I’ve watched campus life shift over my degree

My first day of university was full of trepidation. Growing up in a Jewish community, I had heard many stories about antisemitism on campus — lecturers silencing Jewish voices and students verbally abusing their Jewish peers. 

I was prepared for anything. But nothing happened. Campus life was quiet, and nobody seemed to care about the Middle East. I walked around wearing my kippah and a chamtzah necklace, openly discussing my religion and trips to Israel. I made friends and actively participated in campus life. I felt safe. The stories I’d heard growing up felt like outdated warnings. 

As a second-year student and secretary of AUJS at Macquarie University (AUJS MQ), I began to feel tensions around being a religious Jew on campus. 

At the student hub, I would talk with friends about Jewish holidays. Once, before class, I explained Purim by drawing stick figures with crowns on a whiteboard already filled with sketches. After class, I returned to find my drawings erased. A friend told me someone had wiped them off, saying they made people uncomfortable. My stick figures were stains to them. It was the first time I sensed my identity clashing with campus life. 

That year, I witnessed my first anti-Israel rally in the central courtyard. Protesters chanted about the IDF killing children and called for the eradication of the only Jewish state, shouting “from the river to the sea”. There was no separation between criticism of Israel and hatred toward Jews. 

Leaving campus that day, I took off my kippah and hid my necklace under my shirt — for the first time. 

Now AUJS MQ President, I wasn’t deterred. We hosted Purim parties, built a Sukkah, and celebrated Jewish tradition proudly. Then came October 7. 

Hamas attacked, and AUJS members were reeling — some had lost family. Days later, the Muslim society promoted a Palestine solidarity stance, as if they had been attacked. I reached out for dialogue and to ensure student safety, but I didn’t get past “hello” before being labelled a monster for showing sympathy for Israel. Dialogue was rejected outright. 

It didn’t matter that we expected them to support Palestine. It made sense. Just as our community naturally aligned with Israel. What mattered was that Jews had been killed, and instead of sympathy, we were villainised. For the first time, students asked whether it was safe to come to campus. 

Soon after, I spoke with a socialist activist on Wally’s Walk. The conversation was cordial — until I mentioned AUJS. His face changed, and he walked away. My religion and culture had become barriers to conversation. 

Many of us skipped classes for the rest of the year. Campus no longer felt safe. 

I stepped back from AUJS MQ and started advising the new president. 

Arriving on campus for the new semester, I was immediately hit by swastikas on vending machines and banners covered in antisemitic stickers. A university research partner tweeted that my community was racist, misogynistic, and neo-Nazi in sentiment. During Orientation Week, our Israeli flag was stolen and tossed in the trash. 

To show that Jews exist on campus, we collaborated with other societies. One initiative with the book club promoted Holocaust survivor testimonies for Yom Hashoah. But they pulled out, saying they wouldn’t work with any group that supported Israel — despite the event being about Jewish history, not politics. 

Though the university listened to our complaints, it was a difficult year to be Jewish. Still, our community grew closer. Students came to events, supported each other, and formed deep friendships. But I could no longer wear my kippah without intention. What was once second nature now felt like a statement. 

This is my final year of my undergraduate degree, and I’m unsure how I feel as a Jew on campus. Nobody is physically or verbally attacking us, but I still don’t feel safe. 

When people ask what I did during my break, I hesitate before saying “I went to Israel,” anticipating judgment. When writing assignments, I wonder if linking a topic to my Judaism will cost me a passing grade — it’s happened to others I know. 

After five years, I’ve seen how safety for Jewish students has changed. It’s not getting better. 

I don’t have a solution to make Jewish students feel comfortable overnight. I’m just a student. But I can tell you this: when I could talk about my culture freely, I felt safe. When I wasn’t expected to have a stance on every Middle East issue, I felt at ease. And when I had coffee with friends and bonded with lecturers, I felt happy.