Table of Contents
Click on the text to jump to a specific section.
Foreword……………………………………………..... 4
How to Digest…………………………………………. 5
Yair Assayag………………………………….……. 6 – 7
Matan Berman……………………………….…….. 8 – 9
Elias Elliot…..……………………….……………. 10 – 11
Justin Foster….…..……………………….…..…. 12 – 13
Joan Marcus and Nora Marcus-Hecht…………14 – 22
Sydra Minkoff…………………………….….….. 23 – 24
Chloe Pearl……………………………………….. 25 - 26
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Table of Contents
Click on the text to jump to a specific section.
Noa Ran-Ressler……………………………….…. 27 - 28
Noah Rosenzweig………………………….……. 29 – 32
Asata Rothblatt…………………..……….…….. 33 – 34
Eliel Safran…..………………………..…………. 35 – 36
February Schneck….…..……………..……..…. 37 – 38
Isaac Schneider………………………………..… 39 – 40
Chandler Silva…………………………….….….. 41 – 42
A Note from the Photographer and Creator…....… 43
The PIP and Your Community…………………..….. 34
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Foreword
Launched in 2021, The Portrait Identity Project is a social documentary project that broadens the perception of what it "looks like" to be Jewish. Sharing stories paired with professional portraits, this initiative brings communities together to look, listen, and learn from students as they selfreflect on the intersection of their identities and how their perception of being Jewish has evolved. The Portrait Identity Project brings to light students' experiences of feeling as though they struggled to belong, inviting us to change the narrative by celebrating the many ways to be Jewish.
Participants in the project share their stories by reflecting on a series of interview questions about how Jewish identity intersects with other facets of identity, how one's environment impacts how Judaism is viewed and embraced, and how stereotypes affect how Jewish identity is conveyed or internalized. The interviews create the space for participants to process the full range of their experiences with Judaism, and the project amplifies the voices and experiences of underrepresented Jews.
As one looks, listens, and learns from these narratives, all audiences are encouraged to reflect on how their personal experiences have shaped their identity, reconsider past perceptions, and feel connected as they see themselves in others' stories.
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How to Digest:
As you read each story,
1. Click on the sound icon or on each person’s name.
This will open an audio file in Google Drive in a new tab.
2. Click play on the audio file.
3. Switch back to the E-Book tab on your browser to hear each individual share their story in their own voice.
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Yair Assayag
He/him
"Growing up, Judaism was like the air that I breathed. Until third grade, I attended a Yeshiva school where we all learned Hebrew. I have a languagebased learning disability that made learning Hebrew just insane, and it was always hard to fit in. Ultimately, that's part of the reason I homeschooled for a year.
That year of homeschooling was my first chance to step outside of the Jewish community and form my own. That year was also the summer I started at Eden Village, a Jewish summer camp. Camp fostered a culture of kindness, not just in an abstract way, but a culture of wanting to advocate for the environment and goodness. Eden Village also allowed me to discover that, for me, Judaism is a relationship with nature.
Being in nature is one of the places where I've consistently found God. As a child, I remember my mother saying I would scream constantly, except when I went outside. And I'm just connecting these dots now, but I think you can reach out and find God when you're in nature. So, at least for me, that's always where I find God. And I think that being removed from nature is one of the things that I've always found hard in the conventional Jewish community.
Sometimes, it's also hard to be in the Jewish community. A small portion of the Jewish community will always be against people being who they are if it doesn't fit with tradition or the mold of how our people have survived for so long. And it's sad because it means that so many people will lose much of that truly beautiful learning and tradition. Being in that position hurts. I felt that pain when I had to leave my school, but I believe you can still find and create beauty by taking what you know - whatever that may be - and doing it strongly. That's what matters. That's why I believe the sake of joy is an act of resistance. I feel like we always think that kindness and joy come in peacetime, but they are almost meaningless in peacetime. I mean, it's never meaningless. But when it's easy, it's easy, and when it's hard, even the smallest acts make a significant impact. So I believe good always exists but must be created and fought for."
