It's the evening before my final blog post draft is due, and I'm still not completely sure what to do with my privilege.

My reaction to antisemitic gun violence is not one of fear, but of alertness to a threat far more normalized for me than for my elders.

I shadowed at Lincoln High School in eighth grade, and what I saw in six hours challenged my entire perception of Silicon Valley.

None of us had the power to save Michael, but we did have the power to come together as a community and make each other a little more whole.

Working as a tutor opened my eyes to a privilege I didn’t even know I had.

As one of four white girls in my Girls Who Code Summer Immersion class of twenty, I was confronted by my privilege in a way that I'd never been before.

How many other teenagers around the state of Florida, around the country, shared my bitterness and anger, but didn’t have the tools to be where I was then?

My Judaism guides me to use my words in order to lead a mindful life of gratitude.

My aunt sent a tube to the DNA analyzing company, 23andMe. The results she received identified her as 99% Ashkenazi Jew.

As I learned more about what affirmative action really means for students, my worries turned into a sobering recognition of my privilege.

If tikkun olam is something that we believe in fully, then our work will not be complete until every student is empowered with an equitable education.

I was en route to Gadna, a military simulation run by the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) for camp groups, gap year programs, and high school semesters abroad.

What does it mean to live in a country that purports secularity but considers Christianity to be the default?

I’ve been told that, because I’m not white and because I’m queer, I don’t have to stress about college applications.

That Simchat Torah, I saw the Torah not as something I had easy access to, but something generations of women had to fight to even touch.

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

Talmud became a channel for me to develop and express my Jewish feminism.

The length of your hemline doesn’t matter as long as you choose it for yourself and you accept those who choose differently.

I was visiting Brooklyn, New York with a group of students in my Reform synagogue’s confirmation class. 

My friend wanted to get arrested, one morning in July, on the curb of the sidewalk along a street east of downtown Houston.

Parsley reminds me of my Judaism.

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. 

I always knew my name was about to be called when a teacher announced with an almost mocking grin, “I know I’m gonna butcher this one…”

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