Law enforcement officers clear out a pro-Hamas protest encampment at the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA), amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and Hamas, in Los Angeles, California, US, May 2, 2024. Photo: REUTERS/David Swanson
It has been six months since I graduated from UCLA, and my life looks a lot different now than it did as a Bruin.
The shift from being a student — a title that brought me immense pride and purpose — to navigating the uncertainty of a post-grad life has been both freeing and disorienting. This period of uncertainty, paired with the endless opportunities it presents, looms over me daily as I navigate the “figuring-it-out” chapter of my young twenties.
Yet amid the consistent changes and challenges of this transition, I’ve noticed glimpses of an unfamiliar sense of calm. At first, I couldn’t identify its source — it wasn’t as though life after graduation had suddenly become easier. But on the anniversary of October 7 — a day meant solely for grief, honor, and respect — the feeling made sense.
UCLA administrators continue not to enforce the changes they said they’ve made — such as time, place, and manner policies or a Four-Point Plan for a “safer and stronger” community — to conduct on campus, thereby allowing disruptive anti-Israel protests to continue.
However, reading about the Students for Justice in Palestine protest in the news felt starkly different than experiencing it on campus. For the first time in a year, there was a degree of separation between my heartbreak over what my community continues to endure, and the false narratives and blatant antisemitism perpetuated on college campuses.
The chants of “365 days of genocide” and “Israel is a terrorist state” felt no less painful this year, but I wasn’t forced to face them in person.
This distance did not make the commemoration of October 7 any less excruciating, nor does it make the image of 100 hostages continuing to be tortured underground any less vivid. It does not lessen the frustration of watching a preparatory emergency exit video at my temple during the High Holidays, or the anger that political leaders continue to advocate for ceasefires and two-state solutions while Hamas militants are embedded within UNRWA’s school systems.
But not having to worry about being blocked from the library or hearing “From the River to the Sea” echo across campus minutes before taking a final exam has made every day since graduation feel a little bit lighter. I’ve also noticed something else — or, more accurately, the absence of something. What happened to the flurry of social media posts my peers once shared about the campus protests and the ongoing war?
Unfortunately, their silence isn’t due to newfound understanding or engagement with Jewish perspectives; it’s because they no longer feel the pressure of social capital or the need to perform activism for an audience. Since they are no longer students and therefore the issue no longer directly affects them, they no longer need to utilize social media as a way to gain validation in the echo chamber of university life. While it’s been a relief to no longer see these posts, the fact that such harmful narratives were so casually spread and normalized remains deeply troubling.
Just because I am no longer facing anti-Jewish behavior on campus head-on — or seeing my peers’ constant posts — doesn’t indicate in the slightest that the fight is over. For Jews around the world, “Never Forget” means that we must always remember our people’s darkest moments on their darkest days. Our right to defend ourselves is a matter of life and death, not a symbolic gesture to project morality.
The tradition of Hanukkah shows us that it is indeed possible to remain hopeful and resilient, especially when it seems impossible. As the story goes, there was only enough oil to keep the Temple’s menorah burning for one day, but the flame miraculously stayed alight for eight. It is imperative to keep the memory of that miracle alive not only as an ode to our history, but also as a reminder that miracles can happen when we remain committed to being unapologetically Jewish.
Hanukkah means “dedication.” Judah the Maccabee’s fight against the Greek occupation of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem allowed for its rededication, ensuring that Jewish faith and culture would endure. Though I am no longer a college student, I am committed to rededicating my passion for Jewish advocacy.
Whether through writing, my pursuit of a legal education, or engaging with my community, I will continue to use my voice to challenge antisemitism and ensure that the flame of our history and hope burns brighter than ever.
Emily Samuels is a recent graduate of UCLA.
The post I Graduated UCLA in May; But My Fight for Israel On and Off Campus Has Just Begun first appeared on Algemeiner.com.