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Matan Berman
He/him
"I keep using the word Zionist to describe myself. But saying "a left-wing person with love for Israel" is a better way to put it right now. My journey towards this understanding began during my year in Israel between high school and college. It was a transformative time, and my experiences shaped my perspective.
Within my first month in Israel, Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, arrived. I vividly remember attending synagogue for Kol Nidrei, the evening service. Unexpectedly, they asked for money; it was the first time I associated money with this sacred occasion. Feeling disconnected from the experience, my friends and I decided to gather on our rooftop instead. We played five songs that held deep personal meaning for us, and in that moment, I felt a connection that surpassed any formal prayers. Since then, I've made it a tradition to commemorate Yom Kippur in this way every year.
Living in Israel was undeniably a political experience for me. While I developed a profound love for the country, I also had to confront the idealized image of Israel portrayed to me in my early years. Teachers had always emphasized that Israel could do no wrong. However, living there during the second election cycle and being exposed to the reality of the West Bank, particularly Hebron, shattered that illusion.
During a conflict seminar, we visited a Palestinian activist named Omar and a settler's house. The settlers regarded Omar as if he were the devil, yet his message was far from that. Instead, he sought fundamental rights, such as walking without fear in his neighborhood. The soldiers who were present merely observed as citizens harassed him. Hearing his story opened my eyes. I questioned why we weren't hearing moderate voices in Hebron, and the response was disheartening: there were none. Walking through the town, I saw the stark contrast between the barren Palestinian areas and the thriving settlements. It was evident that something had existed there before, but now it lay in ruins. These experiences and encounters with differing narratives left me grappling with my own Zionism. As someone from a Zionist background, I couldn't imagine living in Israel today.
In my studies, I delved into the concept of the Jewish diaspora and its intrinsic connection to Judaism. I explored how the Israeli government constructed a narrative where criticism of Israel equated to anti-Jewish or anti-Zionist. This rigid definition didn't align with the diverse spectrum of ideas that Zionism originally encompassed, such as the importance of diversity within the Jewish experience. I struggle to reconcile my left-wing beliefs and love for Israel with my pro-Palestinian stance. I firmly believe that these aspects are not inherently conflicting. Ultimately, this struggle is about fighting for the Jewish people.
So, reflecting on my Jewish upbringing in Atlanta, Georgia, attending a conservative Jewish Day School, and participating in Jewish camps and bilingual schools, I now realize that my experiences have led me to question and reevaluate my identity. I no longer connect with Conservative Judaism, but I'm open to exploring other sects, perhaps even Reconstructionist Judaism, which aligns more closely with my evolving beliefs."
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Elias Elliot
He/him
"I didn't always live an observant life. Growing up, I was very uninvolved in Judaism. It wasn't until high school that I wanted to become more involved, so I started going to synagogue regularly. Then, when I got to college, I went to a Yeshiva in Israel for a summer program, and over COVID, I did not want to go to school online, so I was looking for other things to do. And one of my friends from Yeshiva invited me to live and study in Crown Heights. So I did that, and for a year, I spent my days learning and improving my religious knowledge and fluency in various aspects, from language to text interpretation. I created a strong connection to Judaism, particularly through the structure provided by Halacha and the calendar. I've come to appreciate the diversity of holidays throughout the year and how the Jewish calendar makes me more aware of the moon's phases. This aspect allows me to determine roughly where we are in the month by looking at the sky, which I appreciate.
After my year in Crown Heights, I returned to Ithaca; however, living an observant life in college and observing Jewish life can sometimes be challenging. Sometimes I'm worried about being judged for not having both parents Jewish, but I know that the stereotypical perfect example of a Jew doesn't exist. So, I proudly wear a kippah whenever I'm on campus. And when asked about it, I explain that it's a common practice among Jews that I intentionally embrace to display my Jewish identity. But my decision to wear a kippah goes beyond just personal identity. I hope that by wearing it, I can influence others' perceptions of Jews positively. Wearing a kippah is also a way to fulfill a requirement in Jewish law to recognize humility. It's my reminder to stay grounded and true to my values.”
