And now for something completely different . . .
A Tale of Two Commencements
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way . . .”
The reason that we study great literature, I used to tell my students back in the days when it was permissible to teach great literature, is that it reveals truth to us about its own time and about ours. Dickens’ “A Tale of Two Cities,” set in the throes of the French Revolution, could easily have been written about our own time. The bloodthirstiness, ignorance, malice, depravity, and hatred of Madame DeFarge and her followers shout out to us from the actions of Hamas and its self-righteous supporters, and are the hallmarks of the campus mobs. The self-sacrifice and nobility of Charles Darnay/Sydney Carton, Dr. Manette, and Lucie Manette are reflected in the courageous exploits and behavior of the IDF and the Jews and Gentiles who have the will and the audacity to stand against the screaming hordes of philistines. The juxtaposition of the death cult of the murderous mob with the willingness of Carton to sacrifice himself for love and loyalty, doing a “far, far better thing than I have ever done,” reminds us that the forces of light and darkness have always been in conflict. Hamas did not invent depraved brutality and the Ivy League students are not the first blind and ignorant lackeys.
It also reminds us that even in a violent and dark world, beauty, courage, and dignity can prevail.
I was blessed to attend the commencement ceremonies of Yeshiva University at the Louis Armstrong Stadium on May 22, 2025, because two of my (please feel free to supply any appropriate superlatives) granddaughters graduated Stern College for Women (with honors, if you must know). Elise Stefanik and Rachel Goldberg-Polin received honorary degrees and addressed the graduates to stadiumshaking applause. There was a prayer for Israeli soldiers and a memorial to those who fell on October 7 and thereafter in proud defense of our tiny nation. There was a minute of silence for the two innocents who were murdered in Washington D.C. by the global intifada. Psalms were recited for the safe return of the remaining hostages. After a medley of songs, the students erupted in flag-waving, exuberant, ecstatic (separate sex) dancing. The joy was palpable.
It was cold and rainy, but the love, commitment, dedication, promise, and allegiance to nation and faith provided warmth that surpasses understanding. People stood for, sang, and applauded both The Star-Spangled Banner and Hatikvah. The audience respectfully stood every time a Rabbi or older professor spoke from the podium. It responded with laughter when Representative Stefanik reminded them that the previous evening had marked the thirty-ninth day of the Omer and listened with respect as she spoke of the significance of this period in Jewish history and mentioned two of the hostages named Omer.
Finally, a truly righteous Gentile, she stopped the show when she recounted her confrontation with the morally bankrupt university Presidents. The crowd rose as one and roared with approval as she proclaimed that the imperatives to reject genocide and anti-Semitism do NOT depend on the context.
It is hard to imagine any speaker or speech that could effectively have followed Rep. Stefanik, but when President Ari Berman introduced Rachel Polin-Goldberg as the neshama–the soul–of the Jewish nation, who has not only taught us to face adversity without despairing of redemption, but also never to stop striving to hasten that redemption, it was clear that she represented the perfect complement.
She thanked the audience for standing beside her throughout her ordeal and her journey. She pleaded with the audience to follow Rambam’s rejection of extremism in favor of moderation. She humorously urged tolerance for people who wait six hours after eating meat before eating dairy, or three hours, or even one hour, and by extension, tolerance for all sincere differences of practice and opinion. She reminded them that it is not sufficient to hope, pray , and believe–one must also do.
Like her actions during the past two years, her words were an inspiration to the young graduates and everyone else in attendance.
[The addresses and the commencement exercises are on youtube; do yourself a favor and watch. My granddaughters are the two on the right.]
It was an uplifting experience. We arrived home euphoric and hopeful. Then we turned on the news.
The best of times . . . the worst of times.
The Commencement ceremony of the 271st academic year of Columbia University was held outdoors on the Morningside Campus. Tens of thousands were in attendance to witness what the New York Post described as the “mayhem that erupted . . . as some students burned their diplomas and cops tussled with dozens of anti-Israel demonstrators.” A death cult held sway over what should have been a celebration of achievement. The words of Acting President Claire Shipman were drowned out by raucous chants of ”Free Palestine!” Bowing to the mob, she mourned the absence of Mahmoud Khalil, receiving boos in response.
In 1919, Columbia University introduced its “Introduction to Contemporary Civilization in the West.” This was the basis of the famed Core Curriculum that shaped the study of liberal arts for a century. It was taught by the most eminent full professors. It has been replaced by DEI fluff. The core curriculum is now about identity and more identity. It has been trashed to satisfy radical faculty and ignorant students. The desiccated views of “dead white males” have been rejected; one can only imagine the reaction of the mob to a slain hostage’s mother endorsing the moderate, middle way of Maimonides. Graduate students with nonsense degrees in gender studies who unlawfully occupied buildings now teach courses in the core curriculum. And the result is right there on the front page of The New York Post.
Columbia, a swamp of intersectional anti-semitism, stands for violence and vandalism in the service of a death cult that has as its goals the destruction of the only Jewish state and a global intifada against western culture.
Yeshiva University stands for devotion to Jewish history and tradition, and is striving to continue to build a civilization that treasures the values of a cultured, tolerant, and humane religion.
Both of my granddaughters have been admitted to prestigious graduate programs, one in the US and one in Israel. Each one made her choice based on a variety of factors, including the quality and prestige of the graduate program and the manner in which they will contribute to meaningful, successful careers. They both chose right.
The rest of us must also make choices. Jews are known for their eleemosynary generosity. It transcends bounds of religion and culture. There is not a single major university with a significant endowment that does not have programs, buildings, and professorships donated by Jews.
In this best of times and worst of times, we need to choose sides with our eyes wide open. Our investment in higher education has not yielded positive results. On the contrary, Jews are not welcome on many campuses. We have alternatives. There are numerous Jewish institutions in Israel and America. We can close our eyes to the excesses of the student Madame Defarge’s who want to kill us, or, worse, we can help to sustain and support them. But we can also try to do a “far, far better thing,” align ourselves with the Stefaniks and Goldbergs of the world, and unreservedly support Jewish institutions that address the world with purpose and moral clarity.
What we cannot do is refrain from choosing. The Red Cross, Amnesty International, the ACLU, all United Nations affiliates, and the many universities that failed to protect Jewish students have forfeited the right to solicit money from Jews who care about their people and their land.
When one concludes a tractate of Talmud, one recites a formula known as the “hadran,” in which the participant bids farewell to the volume just completed: “We shall return to you, and you shall return to us. . . We will not forget you and you will not forget us–in this world or the next.” In the exuberant joy of the accomplishment, the celebrant contrasts his or her lot with those not so fortunate in a manner I previously thought unduly condescending and proud: “We express gratitude to You, our God and God of our fathers, that you have established our portion with those who dwell in the study hall, and not with idle derelicts, for we arise and they arise, we arise early for words of Torah and they arise early for empty slogans; . . .we run to the world to come and they run to the well of destruction . . . for they are men of bloodshed and deceit, whose lives will be curtailed, while we will trust in God.”
I have heard those words hundreds of times. On this Commencement Day, I fully understood them. We can choose life or death, Israel or its enemies, Yeshiva or Columbia, hope or despair, light or darkness. We can no longer afford to try to support both.
And I think that you deserve to know . . . another granddaughter graduated Albert Einstein. College of Medicine the previous evening. I don’t remember the speeches–just the smile on her face as her Mom, who had graduated 27 years earlier, placed the hood on her shoulders– but I am really proud of her too.