As Jewish students return to campus this Fall, many are clouded by fear and distrust: fear of harassment from anti-Israel mobs, retaliation from anti-Zionist professors, and distrust toward administrators who bear the responsibility to protect them. While these concerns are understandable, Jewish students should not succumb to defeatism.

My aim is not to push every Jewish student toward activism, nor to justify parents paying high tuition fees simply for their children to be forced to confront campus antisemitism. However, amid the current campus crises, Jewish students have the opportunity to transform obstacles into opportunities for growth in ways that no traditional classroom experience can offer.

I entered George Washington University (GWU) three years ago with an air of naivité that allowed me to express my Israeli, American, and Jewish identities with utmost pride.

The slurs of “racist,” “colonial apologist,” “extremist,” “anti-immigrant” among others from my classmates surely offended me, but they also perplexed me. I deemed myself liberal and “progressive.” Wasn’t I the embodiment of diversity with family roots in Dagestan, Egypt, Israel, France, Mexico, and America?

During my freshman and sophomore years, I encountered blatant antisemitism on campus, including the desecration of a Torah scroll along. I also experienced my first run-ins with Intifada rallies and Israeli Apartheid weeks. My peers subtly ostracized me in seminars.

As my involvement in Jewish life increased, I heard physical threats against me from members of Students for Justice in Palestine (SJP). Following the threats, around the time that I published “Semites are here to Stay” in October 2022, I faced a moral dilemma: should I put myself at risk by continuing to speak out on this issue, or pull away to keep myself safe?

As 2023 neared, my Jewish friends were sharing that they had been “spat on” on the library steps, and were being excluded from student organizations; professors like Dr. Lara Sheehi were intimidating or harassing Israeli students in class. My friends’ experiences, above all, lit a fire inside of me to act. Yet, my dilemma remained.

Conversations with family friends and one notable Professor of Holocaust Memory imbued me with the words of Pirkei Avot: “It is not incumbent upon you to finish the task, but neither are you free to absolve yourself from it.”

My instinct was to understand the root of such defamatory beliefs about me, my people, and my two home countries. I sought an intellectual coping mechanism, exploring anti-Zionism and its permeation into academia. As antisemitism in my International Affairs courses continued, I also craved a forum to critically think and debate — what I was receiving in Philosophy courses. Eventually, I changed my major from International Affairs to Philosophy, where I’d excavate how my peers formed their ideas by asking difficult questions and formulating my own.

In classes where I was often the only pro-Israel student, and sometimes the only Jew, I chose to write papers and deliver presentations about Israel and Jewish life. In my Frankfurt School course, my final project Israel on the Utopian Horizon analyzed the Israeli Protest Movement through philosophies of Theodor Adorno, Ernst Bloch, Martin Buber, and José Munoz. Aside from quenching my personal academic interests, the project demonstrated how Israel embodies the liberal Frankfurt School principles that my non/anti-Zionist peers admired.

Another project in my course “Power,” used Michel Foucault’s Discipline and Punish to describe how universities have become like “Intellectual Panopticons” that lead to “Self-Censorship.” The panopticon concept represents a prison-like mechanism where constant surveillance enforces social control. Using Jonanthan Haidt & Greg Lukianoff’s The Coddling of the American Mind and drawing from my personal experience, I argued for reimagining individualism as responsible citizenship — expressing disagreement respectfully and assertively, even if standing alone. Once again, I demonstrated how many of my peers were misusing and abusing Progressive ideals against those holding political differences.

Unsurprisingly, those words I had penned during my sophomore year would become a reality. Despite widespread opposition, I formed the GW Student Association Antisemitism Task Force in early 2023. Approaching adversarial audiences by altering my communication style to make statements appear uncontroversial — and flipping my opposition’s arguments against them — provided instrumental lessons in persuasion. I even invited members of SJP and Jewish Voice for Peace (JVP), who pledged anti-normalization, on board; they could no longer delegitimize my initiative by tarnishing me on the basis of my Israeli, Jewish, and American identities.

I could not have achieved these goals on my own. Outreach is a key ingredient in the recipe to success. The advice from public intellectuals like Einat Wilf, legal powerhouses like the Brandeis Center for Human Rights Under Law, and other Jewish organizations like AMCHA were instrumental to formulating my approach. GW Hillel placed QR codes around their building and sent emails to Jewish community members to make public comments at the Student Senate meeting where a vote on creating an antisemitism task force would take place. Over 30 students showed up, and public comments that night ran for nearly an hour. In the end, the task force passed unanimously.

While the task force was dismantled by the following year’s Student Association president, its work has continued. Since the October 7th terror attacks, my peers and I consistently meet with professors and administrators to understand university conduct policies; we have learned to convey our perspectives to administrators who tread to take action. We’ve examined state and Federal law pertaining to Title VI, boycotts, and more. We engage with policy makers on the state and Federal level. We organize and advertise GW and DC-wide events. Most importantly, we have learned to engage substantively with prevalent and opposing views, block out hate, and hold our heads high with robust Jewish spirit.

My story is much less about what I accomplished, but the knowledge, skills, and strong sense of character I gained. Understanding your rights and learning to articulate information to diverse audiences are as important in school as in relationships and the workplace.

Rather than resenting my college experience, I am all the more grateful for it. Indeed, becoming comfortable with discomfort, and learning practical wisdom, is what college — the bridge to independence — is all about.

The author is a senior at George Washington University.