Saying No

I’ve always struggled with expressions like, “Our community is open to everyone,” or “Everyone should be able to bring their whole selves here.”  

I get the sentiment.  These kinds of phrases are intended to reflect a community’s warmth, support, and welcoming nature, all of which are generally positive and important.

At the same time, we all have boundaries and limits.  There are points when behaviour crosses a line and is no longer appropriate, just as there are people whose repeated violations of the norms and expectations we’ve laid out make exclusion necessary.

Moreover, when we ignore or don’t recognize boundaries, whether personal or communal, and fail to let people know about them, they become trip wires the unwary set off by accident.  The offender doesn’t even know they were there, so how can they be responsible for the harm they do?

There’s nothing wrong with having boundaries and expectations of others, and holding them to account isn’t unreasonable.  Translating this into the context of Jewish campus life, a broad view of what Judaism, Jewishness, and Israel can be doesn’t mean anything goes.  When advocating for Jews, it’s reasonable to say, “This conduct is unacceptable, and I’m drawing a line here.  Stop.”

I’m a pluralist at heart, and Hillel is a proudly pluralistic organization.  Personally and professionally, I like to think of myself as having a deep sense of curiosity and a broad – though not infinite – openness to different approaches and diverse viewpoints.

As such, I believe in being actively present in every space where there’s a reasonable chance to make a noticeable difference in preventing and dismantling antisemitism.  If we don’t jump at realistic opportunities to educate about who we are as a people and what our traditions and history teach, we can’t expect that the non-Jewish world around us will learn on its own and improve.  For the sake of making Jewish students safer and more welcome on campus, these are risks worth taking, even if it means engaging offensive personalities, even if the attempts aren’t popular, and even if we’re ultimately unsuccessful.

Consequently, there haven’t been as many moments over the past two trying and difficult years as you might think when I’ve said, “No.  I’m done here.”  The few that stand out in my mind:

• I rejected an invitation to sit down with someone who denied the well-documented actions he’d taken and instead accused one of my colleagues of lying.
• An organization our staff had previously had a strong relationship with invited two speakers associated with an antisemitic campus group, and our substantial efforts to engage them yielded little willingness to even try to understand our perspective.
• An administration instituted a policy that was perpetrating actual and ongoing harm to the campus Jewish community with no indication of a desire to revisit it, and discussions with that as a continuing backdrop felt like a betrayal of those who were suffering that harm.  
• Someone in a position of authority refused to do what was in their power – and to fulfill their obligation – to keep the Jewish campus community safe, but wanted the benefits of public recognition and acclaim.

I don’t expect others to understand, know, and act for justice for Jewish students every time; I’ve been at this too long to believe that’ll happen.  But I do hold others to the standard of demonstrating a sincere interest in being an honest, well-intentioned partner in addressing antisemitism seriously and doing the hard work necessary to push it to the margins of campus.  When your ostensible partner isn’t willing to hold up their responsibilities, the shortcomings aren’t yours, and your desire to back away, whether momentarily or permanently, isn’t a betrayal of your hopes and ideals.  In fact, it’s a reaffirmation of them by pointing out pretensions masquerading as actual allyship.

In short, the door is always open, but that doesn’t mean everyone is always permitted to enter. 

Because, even for those of us who embrace coexistence, who support bridgebuilding, and who believe in the value of diverse communities and dialogue across differences, there are moments when boundaries are crossed, and it’s OK – and even necessary – to say no.