On Lag B’Omer, the last Wednesday of the semester, I snuck past a challah baking event to say goodbye to the Stony Brook University Chabad Rabbi, Adam Stein. Rabbi Adam and I danced with his children to the music from a livestream of Meron in his backyard. At a pause, I tapped my kippa and tzitzit and said, “I wanted to rub it in. You were wrong; I did stay religious these four years.”

Rabbi Adam responded with a chuckle, “You cheated. You went home every Shabbos.”

Since graduating, I’ve told this story to friends and rabbis with responses ranging from, “I agree: That’s cheating,” to “I never had any doubts you’d stay Orthodox” to “I thought I’d have to cut you out of my life after a year in secular college.”

As a Five Towns-grown, Modern Orthodox boy, the fear of assimilating, especially in secular college, has been seeded and cultivated within me from almost the beginning of my education. When I decided to attend Stony Brook University for undergrad, almost everyone (not my parents) freaked out.

One high school principal still reminds me that I was the first student from DRS, my yeshiva, to attend SBU for undergrad (I don’t think I was). My Rabbi expressed concern but left it at that. One friend tried to convince some other friends to agree not to give up on me even though I would attend a school with little Orthodox Jewish representation. Rabbi Adam told me it would be virtually impossible to maintain my religious observance.

For this reason, or because I’m all about preparation, I established a religious foundation for myself six months before attending Stony Brook. I emailed two JLIC rabbis. I learned with my rabbi in Israel while talking about challenges and solutions with others. By the time I started my freshman year, I had scheduled learning time with five rabbis in Israel, two friends, my Rabbi, and my dad each week. I made an effort to attend every Hillel and Chabad event on campus and immediately joined the Hillel student board. This, in addition to my own academic schedule.

The number I remember hearing regarding modern and centrist Orthodox Jews going off the derech secular college is one in four. I’m deeply confused about what that means. Is “off the derech” total denial of God? A shift to Conservative or Reform Judaism? Intermarriage? Does “secular college” include Yeshiva University or Touro College?

Based on what friends and rabbis taught, I expected to show up to an 8:00 a.m. college class that opened with a powerpoint entitled, “Philosophical reasons why Judaism is completely wrong and you should be a Marxist.” I expected to be invited to party after party while secular Jewish and non-Jewish classmates goaded me into drinking my weight in vodka and exploring sexuality towards orgiastic nirvana.

In real life, girls who had no problem divulging their sex lives took my being shomer negia (not touching those of the opposite sex) more seriously than I did. Students asked me about the thing on my head and the strings hanging out of my shirt. I had hours long conversation about feminism and Judaism, about circumcision and consent, about religious growth and challenges.

Of course there were difficulties, too. It’s easy to skip shacharit (morning services) when there is no minyan and you have 8:00 a.m. classes. I couldn’t keep up that freshman semester learning schedule and so had to cut it down. But small lapses in observance happen to us all no matter where we are in life. It’s up to us to work up and bounce back.

I think it’s a major misconception that people lose their religion when they get to college. In my experience, many of these people really lost their religion years prior. College is their first opportunity to explore alternative lifestyles without having their communities breathing down their necks. Someone with an unwavering dedication to Shabbat, for example, won’t cut corners once they’re in university. But someone who only kept Shabbat because their family and friends at home did probably won’t keep it through four years of college.

Reasons for leaving the fold of Orthodox Judaism can range from intellectual disagreements to the general trend towards secularization to not feeling comfortable within the system. To deride secular college is to lower the fever rather than heal the infection.

In college, I’ve found, people are generally accepting to those who can defend their practices. This is no reason to get complacent, but I feel no more obliged to fear collegiate pressure to give up my religious beliefs than the girl I meet at Starbucks who tells me she’s a practicing Wiccan. We’ve both clearly thought about and can defend our respective religious practices.

Throughout my four years, I was more likely to get, “Hey, I’m sorry to bother you—and please tell me if I’m being offensive—but what exactly are you celebrating this holiday?” than any philosophical attack.

To expect all young Orthodox Jews to only engage within Orthodox spaces is idealistic at best. Rather than express undue concern and try to pressure students to stay in Israel a second (or first) year or switch to a more “Orthodox-friendly” campus, rabbis, friends, and community leaders can offer support for young Jews’ journeys. I had enough chutzpah to bother people to learn with me but sometimes this seeming lack of support can dishearten young Jews further.

