I had been anticipating my daughter’s college graduation for months.

Like many parents, I imagined the day as a culmination of her hard work, perseverance, and growth. It was supposed to be filled with pride, joy, and kvelling.

And it was. Until it wasn’t.

What should have been a moment of unity and celebration was hijacked.

A student speaker, “vetted” by the university, took the podium and used it to spread a politicized, painful, and deeply offensive message.

She accused Israel — my homeland, my heart, and the ancestral home of the Jewish people — of genocide.

No mention of the horrors of October 7th.

No acknowledgment of the brutality we’ve witnessed since.

No word about the hostages still in Gaza.

Instead, she weaponized the moment for shock, applause, and ideological warfare.

There we were — Jewish families, proud of our children, hearts full.

And in an instant, we were blindsided, hurt, and erased.

In the days that followed, I came across an open letter addressed to the leadership of George Washington University. It put into words the very ache I had felt in my bones:

“You allowed the graduation ceremony to be ruined, impacting not only Jewish students but ALL students who dedicated four years to their school... only to be disrespected by this student’s actions.”

That’s exactly it.

This wasn’t about disagreement or free speech.

This was about weaponizing a sacred academic milestone to push a narrative that

denied context,

denied truth,

denied the humanity of Jewish students and their families.

My daughter worked for this moment. We all did. We sacrificed. We prayed.

We held each other through so much:

exams,

global pandemics,

mental health crises,

and the ordinary grit of growing up.

She earned that stage.

And someone else used it as a soapbox to call our people genocidal.

A moment of profound personal meaning was taken from her and from us.

To the university:

Vet your speakers.

Understand that what you allow on your platform has power.

And with that power comes responsibility.

There is no neutrality in standing by while hate is aired publicly.

You may not have written the speech, but you gave it the mic.

To the Jewish students and families who sat there stunned and silent, feeling their pride deflate into fear and confusion:

I see you.

I was one of you.

We deserved better.

Our children deserved better.

And to my daughter:

I am still so proud of you.

That moment on the stage may have been stained, but your achievement is not diminished. Your light is not dimmed.

And your people, Am Yisrael, stand with you, always.

Less than a mile from that graduation stage, barely a few days later, Sarah Milgrim and Yaron Lischinsky were murdered.

The suspect, shouting “Free Palestine,” shot them outside the Jewish Museum. The couple was attending the AJC ACCESS Young Diplomats Reception, hosted by the American Jewish Committee. This was a peace-building event bringing together Jewish professionals and global diplomats, to hear “from members of the Multifaith Alliance and IsraAID on humanitarian diplomacy and how a coalition of organizations – from the region and for the region – are working together in response to humanitarian crises throughout the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region.” That includes Gaza.

Yaron had bought a ring and planned to propose to Sarah in Jerusalem the following week. This simcha, and the many that would’ve followed our natural Jewish lifecycles, were stolen from them permanently.

For them, for ourselves:

We will continue to show up.

We will continue to celebrate.

We will not let anyone steal our simcha.

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