War brings tensions and assault rifles to an Israeli university

In late December, in a classroom at the University of Haifa, Yitzhak Cohen, a fourth-year law student, began the shrugging and arm-twisting choreography familiar to any student trying to remove a backpack.

But instead of a knapsack, Mr. Cohen, a 28-year-old reservist who had recently returned from the fighting in Gaza to attend college orientation, shouldered his Tavor assault rifle and sat at the back of the classroom.

Nearly three months after the outbreak of war delayed university start dates, students returned to campuses in Israel on December 31 for a shortened semester. Amid the usual first-day jitters, students and teachers were also concerned about resuming classes during a war that had thrown the country, both Jews and Arabs, into turmoil.

At the University of Haifa, a unique coeducational institution where more than 40 percent of students are Arab, these concerns are amplified by what is one of the school’s proudest achievements: its diversity.

For the first time since the war broke out, Jewish students, some of whom had fought in Gaza in recent months or lost friends and family in the Hamas-led attack on October 7, stood together with Arab students. And some of those Arab students had had their relatives killed in Gaza, or had been targeted and silenced on social media for their views on the war.

With the fighting in Gaza almost 100 miles away from the university, thoughts of the war are inescapable. About 1,500 military reservists study at the University of Haifa, and as long as they are called up, the student soldiers, including Mr. Cohen, are required to keep their weapons with them at all times. As a result, the newly armed students bring semi-automatic rifles to class.

“We are doing everything we can to connect with our students and allay the fears that people have,” said Ron Robin, president of the university. These included focus groups designed to gauge students’ feelings before the start of the semester; Arab and Jewish professors talk to students and each other about the importance of diversity and inclusivity; and hold many more meetings via Zoom.

Yet the fears persist. More than 50 percent of Jewish and Arab students nationwide are afraid of being in a classroom together, and nearly one in two Arabs have considered not returning to campus at all, according to research. a November study by the aChord Centera non-profit organization focusing on ethnic relations in Israel.

Located on a hill overlooking the port city of Haifa, the university is committed to a mission to encourage students to embrace a shared society, Mr Robin said. On a windy December day, two female students dressed in army uniforms, carrying M16s over their shoulders, plastic bags filled with dormitory supplies, while a freshman wandered the halls looking for his classroom. A few women wearing hijabs gathered around a picnic table.

Nicole Rashed, 21, a Christian Arab citizen of Israel, said one of the main concerns among Arab students returning to campus was whether their freedom of expression would be curtailed. Since the October 7 attack, which Israeli authorities say killed nearly 1,200 people, the University of Haifa has temporarily suspended nine students who administrators said had made pro-Hamas posts on social media. Mr Robin said the students remain under disciplinary supervision and the university is trying to reach a compromise to drop the charges.

In light of the suspensions, some Arab students said they worried that if they made comments condemning the war, it could end their academic careers.

“Arab students think that if I post about a dead baby in Gaza in my story, they will stop my studies,” Ms. Rashed said. She doesn’t believe the university plans to be so draconian, she added, but she is wary of posting about the war on social media.

Ms. Rashed noted that she strongly condemned Hamas’ atrocities on October 7 and understood Israel’s need to defend itself. But she is equally critical of the rising death toll in Gaza, where health officials say more than 22,000 people have died there.

“Speaking about the conflict is very complicated because you have to speak perfectly,” Ms. Rashed said. But, she added, there is no such thing as a perfect sentence, “so I’d rather not say anything.”

What frustrates Ms. Rashed most is the feeling that she always has to do her utmost to prove that she does not support terrorism just because she is an Arab. “It’s stupid,” she said.

Asad Ghanem, a political science professor at the university and a Palestinian citizen of Israel, said he felt that even before the war, the university took few “measures to make Arab students feel at home.” Oct. 7 and its aftermath, he said, have exacerbated these feelings.

He said he worried about being attacked by students who disagreed with his views, which are critical of both Israel and Hamas. In October, he said, several students threatened him with violence.

“I have to be more careful,” said Dr. Ghanem, explaining that he planned to establish strict guidelines for his seminar this semester on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. He is willing to cut short debates short to prevent heated arguments from escalating.

The Israeli students have their own fears. Daniel Sakhnovich, 24, a freshman who plans to major in economics and Asian studies, said he was concerned that some of his classmates supported Hamas and believed the deliberate nature of the Oct. 7 atrocities was justified.

“You don’t know what’s going on in other people’s heads,” he said.

And like many students starting college, he worried that tensions on and off campus would make for an especially difficult first year.

“Everyone always says, ‘Oh, I met my best friends in college,’” Mr. Sakhnovich said. “I’m afraid I won’t have that.”

Mr. Cohen, the reservist completing his law degree, said he was aware that preserving his social and academic life this year would most likely take second place to protecting the actual lives of his colleagues. As the war in Gaza rages on and tensions flare along the Lebanese borders and in the West Bank, he says he feels an added responsibility to protect his classmates if there is an attack on campus.

Still, “It’s not much fun coming to class with this gun,” Mr. Cohen said of the assault rifle on his lap. “It is heavy.”

As he sat in the back of a lecture hall, surrounded by classmates, the war felt very far away.

“I think the best treatment for the shock and post-trauma is a return to normal,” he said.

But then, in the middle of the orientation lecture, he received an urgent call from his commander: “Return to base now.”

Mr. Cohen shouldered his gun and left campus.

His return to normal would have to wait a little longer.