It would be better to instill a foundational understanding of our values and a support system for when we, inevitably, find ourselves somewhere Orthodoxy does not reign. For all the concerns about my leaving the “Orthodox bubble,” I’ve emerged with greater commitment than some who have remained within these four years. And I’ve been exposed to a wider and more nuanced world.

College is a time to explore and find yourself. We shouldn’t be told to erect walls and go four years without evolution of thought.

Educate young Jews to love and understand the foundations of Judaism, support them, and let them be.

Image via Pixabay

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I probably heard about Paideia from Aunt Evi since its very beginning (2000), when I was 10. Later on I involved myself more and more into Jewish youth life -as most East Central European Jews, I was a camper and a madricha in the Jewish youth camp in Szarvas. It just felt it natural that at some point I should apply to Paideia. Now I feel happy that I spent the past few months at Paideia and I did not miss this experience in midst of the rush for academic titles.

I have just graduated from the one-year program of Paideia (“The European Institute for Jewish Studies in Sweden”) and now it is probably time to tell what it is. By definition, it is an institution of higher learning of Judaism, a place whose name is not by coincidence; a Greek word, Paideia(meaning education). Actually, each and every word of the institution’s long name is to be emphasized.

The choice of a Greek word for a name reflects the founders’ intention to make it a European institution, functioning in the spirit of a European community. And it is indeed such an institute, a very particular one, since while it provides an almost insanely intensive study program of Jewish texts, religious streams, philosophy and history, it is not a university. The aim of transmitting so much knowledge is not solely for the sake of knowledge, but for the sake of engagement and commitment too. But why is the “European Institute for Jewish Studies” in Sweden?

The answer lies in history. After a conference established in the very end of the 20^th century concluding that Sweden’s role in the Second World War was not that innocent as Swedish collective memory had regarded it for decades, the Swedish government initiated the foundation of an institution which should promote Jewish life in Europe. Among other things, I learned during the past year that Sweden’s role in the Second World War was more controversial and complicated than I had thought.

The past few months at Paideia enriched my knowledge immensely, not only in the field of Jewish Studies. They gave me so much more life experience than any other seven-eight months, since I spent them with fellows coming from so many different countries and professional background and from slightly different age groups. I have studied in international settings even before Paideia, but mostly with fellow students with the same field of professional interest. At Paideia I had the chance to get to know really well fellows from nineteen countries. And precisely because we work in different fields (historians, librarians, museum educators, teachers and many more), we can really create new projects that will make a difference in European Jewish life. We were taught by many Israeli scholars, and above that we traveled to Israel for three weeks and visited places where Taglit groups are not taken, such as a rocket-proof indoors playground in Sderot. My expectations were fulfilled and some of them were exceeded.

I heard a lot about Paideia from my family and from alumni before I applied and it always appealed to me. For instance, studying Jewish texts with Muslim fellow students, which happens in Paideia, is an unlikely scenario in my home country, Hungary. Another fantastic aspect of Paideia is –as opposed to universities –the encouragement of cooperation for good causes rather than of competition. I feel privileged for my time at Paideia, which made me believe again that academic studies can go hand in hand with social engagement.

Agnes Kelemen is a student of Jewish Studies. Her research focus is 20th century European Jewish history. She has worked in the Hungarian Jewish Museum, in the international Jewish youth camp in Szarvas and she volunteered for the Hungarian Jewish Archives.

(Image: A view of Stockholm. TTStudio/Shutterstock.com)

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It is not to say that some people aren’t racist, nor to say that some people aren’t anti-Zionist; quite frankly not everyone in the world is as nice as I would like (especially during rush hour on the tube when people seem to morph into animals,) and forget all pretence of manners, forcing their way onto the tube as if it is the last life boat leaving the Titanic. Being openly Jewish could mean you receive nasty remarks, being openly a Zionist may force you to face difficult and uncomfortable questions. But, neither of these are to be assumed. They could also lead to genuine interest, stimulating conversations and surprising connections.

