Ben Israel

Last Thursday, when I heard about the encampment in Smith Union, confusion pulsed through me. I wasn’t sure how I felt, or who I could talk to about the way I was feeling.

Although I did not personally vote in favor of the Bowdoin Solidarity Referendum, because I believe in the College’s policy of institutional neutrality, I hear the referendum’s demands. This world is bubbling over with an excess of war and death, and to me, it is a reasonable demand for Bowdoin to reconsider how its portfolio supports that. I hear that, for those who are in support, push has come to shove in the administration’s lack of response to the referendum. The encampment was that shove, and I respect the free expression of political willpower. I only ask that you hear me, too.

Over the last few days, the presence of the encampment has seeped through the cracks into every moment of my life. Entering a room, close friends have lowered their voices, changed the topic and turned their backs to me. The tension vibrating through the air paralyzes us, and its gravity brings our gaze to the floor. The free and open dialogue that we’ve cultivated over the four years we’ve spent together seems to have come to a painfully screeching halt at the gates of this political realm. But to me, this is not simply political—it is a matter of inescapable identity.

My name is Ben Israel. I carry my name with pride, and I have a deep, longstanding connection with the State of Israel. I believe that Israel is the modern and historic homeland of my people, a profoundly necessary space in which Jews can live, thrive and feel safe in the post-Holocaust world. I spent a gap year living in Israel, studying in Jerusalem and living at an educational institution that promotes reconciliation between Jews and Arabs. Israel is home to family, friends and loved ones; Israel is a core piece of who I am.

This connection does not blind me to the realities of the world that we live in. The war in Israel and Gaza since Hamas’s terrorist attack on October 7th, 2023, is a calamity of our time: hostages remain in Gaza, tens of thousands of innocent Palestinians have been killed by the Israeli response. The current ceasefire is only a first step towards resolution. Each day, I pray for peace and safety for those who inhabit our shared Holy Land. With this in mind, I want to extend two hands, two ears and an open heart to my friends who participated in the encampment: I hear you.

In some cases over the last year and half, however, encampments on college campuses have sprouted the perpetually sown seeds of antisemitic harassment and violence. So, when I hear of a “student Intifada” or the chant “from the river to the sea,” phrases intrinsically linked to violence against Jews, in the timbre of someone I love, it breaks me in two. I feel lost within myself, grasping to understand if the people I care so deeply about can see what’s at stake for me. The confusion and pain I feel is somatic, emanating from my heart and rippling throughout my body.

But I am unwilling to accept that we turn our backs on one another. We must speak openly and honestly. Conversation is the only remedy to the affliction of division. As an institution that purportedly values the diversity of opinion, Bowdoin must facilitate spaces for dialogue between those who disagree and take action based on our common ground. This means hosting wide-ranging lecture series, diversifying faculty hiring, taking into account student voices and fostering environments in which difficult conversations are safe.

Moreover, as individuals, we must take this imperative upon ourselves. In this fragile moment, I implore you to look into your friends’ eyes. Ask the people you love how they’re feeling and listen intently. I know firsthand that these conversations are taxing, it’s not feasible to have one with each person who stands behind you in line at Moulton or sits beside you in class. But as friends, roommates, partners and peers, we have a responsibility to open up a dialogue with those who we care about, especially if we don’t agree. For if you cannot hear them, how will they be able to hear you?

Ben Israel is a member of the Class of 2025.