My Mizrahi traditions are key to my Jewish identity.
My family is Mizrahi, meaning my Jewish ancestors lived in Western Asia and North Africa. I can trace my roots back to Bukhara, Persia, and Yemen.
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My family is Mizrahi, meaning my Jewish ancestors lived in Western Asia and North Africa. I can trace my roots back to Bukhara, Persia, and Yemen.
It can be hard to have a disability and make friends at school. In high school, I was involved with Washington Hebrew Congregation and loved being a leader in my Jewish community. So when I was searching for a way to form a community for myself at George Mason University, I went to see what was happening at Hillel.
Growing up in Jerusalem is a straight path towards learning that life is complicated. When I take the light rail through downtown Jerusalem, I sit next to people from all kinds of backgrounds and all walks of life.
I am a bi-racial Jew: My mom is white and Jewish, and my dad is Black and a non-practicing Christian. My parents always told me how special I am to be part of two extraordinary groups of people, but I long believed I could only be one or the other. Over the years I have learned to become more comfortable coexisting in both identities.
Traveling, fashion design, and Israel have all been a core part of my journey as I’ve explored my own identity and strengths throughout my life.
In reflecting on my journeys recently, I realized that my wanderlust comes from my grandfather. A Yemenite sailor, he came to Israel as part of Operation Magic Carpet and set my family on a new path. He loved to travel the world, but he loved my grandmother, their family, and Israel even more. He shared […]
But I love Israel, and sharing that love has always been so important to me, so when my friend came back to me a few months later and told me that Stanford University was looking for an Israel Fellow at the last minute, I decided to apply. A month and a half later, I was settling into California life.
For me, Judaism is warmth. It is the warmth of a mazel tov on a happy occasion. It is the warmth of far too much food at every social gathering. It is the warmth of traveling away from home to college and having a constant, reliable base in the campus Hillel. And it is the warmth of hearing “welcome home” the moment you step foot in Israel.
Over past two years, I’ve learned what it feels like to leave your home and everything in it at the spur of the moment, not knowing when you will come back – something my immigrant parents went through in their own childhoods.
The idea that two students from very different communities decided to run together and share the highest position in the student body raised many eyebrows on campus. Students were very skeptical it would work out, and I got comments daily questioning my decision