On the night of June 11th, thirty of us students and interns alongside the academic program staff gathered to hold the closing ritual of our semester. Each of us, with a pillow or a blanket, found a space of our own across a patch of grass near the Institute’s offices. These spaces of our own became our islands.
We travelled from our personal islands to the islands of others, sharing reflections, expressions of care, honesty and appreciation. Others travelled to our islands to express themselves as we, the hosts, sat in silence and absorbed.
We stayed for hours, held one another, and were held by others for the last time in this constellation. After four months (or nine for some of us) establishing this community, this home, we were both anxious and inspired to see what the coming chapter would bring for each of us and for all of us as a collective.
We felt a long way from the ceasefire that had ushered in the beginning of our semester, nervous to carry our collective and individual journeys beyond the confines of the Institute’s oasis. But questions weighed heavy on our hearts:
- How do we weave our intentions for this land into our lives beyond this place
- How do we keep our community and our relationships intact?
- How do we continue to support one another in our learning, growth and understanding from afar?
On June 13th, after fractioning off to different cities, countries, beaches, and homes we were met with a new reality. A new war had erupted, and we were apart.
As sirens blared, we sought a sense of shelter in one another. With immense fear in the prospect of what this reality could hold, we continued to show up. We were met each morning, afternoon and evening with polls in our shared WhatsApp group. “Are you safe?”, it would read, sent by one member of our group in particular.
We feared deeply what our friends in the West Bank were facing with a total lock down and no access to shelters. We panicked about the state of Gaza that was no longer being reported on. We expressed our sense of shared hopelessness and helplessness all whilst coming together– speaking for hours on the phone, to mourn lost loved ones, celebrate birthdays, and provide a safe space to honestly express our anger, sadness, loss, and fear. We grouped to gather information on everyone, their respective families, and communities across the land.
Our community not only remained intact, but organized to ensure continued connection and support. It is hard to say what this community will look like in a year’s time but we do believe that we will long hold a memory of what a safe space and a shared reality can look like.
Written by: students of the Spring 2025 semester
