By David Smigel, Opinions Editor
As a writing exercise during my first semester at Yeshiva University, I wrote an op-ed — not intended for publication — expressing frustration with the aggressive academic schedule’s incompatibility with attending speakers and other campus events. Even then, I recognized that most of my critiques did not hold up, and acknowledged the logistical difficulties of accommodating hundreds of students, all of whom are enrolled in a rigorous dual curriculum. Ultimately, I’ve come to terms with the fact that the school is doing its best, and that I’m responsible for much of my busy schedule, but I feel that one excerpt still demands attention:
…for assemblies that are intended to cater to the wider community, for which the university aims for full attendance, surely classes can be rescheduled to accommodate the students. The fact that I had to choose between my slated lecture and attending a memorial event for victims of the October 7 massacre was not only frustrating, but it provided an academic setback as I had to self-teach the material I had missed in preparation for a quiz which took place the following week.
This is not a complaint about workload, but about institutional prioritization. We cannot ensure that every student will show up to every extracurricular session the university offers, nor can we overcome every scheduling conflict, but when our communal values are on display, every effort should be made to make attendance genuinely possible.
During my first year at YU, I managed to attend all programs I considered central to communal observance. Specifically, the October 7 vigil, the Yom HaShoah program and the Yom HaZikaron tekes (memorial ceremony), often at my own inconvenience. This feat was only possible thanks to many gracious professors who understood the weight and importance of these events, but it required missing class and often using allotted absences. At the same time, I was also acutely aware of friends who were either not willing to risk their academic standing or whose availability was not as negotiable as mine, often in courses with less forgiving policies. Consequently, they did not have the privilege of attending those events.
Since joining the pre-medical track this year, I now fall into that latter camp. I could get over absences and learning chapters of material on my own, but both Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron proved to be logistically impossible this year. Both days, falling on consecutive Tuesdays, coincided with a weekly lab slot running from 6:45 PM to 10:05 PM (though we often end earlier than that).
The class’ policy allows students to attend a single session with the Friday lab section once during the entire semester, in the event that the scheduled time does not work for them. Though frustrating, this policy is entirely sensible. Labs require the preparation of equipment and space for students to carry out experiments within a limited time, which can be logistically difficult if attendance numbers fluctuate consistently.
It is not the professor’s fault that I was unable to use a makeup either week, as the only option would have been during a conflicting class. I would have gladly made up the lab if possible, but given the conflict, the only alternative would have been missing it entirely. However, missing the labs was also not an option, as the two sessions were necessary for a report worth 12.5% of my final grade that would have been impossible to complete without attending.
One would imagine that I responded to this with frustration or even anger, but instead I felt something arguably worse: nothing at all. Both Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron passed with little reflection or awareness. I was caught in the hustle and bustle of my day, with no moment to pause and reflect on what the day meant.
These days serve as crucial moments in our busy lives that allow us to slow down and reflect on our history. As Jews, we belong to a culture acutely aware of how we’ve gotten where we are, taking the time to remember and process that which matters, to learn from our past and orient ourselves for the future. When those opportunities pass without notice, not out of apathy but out of constraint, something meaningful is lost.
I solemnly believe that the students who truly stand to benefit from attending programming of this kind are the ones willing to make sacrifices to go, who sincerely want to. However, sometimes that is simply not an option. For students at YU, there are only so many hours in a day, and there is a constant struggle to make time for what matters. Many push to show up regardless, but sometimes it is just too much. When it comes to these events so intrinsically aligned with our values, so valuable to coming together as a community, why should the burden be on the students?
Surely, we, the last generation able to hear the stories of the Shoah (Holocaust) from the mouths of its survivors, deserve to be present when that opportunity arises. We are a generation that has seen Israel in an on-and-off state of war for the past two-and-a-half years; many of us were there on October 7 or lived in Israel at some point during its wartime. We should be able to come together on the massacre’s anniversary and the nation’s day of remembrance. In an age of unprecedented and rising antisemitism, anti-Zionism and existential war, these are not distant or abstract moments in history for us; they are lived realities.
Though I’m sure it’s harder to execute than I make it out to be, all I suggest is a simple principle worth considering: that three days per year, classes do not extend into evening hours when those events begin. If truly necessary, those slots could be rescheduled while still signaling where institutional priorities lie.
The precedent is even there. On Yom HaAtzmaut, all classes are canceled so that students can participate in spectacular programming celebrating the independence of the Jewish State and exploring our relationship to it.
I understand the thought and logistical gymnastics that must go into making every single speaker and trip as accessible as possible. However, a few times a year, when it really counts, it is imperative for the administration to go above and beyond. To look at whatever else might have been planned and say, “This is more important.”
It can be argued that the difficulty in breaking routine and schedule makes this an inevitable impossibility. I would argue that such effort and willingness to put the typical schedule on hold show all the more that we care and where our values lie.
I am so deeply grateful to YU for consistently organizing such meaningful, important events. And I know that the immense planning, time and resources that go into making each one as impactful and beautiful as it can be is proof that YU cares as well. Given the attention invested in these moments that are meant to unite us as a community, shouldn’t we all have the opportunity to be there?
Photo Credit: Yeshiva University