It may seem strange to credit my 87-year-old grandfather for the development of my Jewish and feminist identities, but he helped me gain the confidence to speak my mind and advocate for myself.

My Doc Martens are so much more than just shoes.

When I think back on mornings spent sitting on a stool in the kitchen before school, pouting as my mother detangled my thick hair, I’m glad she wrestled those knots for me. 

Every time she speaks, it’s as if my grandmother, my bubbe, is delivering an address.

Matriarchal leadership is often portrayed negatively, like in the story of Lilith. My moms have proven to me that we need more of it.

My sister went to seminary in Jerusalem after graduating high school, both geographically and symbolically far from her Charlotte roots.

My Aunt Tiki inspires my disability rights activism; yet sometimes, I fail to speak up.

My grandmother, Rebecca Lubetkin, has genuinely transformed society, giving young people opportunities that have revolutionized education and, as a result, the workplace.

Everything about me screamed American Ashkenazi Jew except the middle name on my passport.

The teacher told us to raise our hands if we were Jewish. I didn’t know what to do.

Inhaling the sweet scents of Nachalat Binyamin in Tel Aviv, I searched for the perfect new mezuzah. 

ENFP. Extraversion, intuition, feeling, perception. Four words that, according to the Myers-Briggs personality test, define me as a person.

I have spent the last year learning that we are all at different places in our Jewish education; we have all had different sets of experiences. And they are all valid.