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Justin Foster
He/him
"As a child, my parents told me a story about my great-grandparents surviving the Holocaust. The happy ending made it feel like a bedtime story, but as I grew older, I realized its ties to a real-life history and culture. The story went as such. On my father's side, my great-grandfather's name was Mieczyslaw Kolinsky. He was in Poland during the Holocaust and fled to Belgium t'o escape the occupation. He found a woman who agreed to hide him for compensation, but eventually, the stress and fear of hiding a Jew while Nazis were going door to door was too much for her, so she passed him off to her neighbor, Edith Vandenberg. Edith hid my great-grandfather behind a bookshelf in a tiny little nook for the remainder of the Holocaust. About a year and a half into hiding, my great-grandfather and Edith fell in love and married. They had my grandmother a year later. Unfortunately, I never got to meet them. My brother knew my great-grandfather, but he passed away when my brother was two. Edith, my great-grandmother, had already passed away before we were born. It's amazing that they not only survived but were able to find love and start a family in such difficult circumstances. This story's like a fairy tale, but it's important to me to center Judaism and acknowledge its real-life trauma.
While growing up, this story meant a lot to my family and me, but I didn't have much of a religious upbringing, let alone Jewish culture or heritage. Before, when people would ask me about my religious background or where my family is from, I would say my mom is from somewhere, and my dad was born here. For many years, it didn't occur to me that I could also identify as Jewish since I had never met my great-grandparents, and the Jewish part of my heritage felt so removed from me. However, since I started going to Hillel, I've started to see myself differently. I now see myself not just as African American but also as an African American with Jewish ancestry and interests. So reminding myself that I have this lineage is how, in my identity, I embrace my Jewish heritage.
Even though I have this direct connection to Jewish culture, when I walk into a room, people assume I'm not Jewish just by looking at me. And for many years, I didn't feel the need to have another identity beyond being a Black male because I wasn't very religious and because, racially, I always felt like my main identity is I'm Black. But, in recent years, reminding myself how Judaism is central to my family story makes me appreciate that I'm Black, but I'm also Jewish. I realize that downplaying Judaism's role in my life would be a disservice. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Jewish culture, as my ancestors escaped persecution, leading to me being born and having a family. So, although I used to feel that being Black and Jewish were separate parts of my identity, I've realized that they are intersecting facets of my identity that coalesce to make me who I am today.
Embracing more of my Jewish heritage has given me an all-around openness to how many different stories and factors overlap with everyone's identity. On a personal and emotional level, I have come to appreciate the multifaceted nature of my identity. By embracing my Jewish heritage, I have developed a greater appreciation for the complexity of everyone's story, including mine. I have realized that Judaism is not just a single identity but rather an intersection of multiple identities. My current exploration of my identity is just the beginning of a journey that I want to continue throughout and after college. It's really important to think deeply about how I see the world, connect with Judaism, and understand my Jewish heritage, interests, and associations. This point in my life marks the starting point for a longer process of self-discovery."
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Joan Marcus and Nora Marcus-Hecht
She/hers
How has your view on Judaism and its role in your life evolved?
Nora: As a kid in grade school, I didn't like being Jewish. I felt like I couldn't relate to my peers and didn't like feeling different. I also struggled because I didn't believe in the Christian God many classmates believed in.
However, in the last few years, my perspective has shifted. It wasn't until the pandemic, when I was missing a sense of community, that I realized I could get that from Judaism. So it hasn't been until the last couple of years that Judaism became a very important part of my life or significant to my identity.
Joan: I grew up in a largely Jewish suburb of Boston, Brookline, Massachusetts. And I didn't think much about being Jewish because it was so deeply interwoven into my life. My family was not religious. My grandparents on my mother's side were communists and had intentionally given up an organized religious practice. My family did not belong to a temple, it was absolutely cultural. But I mean, being Jewish was just very much like breathing.
