As a kid growing up in a tight-knit Jewish community, “l’dor v’dor” (from generation to generation) was a phrase I heard on a weekly basis. Now, I see this sentiment in a new light.

Hineni invites you to confront your own presence, and its unique and vital impact it has on any given point in time.

By choosing this tallit, I am honoring the hard work of other women that allowed me to go through this process.

The thought of wearing something that declared my Judaism felt strange.

With my grandmother and my mom in mind, I chose a design for my tallit bag that represents the influence that women have had throughout my life as a proud Jew.

Particular emphasis is put on setting the table for these occasions. So much of my Jewish and familial identity is tied to these meals.

Even though Kiddush has traditionally been done by men and I was just a girl, I took it upon myself to make Kiddush each week. 

This is how we grieve: crying, laughing, brisket and Yahrzeit candles. Again and again and again.

My uncle had the idea that maybe I could weave a tallis of my own. But I didn’t want it to somehow invalidate my bat mitzvah.

As a teen with a Muslim-Palestinian father and a Jewish-American mother, the hamsa has always meant a lot to me.

We can acknowledge the horrors that our ancestors endured without letting that knowledge stop us from living fully and compassionately in the present.

The chance to have power over my own choices is an incredible opportunity that many people don't have, now more than ever.

Throughout my many years of Hebrew school, I was taught that Israel was supposed to be my second home. After I traveled there, I realized this couldn’t be further from the truth for me.

Shabbat at synagogue was the one place where my grief belonged, where I belonged, after my my dad died. 

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.