by Dasha Rothblatt
I have always loved being Jewish.
I loved my Jewish summer camps, Jewish foods and holidays, and I adored Shabbat services at my Los Angeles synagogue. As a kid, I would get so excited putting on my newest black tights under my most ruffled dress to show off to my fellow congregants. Every Friday evening felt like my own fashion show.
As an adult, I find Shabbat to be the most grounding part of my week. So, when I started at the University of Delaware, it was no shock that I fell into the routine of attending Shabbat dinners at Hillel on Friday nights. I interned for UD’s Hillel a few years ago, where my entire job was to get coffee with Jewish students who were not previously active in Hillel. What a job! You’re telling me I get free coffee AND I get to befriend dozens of Jewish students on campus?! Sign me up! I still feel so fulfilled from that job every time I walk past my new Jewish friends on campus, especially when I started seeing them more frequently at Hillel events.
I went on Birthright with Hillel and stayed for two months through Onward, interning for a company in Tel Aviv! I met my best friends through Hillel and got to see them every week at Shabbat dinners and Jewish programming. To me, Shabbat dinners were a fun treat, a chance to see my Jewish peers and eat free, home-cooked meals. However, after October 7, those Shabbats were no longer just a “treat,” they were a necessity.
Fall of 2023 was a long, depressing, and isolating season. Each of my Jewish friends felt it.
Going to Hillel once a week for Shabbats was no longer enough for me. I started dropping by the building almost every day, whether it was in between classes or on my way home from the library. I needed it. I would come in filled with so much sadness, grief, and frustration and leave feeling lighter with a sense of release. After speaking to my fellow Jewish students—who were also seeking comfort and guidance through this time—and crying to the Rabbi and other staff members, I was able to become more grounded. I could not stand being in class and feeling hot tears roll down my face because I feared for my family and friends in Israel. I could not stand every restless night of sleep worrying about my people’s livelihoods. I could not stand hearing my peers speak about Israelis as these evil aliens. I needed to be around people who “got it.”
Most of the people around me on campus are not Jewish. At first, when I saw antisemitism rise at other universities, I was relieved not to experience that on my campus in Delaware. I fear I spoke too soon because, even though our antisemitic instances were not as publicly broadcasted as the ones on Tulane’s or UCLA’s campuses, they still took place.
Personal information was leaked from a Jewish organization’s group chat, leading to members getting harassed. When Hillel hosted an event on the Green to honor the hostages taken by Hamas, Jewish students placed over 250 yard signs with each hostage’s name and age in a circle. The signs were supposed to be there for at least a day or two, but that night someone ripped up each hostage’s sign from the ground and threw them in the trash. Those instances are just the tip of the iceberg.
Now, anyone can be antisemitic from behind a screen. I have been harassed, bullied, and insulted online for expressing my sympathies for the Israeli people, specifically the hostages and their families. I have lost many friends, some of whom I would have considered my closest friends, due to my support of Israel defending itself. The hatred of Jews runs so deep and it is heartbreaking to see it so apparent in my generation.
Every day, I read the news about what’s going on in Israel. One of the hardest, most gut-wrenching days for me since October 7 was the day the Bibas family was reported murdered. I sobbed uncontrollably all day. I went to class and cried; I wanted my peers to see how much this “foreign war” had an effect on their Jewish peers. When I spoke to my non-Jewish friends, they asked why I was crying. Each time, I went through the process of explaining the news and why it’s so devastating. They hugged me and comforted me and told me they are here for me. Still, having to explain every time gets exhausting.
On the evening of that sad, dark day, I thought to call up one of my Jewish friends. She is very active in the Jewish community on campus and is even the president of one of our Jewish clubs. The phone dialed and with a few rings, she picked up. We exchanged hellos and when she asked how I was doing, my voice broke as I answered honestly, “I am so sad.” Her immediate response was “I know, me too.” I sighed with relief. She understood and she felt it too.
It was so validating and relieving to be able to call a Jewish person and have them just get it. We talked on the phone for only a minute before she invited me to come to her house to mourn together. When I arrived at her house, another friend of hers was there to plan a campus event to memorialize the Bibas family. Together, we brainstormed ways to help our fellow Jewish students grieve such a heavy loss together as a community. My idea was to let our peers write letters to Jarden Bibas and IDF soldiers to express sympathy or appreciation for their strength. When the event came around a few days later, it was remarkable to see my Jewish classmates harness their sadness and grief into something that would make a positive impact, just as I was able to do when helping plan the event itself.
This is what it feels like to be a Jew on campus today.
It is exhausting and painful to constantly defend our existence but simultaneously makes this generation of Jews more resilient, braver, and closer than ever. Despite how loud the hatred gets in the news, online, or on campus, I put on my Star of David every day for that little girl who was so excited to embrace her Judaism in public. I proudly stand up for my community on her behalf.
About the Author:
Dasha Rothblatt is a senior at the University of Delaware, majoring in Marketing and minoring in Politics & Social Justice. She was born and raised in Los Angeles, California, and has a deep-rooted passion for Judaism, community, and advocacy. Dasha is currently loving her time volunteering at the Jewish Federation of Delaware!
