Kohathite: When I Read That Israelis Were Banned, My Heart Sank

When I Read That Israelis Were Banned, My Heart Sank

I’ll never forget the moment I came across the headline: “Britain has banned Israelis from The Royal College of Defense Studies in the upcoming year.”

At first, I thought maybe I misread it. Surely it couldn’t be true. Surely, in 2025, no respected institution would openly declare, “If you’re from the world’s only Jewish country, you’re not welcome here.” But it was true. Not one Israeli allowed—regardless of their merit, their character, or their dreams.

And as I sat with that news, my heart sank. It felt like a door slammed shut—not just for those students, but for all of us who believe in justice, in dignity, and in learning from one another.

Why This Struck Me So Deeply

I think it hurt because it felt familiar. History is full of moments where Jewish people were told, “You don’t belong here.” Universities that turned them away. Professions they were barred from. Nations that refused them entry, even when their lives were at stake.

And now, here we are again. Different century, different excuse, but the same message: You are excluded, not because of what you’ve done, but because of who you are.

Meanwhile, Britain continues to celebrate diversity in other areas—opening doors for some, even elevating them to prominent government positions. And don’t get me wrong—I celebrate diversity, too. But when the Jewish community alone is singled out, when Israelis are cast aside while others are welcomed, something is broken. Something is deeply unjust.

What My Faith Reminded Me

In moments like this, I turn to Scripture—not just to soothe my spirit, but to anchor me in truth.

“Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgment.” (John 7:24)
This verse reminded me that true justice doesn’t come from surface-level decisions or politics. The College’s ban wasn’t about fairness—it was about prejudice, pure and simple.
“The Lord watches over the sojourners; he upholds the widow and the fatherless…” (Psalm 146:9)
As I prayed over this, I was comforted by the reminder that God Himself sees and cares for those who are cast aside. These students are not forgotten, even if the world shuts its doors.
“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves.” (Proverbs 31:8)
This one hit me the hardest. I may not have power to change a government policy, but I do have a voice. And part of following Christ means using that voice when others are silenced.
“Learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression…” (Isaiah 1:17)
This is not a passive call. It’s an active one. It tells me that advocacy is discipleship—that seeking justice is part of walking with God.

The Pain, But Also the Resilience

It is painful to watch doors close on Jewish students once again. But when I think of the Jewish people, I don’t just think of their suffering—I think of their resilience.

They have endured exile, pogroms, and persecution. They have rebuilt communities from ashes. They have taught the world what it means to hope, to create, to thrive, even when rejected.

And that resilience encourages me. Because it means injustice doesn’t have the final word.

What We Can Do

When I feel overwhelmed by the weight of injustice, I remind myself: we may not be able to do everything, but we can do something. Here’s what I’m personally committing to—and I invite you to consider joining me:

Pray. I’m praying for Israeli students, for Britain’s leaders, and for Jewish communities worldwide. Would you join me in that?
Share. I’m telling this story because many simply don’t know. If it stirs something in you, pass it on. Awareness matters.
Encourage. If you know Jewish friends or neighbors, let them know they are seen and supported. That small gesture might mean more than you realize.
Support. If you’d like to walk alongside me in this writing and advocacy work, you can pray, share my words, send encouragement, or even give. However you choose, know that we are stronger when we do this together.

My Closing Prayer

I don’t write these words in anger. I write them in hope—hope that one day justice will not just be a dream, but a reality.

Jesus said: “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.” (Matthew 5:6) And I hold onto that. Because though people may close doors, I believe God is always opening greater ones.

Until then, may we be people who speak, who love, and who refuse to look away. May we carry streams of justice into dry places. And may our Jewish brothers and sisters know: they are not alone.