Centering Jewish Identity Development (Even) When There Is Antisemitism on Campus
Adena Kirstein
Adena Kirstein is Executive Director of Hillel at the George Washington University.
Credit: Kurt Hoffman
What feels like an endless year on campus is now coming to a close. Dorms have emptied out, summer internships have begun, and at long last there is something many of us Hillel professionals have been craving: silence. We are clearing our heads, taking a collective deep breath, and trying to make sense of the marathon we just ran and the last horrible mile we made it through. It is time to look back and reconsider everything that happened on campus during the months between October 7 and graduation. Did the statements and the angry emails and the Instagram posts our community crafted in November and December ultimately do anything to protect us from encampments and antisemitism in April and May? Did we use our voices wisely? What can we do better next year? We played a vital role this year, but now is the time to think about what might come next.
***
I began working for Hillel in New York City in the summer of 2007. I carried my flip phone to work, read books on the subway, didn’t yet know what it meant to “stream” anything, and resisted opening a Facebook account for as long as I could. I had graduated from college not long before, and my own Jewish experience as a student at Hillel had been marked by my growth as a leader and my embrace of being a Southern Jew in the big city. I barely considered what it meant to be a Zionist; it simply wasn’t a required conversation in my college years. When I wanted to study abroad in Jerusalem, the Second Intifada sent me to Australia instead. Expressing my support for Israel wasn’t woven into my day-to-day life on campus; the hallmark moment only came in Washington, DC at a rally to stand against the bus bombings and violence that felt very far away from my daily realities.
Fast forward two decades, and that image of Jewish life on campus seems unrecognizable. Both Jewish students themselves and the world around them are radically different from what they once were. And yet, in other ways, their needs are the same as they have always been: to grow as Jews and to determine what it means to them to be Jewish.
Understanding today’s American Jewish college students requires that we recognize the world in which they’ve grown up. My students were born after 9/11, after Columbine, and shortly before Sandy Hook. While George W. Bush was in the White House when they were born, their political identities have been shaped primarily by the Trump and Biden presidencies. They do not know a world without TSA pat-downs, without metal detectors at baseball stadiums, without security cameras tracking their every move. They have participated in active shooter drills from the time they started school. In their book The Coddling of the American Mind (2018), Jonathan Haidt and Greg Lukianoff argue that the overall effect of all these events on young adults in America today has been to teach them that the world can—and should—be divided between good guys and bad guys.
All of this was coupled for my students with a Judaism responding to these new realities of fear and divisiveness in a post-Holocaust context. Many of today’s American Jewish college students were raised in synagogues that taught them to seek light in the darkness and that they could play a part in tikkun olam—healing the world. For those who had a bar or bat mitzvah ceremony, it likely happened with a security guard at the synagogue door, either shortly before or after the horrors of the Pittsburgh or Poway shootings. They assumed a ticket to Israel on a Birthright trip would be waiting for them, but they also knew an armed guard would accompany them on the trip. Their hopes for the world—for racial equity and justice for all and for the good guys to win—were intricately tied to who they were as Jews.
This world that my students know is almost inseparable from the online world of social media. They don’t share quick life updates on Facebook, as I once did, after I finally caved and joined the platform during my first years in the Hillel professional world. Instead, my students film a reel on Instagram, share a video on TikTok, update the world on their new job via LinkedIn, and put a quick slice-of-life moment on Snapchat. But where are the lines between IRL (in real life) and the virtual worlds? Who draws them? Are they sharp or are they blurred? No longer can students consider the nuances of a Zionist identity in isolation, or over coffee with a friend or their local Hillel professional. Instead, their visions and viewpoints are clouded by the virtual world that spills over into their everyday lives. In difficult times for Israel or the Jewish people, this added layer of social media adds fuel to a fire that is ever on the precipice of raging.