When I moved to upstate New York, I realized that being Jewish took more effort than it did in my hometown. So my family and I joined a Humanist congregation and learned more about Judaism. However, things changed after the Squirrel Hill shooting, and I started to feel unsafe as a Jew in this country. It made me contemplate what it means to be Jewish in this world and where I could go to feel safe.
My husband and I even talk about retiring abroad, and we recently heard a saying that a Jew always knows where their passport is. It's true; being Jewish is a significant part of my identity, and it's something that I think about more now than ever before.
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Joan Marcus and Nora Marcus-Hecht
She/hers
Can you describe how you embrace your Jewish identity?
Nora: Last year, I wrote an essay in one of my classes about my experience with Judaism. That essay eventually became my senior project, a memoir about my relationship with Judaism. I planned on putting it away for a while, but then I went on Birthright, and ever since, thinking about how I embrace Judaism has been on my mind constantly. On that trip, we talked a lot about what it means to be Jewish, and it was fascinating to hear everyone's different perspectives. I used to worry that I wasn't really Jewish because I don't keep kosher or observe the Sabbath. However, seeing how many of my peers and new friends felt that you could be Jewish regardless of your religious observance or belief in God made me feel much more confident in my relationship with Judaism. Also, growing up in a non-religious household, I found that humor was a great way to connect with my Jewish identity. Watching comedians like Jessica Kirson and Jenny Slate talk about their Jewish identities has made me more comfortable with my identity and how I celebrate being Jewish, even if it's not in the traditional sense.
Joan: One way that I embrace my identity is through my politics. My grandparents were communists, and my politics are deeply connected to my Jewishness. I think it's kind of hard to separate Jewishness from my type of progressive beliefs and my feelings about equity. Some things will just make me angry. For example, I told students in one of my classes the other day how much I hate the Pledge of Allegiance. I mean, it just makes me furious - especially the 'under God' part, when we're such a diverse country with so many nonbelievers. And so many things in America are unfair! Things like mass incarceration and how we fund our public schools based on property taxes. Much of my perspective comes from being an ethnoreligious minority, having that sense of being an outsider looking in.
My husband and I have mixed feelings about participating in religious celebrations and services. He is an avowed atheist and has never felt comfortable in any congregation where God was mentioned. I don't feel that way. But we still try to find ways to celebrate our Jewish identity. For example, we always celebrate Passover with friends or on our own. We resist joining institutions, but we also long for community. So there's a sort of push-pull with longing for community and feeling like we want to embrace our identity as an outsider.
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Joan Marcus and Nora Marcus-Hecht
She/hers
Have you ever held two identities that felt irreconcilable? And how did you handle it?
Joan: I spend much time grappling with and trying to reconcile my identities. One of the ways I explore this is through my writing, specifically in my memoir, which touches on themes of mental health and anxiety, as well as my Jewish identity. For me, being Jewish is intertwined with the process of working through mental health issues. However, at the same time, I also have conflicting desires when it comes to community. On the one hand, I crave the sense of belonging that comes with being part of a community, especially one that is inclusive, like the one at Kol Haverim. Yet, on the other hand, a part of me resists the idea of joining any institution or group, and this tension between wanting to belong and not being a joiner is an irreconcilable part of my identity.
Nora: I feel like Judaism has always been the irreconcilable identity. Growing up with primarily non-Jewish friends, I was often singled out as "the Jew" and compared to characters like Mort Goldman from Family Guy. It felt like they put me into this little niche box that made me different from others. But, at the same time, I always felt like I wasn't Jewish enough. For example, my Jewish friends would ask me why I ate pork, and I didn't have a good answer. I knew I was Jewish but wasn't Jewish enough for some.
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Joan Marcus and Nora Marcus-Hecht
She/hers
Have you ever experienced being in a space where you felt like you were not Jewish enough?
