44 | NOVEMBER 23 • 2023 
J
N

A

s I write this, I’m 
looking at my hand, 
where scattered flecks 
of cobalt blue trace the outline 
of a Magen David. While this 
could be an ad for waterproof 
blue eyeliner — the pigment 
clinging on for dear life four 
days later — I find myself now 
wishing to retrace the lines 
when I get home. 
After all, for centuries, Jews 
have been forced to identify 
themselves. From Nazi yel-
low stars to donkey-shaped 
patches in 600s CE Baghdad, 
clothing bells in 1000 CE Egypt 
to Judenhut (or “Jew’s Hat”) in 
Medieval Europe, these markers 
have served to separate, “oth-
erize” and physically mark as 
inferior — as different. 
Until college, I’
d never phys-

ically projected as Jewish. I 
have blue eyes and a French-
Catholic last name. I think 
I subconsciously wanted to 
distance myself from any of the 
distinguishing features used 
for centuries to demean and 
humiliate Jews. I remember my 
visceral reaction when I went 
to Universal Studios in middle 
school, the disgust I felt when 
seeing the animated Gringotts 
goblins whose grubby hands 
clung onto coins with faces 
straight out of the Protocols of 
the Elders of Zion. These stereo-
types extend from the hook-
nosed Watto (who happens to 
have a thick Yiddish accent) 
in Star Wars’ The Phantom 
Menace to Shakespeare’s Shylock 
and Charles Dickens’ Scrooge. 
In the face of these outward 

projections and stereotypes — 
of this iniquitous caricature 
ingrained in popular culture 
— we must ask ourselves what 
we can do. Thousands of years 
of history have taught us that 
we will never and can never 
make everyone accept us. 
Yet, there’s been thousands of 
years of persecution, and guess 
who’s still here. 
The solution, therefore, is not 
to cower from our Jewishness 
— from what identifies us as 
part of this amazing communi-
ty. The lessons from centuries of 
forced separation have been to 
cultivate a unique identity and 
recognize our traits that make 
us special. 
These traits are determina-
tion, love and community. It’s a 
passion for bettering the world 

and lifelong learning, and then 
imparting that same joy onto 
the next generation. It’s why 
the story of coming to America 
with nothing and making sure 
your children have a better life 
is so common. 
It’s not about wallowing in 
adversity — it’s about taking the 
lessons learned and then focus-
ing on what we can do to make 
our present and our future bet-
ter rather than dwelling on 
the past. This is how we will 
overcome the current challenge, 
and it starts with embracing our 
identity, with leaning in. It starts 
with being proud. 
I first realized this my fresh-
man year of college, when 
antisemitism on campus com-
pelled me to go to Israel with 
Birthright. 
As I wrote then: “While I felt 
tempted to think that as just 
one person, I couldn’t do any-
thing to help, I decided it was 
my responsibility to educate 
myself on the current conflict, 
which would enable me to then 
educate others and address the 
tough questions with newfound 
insight … My goal was to see 
what was happening in Israel 
firsthand so I could come back 
and be an advocate.
” 
Three years on, and I wish I 
could say that the situation on 
campus was better, not worse. 
But, I’ve spent the past three 
years ringing the alarm bell, 
posting on social media when 
flyers are passed around saying 
that Jews are responsible for 
COVID, or the rock (a local 
campus art site) is vandalized 
on Yom Kippur, or protesters 
line the halls of the business 
school to block intro sessions 
for Israeli summer programs 
like Birthright Excel. 
The climate on campuses 
has been building for years 
and years, and that knowledge 
doesn’t make seeing people 

Show Your Jewishness 

Isabel Allard } jewish@edu writer

for college students 
by college students

Isabel Allard 
speaking at a 
Birthright event.