My students last fall encountered a swastika etched onto a sidewalk close to campus, slogans such as “Glory to our Martyrs” projected on the side of a library, a screaming match between a protestor and a fraternity brother outside a Jewish frat house, and the ripping down of hostage posters that had been hung inside the Hillel building after October 7. These brief descriptions should raise many questions, some about the facts and some about matters of interpretation. In each case, was the perpetrator a campus employee, a student, or another community member—or were they unaffiliated and just passing through GW’s campus, an open, urban space in the heart of Washington, DC? How long did the university take to respond? Does two hours constitute a “slow” response time? What about one whole day? And if the response was slow, was it because administrators were uncaring and even biased, or because they were taking their time to really think through what they wanted to say? Was the incident breaking a law or just breaking our collective Jewish heart?
In reality, when each of these events transpired, there was little time to ask these sorts of questions, as news of each incident appeared online and was quickly amplified. In one instance, I had not even gotten full details of the incident myself before it had reached an international audience on X.
After some of these incidents, fear-filled parents and angry alums organized letter-writing campaigns condemning the actions and the authority figures who might have prevented them. Donors threatened to pull their dollars from the university. Frustrated community members called for the university to make public statements or produce an instant “solution.” And each time, GW Hillel was flooded with emails and phone calls that kept my staff and me away from the students who needed us to help them process what had happened and what it meant in their day-to-day lives on this campus.
I believe that these various stakeholders care deeply and that they have good intentions. If there’s a fundamental value that informs our collective communal lives, it’s that we want to ensure a thriving Jewish future for the next generation; I always keep this at the forefront of my mind. But these reactions have the unintended consequence of making antisemitism seem not only more pervasive than it already is, but of making it seem a more important part of Jewish life than it needs to be. The Hillel movement has rapidly and impressively responded to the darkness of this moment, but antisemitism has never been and never will be what defines Jewish communal campus life.
I have many hopes for my students when I first meet them—I hope they explore Jewish text, consider Jewish ritual, feel a deep sense of ownership in shaping their Jewish lives with the confidence to welcome other peers to do the same. But never once, at the start of their freshman years, have I thought to myself: I hope Rachel or Roey defines their Jewish identity in college based on those who hate them.
What messages are we sending to our students when our greatest interest in their campus lives is directly tied to our own greatest fears? When the well-intentioned community off campus only calls because of an antisemitic incident or only sends money in response to an anti-Zionist protest on campus, our students learn that our communal priority is not to thrive but to survive. We need to do both, of course—ultimately, we won’t be able to thrive if we don’t survive—but one cannot come at the expense of the other. We must remember that our children are watching the messages we are expressing in both our words and our actions. What do we want to teach them?
I present here a moonshot idea that will not cost a dollar but only requires the will and intention of our vibrant and caring community. Put simply, it is time to turn our field of vision from one view to another. In the first frame, where we have been staring too hard, is the rightful outrage and anger that take hold of our community when bad things befall us; this frame undoubtedly still deserves our attention. But first, we must turn towards another frame—in it are our Jewish college students, squarely looking back at us and asking us to keep our attention on them and their identity development. They must be our core starting point; the stakes are simply too high for us to turn the other way. I call on all of us to reject the notion that we must choose between defense of our people and celebration of Jewish possibility. When our students are nurtured and fortified in their identity development, all else becomes possible.
***
The spread of accounts of campus antisemitism relies upon viral thinking or what psychologists Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky call “System 1 thinking.” In their research, Kahneman and Tversky distinguish between two systems of thinking available to the human brain. System 1 is the fast-thinking brain. It is quick, instinctive, and emotional. This system thrives in our digital world, which also moves at a rapid speed. Or, we could also say: the social media universe thrives because of System 1 thinking. The downside is that System 1 brains are so caught up in emotions that they sometimes cannot separate emotional urgency (which may or may not be long-lasting) from what is actually important.
