My first brush with antisemitism happened when I was twenty years old. Some friends and I were taking part in a Secret Santa tradition we’d always do right before winter break, and when it was my turn to open my gift, I was horrified to find out I was holding a copy of Hitler’s autobiography, Mein Kampf.
I stood there for a moment, dead inside, holding a book associated with the slaughter of millions of other Jewish people as a crowd around me erupted in laughter. It was as if I had been transported to an alternate universe where up was down and down was up. Nothing made sense anymore.