My Magen David necklace has transformed from a simple silver chain into an extension of my identity.

At camp, every song had a different tune, and for every prayer I knew, there were four more I didn’t.

The simple image of a flower growing in Auschwitz reminded me of the strength and power that hope can carry.

This prayer shawl was the antithesis of everything I’d told myself I was supposed to be; it challenged tradition, caught attention, and took up space.

As too many Jewish women find their allegations unheard and unaddressed, I am responsible to amplify those female voices.

I tend to have more questions than answers when it comes to God.

To see everything as holy, to be amazed by the simple, beautiful things in the world, not only brings me happiness; it also inspires me to fight for justice.

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

When I asked my mom how she relates to the climate crisis through Judaism, she said, “I’ve never thought about it. I guess I’m the simple child.”

Rabbinic ordination was not one of Ray Frank’s goals; yet, she paved the way for other women to become rabbis.

When I was in third grade, my teacher asked me to tell my class about the Jewish New Year.

Like everything we wear, our jewelry displays our tastes and preferences. On a deeper level, though, it also projects our values to the world.

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.

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 feel as if I won the lottery by being born Jewish, as so many of my most cherished memories and values are inherently tied to this part of my identity. As proud as I am of my Jewish identity, I’ve always been troubled by one of the fundamental ideas in Judaism: that Jews are “the chosen people.”