To those who are silent,
In the early hours of October 7, 2023, the deadliest terrorist attack was launched against Israel. I was lucky enough to be in the United States, but the impact was profound on a global scale. Images of young people coming out of Israel being slaughtered, dragged away and violently kidnapped revealed a haunting reality and reminded us of our own frailty.
I’m an Israeli-American Jew and a graduate student at Columbia University. I work multiple jobs on campus and represent the university in various capacities, primarily through my writing. But the institution I once dreamed of attending has evolved into a place I no longer recognize. It is a place where thuggery, lawlessness, anarchy, and terrorism are not only possible, but openly tolerated and glorified.
On Monday, I made the difficult decision to move to remote learning for the remainder of the semester, and it was not a decision I made lightly. Despite repeated attempts to communicate with the government through countless emails, I was met with silence. As Jewish students, it is clear that our safety and well-being on campus is not a priority, yet blatant hatred is routinely justified.
While we are done asking our leaders to prioritize the safety of Jewish people and minimize our trauma, this letter is not for you. Not receiving support from the government is one thing, but knowing that it is not available even among friends is a discouraging reality. I never thought something like that would happen in his 23 years.
To my silent friends, I have seen you following my social media stories and passionately engaging in debate, championing other causes in the name of social justice. But as anti-Semitic violence and pro-terrorism rhetoric emboldens our college campuses, you are suddenly nowhere to be found. Your ignorance, evasion, and cowardice are omnipresent. Students are being physically assaulted by angry mobs who continually glorify Hamas’ atrocities and undermine the nation’s collective mourning and trauma.
Empathy rather than fear
Students continue to maintain a pro-Palestinian protest encampment on Columbia University’s campus during the ongoing conflict between Israel and the Palestinian Islamist group Hamas. April 24, 2024, New York City, USA (Credit: Reuters/CAITLIN OCHS)
We don’t need to ask for your sympathy just because you are too afraid. We do not seek pity, but the continued pain and repeated battles of our community that we have to fight every day, not only as students at Columbia, but as Jews navigating a post-10/7 world. Seek awareness about. Whether unintentionally or not, the silence of those too cowardly to call out anti-Semitism has allowed these demonstrations to escalate in both size and intensity. To those people I ask, “What are you so afraid of?” I hope they get over their apathy and fear before it’s too late.
We have all experienced harm or done harm because we are all just human beings. I am aware of our collective blind spots and our continued efforts to grow, but I am tired of rationalizing and justifying our silence to reassure you all. It was too much and I reached my limit. Many of us think so.
To those who argue that Jewish students simply drop out of school, I find it almost funny. Throughout my academic and professional career, I have worked tirelessly to prepare for this moment. As Jews, we do not cower or succumb to the hateful stories that are repeated around us on a daily basis. We embrace Jewish joy as resilience and stand firm on our ground. No force, group, or government can take away our unwavering determination and eternal spirit. This is a story deeply embedded in our history, but as Diaspora Jews we are rewriting it. But it is not possible without the help of loved ones and friends.
If the past seven months have taught me anything, it’s the preciousness of life: its beauty, fragility, and the often fleeting nature that characterizes it. Even in the face of fear and tragedy, we must surround ourselves with love and bask in joy. We owe it to ourselves and to the 1,300 innocent and beautiful lives lost that will never be the same.
In their memory, we must continue to live vividly, loudly and cherishing every moment. There are still many words I want to convey to those who are still silent. Your resounding silence speaks volumes, but if you feel ready to share those words, know that your Jewish friends are ready to listen. stay here. Better late than never. Let us all pray for brighter days and futures for both Israelis and Palestinians, and for dignity, security, and humanity for all.
Signed,
Your Jewish friend who is really not okay
Becca Beitel ’25 is an Israeli-American graduate student at Teachers College, Columbia University.
