Tag Archives: Peace

Antisemitism Among the Internationally Minded

“How much is a taxi to the airport? I have to pay it myself. My school doesn’t give me a per diem.”
“Oh that’s too bad. Why not?”
“It’s a Jewish school so they’re stingy.”
“Hey!”
“Well that’s how they make all their money.”

And then we made eye contact and she looked away.

My only contribution to this conversation was the interjection, “Hey!”. I’m not sure whether it was enough. I’m never sure.


I’ve spent the last three days at an IB professional development workshop for the DP Psychology course that I teach. People came from all over – Singapore, Indonesia, China, Nepal, India, New Zealand, Hong Kong, and Abu Dhabi were represented among 24 psychology teachers. And that’s just where they teach now; where they’re from is a completely different list.

Context is important here. What I like most about the IB, and what gives me legs to stand on when discussing controversial topics, is its mission:

The International Baccalaureate aims to develop inquiring, knowledgeable and caring young people who help to create a better and more peaceful world through intercultural understanding and respect. . . .
These programmes encourage students across the world to become active, compassionate and lifelong learners who understand that other people, with their differences, can also be right. (emphasis added)

To this end, the IB highlights international-mindedness throughout its programs, though the way this actually looks is heavily discussed and debated. The point, however, is that this is who we’re supposed to be as an IB community. We’re supposed to be internationally minded, emphasize intercultural understanding and respect, and accept difference.

I’ve seen antisemitism all over the world and it no longer surprises me. But I was taken aback to see it in a woman about my age, also a traveler, who teaches a psychology course that includes a sociocultural unit. She’s obviously frustrated at having to pay for what was likely a required workshop, so I’m not questioning that. Frustration is why she made the claim – we blame others when things that we don’t like happen to us. My question is why the claim was antisemitic in the first place.

Since she teaches at a Jewish school, she knows more than nothing about Judaism and she knows Jewish people. She likely has Jewish friends, even if they’re friends just at work. This means that I can’t use ignorance as an explanation, which is usually the excuse that I give people. Ignorance is lack of knowledge or lack of information and that’s clearly not the case.

As a teacher of psychology, she is familiar with Henri Tajfel’s work on social identity theory, which, ironically enough, stems from his experiences of persecution during the Holocaust. In short, we compare ourselves to others and categorize ourselves into groups in order to boost our self-esteem. “We” are the in-group and “they” are the out-group. “They” are this and “we” are not. “We” do this and “they” do not. Etc.

Much of our group categorization is unconscious. We are not necessarily aware when this happens because the brain naturally categorizes things in order to simplify and streamline our thinking. As a teacher of psychology, she knows about cognitive biases, which are mental shortcuts that the brain uses to make sense of the world around us. We’d never be able to make any sort of decision if the brain first had to process every possible option.

Stereotypes are also linked to implicit associations, generalizations that the brain makes based on patterns. Again, we don’t realize this is happening. Harvard University’s Implicit Association Test, which I do with my students, can be enlightening. Sometimes these associations, or biases, have little impact on our interactions with others but sometimes they can be quite significant. As I discuss with my students, having implicit biases is normal. Checking yourself when you come to a snap judgement is what it means to be mindful before acting.


To summarize, it is troubling to me that a psychology teacher in a global program with a mission to value international-mindedness, intercultural understanding and respect, and acceptance of difference made an antisemitic comment. I don’t have an explanation for this teacher. She should know and teach everything I’ve just described. And if she hasn’t been doing that, we just spent three days discussing it. She should understand this in her own life and adjust accordingly. And maybe she will.

So why the antisemitic comment? The nagging voice in my head says that some people are just antisemitic. Some people are just racist, biased, discriminatory, prejudicial, xenophobic even when they know better. Sometimes this comes from fear or uncertainty. Sometimes this comes from prior negative experience. (As one of my friends would say, “Sounds like textbook human.”)

Haven’t an explanation doesn’t rectify or excuse the behavior, but perhaps it can suggest ways that allow us to respond constructively. And perhaps, since this woman didn’t check herself but was ultimately checked, this particular comment can be a learning experience.

