Jewish Pride and Activism in the Face of Rising Antisemitism

Photo courtesy of the author.

I woke up tired on Oct. 7, 2023, in the quiet of my bedroom in Northbrook, Illinois, but still on a high from the night before when I competed in my long-awaited high-school swim meet with heightened adrenaline. The evening ended with a senior celebration and I left feeling grateful for my teammates and our improved performance. My friends surprised me by coming back from college to support me, bearing gifts and sharing many laughs.

I rolled over to glance at my clock and saw that I had time to spare. I grabbed my phone and started taking in the latest news. Instead of the lighthearted content I usually see, I faced an Instagram feed that was congested with nearly identical posts announcing rockets were fired at Israel. I took in a sharp breath.

Although this was unsettling, I knew Israel being fired upon by her neighbors is a sad reality, so I initially shrugged it off. As I kept scrolling, I found worse news: Israel had declared war.

My phone screen stared back at me like it was begging me not to shoot the messenger. Everything stood still and not a muscle moved in my body. I only heard my heartbeat quickening.

I sat frozen until I had to leave for swim practice. Quickly changing into my swimsuit, I turned off my phone and left my family to discover the news themselves.

During practice, I found it challenging to commit myself to the normal workout. So, when my coach took a phone call in the office, I moved to an empty lane to mindlessly swim laps. My mind was consumed by the realization that Israel has not been in a full-scale war for over 50 years.

My thoughts raced with the little information I had about the situation.

I recalled last summer spent in Israel with Young Judaea’s Gesher program. Selected as one of three recipients of the Hadassah Leaders of Tomorrow Scholarship, I immersed myself in Israeli culture and explored the landmarks of the country.

Retracing the steps of our ancestors, I remembered the feeling of comfort as I placed my hands on the Western Wall and the spiritual magnitude of the Old City. A wave of gratitude and privilege washed over me as I experienced Israel in its entirety, aware so many lives were lost to achieve statehood for the Jewish people.

Then I remembered our time at Netiv HaAsara, a village across the northern border of Gaza. We visited the town to learn why Israelis chose to live dangerously close to their enemies. Our tour guide explained that, despite the existential threats of rocket fire and border infiltration, the villagers refuse to yield to pressure from Hamas and remain on the border, affirming their resilience.

We followed the guide to the large border wall, decorated in bright colors with the words “Path to Peace” written in beautiful mosaic tiles. Standing before it, I was confronted with the reality of Israeli life: perpetual worry about enemy attacks, mixed with a hint of hope for peace.

But on October 7, hopes for peace vanished as the residents of Netiv HaAsara’s worst fear had come true: Hamas had breached the border and massacred their people. I reflected on the fate of those villagers with melancholy. To break my spiral, I focused on things I knew for certain; I would feel the war’s effect through increased antisemitic attacks in the US.

I sighed, letting my mind drift. I saw my coach return from the office, quickly rejoined my teammates and half-heartedly finished my workout. I spent the rest of the day glued to my phone, consuming as much news as possible. With every update, my disbelief deepened. I spent hours in bed crying and coming to terms with my new reality.

That Monday at school was challenging, as I fought back tears in class. I was embarrassed at my weakness in handling my emotions. My teacher asked how I was doing and I replied, “I’m fine,” but internally I was not. After school, I spent the rest of the day in bed. The war left me gutted with a shattered view of my fragile world.

As weeks went by, my social media feed revealed more about the attacks and I became angrier with the unprecedented rise of antisemitism. From the left and right, the Jewish people were being torn apart with attacks resembling Nazi antisemitism.

The comparisons between antisemitism then and now led me to recall my great-grandparents’ stories of surviving Auschwitz. I knew there was no excuse to sit by and be discriminated against when I have the ability to make an impact.

My perspective hardened and I drew myself a red line by breaking contact with people who became Hamas sympathizers as I could not stand to call someone my friend who did not condemn the massacres of October 7.

Some of these people were the friends who surprised me at my swim meet on October 6. Letting those relationships go was difficult, confirming my red line was non-negotiable.

That November, I heard about a rally for Israel in Washington, D.C.  Feeling infuriated with the world, I began looking for a way to get from Chicago to D.C. With the rally two days away, I impulsively decided to embark on an 800-mile road trip the following day with my dad.

I was overwhelmed with excitement, feeling positive about this opportunity to become politically involved instead of experiencing intense rage. I was curious about the rally and exercising my right of assembly.

The morning of the rally, despite minimal sleep, we woke early to head downtown. Descending onto the National Mall– the heart of American politics — energized me with a feeling of purpose and importance.

My dad and I were stunned by the number of people in the crowd. Wanting to be in front, we shimmied our way to the barricade directly below the stage. When the Israeli national anthem filled the Mall, I took a moment to be truly present. I closed my eyes and listened to the crowd sing the words I’ve sung countless times before. The sea of humanity before me assured me that I was not alone in my passionate love for Israel and willingness to take a stand against the rise in antisemitism after October 7.

Audio Link:   Hatikvah at the March for Israel in D.C.- Nov 14, 2023

A new feeling washed over me, strengthening my Jewish identity: one of belonging to a special community where 300,000 people would travel hundreds of miles to stand in solidarity on a random Tuesday.

That evening, we drove 800 miles back home — in time for a few hours of sleep before heading to school. It was a normal Wednesday for other students but, for me, it was the first on a new path of political activism.

For the rest of the school year, I spoke up as antisemitic events occurred. In English class, while we were studying The Great Gatsby, my teacher neglected to highlight the novel’s antisemitic rhetoric. I met with the department chair and advocated for education on this subject. Now every class that studies this novel will be aware of its antisemitism.

A few months later, a Palestinian flag was raised in a hallway. This was deeply upsetting to me as that flag is often raised alongside Hamas flags at rallies calling for the destruction of Israel. I took this opportunity to meet with the principals to express my issues regarding the flag.  Later that week, it was taken down.

As the school year came to a close, yearbooks were distributed. A student was quoted as expressing happiness with the October 7 massacres. With my feelings on fire, I went to the next school board meeting and shared anger and disappointment with the district which ran on CBS News Chicago and NBC News Chicago.

During my senior year, in addition to the stress of combating antisemitism, I was applying to colleges and deciding on my field of study. Although I was initially indifferent to studying political science, October 7 and my experiences with antisemitism fueled a new passion for the field.

Today as I work toward my degree at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign, I refuse to shy away from opposing views and pro-Hamas rhetoric. Each day, I wear a Jewish star proudly and actively participate in Jewish life on campus without fear of antisemitism. I am outspoken about my beliefs and unapologetically Jewish.

This semester, I began my term on the University of Illinois’ Hillel Leadership Council, where I am excited to lead and support my fellow Jewish students. By organizing programs, I aim to foster cultural experiences that strengthen the campus community. Complex problems require bravery and resilience to solve. I am zealous about uplifting my community’s Jewish pride and shifting the focus from apprehension to optimism.

Claire is a member of the Hadassah Writers’ Circle, a dynamic and diverse writing group for leaders and members to express their thoughts and feelings about all the things Hadassah does to make the world a better place, to celebrate their personal Hadassah journeys and to share their Jewish values, family traditions and interpretations of Jewish texts. Since 2019, the Hadassah Writers’ Circle has published nearly 450 columns in the Times of Israel Blog and other Jewish media outlets. Interested? Please contact hwc@hadassah.org.