In contrast, System 2 thinking is slow. It is reflective, reliable, and analytical. It pays attention to how it consumes information. This part of our brain helps us to work out the most challenging problems in our lives, understanding that time and additional information will help us to make the smartest decisions. It is the brain that comes into play when we pause, take a deep breath, and try to see the bigger picture of the choices we face.
The thoughts of the social influencers and reporters of our time that go viral do so in the context of a wide and vast industry that prizes headlines marked by drama and pain, an industry well-versed in optimizing online engagement and harnessing our System 1 thinking.
Tobias Rose Stockwell’s book, Outrage Machine: How Tech Amplifies Discontent, Disrupts Democracy—And What We Can Do About It (2023), reflects further upon this attentional marketplace. One key example he discusses focuses on a man who by now has generated many headlines: Donald Trump. You may not recall that Trump made a first run for president in 1999 as a Reform Party candidate. He failed to capture enough attention from the voting public and quickly dropped out of the race. At the time, Rose Stockwell notes, Newsweek reported that there simply wasn’t enough anger to fuel such a candidate. The key difference when Trump ran again in 2016? Social media, serving as the perfect fuel for his fire.
This online landscape uses keywords, phrases, and headlines—capitalizing on an algorithm that already has many key data points about us in its knowledge base—to grasp onto what Jonathan Haidt names the “social intuitionist model”: feeling, judging, and confirming. This model operates regularly when we read a report of an anti-Israel or antisemitic incident on campus. First, we feel (I love the Jewish people, I’m so sad something bad has happened to them at GW!). Then, we judge (How could this happen on a campus I know and love?! Shame on the university!!!). And finally, we use this information to explain and confirm our intuitions (I knew there was antisemitism on campus, and now I can back up my claim!).
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This cycle has grown all too familiar to me over the past years. Hillel directors are vessels for the care, concern, and good intentions of many, who pour their emotions, their anger, and their sadness into us. But after each incident of antisemitism or anti-Zionism, as the news cycle inevitably quiets down and my phone stops ringing off the hook, I find myself asking: what, exactly, did we accomplish?
What is the return on investment for our rage? Do we have more Hillel student leaders? Is synagogue membership up? Are we living through a Jewish renaissance because we have used the social media landscape to “fight” for the Jewish people? Did we prevent more campus antisemitism? I wish, I crave, I pray that the answer to any of these questions would be yes. But it’s not. Instead, over the past few years, I have found myself constantly bracing for the next cycle of outrage while growing increasingly concerned about our students and the negative ways they have been affected, not only by the incidents themselves but by the negative attention each incident garnered. What have we been teaching them about the nature of Jewish life, all in the spirit of keeping them safe?
The optimist in me, the Hillel director in me, the mother in me is thirsty for a more constructive way to use our deep concern about hate on campus for the betterment of the Jewish people. I find myself returning to the questions I suggest my students ask themselves daily, as they try to navigate what it means to be a Jew: What is within my control and what is not? Where can I grow as a Jew? How can I shape a Jewish future rooted in joy and not fear? And most important, how can I contribute to the future of the Jewish people?
What Could Be: Putting Student Identity-Building at the Heart of Our Response
In November 2023, a national Harvard CAPS-Harris poll asked 2,851 voters their feelings on a variety of issues, including the war in Israel and Gaza. Key shifts in demographics were striking: while only 10% of voters aged 55-64 believed Hamas killings could be justified due to Israeli policies, 58% of those aged 18-24 believed the same. Similarly, 92% of those aged 55-64 said they supported Israel over Hamas in the conflict; but only 55% of 18-24-year-olds agreed.
Many Jews in America probably read these and other similar statistics with fear and outrage. How is it possible that so many college-aged students don’t can’t see terror for what it is? No wonder we’re in this mess.
Yet I think it is possible to view these numbers differently, and to see them instead as a reminder of the deep opportunities that exist during this ripe time of identity development. Yes, there are other influences at play; undoubtedly, the social media machine is at work differently for younger generations who were raised with smartphones in their hands, in a way it might not be for older technology users. But remembering that the college years are a prime time for identity development is key in proposing an alternative to the repeated cycle of outrage that we are currently experiencing. This life stage is a holy moment, and we need to treat it as such.
