Leaving the bubble

On the morning of October 7th, 2023, I was in a hotel room. I was thrilled to be visiting my son for my first parents’ weekend at the University of California, Berkeley. I really couldn’t have been happier.

As I always do, I turned on CNN. I immediately saw the images and became paralyzed. It was early, but I realized already how unbelievably horrific this was.

I met my son for brunch and asked if he knew what was happening, which he did not. I briefed him, but attempted to keep the mood light, frequenting the bathroom to check my phone. It was, as I thought, a pogrom.

We moved through that day treating it as ordinary as we could. My son did not want to talk about it, and I respected that.

He is an extremely bright, thoughtful person and an observer of life. Unlike me, he does not respond to situations emotionally at first response. He observes, gathers information, and makes thoughtful, insightful decisions. I have always admired this and tried to apply his outlook to my own.

In the months following the attack, I was obsessed. I followed anyone and anything Jewish on social media, and could not look away.

When I talked to my son on the phone, I got little information from him. He did not want to discuss Israel or the war.

I limited myself to brief check-ins: Are you affected by the encampments? No. Do you know people in them? Yes. Have you gone in? Yes.

I said I would respect his boundaries, but I had two questions. Are you still Jewish? Yes! Do you believe in the right for Israel to exist as the homeland to the Jewish People? Yes! I sent my three children to college not only to learn, but to grow up. To mature, to explore, to live outside of the bubble of home.

My son loves school and has found his true self. He is immersed in learning, creating friendships, and stepping outside his comfort zone.

I started to notice the polarization of American Jews as the election year ramped up. This rhetoric spilled into my online groups: “Pull your kid out of (insert college here)! Send your kid to (insert college here)! Don’t give a cent to these antisemitic universities! They don’t want us!”

In other words: leave. Go to schools with only Jewish students to be safe. Wall yourself off from the evil world trying to take us down.

But I am not a runner, and neither are my children. They did not work hard to be told that they were to leave. We are proud, and we are staying; you don’t like it, you deal with it.

I did not raise them to run away from conflict or discomfort. I raised them to make their own decisions. I trust them to do the right thing, to learn, and to formulate their own feelings.

My son is a writer and aspiring filmmaker. He has his views on Israel, Judaism, and the world. I know how he feels. I am very proud of his feelings even if they may differ in ways from mine. He educated himself. Which, in essence, is the core of learning and higher education.

This year, my son declared his double major in cognitive science and literature with a minor in Jewish Studies. He is going to Berlin this summer through both Berkeley’s Jewish Studies and German departments.

I am more confident in my son’s ability to guide his own life than ever before. I know the observer in him will one day share his stories, and that fills me with so much pride. They will be his stories, told his way.

Laura Morris is the mother of three adult children and is a very proud Jewish woman.