In Judaism, there is an idea of passing knowledge and traditions down "l'dor v'dor"—from generation to generation. As if called to fulfill my part, I learned that I was accepted to Harvard's Divinity School while visiting the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp in Poland.
I have always been passionate about my Jewish identity and wanted to explore that identity from an academic and pluralistic perspective.
As the only Orthodox Jew in the program, I wanted to be an ambassador for my people. I wanted to share my culture with other community leaders and learn about theirs. I came to Harvard to build bridges.
Never would I have imagined that I'd need to fight for my right to exist on campus. Never would I have thought that I'd have to sue Harvard to be treated as an equal.
As my lawsuit lays out in great detail, the vicious attacks on Jewish students since October 7 have laid bare what was always there—a Jewish exception. A double standard that polices the actions that harm and demean almost every group imaginable, except Jews.
My personal introduction to antisemitism at Harvard began in the first month of my first semester, when Harvard's Palestine Solidarity Committee student group invited Mohammed el-Kurd to speak on campus.
As noted by the Anti-Defamation League, el-Kurd has a history of "unvarnished, vicious antisemitism" and claims Zionists have "internalized the ways of the Nazis." Just the other day, el-Kurd called for the world to be "de-Zionized" and proclaimed "we must normalize massacres." Although he claims to have misspoken, his rhetoric speaks for itself.
When Jewish students, myself included, protested el-Kurd's invitation to Harvard's campus, we were met with shrugs. For a university that has a record of rescinding speaker invitations, Harvard's silence was deafening.
I was also shocked to learn that Harvard permits the Palestine Solidarity Committee and other groups to hold an annual "Israeli Apartheid Week" funded with Harvard money designed to fund student initiatives, as my lawsuit lays out.
During these events, student activists have built what they call "apartheid walls" meant to criticize Israel's efforts to prevent terrorist attacks; plastered Harvard Yard with imagery designed to compare Israel to the Nazis; and have invited more antisemitic speakers to infect Harvard's community. After the April 2022 Apartheid Week, a swastika was found in the undergraduate Currier House.
Since October 7, antisemitism on campus has multiplied exponentially. On my way to class, people direct chants at me to "globalize the intifada"—to kill all Jews in the world—or to "free Palestine from the river to the sea"—to annihilate the only Jewish state and its Jewish inhabitants, including my family.
One might expect that Harvard Divinity School—with its mission emphasizing "Diversity, Inclusion, and Belonging," and with religious tolerance one of its core tenets—would be a safe place for Jews.
Harvard Divinity, however, has, as my lawsuit alleges, proven to be a fount of anti-Jewish sentiment and discrimination.
The school's Religion and Public Life Department faculty have released statements blaming Israel for a variety of alleged crimes and defending students who call for the genocide of Jews. Harvard Divinity hosts no events, speakers, or programs that feature any Zionist or pro-Israel perspectives.
Instead, the school regularly invites speakers with antisemitic views, such as when it hosted a former Palestine Liberation Organization spokeswoman to present the antisemitic film Israelism, which argues American Jews indoctrinate their children with pro-Israel sentiment.
A host of senior Harvard Divinity faculty attended and applauded the event, and none pushed back on the outrageous accusations being spewed against Jews. As the only Orthodox Jew in the room, I felt isolated and threatened.
More of the same harassment happens in classrooms across Harvard, where discussion of Israel is near-universally approached through the antisemitic lens of settler-colonialism, of apartheid. The student body parrots these professors' views: At Harvard Divinity School, I'm surrounded by classmates who proudly identify with Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Houthis.
As but one example I cite in my lawsuit, a student posted an event in a forum for Harvard Divinity School students, for which a keynote speaker had said October 7 was "about time" and, as it was happening, live-tweeted their glee.
When I asked the student how she could promote an event where one of the speakers advocates for the murder of Jews, the student responded: "I'm comfortable promoting this event."
I was horrified at how normalized and accepted antisemitism is among my colleagues.
There is also no safe space for Jews to grieve at Harvard. When I put posters up of Jewish children who have been taken hostage by Hamas on a Harvard Divinity bulletin board—where students are encouraged to post about victims of violence—every single time, without exception, they were ripped down.
I tried working with Harvard on the problem. I repeatedly expressed my concerns to administrators about what I have experienced. But time and time again, as I allege in my lawsuit, evidence of uncontrolled discrimination and harassment fell on deaf ears.
Harvard has made it clear that it is either unable or unwilling to combat antisemitism: Antisemitism is a feature of Harvard, not a bug.
In a profoundly telling move, in January, Harvard selected a professor who has been widely criticized for his anti-Israel views as the head of its latest antisemitism task force.
The new semester has brought no change. After our lawsuit was filed during Harvard's winter break, I returned to campus to see that Jewish hostage posters placed in Harvard Yard had been vandalized with antisemitic slogans.
In but one shocking example, someone scrawled "head still on" on the poster of Kfir Bibas, the baby abducted by Hamas death squads on October 7. Other vandalism claimed that Jews were responsible for the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks.
One Harvard employee challenged me in an email to "debate" him on a secluded bridge while telling me he "hates Zionism with a passion."
In a video later that same day, he made his intentions clear when, while holding a machete, he spoke about his "plan" while featuring an image of my social media post regarding the vandalized Israeli hostage posters.
It is incredible to think Harvard was not aware of their own employee's public, rantings which, long before my lawsuit, included one claiming that "Israel should be wiped off the map."
Standing in Auschwitz when I was accepted at Harvard, I thought about all the positive change I could create for myself and others. I was excited to seize the promise of Harvard and its incredible opportunities.
But for myself and many other Jewish students, this has not been our reality. I have been unable to be the cultural ambassador I had hoped to be.
Maybe, however, my fulfillment of l'dor v'dor at Harvard is less about passing on my traditions to others, and more about finally doing something to protect the generations of Jewish students that come after me.
Shabbos Kestenbaum is a student at Harvard Divinity School.
All views expressed are the author's own.
Do you have a unique experience or personal story to share? Email the My Turn team at myturn@newsweek.com.
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