The day before I moved into Barnard for orientation, I published an article in The Jewish Link titled “Braving the Storm: An Incoming Barnard Student’s Experience Amid Rising Hostility.” I mentioned an Instagram account called Barfnard, which was known for its obscenely violent anti-Zionist posts. The same day, Barfnard’s owners posted screenshots of my article on their Instagram account, and I watched in horror as the hateful comments poured in. I happened to have been in the same orientation group as one girl who saw Barfnard’s post and texted me that I should be embarrassed to show my face on campus, and I was scared she would “out” me as a Zionist in front of all the new people I met.
Because of constant headlines in national media sources regarding campus anti-Israel encampments and protests since October 2023, it likely comes as no surprise that Barnard College—and Columbia University as a whole—has been one of the worst offenders, and certainly no safe haven for Jewish and Zionist students recently.
Fast forward nine months: After having completed my freshman year at Barnard College, I don’t want to discount having experienced my fair share of shocking antisemitic rhetoric and antisemitic hate. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t have one of the most formative, educational and growth-inspiring years of my life—and I wouldn’t change this experience for the world.
‘Barnard or Bust’
For as long as I can remember, I’d dreamt of going to Barnard, and I couldn’t imagine myself in any other school. The “Barnard or Bust” phenomenon was a common one, as my college guidance counselor had mentioned to me. Barnard provides a unique college experience because of its exclusively women’s environment, connection to Columbia University, and demographic of inspiring, outspoken young adults. I was excited to be uplifted, supported, challenged and pushed to succeed by my fellow students. My expectations about the school certainly held true, albeit in a different way than I anticipated.
The outspokenness, bravery and indifference to judgment that I admired about Barnard’s student body quickly became a source of fear for me; these were the very values that drove the throngs of protesters on Columbia’s campus (many of whom are Barnard students). In my first few days on campus, I found myself in the center of the first of multiple doxxings, the first of which is mentioned above, that were amplified by both pro- and anti-Israel individuals online. I was terrified.
But I found my own allies on and off campus. Columbia Professor Shai Davidai shared my article with some kind words of his own, and due to his media following, it got a lot of attention. Having been forced out of anonymity by writing an article in my community newspaper that ended up being shared widely on and off campus, I was forced into the spotlight. I had a choice to either embrace my Zionism and lean in, or retreat into the shadows. It seemed a bit late to hide my identity, and although I probably could have covered it up, I didn’t want to.
Overnight Media Commentator
After a protest on the first day of classes at Barnard, I was asked to appear on Fox News’ morning show “Fox & Friends,” alongside Barnard/JTS dual-degree freshman Shoshana Aufzien, who became one of my closest friends at school. For three days after that, I appeared on Fox once daily to discuss my experiences. It was terrifying, surreal and overwhelming. I had barely finished my first week in a completely unfamiliar environment, and I had found myself on early-morning, late-night and regular daytime segments on Fox News four times in one week. Almost overnight, I became somewhat of a media figure. I could no longer be afraid to be a Zionist, because I was asked to speak up and given a huge platform to do so.
In the first few weeks of school, I started speaking at rallies at Columbia when I was asked to—the presidents of Students Supporting Israel and Columbia Aryeh knew I wasn’t afraid to share my voice, so they asked me to speak at the rallies they had planned. It was certainly scary and overwhelming, but I could feel the impact I was making already. At a gig with my a cappella group in Great Neck, I was approached by a community member and told, “You look so familiar, I think I’ve seen you on the news!” Even dining hall workers at Barnard mentioned watching my interviews and feeling moved by them. Jewish students who kept their activism private thanked me for being their voice.
In the months since, protests have become somewhat normalized on campus. Although they didn’t happen every day or even every week, there was a constant sense of waiting, an air of hostility, a knowledge that another protest would follow. My fellow Jewish students and I began to expect protests, keeping track of when they would occur. We would notice the gatherings of masked and keffiyeh-clad individuals and watch for what happened next, hoping nothing violent would happen but knowing those hopes were unrealistic. Whether it was advertised in an Instagram post or just overheard in mutterings on campus, there was an awareness of when a protest was imminent. Of course, none of us knew which protests would be easy to ignore and which would have us trapped in buildings like Milbank Hall or Butler Library for hours.
Although there were many times I felt uneasy around campus, most of the time it was more of a threat to my mental well-being than my physical safety. In simple terms, being surrounded by hatred is exhausting. However, during my first-ever news interview, I accidentally let slip the following sentence: “I’m on the second floor facing Broadway, so it’s impossible to ignore the protests.” Only one building in Barnard’s quad faces Broadway. I had essentially doxxed myself.
I beat myself up for weeks over the mistake, but as time went on, I became less worried that anything would happen … until two months later, when Barfnard clipped my self-dox on their Instagram story at 2 a.m. with the caption “She thinks we don’t know where she lives now?” I was asleep and had no idea that anything had happened, but my friend Shoshana called me and said, “Eliana, they just doxxed you. You need to lock your door and call public safety. You should probably take your name off your door, too.” Bleary-eyed and groggy, I called the Barnard Public Safety emergency line and explained the situation. They assured me there would be extra eyes on my room, and I uneasily went back to sleep, but that fear didn’t wear off for a few weeks.
