Forming strong opinions is easier said than done, and for me, the exercise of writing helps me get there.

I love butterflies because, to me, butterflies represent freedom and bliss.

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.

I never, ever imagined that I would be sexually harassed. I thought that my environment was safe, and that I was doing everything I could to keep myself safe.

The boys in my class created a self-fulfilling prophecy. Their worry over claiming a title because of their lack of action made it impossible for them to take action in the first place.

I was weird for being strong. “Weird” because physical strength is not often an attribute associated with women.

We’ve questioned the way sex ed is taught and brainstormed new methods health teachers should be using.

With the #MeToo and Time’s Up movements on the rise, I knew I wanted to deal with the issue of sexual violence.

I worked with a few of my peers to found the Actors’ Helping Alliance. Every season we pick a charity to partner with whose mission is connected to central themes in the show we’re performing.

In my year and two months as a gun control activist, this type of conversation has been a common occurrence.

In between the mutters of “slut” thrown out like gut punches, the message was clear. They were making rape jokes.

Women of the World was the club where I could talk about issues I really cared about, such as sexism and the wage gap.

While at the time I couldn’t admit it to myself, I felt deep down that the world wouldn’t end if I gave up this cause.

I was in a room full of young Jewish liberals of diverse backgrounds, taking workshops on topics such as campaign finance reform and the history of abortion in the Talmud. What could be better!?

Every year, my high school hosts a Social Justice Week, and this year, I’m the primary organizer.

Sometimes, we unintentionally challenge the way others think. This prompts dialogue, which is essential for creating change.

Until last year, when the club was first started, we didn’t have a GSA; we also don’t have any LGBTQ+ books, and students aren't aware of staff who are trained in LGBTQ+ inclusivity.

This education system, this one-sided method of teaching, this constant competition, is not working.

The first step the female athletic community can take towards fostering healthier norms is to share stories collectively, to address a pain that is all too common.

In my opinion, the fall of DACA should have warranted the same amount of coverage in school as the increasingly frequent mass shootings happening in this country.

As word spread about what we were trying to do, a number of students told us they were in support of a GSA and would definitely participate if we succeeded in creating it.

Because of my privilege, I had a head start: I knew where I was going, and I had support. I still had to work hard and set goals for myself, but I recognize that privilege is one of the things that has helped me get where I am today.

Recognizing your own privilege for the first time is deeply disquieting. It can feel like you’re doing something wrong, or as if you can’t participate in social justice efforts because you benefit directly from the oppression of others. And those feelings may never fully go away, but that’s okay.

Typically, walking through the doors of my high school gym brings on a feeling of dread, accompanied by the smell of body odor and wet paint. When I walked into the gym this past November, however, the only thing I felt was excitement. On the day of the 2018 Midterm Elections, I had decided to spend my Tuesday afternoon and evening as an election official, helping voters register, cast ballots, and, most importantly, go home with an “I Voted!” sticker proudly affixed to their shirts.