To the editor:
My experience as a member of Tufts' Class of 1991 was one of the best of my life, and I reflect on it often, including to my four young children. My good feeling from those years inspired my father to join the Trustees of Tufts University and my parents to sponsor two buildings on campus. Just last spring, an honorary degree was conferred on my father for his service and generosity, and I swelled with pride being back on campus for the occasion.
Although the oldest of my children is only preparing to enter high school, tragically, it already seems clear that our family’s Tufts legacy will not reach another generation.
While preparing for Passover today at our home in Israel, I read that the student senate decided to pass a resolution which is indisputably discriminatory (and it did so, unsurprisingly, a day before the holiday when many Jewish students were away with their families).
Last week, our family watched the news in horror as the Syrian army used chemical weapons to attack men, women and children at a distance of just a few hours' drive from our home. My kids asked what we could do, and we found organizations (including Israelis operating secretly) that were dedicated to helping civilians suffering in that awful war that has killed more than a half-million.
Now, I must look my children in the eye and tell them that dad’s alma mater, of which he is so proud, that the place where their grandparents gave so much of themselves -- that the students there elected to punish and boycott us, not the Syrian government or anyone else.
Let there be no mistake. There is no rational explanation for such a moral asymmetry. It’s animus. It’s hatred. It’s discrimination. And it’s why I would not be comfortable on the campus any more. And I certainly wouldn’t expose my kids to it.
Michael Granoff A ’91
Ra’anana, Israel
