How teens of all backgrounds can connect in a deeply polarized, post-Oct. 7 world
A community of young writers shows how we can bridge cultural and political divides
Photo by IStock
This is one in a series of essays written by high school students in response to the events of Oct. 7 and its aftermath. You can find the full collection of essays at this page.
The staff may not have wanted to talk about Gaza, but the students did.
Last year, there were two competing walkouts at my high school during our study period — one for Israel and one for Palestine. A boy on the Israeli side screamed Biblical verses and assured those on the Palestinian side that they would “go to hell.” Meanwhile, members of our Muslim Student Association were suspended for drawing swastikas on the U.S. flag. Instead of conjugating verbs, students in my Spanish class argued over brand boycotts while our substitute teacher obliviously chatted with her friend on her cell phone.
I go to a welcoming school that embraces religious and ethnic diversity. But rather than opening channels for meaningful dialogue about Gaza after Oct. 7th, our coping mechanism was avoidance. Like politics and race, Gaza was quietly added to the list of taboo topics deemed too controversial for the classroom. Whether this was a mandate from the administration to prevent disruption or a collective, unspoken decision made by staff, I don’t know. But the lack of discussion spaces at school prompted me to seek alternatives. Luckily, I didn’t have to look far. It turned out that I wasn’t the only inquisitive teen who wanted to talk about the Israel-Palestine conflict.
By some miracle, I happened to be on Writopia Lab’s mailing list. Writopia is a national nonprofit organization that offers creative writing workshops and camps for kids and teens. Their newsletter was advertising their Connecting Across Cultures program (CAC), which they described as a workshop for Jewish and Muslim teens to “write and share the burdens they are carrying, their fears and questions, and their hope and love for the places and people that are in their hearts.” It was exactly what I needed. I applied with enthusiasm, thinking I would learn about the history of the disputed region and witness debates between Pro-Israel and Pro-Palestine individuals. I was wonderfully wrong.
When I logged onto the first Zoom session of the workshop, there weren’t any slideshow presentations, lectures or debates. There was no tension or uncertainty. There were just people who wanted to connect with each other. People who shared their book recommendations and described their favorite cultural traditions and foods. People who wrote poetry to explore their cultural and religious identities. People who read their writing aloud to a chorus of appreciative snaps and warm praise. I had stumbled upon a community of thoughtful, curious, and compassionate dreamers. I was moved and inspired. Whether Muslim or Jewish, we all wanted the same things: peace, love, and safety for our friends and family. Although we all experienced spirituality differently, we shared the feeling that our religion connected us to something greater than ourselves.
What has changed for me since Oct. 7? Nothing and everything. I enjoyed writing before, but now I’ve discovered that it can be used to bridge cultural and political divides. I knew I had a lot to learn before, but now I know that I have something to learn from everyone. I knew listening to different perspectives was important before, but now I understand why.
More spaces like CAC need to be created for teenagers. Not only do we want to be included in difficult conversations, we need to be. We are inheriting a deeply polarized America and a divided world. Avoidance is never the answer. Shielding students from discomfort means failing to prepare them for the challenges of life.
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