Many think of college as a time to pick a profession, to travel down an academic path that leads to a life of success and professional growth. However, campus professionals across the country know that the essence of a college experience is never academics alone. Mental health professionals understand that the identity development that happens in a person’s late teens and early twenties is fundamental to who they will be as adults. Developmental psychologist Erik Erikson, known for his evaluation of psychosocial development, called this phase of late adolescence the “watershed stage,” describing its central task as asking the question: “‘Who am I?’”
Arthur Chickering, a researcher who devoted his career to the field of student affairs and student development theory, further divided this Eriksonian stage into what he called the “Seven Vectors of Development,” later updating them with fellow researcher Linda Reisser. These vectors are the tasks that influence and impact students as they emerge into adulthood during college. Chickering acknowledged that these vectors, which he described as “major highways for journey towards individuation,” are not linear. They are:
Developing competence (intellectual, physical, manual, and interpersonal)
Managing emotions
Moving through autonomy toward interdependence
Development of mature interpersonal relationships
Establishing identity
Developing purpose
Developing integrity
Enormous social time and mental energy are devoted by college students to figuring out who they are and who they want to be in context to the wider world. This time in their lives must be seen for what it is: a tremendous moment of opportunity and growth, challenging as it may sometimes be.[1]
Though they do not comment directly on the work of Erikson and Chickering, Jennifer S. Hirsch and Shamus Khan’s Sexual Citizens (2020) provides us with an enriched understanding of this watershed stage. The book’s stated focus is understanding power dynamics and sexual assault on college campuses. However, their analysis relies upon an important understanding of student community that applies to the campus Jewish community as well. Prior to college, students come from a family unit—whether functional or dysfunctional—that frames what they seek when arriving at college; it is the place where they originally formed a value system and sense of norms. What kind of behavior is acceptable, and what is not? How should they handle difficult situations? And how do they react when they experience discomfort?
When students arrive on campus, they look to replicate this family model in some form, seeking out a place of belonging. Perhaps they find it in a sorority, with a student organization, or at Hillel. They are yearning for teachers to stand in for their parents. Some of these teachers may be actual educators they meet in the classroom, while some may be informal mentors in other areas of campus. But more likely, students will learn from their peers as they walk alongside one another on the same path towards identity development.
This rich phase of individual growth in the context of belonging and community was still present when I went to college in the progressive hub of the West Village nearly 25 years ago. But I did not have TikTok to contend with, and when I spoke to my parents on a cordless phone in my dorm room, all they knew about my campus life was what I chose to share. Even though I had a front row seat to one of the darkest chapters in American history, as I was displaced from my dorm for two weeks following 9/11, I still somehow had the luxury to process my grief and my sadness at a relatively slow pace. Without the anger machine of social media, my peers and I could use our System 2 thinking to take on the vectors of our social development at a more leisurely, intentional, and privileged pace.
Social media is here to stay. But that doesn’t mean our college students shouldn’t be afforded the same intentional space of development that enables maximal System 2 thinking. As the educators, mentors, parents, and loved ones in their lives, we must turn a more critical eye toward the holy role we can play in their development.
When we read the newest and hardest headlines about toxic campus culture, what would it mean if we paused the outrage cycle and remembered that college students are in a precious moment of personal growth? How might we react to news of campus events differently if we kept this understanding of college life in the front of our minds? How might we use our voices towards a different, more impactful result if we consistently began by recognizing that our students are looking to us to serve as models of how to make change and how to lead? They are seeking our help to develop a moral compass of their own.
I believe that beneath their anger and pain, most, if not all, of the people responding to antisemitic incidents on campus are concerned mainly with ensuring the thriving of the Jewish people for generations to come. We affirm our fundamental right to exist; we work to build a world where our children can freely express their identities as Jewish citizens of the world.
