By Emily Goldberg, Editor-in-Chief
The day after Oct. 7, 2023 I arrived at YU in complete despair, wondering how I was going to attend classes that week, let alone for an entire semester. Every single night, I filed into the beit midrash with a few dozen other girls to recite Tehillim and sing zemirot. My words felt useless while my friends and family were going off to battle. But I said them anyway; what else could I do?
Since then, I’ve become petrified of turning on my phone after Shabbat. Sometimes there is silence, but on Aug. 31, 2024 I opened my phone to tragedy. The news that six Israeli hostages had been brutally murdered by Hamas destroyed me. It felt like Oct. 7 all over again.
When the six hostages were murdered, there was an announcement that there would be Tehillim in the beit midrash once again. Considering how important those experiences were for me during the early days of the war, I knew that I had to attend this time too.
However, as I walked into the beit midrash that September afternoon, I immediately saw that this experience was not going to be like the days following Oct. 7. I quietly made my way to the back of the room, trying to hide myself behind others. I sat down and closed my eyes in an attempt to utter the words of Tehillim, but I simply could not focus.
The buzzing cameras flying around that tiny space were just too distracting.
As we were reciting Tehillim, camera men were running all over the beit midrash filming students. They also had cameras and lights set up right in the middle of the room, filming the speakers at the front. I felt like I was on a movie set. I had barely stepped outside of the beit midrash before those pictures were posted on YU’s instagram page, once again showcasing its students who were trying to process these tragedies, for the whole world to see.
I know that the war in Israel has deeply affected the Jewish community in unimaginable ways. Yeshiva University, practically the only college campus without pro-Hamas protestors occupying its front lawns, can and should serve as a source of truth amidst the antisemitic society in which we currently find ourselves. At the same time, YU must ask itself if the way it has gone about showing support for Israel is the way in which they should be doing it.
It is understandable that YU’s intentions to film and post these events as a means of showing their support for Israel come from a good place, as the importance of Israel’s media war is evident now more than ever. However, the image of wanting to show off the school and market it as the next best thing “amidst rising antisemitism” has tainted our university’s actual support for the Jewish nation’s homeland. It has pushed Israel to the side and placed YU infront instead.
When I attend YU’s various memorials in Lamport Auditorium, they often feel more like a virtue-signalling marketing campaign than a genuine commemoration for our homeland. When there are cameras all over the room, oftentimes right in students’ faces, it completely hinders the ability to connect to the programing in any sort of meaningful way. The pre-rehearsed speeches tout the same lines over and over again about YU being a “beacon of light amidst rising antisemitism” since Oct. 7, lines constantly posted on YU’s social media platforms and websites. The frequency with which they are being used is starting to become overwhelming, like a never-ending catch phrase.
Additionally, the ubiquity of the message “Together with Israel” on every single elevator makes the significance behind the message seem less sincere. Constantly displaying images of figures such as Ishay Ribo, Senator John Fetterman, Rabbi Doron Perez and the Goldberg-Polins on the elevators feels wrong to me, like an overuse of such a sensitive topic. Are the elevators that were once used for YU marketing campaigns really the place to now show our support for Israel?
I found it much more meaningful to recite Tehillim with a few dozen girls in the beit midrash in the days following Oct. 7 because everything said in that small room came from the depths of our hearts. Without cameras and slogans, students and faculty can be more sincere and process the war together in a genuine way.
I understand the immense power that the camera holds. As a journalist, I decided to double major in journalism and studio art, with an emphasis in photography and videography. My camera is my weapon; it is a means through which I can not only document history, but share the stories and experiences of my nation with others. As Jews living through this extremely difficult time, photography can serve as a positive way in which we can show the world what supporting Israel, and the right side of history, really looks like.
At the same time, is photographing YU’s memorials and integrating them with the rest of their marketing campaigns really the way our university should be publicly showing support for Israel? Is it worth it to photograph these memorials if doing so hinders the ability of many to process the war in a meaningful way?
When I stepped foot in the beit midrash to recite Tehillim for the six murdered hostages and saw the cameras, I was both frustrated and devastated. I have struggled immensely since Oct. 7 trying to find a way to feel like I am doing something to help my nation during this unimaginably hard time. Those communal Tehillim events were one of the only things that gave me consolation. Without them, I have nothing.
When students are distracted at these commemorations, YU must ask if perhaps the cameras are doing more harm than good. Furthermore, it begs the question: When the cameras are turned off, will our university still fervently fight for Israel?
Photo Caption: YU’s elevators on the Beren campus
Photo Credit: Emily Goldberg / the YU Observer