By Emily Goldberg, Editor-in-Chief
I went to an anti-Israel protest.
The flyer called it a “vigil;” it was anything but. While Hassan Nasrallah was being buried in Lebanon, people in NYC gathered to ‘memorialize’ the leader of Hezbollah, who was eliminated by the IDF in September 2024. I am not sure what I had expected to find when I got there, and honestly, I don’t even know where to begin processing what I encountered when I did.
I was met right away with a table set up in commemoration of Nasrallah. The terror leader was responsible for the deaths of thousands of Israelis, Lebanese people and Americans, including U.S. marines, and yet, attendees were told to bring “flags, flowers, and candles” to place around a picture of him in order to pay tribute.
The vigil was held in Washington Square Park, and the anti-Israel protesters set up camp on one side of the arch. After about five minutes, any semblance of peace (if that word can even be used about an event honoring a mass murderer) had disappeared. That’s when the “vigil” became a protest.
They chanted the classic slogans: “There is only one solution, Intifada revolution;” “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free;” “Resistance is justified when people are occupied.” I stood right there, in the middle of it all. I did not feel scared; after all, these people had no idea who I was. Yet, it was at that moment that I wanted them to know exactly who I was.
I was at the protest reporting for JNS. I approached one anti-Israel demonstrator, and asked her if she thought Nasrallah was a person we should be commemorating; without a moment’s hesitation, she answered, “yes.” When I asked her what she thought about the fact that he was responsible for the deaths of thousands of Americans, she responded that any military base the U.S. has in any foreign territory is an occupation of that land, and therefore, native forces have the right to fight back. Upon hearing that Nasrallah was also the orchestrator of attacks that resulted in the killings of thousands of Lebanese people, she insisted that actually the IDF was responsible for their deaths and that “one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.”
Another woman joined her too, and our conversation confirmed my instinct that these people had no intention of hearing the other side out. I could not believe the lies and antisemitism coming out of these protesters’ mouths. Their ignorance angered me. It lit a flame inside my heart that I could not put out. I wanted to scream at them.
“They just have their eyes closed,” I kept thinking to myself. “If I shout loud enough, surely they will open them.”
In that moment, all of the facts I had spent years equipping myself with for moments just like this went out the window. I stood there, my mind blank. Here were people, completely in the wrong, spewing horrid comments against my nation and there was quite literally nothing I could say that would change their minds.
The helplessness was overwhelming. I could not stop thinking: “There must be something I can do.”
Then one man began following me around. He pointed at me, shouting, “She’s a Zionist. Get her out of here.” I tried to walk away from him but he would not leave me alone. Other people started turning their heads, and no matter how hard I tried to evade him, he would not stop following me.
As he screamed at me, I began to realize that there was one thing that those protesters actually got right: I am a Zionist. And I couldn’t be prouder.
On the other side of the Washington Square Arch, we were suddenly in the company of pro-Israel protesters. It was like they had materialized out of thin air. The moment I reached that side of the park, my demeanor changed entirely. I felt comfortable chatting with the people around me and confident as I stood with my nation.
When I came back from the protest, I wanted to write an article stating that every Yeshiva University student should have been there. But after taking a few weeks to reflect on it, I don’t know if I entirely believe that anymore. While we all must do our part to continue to advocate for Israel by going to rallies and fighting antisemitism, I also realized that there is no convincing people who don’t want to be convinced, who don’t want to have honest conversations about actual facts.
There is no showing the light to those who have their eyes closed and refuse to open them.
“He who has a ‘why’ can bear with any ‘how.’” These words, originally spoken by Nietzche, are what Hersh Goldberg-Polin told hostage Or Levy while in the horrors of captivity. They continue to remind me why I left that protest firm in my faith, despite the hopelessness I felt walking away from there that night.
I did stand by myself in Washington Square Park on that February afternoon, surrounded by the shouts of anti-Israel protesters. But I was unafraid because I knew I was not really alone. I was accompanied by the God who has sustained His people through two thousand years of hardship, pain and suffering. He stands firm with us in the darkness, as we make the long and hard trek out toward the light.
I may not understand how such horrible people can exist in this world. I may not understand how those who claim to be American can be so blinded, so unable to see the truth. I may not understand the “how,” and I know that I probably never will. But I do know my “why.”
Photo Caption: The tribute table protesters set up for Nasrallah
Photo Credit: Emily Goldberg