I recognize that on some days, especially since October 7, this feels like an impossible task. A sense of helplessness can keep us from thinking clearly so that all we can bear to do is scream. But I come with a warning about such an unfortunate and perilous response: The screams are exhausting our Jewish communal professionals. And they also risk turning off young Jews; who wants to be part of a people defined by anger and fear?
Can there be a better way? I want to suggest a new way of responding to news of antisemitism on campus, one that focuses not on fixing the problem of antisemitism but on building our college students’ Jewish identities. Rather than rage and attempts to find a short-term fix to an ongoing problem, this would be a response of love with the goal of advancing a powerful Jewish continuity in the long term.
I would like to see the Jewish community respond to reports of antisemitism at GW and other campuses by asking: “What opportunities might this moment offer? How can I support Jewish students in their thirst to grow as Jews?”
What does this mean, practically speaking? Imagine being angered by seeing toxic and hateful images from a college campus appear on your phone. You do not forward them to a friend. Instead, you pick up the phone to call a student you care about on that campus. You ask how they are doing. You make space for the possibility that they may not have heard the news, that it may not be as big of a headline as your Instagram feed leads you to believe.
You might learn that your student is very aware of what is happening on their campus, so you ask some thoughtful questions. How did these images land with you? What’s it like to be Jewish in college right now? Could I send you something to lighten your load? I’d love to take you out to lunch the next time we’re together. The call ends, but you will check in again soon.
Of course, this is not the only opportunity we can seize. The Jewish community is still in need of smart and thoughtful advocacy. In 1957, Helen Harris-Perlman shaped The Planned Change Model, a process that the social work field still relies on. The seven steps she outlined—engagement, assessment, planning, implementation, evaluation, termination, and follow-up—express a dream of deep repair of this world’s social ills. Intellectually, the Jewish people of today understand that our world needs fixing and that we must rely on our System 2 thinking in order to move towards a better future. So, why do we fool ourselves into believing that the outrage cycle is a viable response?
In this vein, when you hear of an antisemitic event on campus, you might try to understand the story behind the headline. You might try to evaluate the sources of information you’ve consumed on the matter. You might ask: Was the university responsive? Was their response thoughtful and conscientious? Do they have a track record of supporting Jewish campus life? You might embrace Harris-Perlman’s engagement and assessment phases and consider planning and implementation. What is the broader need on campus that might help Jewish students continue to thrive? What project needs your support?
Ultimately, you might realize that there is a broader call to action. Perhaps this incident has been addressed to your satisfaction, or perhaps you don’t have a direct tie to the university of concern, but you view it as a wake-up call. How can you contribute to the greater good of Jewish identity-building? Have you considered your own identity recently?
Social workers use systems theory as a call to each of us to see the forest through the trees. According to this theory, any individual system can operate in isolation, but if we truly want to understand it—and positively impact change—we must view it together with any other system with which it interplays. The whole picture is greater than its parts.
When we react with rage to individual incidents—with little regard for context or for System 2 thinking—we do ourselves, our community, and most importantly, our college students a deep disservice. They need from us thoughtfulness, curiosity, and an understanding of how one incident might fit into wider trends. As one of my students, Sophie, commented, when we react only with System 1 thinking: “We’re not currently teaching the next generation how to make meaningful change. We’re just adding to the noise in their lives.”
***
To be a Jew is to believe in miracles, to have grit and fortitude built into our DNA. Yet, this moment we are living in is the first time in history that Jews have had to forge a path forward with social media, algorithms, and the outrage cycle as part of the equation. Just as, in the past, we have found new and creative ways to survive, this moment calls upon us to do the same. Will we meet the call with moral courage, or will we fail the Jewish future? Only we can decide—one less click or, preferably, one more question at a time.
Endnotes
[1] Susan R. Jones and Elisa S. Abes, Identity Development of College Students (Jossey-Bass, 2013).
