In December 2023, the presidents of Harvard, the University of Pennsylvania, and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology arrived on Capitol Hill, where they would engage in a now-infamous exchange with Rep. Elise Stefanik (R-New York).
“Does calling for the genocide of Jews violate Harvard/Penn/MIT’s code of conduct?” Rep. Stefanik asked each president. Each responded with words to the effect of, “It depends on the context.”
Stefanik asked this question amidst dozens of pro-Palestinian protests that swept across American universities in the aftermath of the October 7, 2023, Hamas-led attacks in Israel. Specifically, she asked this in reference to the protest slogan, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.”
Each responded with words to the effect of, “It depends on the context.”
My own campus, Cornell University, was not immune to these protests or that slogan. In fact, more than a month before Claudine Gay, Liz Magill, and Sally Kornbluth gave their infamous testimonies, the Jewish community at Cornell experienced something much, much worse.
I remember it well. It was the end of my freshman-year family weekend, and my parents had gone home only hours earlier, after a tense exchange between hundreds of Jewish parents and then-provost Michael I. Kotlikoff. I was sitting in the library, catching up on homework, when a WhatsApp pop-up appeared on my computer. A community member shared a link to an anonymous forum called GreekRank, on which a user under the name “kill jews” shared a barrage of posts, including, but not limited to, ones that said “gonna shoot up 104West” (Cornell’s kosher dining hall), “hamas is coming to you,” and “gang rape all jew pig-women.”
I sat there for a couple more minutes, unsure what to do. It never occurred to me that this could happen, that this would be a part of college. As the news began to spread and I was bombarded with texts from friends and family, I put my computer away, took off my kippa, and went back to my dorm room.
Then something extraordinary happened. The OU-JLIC Rebbetzin texted the community to let everyone know she and the Rabbi would be coming around campus with soup for anyone who wanted it. My friends and I met them in the lobby of one of the dorms. We ate. We talked. We even laughed. At that moment, we decided that whoever wanted to intimidate us, whoever wanted to kill us, whoever wanted to break our spirit, would not succeed.
It never occurred to me that this could happen, that this would be a part of college.
The next morning, we got out of bed with adrenaline still rushing through us. Evidently, we were not the only ones, as many more people than usual came to shacharit (morning prayer) at Cornell’s Center for Jewish Living. A press conference with Gov. Kathy Hochul followed, but even after it ended, most people stayed at the CJL.
We all asked the same question: “How can I help?”
We found ourselves under armed guard. The media was approaching us from every direction. Parents were frightened for their children’s safety. It was clear we were at a moment when we all had to step up and lead in our own ways. I helped write emails to professors. Others stood at doors to ensure media interviews weren’t interrupted. Whatever needed to be done that day, a member of the community stepped up and did it.
Soon after, the authorities found and arrested the student who posted those threats, and campus life continued. The threats of that week were not the only hardship we faced that year. However, when we faced other obstacles, such as a Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions vote at the Cornell Student Assembly, and the encampment, community members continued to be there for each other.
I am now a senior at Cornell, and the challenges our community faces have not disappeared.
Beyond actively combating antisemitism on campus, we realized we needed to do more for the community for the community’s sake—not just in opposition to pro-Palestinian agitators. So, the CJL started doing house lunches on Shabbat. We brought in many new scholars-in-residence. We asked community members to create events based on what they wanted to see. The CJL’s membership skyrocketed that year because we provided a beacon of light in such trying times.
I am now a senior at Cornell, and the challenges our community faces have not disappeared. I was doxxed when I ran for student government at the end of my sophomore year. We continued to face anti-Israel votes in the student government. But when I look back on my years at Cornell, those are not the first experiences that come to mind. I think first of singing with my friends at the Shabbat table, not of students chanting protest slogans as they march through libraries. I think first of coming together with my community to mourn the lives lost on Oct. 7, not of the small group of students who rallied in support of Hamas. I think first of what good I can do for the community and what the Jewish community can do for Cornell, not of any pain anyone else has tried to cause us. Our potential to create thriving communities far outweighs any harm that anyone can bring to us. We need only to lead and create new leaders.
Ezra Galperin is a student at Cornell University.
Editor’s note: The editors thank Jewish Alumni Strong for its support in bringing this article to publication.