Along with many of my Jewish classmates, I flew home for the High Holy Days freshman year, eager to be with my family at what had always been an important time. As a sophomore and a junior though, I stayed at Princeton. Like many of my friends, I have grown accustomed to religious life away from home and have adjusted to being a Jew far from the community of my youth. I share Friday night Shabbat dinner with a hundred or so members of the Jewish community on campus. And long after normal dinner hours, our family-style Shabbat feasts shift into song-it's amazing how Jews from a variety of countries can sing together when almost nothing outside of religion unites us.
The recent terrorism in Israel brought the Jewish community even closer together. I was on my way back to Princeton after a leisurely fall break when I learned that Israeli Prime Minister Itzhak Rabin had been assassinated. The news brought anger and bitterness, ending what had been a peaceful week away with a shocking dose of brutal reality. After arriving on campus, the first place I stopped was the Center for Jewish Life (CJL). There, I knew the anguish I felt would be tempered by the unity and strength of Princeton's Jewish community. In the days immediately following the murder, the bond that has made the CJL a second home for many Jewish students was apparent. A public gathering gave many of us an opportunity to commemorate a great defender of peace and find solace in shared sorrow. And in the wake of the four bombs set off in Israel last month, I've been reminded again of the importance of a unified community and the power of Judaism to persist through difficult times.
Despite the bombings, amidst sadness and mourning, Purim celebrations continued at the CJL. Appropriately less joyous than the usual festivities, the Purim celebrations showed our collective commitment to endure the pain of the moment, to tell the story of the holiday, and to honor our tradition. While some of us cried over the tragic deaths, others narrated the story of the Jews' persecution at the hands of the Persians, celebrating the bravery of our ancestors and their heroic persistence in the face of threats and hatred.
Though tragic events have brought us together recently, just as important is the everyday support the CJL provides. In the fall of sophomore year, I had the good fortune to study Judaism with an Orthodox friend, a Russian math major who dove headlong into the faith when he emigrated to attend Princeton. Thursday nights, when the center's library filled up with pairs of students studying religion together, the two of us would chat for an hour about Jewish texts, enjoying a break from our liberal-arts courses to study works that he insisted had much deeper levels of meaning. On several occasions we debated topics upon which we couldn't see eye to eye, and we both learned a lot about balancing religious beliefs with academic ideas more isolated from Jewish thought. Our talks were a breath of fresh air, a kind of soulful relief from a Princeton environment often more secular than religious, more intellectual than spiritual.
The CJL also provides a haven of Jewish culture on campus. It has become a popular hangout and dining hall for Jews and non-Jews alike in the three years since it opened. Hundreds of students come for lunch each day, excited that Kosher food (minus the pork and plus the challah) can be even better than residential dining hall fare. Soon after the Purim party, I was fortunate enough to share lunch with several freshmen who had never before been to the CJL. They wondered what the holiday trappings were all about and why there were funny triangle-shaped cookies for dessert and why there was no ice cream. I explained the laws of Kashrut, which don't allow the mixing of meat and milk, then recounted some of the Purim story of Esther and Haman. As my table-mates listened with curiosity, I was struck by a feeling of satisfaction at having been able to share a morsel of Jewish tradition. It's one thing to study, but sharing the knowledge of my culture with others is exciting.
Although academics and extracurricular interests compete with religion for undergraduates' time, the contribution of strong religious bonds to campus life is significant. Perhaps the student body as a whole can be considered predominately secular, but Princeton continues to foster religious bonding (biblical texts still hang in Nassau Hall). For students of many faiths, observance means a great deal (witness the popularity of the Princeton Evangelical Fellowship). "We have active religious groups," says Richard Bae '97. "And as long as students continue to feel a need for God, campus religious centers will thrive."
Jeremy Caplan a junior from Boston, is studying at the Woodrow Wilson School.