It is heartening that no one else in the room engaged with her comment at all. The conversation moved on immediately, which is a perfectly appropriate response once someone speaks out and the other backs down. It seems plausible that most people in the room recognized the bias, prejudice, and stereotype behind this comment and knew it to be wrong. In light of that, maybe we’re doing okay at building a better, more peaceful world.

But in light of that, we cannot pretend the work is over.

Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace. – Amelia Earhart

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An olive tree in Neot Kedumim, Israel – March 2017

On Loving

Love is a verb.

A verb is an action.

An action is doing, is being.

Love is behaving in a way that shows care, that listens, that hears, that sees. Love is affirming others, making them part of our lives, creating spaces where we exist together.

Love is intimate and love is public. Love takes many forms. In its truest form, perhaps, love is peace.


Over cups of coffee, they talk about work. They talk about family. They talk about books. 

She leans forward. “And what about you?” She uses his name for the first time in their conversation. “Are you happy?”

He nods. A shy smile. Mentions a few mutual friends. Mentions someone’s new girlfriend. “I’ve been seeing someone, as well,” he says, his smile broader. 

Her own smile matches his and she’s happy. She asks questions; he gives answers.

“Are you in love?”

He tilts his head side to side, small smile on his lips and quiet joy in his eyes, a look she’s seen a thousand times before. “Yeah.”

His smile grows and she’s happy.


Loving is wishing for others what we want for ourselves, and sometimes more.

Loving is playing a part in the joys of others and doing what we can to create those joys.

And as with everything else, love surprises. We’re sometimes stunned, taken aback. People we’ve never imagined walk into our lives. People we’ve rarely been without fade into the background. Sometimes, people who love us are generous in ways we’ve never known, astonishing in the ways they express love to us and welcome our love in return. People who love show care, compassion, forgiveness. They accept who we were, affirm who we are, and remain part of our journey as we become.


The first emotion is happiness. Others would come later, but happiness remains for the rest of the afternoon.


Sometimes the people we love stand by our side and cling as tightly to our hands as we do to theirs. Sometimes they hold us up and sometimes it is our turn to steady them. Sometimes we close our eyes and jump together; sometimes one encourages the other along. Sometimes we hesitate because we’re not sure. And then, sometimes, we know.

Yet, our paths might diverge. One might ask how far while the other has already jumped. One might run headlong into whatever’s next while the other is unsure of what’s now. We might make mistakes. We might hurt. We might cry. We might realize it is best to go our separate ways, forge unique trails, learn who we are as individuals. We might find ourselves completely different people.

Sometimes we stop speaking. We might realize the most loving action is to walk away or to let another go. Sometimes we get back in touch. We might look on from afar, holding our breath.


They finish their coffee and go for a walk. They talk some more.

“You’ve changed a lot,” she observes.

“Yes,” he agrees, “and so have you.”

She nods. They look at each other and she puts up her hand. They high-five.

When it’s time to go, it’s his turn to put up his hand. They high-five again. They’d hugged hello out of habit but hug goodbye out of fondness. Out of love.


Love is more than a feeling.

Love is a verb.

A verb is an action.

When we act, we do. We are. We become. We can love those around us, and we can love ourselves, through the choices we make, our accomplishments, the lives we lead.

We love through what we do. We fall in love when others respond, when they let us in, when they act towards us as we do towards them. We can love without being in love, but we cannot fall in love without loving.

Love is more than a feeling.

Love is a verb.

A verb is an action.

Love is doing. Love is being. Love is peace.

Travel Guide: Leiden and The Hague

For spring break this year, I exchanged the heat and humidity of Singapore for the drizzle and early spring chill of the Netherlands and Belgium. The reason for the trip was ostensibly to meet my brother studying in London, but the first four days were solo travel days that took me to a new town (or two) every day. I haven’t traveled alone in a while and was struck, as every time, by how peaceful it is to be anonymous in a new place. A much-needed calm settled over me when I arrived at Singapore’s Changi Airport and I held onto it.

The twelve-hour flight from Singapore to Amsterdam was a red-eye, which meant I arrived bright and early the same morning I had left. Though exhausting, time traveling can be quite useful! I immediately boarded a train for quaint, beautiful Leiden, about 35 minutes southwest of Amsterdam.

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After asking directions in Leiden (I’m one of those rare people who doesn’t travel with cellular data, which likely contributes to the calm I experienced) I took a bus to my Airbnb. My host had agreed to let me store my backpack for the day and I forced in my contact lenses only because it was drizzling outside, as it would off and on for the next five days.

