As my time at UCLA nears its end, I find myself reflecting on the transformation of my Jewish identity over the past four years. I was raised almost entirely in Jewish spaces, shielded from the reality of antisemitism until, at 14, I was disrespectfully called Anne Frank. My only non-Jewish friends were from my dance classes, and it never really clicked for me that I was the different one; in the context of my life, they were the anomalies.
During my Freshman year of college, I attended Shabbat dinners weekly at Hillel. My friend and I had a tradition of rating the soups each week and going into Westwood to get Creamy Boys Ice Cream (yes, before it was on the Hill). I am nostalgic for those days. However, slowly, I feel like I have disconnected from my Jewish identity dramatically. I was always told that college was the time that your Jewish identity would cement itself in a way that was meaningful to you. For me, however, I just felt disconnected. I didn’t feel like I related to the other people at Hillel (maybe due to the certain brand of Bay-Area-Judaism that I was raised with) and slowly stopped going. The Jewish people at UCLA that I felt (and honestly still feel) most connected to were those that I knew before coming here. I felt that I was in my own diaspora from my own community. But in some ways, that only built my Jewish identity more, teaching me what about Judaism I loved and valued most through understanding what it was that I was missing.
The summer between my Sophomore and Junior years, I went on Birthright to Israel. I connected for the first time with the spiritual aspects of Judaism, enamored with the pomegranates growing in Tzfat, which have now become a motif in my slowly growing collection of art. I protested against the Judicial reforms as a supporter of Israel’s democracy and engaged in meaningful conversation about Israel, Palestine, and the role of the Israeli government. And then the war started.
I had never felt so disconnected from my Judaism. I felt like I wanted to shut myself away. Truly, I felt that I was unable to engage in conversation with anyone. My non-Jewish friends refused to hear a word about my concern for my family members in Israel, and I felt that my Jewish community refused to comprehend my hope for peace and life on both sides. Over time these barriers eroded in small ways, but I still felt out of place in general discourse. My roommate who grew up in some of the same communities as I did, provided solace and similar sentiments. I even had disagreements with my family, something I somehow never expected because they were the ones who raised me with the values that I feel shape my perspective. I found engagement with my Jewish identity to be exhausting and mentally took a step back and prioritized other pieces of my life.
In January of 2024, I went to study abroad in Italy where my Jewish identity once again felt salient. I felt drawn to Rome’s Jewish Quarter immediately and connected with other classmates over our upbringing and various traditions. For the first time in a long time I felt I was able to engage in healthy conversation about happenings in the world. Before I went abroad, I had lunch with a girl who was going to be on my program and felt desperate to know someone. During the meal, I was terrified to mention that I was Jewish, at the cost of losing my only potential connection to home while I was halfway across the world. I remember addressing my Judaism, feeling it was some elephant in the room, and discussing my belief in the rights of Palestinian people and the importance of a Jewish state. I remember my relief at the calm of the conversation. She became one of my closest friends during my time in Italy. Not all of my experiences were so palatable. When I attended a cooking class I ended up talking to another girl on the program about our differing experiences with Judaism. She asked me if I was also “brainwashed” into supporting Israel growing up. I remember being proud of my calm through that conversation.
When I returned from studying abroad, the encampments started to build on the UCLA campus. I recall a friend telling me she couldn’t make it to game night because she wanted to stay in the encampment. Although I understood her desire to be part of the movement and act on the suffering in Gaza, I couldn’t help but find myself disappointed at her lack of nuanced understanding and questioning if I had an obligation to share my point of view. Meanwhile, my parents and family members and friends texted me about being careful on campus.
In this hyper-politicized time, I grappled with my identity as someone incredibly liberal and my identity as a Jew. I explained to people that I thought the encampments were important for free speech, but harmful due to the hatred they perpetuated at times. Rhetoric from both sides was so totalizing that I felt unable to have the conversations aimed towards understanding that I felt were needed. I saw two reductionistic sides among my peers and the people suffering in the Middle East, leaving me feeling that my own nuanced view was invisible and irrelevant. Regardless, I felt that my stance on Israel was the lens through which I began to perceive my Jewish identity when to me, that has always been such a small piece. I have family and friends in Israel. I love being surrounded by Hebrew and attempting to piece together the puzzle of what people are saying. But my Judaism has always been about community, about shared values, and about learning.
Following my Junior year, I returned to the Jewish summer camp that I grew up at as a Unit Head after taking a summer off. I wrote programming about Jewish values, I attended teffilot and Shabbat services, I read Torah. I felt my insights and leadership were valued in a Jewish context. And I watched campers build meaningful friendships, connect to Judaism in the same ways I did when I grew up at camp, and vow to return the next summer. I had staff members thank me for my leadership and for making their camp experience meaningful. For the first time in a long time, I reconnected with my Judaism. Through the weeds of all that my college experience presented to me, I finally felt at home in my Judaism again.
As I continue to grapple with what my Judaism will look like as I move forward in my life, I take the lessons that I have learned in college to heart. I remind myself that my Judaism has always been about community. I wrote my CommonApp essay about community and its importance in my life, and that fact hasn’t changed. I remind myself that my Judaism has always been about learning. I aim to question everything and never accept things for the way they are. And I remind myself that my Judaism has always been about values. The values that have been instilled in me since my childhood have made me who I am – someone I am very proud of – and I should not shy away from them.
My relationship with Judaism has been a rollercoaster throughout college, and I am sure it will continue to develop as I enter “real” adulthood. However, for anyone who has struggled with their Jewish identity, I hope you know you are not alone. Remind yourself of what is important to you and embrace those pieces. For me, Judaism will always be home.
Cover image by Terence Lee on Flickr
The views expressed in this post reflect the views of the author(s) and not UCLA or ASUCLA Communications Board.