Being a Jewish student on a London campus, and indeed on any of the 64 campuses (representing 8,500 students) that UJS represents can, in reality, mean whatever you want it to mean. In the words of our current president, and my wonderful colleague, Ella Rose, we are unified not uniform. In much the same way the Jewish people are not a homogenous entity, the Jewish student population continues to surprise and amaze me in their diversity and ingenuity.

Jewish Societies (J-Socs) have term planners boasting a rich variety of events that frankly could mean their members never have to engage in an event other than Jewish Society. Lunch and Learns, Friday Night dinners, Interfaith events, Booze for Jews, Balls, Textual study name just a few of the regular programming that happens on campus. This does not include the broad Jewish religious spectrum that is represented in most J-Socs that have Egalitarian, Orthodox and Masorti (Conservative) minyanim. Furthermore, no Jewish festival goes unmarked, and there is a constant stream of events based around the Jewish calendar. No festival goes uncelebrated, and I believe the Purim parties are always a particular highlight (I, of course, would have no idea, having spent my three years at University in the library reading, learning and revising.)

Of course if a student wants to get involved in fighting anti-Zionism on campus, UJS has a campaigns team dedicated to ensuring the Jewish voice has a meaningful impact on campus life. Similarly, we have an Israel engagement officer who allows Jewish students to connect to Israel through art, culture and food organising events that see students put on art shows, raise money for Save a Childs Heart, an incredibly worthy Israeli charity, and taste Israeli chocolate whilst learning about Israeli culture. (The latter, unsurprisingly, has proven to be immensely popular.) And if you enjoy blogging (like me) then UJS can offer plenty of opportunities to have your voice heard.

British Jewish Student life is rich and colourful, with a variety of options available. Our campus life is exciting and exhilarating (and occasionally frustrating, especially as dissertation deadlines loom).

If have any more questions or want to get involved please email me, helenab@ujs.org.uk and I would be happy to accommodate.

Helena Baker is from the best city in the world- the Northern town of Manchester. She graduated from University in 2014 from Royal Holloway, where she studied French and History. She previously studied at the University of Durham and has lived in both Paris and Brussels. Tweet at her @helenambaker.

(Image: Union of Jewish Students)

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Those are the compositions of young Jewish couples in my immediate circle of friends and colleagues, and I think it’s quite telling.

You see: If you are looking to date a Jew in Europe, chances are pretty good you’ll end up with someone from a different country. You might even consciously consider the entire continent of Europe your dating pool.

My own first venture into this was the annual Bnei Akiva “Eurovision Song Contest” – A Jewish spin on Europe’s beloved kitsch fest, bringing together teams of 15 and 16 year-olds from all around Europe to spend Shabbat together, and then compete against each other on Sunday morning. That’s where I met my first boyfriend – A cute Italian guy that I didn’t actually talk to at the event, but managed to find on MSN Messenger later on (and who luckily remembered me, and was able to type basic English). For my other Swiss friends, it was a summer camp with Belgians, Italians, and Austrians, or a Jewish student skying camp organized by Swiss, Italian and Hungarian students. And for my friends from Central Europe, Szarvas summer camp, gathering kids and teenagers from Central Europe, the Balkans and beyond, was the place for, ehem, intercultural Jewish identity building.

Language barriers weren’t really an issue. Communication magically fell into place, even though, at best, most people had had two or three years worth of English classes at that point in their life. But little can stop teenage love, as you probably remember very well from your own days at summer camp.

Back in public high school, it was somewhat of a novelty to have a boyfriend from a different country, but this being the early days of the internet made it all gloriously possible. For several months, we chatted away on MSN Messenger (I remember discussing Rihanna’s “Pon de Replay”), and he told me about some new thing called “Skype”, which he pronounced “sky-pee” with an Italian accent (yes, that was adorable). I didn’t manage to install it, though, so we stuck with MSN. But alas, despite our long chats and him visiting me in Switzerland once, the whole story puttered out after a couple of months. But to be clear: The reason for our break-up was not the fact that he lived in Rome, and I lived in Schaffhausen. Distance was definitively not to blame.

And so I merrily continued with long-distance, border-hopping relationships, and I only stopped to reflect more deeply about it when one day, while talking to some friends from university, I realized: I had never had a boyfriend from Switzerland, let alone my hometown. My non-Jewish girlfriends were in shock.