My plan for the day was to take the train about 20 minutes south to The Hague because I’d read that many attractions in The Hague are closed Mondays, the next day. (It didn’t occur to me that said attractions would also be closed Easter Sunday, but that’s because I didn’t realize it was Easter Sunday.) This time, I walked through Leiden to get my bearings on the way back to the train station. I loved everything I saw and thoroughly enjoyed wandering through the town for the two days I was based there.

It was raining when I arrived in The Hague, the world’s center for peace and justice. For that reason alone, I was glad to be there. I found a cool little market and bought a new thumb ring (I’m always on a hunt for rings) . . .

. . . before making my way to the Mauritshuis, an art museum of Dutch masters that houses Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring.

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Just like in Leiden, though, I was mostly content to wander the streets and see what there was to see. Many restaurants and shops were closed for Easter so the streets were quiet and fairly empty.

I was excited to visit The Hague because of my interest in peace. After having coffee in a restaurant that sources surplus food from distributors, I walked through streets lined with consulates from every country to the Peace Palace, open despite Easter.

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The free audioguide tour of the visitors’ center provided an excellent overview of the world’s history and interest in peace. It also mentioned recent concerns in international diplomacy (of which there are many) and specific cases that had gone to the International Criminal Court located down the road. I particularly loved the World Peace Flame in its little garden and the focus on global interdependence. Call me hopelessly idealistic, but these are things that make my heart happy.

Dutch food also made my heart happy. Coffee and cheese everywhere were delicious and, in the latter case, far less expensive than anything I can get in Singapore. I snacked on poffertjes while in The Hague before returning to Leiden for dinner. I ate at a pancake restaurant that had been around since 1907 and had my first of many local beers. Again, better and far cheaper than what we get in Singapore.

Before returning to my Airbnb for the evening, I let myself get a little lost as I wandered through Leiden. Without knowing it, Leiden was what I pictured when the words “quaint Dutch town” floated across my mind. Only a few outer streets were open to cars, giving the town the distinct feeling of being built for people rather than merely accommodating them. The alleys I walked through led me to a flight of stairs at the old fort . . .

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. . . which is now a park with beautiful views of the town. . . .

I managed to keep my jet lagged self awake until the very reasonable hour of just before 10pm. The next morning, my Italian host who had lived in Leiden for five years made a lovely breakfast and sat with me to have her coffee. Despite her two cats, our mornings chatting were a real highlight of my week and a prime example of why Airbnb is a cool thing to do. I spent that day in Leiden mostly taking pictures and stopping in cafés to get out of the rain, which, like the previous day, let up in the late afternoon.

I visited Leiden’s windmill . . .

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. . . accidentally found the church of the Puritans who fled England for the Netherlands before departing on the Mayflower to North America . . .

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. . . and visited Rijksmuseum van Oudheden, the National Museum of Antiquities, to learn a bit about Dutch history under the Romans (hint: largely the same as everyone else’s history under the Romans).

I quite enjoyed photographing Leiden’s old signs and the poetry of many languages that had been painted on buildings all over the city. I could happily live in this town, was a thought on my mind every day in every place.

In what sounds like a joke but is completely true, I dropped the lens cap of my camera into a canal before taking yet another picture of boats and tall, skinny houses. There was nothing to do but shrug and walk a lap around town looking for a camera store. Unsurprisingly, I didn’t find one and instead had a glass of wine in a basement wine and cheese shop just in front of where my lens cap had floated away.

Everyone I met throughout the Netherlands was extremely friendly and helpful, which is always good when one is new to a place. Drivers stopped at crosswalks and waved pedestrians on. Workers in shops and restaurants greeted customers with a smile and seemed genuinely happy to be of service. Each city I visited was also very well marked for tourists with signs and city maps pointing the way to various attractions. I loved the Dutch lifestyle of bicycling, recycling, and supporting fair trade products.

After breakfast with my host the next morning, I was back on the bus to the train station. It was quite an adventure getting to my next destination, Brussels, but a lovely, quiet couple days had me in a state of equanimity that made it impossible to feel upset. Leiden, you’re a good little place. Thanks for having me!

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