From Disillusionment to Purpose: My Jewish Story

Two years ago, my relationship with my Jewish identity was fractured. I was a Jew who wanted to belong, yet felt disconnected and unsure of what that belonging meant.

I considered myself left-wing, sometimes even self-critical, even self-hating, when it came to Israel. During my time at UC San Diego and Ben-Gurion University, I absorbed the idea that Israel was to blame for almost everything. To question that narrative was to risk isolation. I wanted to fit in, even as something in me knew I was betraying part of myself. So I stayed quiet, distant from Jewish spaces, wrestling with confusion and family tension.

Then came October 7.

The scenes were unbearable. Not just the killing, but the joy of those who filmed it, the celebration of pain. The sheer inhumanity shook me to my core. But what followed shook me even more: the world’s reaction. Celebrations in the streets. Silence from friends. Euphemisms from those who couldn’t bring themselves to name evil.

That was the moment something in me broke and also began to heal.

As the days unfolded, I began to see clearly what I had once struggled to name. The narratives I had accepted without question—that if Israel left the West Bank there would be peace—didn’t align with reality. Israel had withdrawn entirely from Gaza in 2005, uprooting its own citizens in an act of faith. The response wasn’t peace. It became a terror hub that empowered Hamas and sent thousands of rockets into Israeli cities.

For years, I mistook confusion for compassion. I thought moral ambiguity was empathy. Maybe it was moral superiority dressed up as compassion.

And out of that painful clarity, something new was born: community.

I joined an online group of women, Zionist Girls Read, who use literature to process grief, hope, and identity. In our conversations, I found strength and understanding I didn’t know I needed.

I also helped found the San Diego Jewish Bar Association, a network created to support Jewish and pro-Israel attorneys as antisemitism surged in professional spaces and law schools across the country. What began as a response to isolation became a home for solidarity, professional connection, and pride. Today, I’m honored to serve as its 2026 President.

Last summer, I traveled to Israel on a Birthright volunteer program, helping support agriculture and communities directly affected by the war. What I witnessed there was resilience, people working the land and holding one another through exhaustion and grief.

Through that experience, I came to understand, viscerally, not just intellectually, what Israel means. We are a nation that will fight for our people, that will turn the world over for hostages taken from their homes, from a music festival, from their beds. A nation that will defend them from unjust violence.

This is something Jews could not do before Israel existed. We had no power to protect ourselves, no voice loud enough to be heard. Now we have self-determination. A nation filled with arguments and emotions and anger, yes, but a nation that stands up for its brothers and sisters.

Watching the living hostages return home, seeing the bodies of those murdered finally brought back for burial, witnessing hundreds of thousands gather in Tel Aviv’s Hostage Square demanding their return and peace. This is what reminded me what Israel is for. What we fought for. Our beautiful, unwavering spirit that refuses to abandon anyone. We are still waiting for those who remain. We will not forget or rest until every last one of them is brought home for burial in our homeland.

I am no longer the Jew standing on the sidelines, apologizing for existing.

We are rebuilding not only cities and communities, but the strength to stand tall, to tell our stories, and to never again confuse silence with peace. In San Diego and beyond, we are creating spaces where Jewish professionals, students, and families can find solidarity and pride, where the next generation will not have to choose between belonging and truth.