BY ABBY KAPLAN ’21
Tuesday, Oct. 1 was a day like any other for most people. For Mount Holyoke students, it was the day we all had been waiting for. For Jewish members of the Mount Holyoke community, it was a conflict between the rituals our religion holds to the highest importance and the beloved traditions of our school community. Do we honor our ancestors’ past struggles, or our own present day? It becomes a choice between religious or collegiate affiliation, careless fun or dedicated reflection. Mount Holyoke’s decision to hold Mountain Day on Rosh Hashanah ignored the Jewish faith and presented students with an unfair choice between our secular and religious communities.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been presented with this choice. My religion has been seen as an inconvenience more times than I can count. In fifth grade, we had a “Spring” Celebration with food right before spring break, which just so happened to coincide with Easter. It was Passover, a holiday during which Jews don’t eat anything with leavening agents. I sat and watched everyone else in the classroom eat cookies, chips and brownies. What was worse was when people laughed at me that I couldn’t eat “real” food.
“It doesn’t matter whether you were a Jew attending services or climbing the mountain, choosing Mountain Day to be on Rosh Hashanah is part of a much larger problem that extends far beyond Judaism. ”
—Abby Kaplan ’21”
In sixth grade social studies class, we were learning about history and my teacher referred to dates in A.D., “anno domini,” which means “the year of our Lord.” When students asked what the difference was between C.E. and A.D., she said there wasn’t one. C.E. isn’t as overtly religious, but “common era” still implies that the birth of Jesus was distinct enough to begin a new calendar. For me, it’s not 2019 A.D. or C.E., it’s the year 5780.
In high school, my teachers would give me homework to complete on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, but would not give us homework over December Break so we could “enjoy the holidays and New Year.” What about my holidays and my new year? Are they not as important?
In America, our entire way of life is based around Christianity. From our calendar to our government using religious beliefs to create and challenge policies; we see a true lack of representation for anyone who does not fall under one of the many branches of Christianity.
It doesn’t matter whether you were a Jew attending services or climbing the mountain, choosing for Mountain Day to be on Rosh Hashanah is part of a larger problem that extends far beyond Judaism.
Religious minorities are seen as secondary: Our holidays are viewed as less important: Our beliefs are treated as inferior.
Earlier this month, on Yom Kippur, a terrorist attack on a German synagogue left two people dead.
Whenever I went to synagogue during the High Holidays (Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur), there were always security guards out front. We have the freedom of religion, but not the luxury of safety to practice. After what happened in Germany on Yom Kippur, I’m reminded even more of why those guards were there. As I sobbed through the Mourner’s Kaddish — a prayer usually said when someone passes away or on the anniversary of their death — I was reminded of my own college’s role in the long history of anti-Semitism.
Out of the seven sisters, Mount Holyoke had the fewest Jewish students enrolled in the 1930s. Mount Holyoke, along with the other seven sister colleges, used informal Jewish student quotas until the mid-20th century.
Mount Holyoke College planned Mountain Day on one of the holiest Jewish days of the year. While I don’t believe the harm was intentional, the fact that our holiday was an afterthought speaks volumes about how the administration views all religious minorities.
What infuriates me most is the College’s initial statement citing that the Jewish Chaplain had given permission for them to schedule Mountain Day on Rosh Hashanah. Whether this was done consciously or not, the aim was clearly to scapegoat the Chaplain and deny any blame directed at the college. We didn’t get an actual apology until we demanded one and, instead of an apology for their decision, we got a defensive statement.
The apology was a band-aid for a larger wound that runs deeply through our community members. The College administration claims this college is an inclusive place, but actions speak louder than words. We must hold this college and larger systems of oppression accountable for their religious discrimination.
To my fellow Jews, Shana Tova. I hope those who fasted had an easy fast. To a happy and healthy year: L’chaim.