Most Jewish communities in Europe – with some notable exceptions like Paris, London or Berlin – feel like a village. Chances are extremely high that you went to the same Jewish kindergarden, Jewish school or Jewish youth group as any other young Jewish person in your community. Sure, some people were lucky enough to fall for someone from their own community, or perhaps the neighboring community. And sometimes, people moved to town. I will never forget the excitement when one day there was a new kid from Germany in our youth group. But for most of us – if it was important to us – it was just obvious from the start: If you want to date Jewish, you don’t date local: You date European (and Israeli).

Jewish organizations, more or less consciously, help this along by offering a broad range of international conferences, parties and seminars. These activities are international in nature mostly because of the small size of many Jewish communities. They tackle all kinds of topics relevant to young Jews in Europe, but if you put lots of young Jews together, friendships (definitely) and love (sometimes) results. That is a welcome side effect (or explicit aim, depending on the event). I myself, for example, met my Swedish fiancé at Matara, a program for Jewish educators at Limmud UK, and the majority of my best Jewish friends are not from Switzerland. I know for a fact that generations of international Jewish couples met at my organization’s annual Summer University, which has been bringing together 300 to 500 young Jews from all over Europe for a week of fun and learning for over 30 years now.

The EU, Erasmus and EasyJet play their roles as well. Young Europeans are on the move across Europe. We are the so-called “Erasmus Generation”, which refers to the EU-wide study abroad program that has helped millions of young Europeans spend a semester or two in a different European country. This program, since its inception in 1987, has had consequences such as an estimated 1 million children born to “Erasmus couples”. Furthermore, the free movement of workers is a fundamental right guaranteed by the European Union for EU citizens, which means: As an EU citizen, you can look for a job and move anywhere you fancy – or love – within Europe. In addition, the boom in low-cost airlines offering at times insanely cheap airfares within Europe has made it quite possible to see your partner every other weekend, or even more frequently.

So to sum up: Dating long-distance isn’t littered with as many obstacles as it used to be. Us being the plugged-in Erasmus and EasyJet generation makes this all actually possible, and not that crazy – Although, to be crystal clear: Long-distance relationships are hard and connected with strain and heartache. Obviously nobody prefers it over dating locally, but if you hang out at a lot of international Jewish events or you’re looking to date Jews in Europe, it is so often part of the package.

In part two, I will be talking to my friends about their take on international Jewish dating. So stay tuned, and keep an eye on “Voices from Europe”!

 Jane Braden-Golay guest edits “Voices from Europe” for Jewcy this month. When she is not busy wading through cheesy pictures to illustrate this article, she is the president of the European Union of Jewish Students in Brussels, Belgium. Follow her on Twitter @JaneBradenGolay.

 (Image: Nengloveyou/Shutterstock)

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I am excited about “Voices from Europe” because I see it as an opportunity to explore some of the core questions of Jewish peoplehood across communities, across the big pond and across different frames of reference. While I try to bring a variety of experiences and stories together, I’d also be really interested in hearing about what you want to know. Tweet at me and don’t be shy!

So without further ado:

1. Introducing JewSalsa

Meet David, Sterna and their friends, a group of young French Jews who have been mixing up the Jewish scene in France with their combo of Klezmer, Salsa and Oriental music, lots of dancing, flash mobs in downtown Paris and trips to Cuba and Israel all exploring and expressing a new spin on Jewishness!

They have been good friends of mine and my colleagues here at EUJS, teaching countless Jewish students the basics of Salsa and Bachata (or as they call it when done on a Friday night: Shabbachata!) and leading an incredible mash-up Havdala at our annual Summer University (more on that later). They also made a fun Shana Tova video (“Apple is dancing Salsa”) with our participants at Summer U’ 2012 in Budapest. They are definitively worth checking out… And if you find yourself in Paris, drop by one of their events!

2.  Is being hated just part of the deal?

I believe that the diversity of experiences, reactions and opinions about anti-Semitism in Europe and our future as a Jewish community here is connected to the fundamental question of how we understand what it means to be a Jew, and how we want to live as Jews. There are, of course, many different point of views and opinions on this.

One take is by author and broadcaster Michael Goldfarb, who concludes in this article about his personal experience with anti-Semitism in BBC Magazine that “(…) being hated is part of being Jewish.”

What do you think? What is part of being Jewish for you? Let me know @JaneBradenGolay!

