It's been a year of betrayal for us Jews. So much betrayal.
From politicians to close friends, we've seen a hate that cuts deep, as even rape and the call for genocide are excused. It stings, especially for liberals like me, who stood alongside movements like BLM, gay rights, and others, only to be cast aside by those very people when it mattered most.
However, the greatest loss in this war for humanity isn't the individuals—it’s the erosion of core values and institutions that were once the bedrock of our society. And no betrayal cuts deeper for me than the loss of trust in our education systems. Schools, a place that always felt safe for Jews—or at least for this Jew.
And I consider myself a bit of a school expert. I love school so much, I never left it. At 45, I’m still going strong in the system. I went straight from my own schooling into the elementary classroom. My career morphed as I grew with the kids, eventually landing me here in higher education and administration. Sure, I had a love for learning, but more than that, I appreciated the system. It was predictable. When life felt out of control, you could always count on Ms. Farms teaching social studies at 1:00 on a Tuesday. The school nurse always had a Jolly Rancher for you to “borrow.” Schools felt like a place with answers amidst the chaos of endless questions. Where kindness and righteousness stood hand and hand. Where ideas were born.
But more importantly, they made me feel safe. They had rules, unlike the madness of many of its students' home lives, school was simple and clear. If you studied hard and followed the rules, you succeeded. Even if one of those rules was that your skirt had to be 48 inches long. Rules were rules. Break them, and there were these things called consequences. And guess what? We didn’t break them. And those who did faced real-world consequences—they lost their place in school, a privilege, not a right to be wasted.
Schools had rules and structures in place to ensure equal opportunities. Until they didn't or at least stop enforcing them for some. Suddenly, "context" is applied even to the massacre of hundreds of innocent concertgoers.
Yesterday marked the one-year anniversary of the largest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust—October 7th. And yet, on college campuses, anti-Israel and anti-American student groups launched their "week of rage," starting on this very day. Not to mourn Jewish lives, but to protest, claiming October 7th as the anniversary of a "genocide." And academia is entertaining this and even allowing it. Ignoring basic facts that can’t be debated.
Let us be clear: Israel didn’t step foot in Gaza on October 7th (unless dragged there, kidnapped). Israel took days to respond. If we’re going to mark a “genocide” anniversary, let’s at least be accurate. Israel first step into Gaza was on October 13th. These are facts. But instead, our day of mourning has been kidnapped as well as another day to attack and terrorize Jewish and Israeli students on campus.
It is academia that has been kidnapped, by its own ideology. So entrenched in its narrative of oppressed vs. oppressor that they cannot correct mistruths when they come from groups that casts themselves as oppressed. Feared to be labeled as Islamaphobic, administrators can't correct a factual date. They won't even stand up to the masses. The don't want to upset anyone's feelings. Academia has lost its moral compass and has become an indoctrination center for a single narrative: "oppressor" versus "oppressed.” But when the oppressed are Jews, suddenly, the narrative flips. Genocide is justified here.
And so, I mourn heavily over here on this year anniversary. I mourn not just for the lives lost, but also for the loss of something deeply personal—my favorite place. A place that shaped me, nurtured me, and gave me purpose for 45 years. It’s unrecognizable now. The system that once stood for fairness and knowledge has crumbled under the weight of moral confusion, no longer enforcing their own rules. It has become a place where truth is no longer objective, and the value of human life is measured through selective outrage.
For most of my life, I believed in the promise of education—that it was a sanctuary, a place where we learned not just subjects but empathy, critical thinking, and the ability to engage with different perspectives. But now? That promise feels broken. The schools I loved, the very institutions I dedicated my life to, are no longer safe for people like me—people who believe in the sanctity of facts and the value of Jewish life.
I never thought I would say this, but I feel like a stranger in my own house. And that, perhaps, is the deepest betrayal of all.
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