted with intense excitement when Israelis learned I was American, and people flooded the streets on Thursday nights before welcoming Shabbat the next day. Most often when people shared their devastating stories from October 7, there was a sense of hope, that “we will dance again.” This collective display of balancing mourning and joy amazed me, reminding me of the importance of relying on community to overcome challenges without depriving ourselves of joy. That the best way to live with our constant heartbreak is to afford ourselves time to be together. In reflecting on my time in Israel, one piece of art at Kikar HaChatufim always comes to mind, written, “Our wounds are centuries old but so are our resilience and strength.” Alongside pain, the enduring spirit of the Jewish community has cultivated a commitment to strength and perseverance, built on communal bonds and a hope that gam zeh ya’avor, this too shall pass.   

Amidst rising antisemitism, I have never felt more secure in my Jewish identity. Carrying both the collective anguish the Jewish people have felt this past year alongside our uplifting spirit brings a sense of comfort during such unprecedented times. As we continue fighting and praying for an end to the war and a release of the hostages, our strength and resilience as a people remain unchanged.