Tekiah Magazine

By Jordan Grossman

Credit: London School of Economics

As college students, we all make emotional investments into different ideas and groups as we work out which frameworks we will use to approach the world around us—politics, religious identity, and cultural values especially. Over the last couple of years, we’ve been pressured to choose between them. Aligning with any one specific side often demands a sacrifice: friends with different political views, future career prospects, and sometimes even your mental wellbeing. In some cases, people have been socially isolated or publicly confronted for their views. But we need to be honest with ourselves.

Our political views and positions of support for Palestine and for Israel do not need to be mutually exclusive. Is it really necessary to never speak to a lifelong friend again because they disagreed with you about the legitimacy of Israel? Were people cruel to you because they wanted to hurt you or because they didn’t understand how much Israel and/or Palestine meant to you? Why do we treat our views as so self-defining that hearing another perspective becomes so intolerable that it oppresses us? 

This absolutist dichotomy is difficult for on campus dialogue, and it can have a chilling effect on the Jewish community. As Jewish students on campus, we are socially and intellectually blocked off by these obstacles and we build them up around ourselves at the same time.

It is essential that we maintain our connections with our friends and family members, even those that have radically different opinions than us. If we don’t, we risk letting people forget what we believe as our communities become more and more isolated. I can speak from my own experience. 

When I started at GW in Fall 2023, I had no idea that my new liberal and internationalist friends would soon seem as politically distant as the Bolsheviks. But after October 7th, they did. I didn’t want to see them. I didn’t want to hear them say that violent resistance was justified. I didn’t want to hear my classmates debate my identity group in class. I didn’t want to see my Jewish friends sobbing at Hillel. I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t know what to do.

It was one of my apolitical friends here that stayed with me and listened to my first terrified questions and bitter thoughts. It was my conservative friend back home that texted me to see if it was ok. Support came from unexpected places. I can attribute that to the loyalty and kindness of friends that put me first and politics second. These are the most valuable kinds of connection that a person can have.

As the initial shock wore off, though, like many other Jewish students at GW I was deeply worried about whether my friends, apolitical and radical and religious and otherwise, would stay by my side as casualty rates climbed. Couldn’t we at least talk about what was happening? If I had the chance to explain myself, maybe they would still see me as worthy of their friendship. Instead, I began to police my own words, assuming I would be judged before I even spoke.

But what was I really afraid of? Social ostracization? Being misunderstood? None of those fears were worth retreating into an echo chamber. Even when conversations are uncomfortable, there is still value in listening and engaging, rather than refusing to accept that others could think differently.

Since 2023, I have made difficult choices about who I want to associate with, where I want to work, and even what kinds of news I should read. I have done my best to challenge myself, to force myself to be uncomfortable sometimes, even without compromising my values of Jewish pride, human rights, and peace. In a single day, I speak with people that want to preserve a Jewish Israel and others that want every Jewish person to leave Palestine without seriously compromising any of those values. 

It is possible for all of us to engage with these contradictions, if not every day then every semester. It is not easy. It involves rejection, insults, and constant explanation. But it is essential if we are to grow intellectually and build social bridges strong enough to withstand war with Iran, growing political polarization, antisemitism, and take even the tiniest step toward a more peaceful future.

I have found my place in spaces like J Street, where I stay open to dialogue and engage with a range of perspectives. It can be frustrating and even hopeless at times. There are moments when it feels like I am catching flak from both sides, or that no one fully agrees with me or appreciates what I am trying to do. But I am not doing this because it is easy or immediately rewarding. 

I do it because it aligns with my values: a commitment to Jewish culture and identity, to human rights, and tolerance and openness. If there is any reward, it is the possibility—however small—of helping someone see a perspective they hadn’t considered before.

On campus, we are lucky not to be in a life and death situation. We have room to think, grow, change our minds, or become more ideologically resilient. Most of us students have more freedom to argue and debate and struggle than we realize.

For now, it is essential that we build relationships with people that disagree with us, even if we find them objectively wrong. Simply investing in other people—by listening, understanding, and disagreeing, all while respecting others, will pay off. You don’t need to go all in on one side of the campus debate or the other. You just need to find one person that thinks a little differently than you. Start there.