3. Meanwhile, in communities across Europe:

Thousands are checking out the Jewish “return rights” in Portugal.

Italian city celebrates the reopening of their 13^th century Scolanova synagogue.

Local Muslims mobilize help to save Belgian synagogue, but also: Jewish students targeted by BDS activists on Belgian campus.

German Muslim leader says Jewish fears are “justified”.

(Image: David JewSalsa, www.jewsalsa.org)

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When I started telling people I was leaving Washington, DC for Brussels, Belgium, I received one of three responses. My cynical Republican friends would ask why would you leave the greatest nation in the world for a bastion of communism? (Admittedly, I started to wonder that myself after I received my first tax bill). Others would simply ask where is it? (A question that speaks wonderfully to the inferiority complex that Brussels has towards its fellow European capitals). But the most common response was how cool – you get to live in Europe!

That was the summer of 2009. Today, the responses are completely different.

When I now tell people I live in Brussels, the why is asked in the context of why would a Canadian Jew choose to live in Europe and the how in relation to the level of danger I face every day. Even the where question is less common as Brussels has become rather familiar to friends and family across the pond: “that’s where the Jewish Museum was attacked, right?” It is a tragic legacy for a truly wonderful city.

I get rather annoyed by this shift as it underscores a serious conceptual problem of how some see Europe today. My life in Europe (and I would argue that Jewish life in general) has become defined by one issue and one issue alone – anti-Semitism.  At least that is the case when back home in Canada or visiting the US.

The reality is so much more complex. I do question my long-term future here, but there are a range of reasons driving that assessment: Europe’s security infrastructure is beyond inadequate and has thus failed to deal with ISIS and the wave of fighters returning from Syria; it has failed to integrate immigrant populations; its economy is in shambles and the prospects are rather bleak; and, the EU is politically unstable and its future uncertain (I’m being kind here). I could go on.

Anti-Semitism is linked to some of these challenges and independent from others. It is part of the overall calculus, but it is not the single defining issue for me.

Why? I could speak at length about the reasons why the situation will eventually improve in Europe, but there is one constant that trumps all those arguments: anti-Semitism will never disappear. It remains nascent or near that at times, yet it is always present.

I was raised in Toronto, Canada, a generally peaceful place where Jewish institutions all take daily security measures and synagogues have a police presence on the high holidays (with regular security the rest of the time). I lived in Washington, DC for three years at a time when John Mearsheimer and Stephen Walt published their conspiratorial book The Israel Lobby and U.S. Foreign Policy (incidentally, I worked for two of the named organizations). I studied in Israel for two years, during the second Intifadah, where I was constantly in danger. Indeed, I wrote my dissertation on the use of anti-Semitic imagery in Egyptian political cartoons during the conflict. I’ve seen hatred everywhere.

Interestingly, the most anti-Semitic encounter I have had with a person in Europe was with an American – a fellow student – who repeatedly argues that Jews control the US government and that we are all rich (my student budget really wishes the latter was true).

Perhaps it is the Jewish historian in me (I’ve spent 6 years studying that field), but anti-Semitism has always been present. It has gone through its ebbs and flows throughout the centuries and it has taken many forms. I have no doubt it will continue to do so. Policies and laws can certainly be adopted to remove the most violent elements of the hatred, even curb its mass appeal. Yet the regrettable, simple truth is that it will always be there.

So when people tell me the Jews should leave Europe, I have trouble accepting it. It is such a simple response, but fleeing from Europe is not going to solve the problem. If the Jews leave, attacks will not stop. They will manifest in other forms and in other places. It is tragically only a matter of time.

Thus, I think the best way forward is to work towards improving the situation (undoubtedly you will hear more about efforts to do so on this site of the next few weeks). It’s scary and troubling, but it is not hopeless and it really is the only option we have.

I may well leave Europe one day, but I doubt that if you ask me why the response will be “because of anti-Semitism.”

Joshua Goodman is a Brussels-based radio host and an LLM candidate in Public International Law at the University of Kent, Brussels. He’s also a big hockey and rugby fan. Follow him on Twitter @lumber_josh.

(Image: The Jewish Museum of Brussels after the terror attack on May 24th 2014. Credit: skyfish / Shutterstock.com)

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