Facing Antisemitism at Catholic School

(Editor’s note: For reasons of safety, the author’s name is being withheld)

We were told to be quiet while we shuffled through the forest, ice cracking under our feet, no jackets, running for safety. We were told that quiet keeps you safe. I was only 10 years old when I first experienced antisemitism. In fifth grade, my Jewish middle school received a bomb threat. That ended up being my last year at that school. After I transferred and progressed to high school, antisemitism followed me – and it got worse. I could not hide from it, and I could not run from it. I realized I could no longer stay quiet.

Being an outsider is not new to me; I am one of a few Jews in my Catholic school. When I transferred into a forensics class one week into the semester, I was a new student in a class full of older kids. I felt even more like an outsider. It was a big change – from a class full of familiar faces to a class where I felt invisible. I sat isolated in the back corner. Around this same time, the October 7th attacks on Israel by Hamas led to a rise in tensions – protests on college campuses, violent incidents, and social media posts that misrepresented Jews. These outside tensions spilled into our classroom. I no longer felt safe. 

In this vulnerable place, I walked into class and found my desk covered in at least 10 swastikas and phrases like “Jews are bad.” The word “Hitler” was carved into the wood. The teacher acted quickly, wiping away the mark. It was like erasing the crime. It occurred to me that I was witnessing evidence tampering in forensics class. This moment pushed me to speak up because everyone else was silent. I went to the administration to report a crime, something I have never done before. I expected their policies to reinforce my safety, only to discover I was not protected.

Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion policies are intended to keep people safe. However, in this case, I was not included. Just a week before, a teacher at our school was involved in a racial incident related to a Halloween costume. The administration addressed it within 24 hours. In contrast, when it came to my incident, it took them 48 hours just to respond – and even then, they did not follow up. I was disappointed by the administration’s failure to act, so I shared my story with some of my teachers and close friends to rally their support. However, they were silenced by the administration.

After two weeks, they still had not publicly condemned antisemitism on campus. I met with the principal and assistant principals to advocate for myself and share solutions. They did not implement a single suggestion. No follow-up. No support. Meanwhile, students were heard immediately in the other case, and action was swift. My parents were slandered for showing concern. It was a painful contradiction: the school claimed to uphold inclusion, yet failed to include me. I was not successful in gaining support from the administration. However, in finding my voice, I found support in both my peers and teachers. I found community. 

The world is a scary place. It is difficult to condemn cruelty, but silence is dangerous. Through this experience, I learned how to use my voice to advocate for myself and build community among my teachers and peers. When all else failed, I found safety in my community. I realized the value of a strong society that is inclusive of all of its citizens, even when its leadership falls short. As I start my senior year and my new role as the captain of a sports team, I have learned how to use my voice to build a strong community that makes everyone feel safe. That is the world I want to live in and the type of leader I have become.