Branching In
One of the biggest reasons I wanted to attend Barnard was to expand my horizons. Growing up in the Orthodox community of Teaneck, I was desperate to “escape the bubble” and meet people “I wouldn’t meet at the grocery store.” Now, I realize that dream was somewhat foolish; most friends I’ve made are people I can share my experiences and commiserate with, which has led me to basically only forge friendships with other Jewish students. If I weren’t as public about my identity, I likely would have made friends from other backgrounds as well, but even the sight of my computer with its pro-Israel stickers was enough to dissuade some of my classmates from approaching me. I dreamt of joining a variety of clubs and organizations on campus outside of Hillel, such as Barnard Mujeres, a club dedicated to creating “sororidad,” sisterhood between Hispanic and Latina students at Barnard. However, many of these clubs have shown strong anti-Israel bias since Oct. 7. In fact, many seemingly apolitical groups have indicated their support for the protesters and even joined coalitions in support of the protests and their values. I no longer feel welcome in those spaces, which severely limits my capacity for creating bonds with people who differ from me. I’m disappointed to see that these college aspirations of mine, completely unrelated to education, had to be squashed as well due to ignorance.
On Leaving
In multiple news interviews, I’ve been asked the following question: “Have you considered transferring out of Barnard?” My answer has consistently stayed the same. Yes, I’ve considered it. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to retreat into the shadows or find a place that’s easier. I don’t want to partake in the mass exodus of students from secular campuses. It’s the right choice for some people, but to me it feels like giving up. Like giving in. So I decided to get involved. To further the magnitude of my impact.
I joined pro-Israel and Jewish organizations both on and off campus. I learned that I could make a real, tangible difference in the treatment of Jewish and Zionist students on campus (and in the treatment and consequences to protesters). I became a fellow for Yavneh on Campus through OU-JLIC, which helped me develop leadership skills and confidence in sharing my Jewish pride on campus and bringing it to others. I became an outreach fellow for Columbia Aryeh, a pro-Israel group through Columbia/Barnard Hillel, and forged connections with outside groups both on campus and off to foster education and growth in understanding the conflict in the Middle East and how it affects Jewish students on college campuses around the world. We distributed free books, held a Jewish pride event with themed merchandise and games, and memorialized the first anniversary of Oct. 7 with a somber ceremony. I became a campus fellow for End Jew Hatred, which gave me the skills and support I needed to advocate for Jewish students when they experienced hate and didn’t know how to stand up.
Little Miss Zionist
Before I started college, I had bought a hostage tag at Hostage Square in Tel Aviv, but I rarely wore it. I often wore jeans for the sake of “fitting in.” As time went on, though, I realized how important my Jewish identity is to me, and I felt uncomfortable not looking the part. Now, I wear my hostage tag and Magen David daily and always wear skirts, because I want to portray myself proudly as an Orthodox Jew and a Zionist. My computer is covered in stickers with sayings like “Jews are from Judea,” “Hamas, let our people go,” “Little Miss Zionist,” and more.
While displaying my identity proudly, most days I’m lucky to have the choice to engage and advocate, rather than being forced into it. Some days this year, I just walked from my dorm to class to the dining hall and back to my dorm. Others, though, I found myself leaving music class and walking into the middle of a protest in Milbank Hall (knowing that upon leaving the building, I would not be allowed to reenter, so my presence in the building was crucial for documenting the protest). I would do this between running to an open house for the Cognitive Science department in order to declare my major, and then escaping campus to make it to my a cappella rehearsal in Queens.
Beyond Advocacy
Advocacy certainly isn’t all I did this year. It wasn’t even the majority. I wanted to keep my advocacy separate from my education, and I prioritized my education above my advocacy. Yes, I find activism and advocacy extremely important, but I’m advocating for Jewish students to be able to learn at a high-level institution like Columbia. How hypocritical would I be if I didn’t take advantage of that opportunity?
Despite the difficulties of this year, I found an Orthodox and broader Jewish community that I love and wouldn’t trade for anything. A community that has become stronger in the face of hate. A community that is fun, ‘shticky,’ supportive, inquisitive, brave, and, most of all, proud. I learned a new language—or really, reconnected with one I didn’t know I knew: my father’s mother tongue, Spanish. I learned how to study languages in my linguistics classes. I learned how to study the world. I discovered my love for understanding how people perceive each other and the world around them through the field of cognitive science. I discovered that someday I’d love to research the mind. I rekindled my love for music in a way I didn’t think possible, finding some of my best friends through my a cappella group, Tizmoret. I worked on writing my own music and creating a cappella arrangements of music performed by others. I found my place on the stage, on screen, and on campus. I found my voice.
While I am sometimes overwhelmed and even exhausted by my choice to go to Barnard, I don’t regret it for one second. From my bed in Jerusalem on my gap year, I watched videos of the Columbia encampments, and in that moment, I decided I needed to help turn the tide. While I certainly didn’t know what I signed up for when I committed to Barnard in January 2023, I knew of the chaos when I decided to stay. I’m confident in my choice, and I hope my advocacy will continue to make a positive impact on the experience of Jewish and Zionist students at Columbia. So, while my college experience has been far from typical, it has taught me so many lessons. Of hardship, of leadership, of bravery, of community, of love. Of the importance of standing up for and sharing my beliefs. I have a lot of learning left to do. And for that, I’m eternally grateful.
Eliana Birman is the assistant digital editor for The Jewish Link. She is a rising sophomore at Barnard College and lives in Teaneck.