Nora: I can relate to not being Jewish enough in certain spaces. It's something I've experienced all the time. Initially, I remember being hesitant to join Hillel, thinking it was only for people more serious about their Jewish identity than I was. I was a selfhating Jew for a long time because of that, which I've explored in my writing. So it's been a big question for me, how did I become so cynical about something that now brings me so much joy? And how did I get out of that mindset? I don't have a clear answer, but I resisted pretty much everything Jewish for a while.
Joan: Except you really wanted a Bat Mitzvah, even though we told you, ‘You know, you don’t have to.’
Nora: I really did want it. I did a Humanist Bat Mitzvah, where I came out to my friends and family. It was one of the best days of my life, and I think about it a lot. I think that was one of the first times that I felt incredibly connected to Judaism, even though I didn't memorize the Torah portion. My service was just me reading analytical essays that I wrote. It was a lot of work. It wasn't traditional, but I felt very Jewish and connected to my culture.
Nora: Growing up, I always felt like I was walking a tightrope between not being Jewish enough and being too Jewish. Even in high school, when I attended an alternative school with a significant Jewish population, I still felt like an outsider. This feeling of not belonging to either side made me cynical towards Judaism for a long time. It wasn't until the Scott Fried Zoom bombing incident, where I was directly targeted, that I realized I needed a Jewish community to cope with the trauma. Writing about it in my memoir helped me understand my identity and recognize the importance of finding a community that accepts me for who I am.
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Joan Marcus and Nora Marcus-Hecht
She/hers
Have you ever experienced being in a space where you felt like you were not Jewish enough? (Con’t)
Joan: Growing up in Brookline without having a Bat Mitzvah, I always felt like I wasn't Jewish enough compared to my friends who had different experiences. It was a struggle to find a way to identify as Jewish that didn’t feel based on a certain level of knowledge or practice. It was also difficult to connect with Judaism in a way that wasn’t centered around tragedy, as my understanding of what it meant to be Jewish was shaped by learning about the Holocaust when I was around 12 or 13. Like many kids at that age, I became acutely aware of the horrors of the Holocaust as we studied it in school. I went through a phase of reading everything I could on the subject, including books like "Night" and watching the TV movie "Holocaust." But as I learned more, it eroded my sense of identity as a Jew. I was upset that this tragic history was the defining characteristic of my religion and culture. It took some time for me to come to terms with that and find my connection to Judaism beyond just the weight of its past.
As a young person, I was bothered that my entire understanding of being Jewish was based on the Holocaust and the awareness of being part of a historically persecuted minority. In college, I wondered if there was a way to feel Jewish without framing Jewish identity around these ideas. But unfortunately, many incidents in recent years have made it difficult to separate my Jewish identity from that history of persecution.
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Joan Marcus and Nora Marcus-Hecht
She/hers
How have stereotypes about physical appearance impacted how you convey and/or internalize your Jewish identity?
Joan: So this touches on something I hoped to get to. A lot of my Jewish identity has to do with my awareness of a painful stereotype that Jews have money. I've always been a dressed-down, t-shirt, and jeans sort of person, and at some point, I realized that I was subconsciously fashioning myself so I didn't appear wealthy. Growing up, many of us in my town didn't have money, including myself and my friend Tovah, whose father was a rabbi without a congregation. My father was a poorly-compensated art history professor, and later he worked as a third mate in the merchant marine. But I became increasingly aware of the stereotype surrounding Jews and money as I went to college. I started to understand that people would assume I was upper-middle-class and had a lot of money just because I was Jewish. It's frustrating because it's not true for everyone in the community and reinforces harmful stereotypes.
Nora: I can relate a lot to the issue of the money stereotype as a Jewish person. It wasn't until a friend in high school pointed out that another friend was saying things like ‘I'm not rich like Nora's family’ that I realized how prevalent this stereotype was in my life. Despite my family not actually being wealthy, it was then that I realized not only how other people perceive my family because they don't understand what a professor's salary is but how I perceived my own family as not being rich but being upper middle-class for a while.
But lately, I've been more aware of physical stereotypes and how they are often used to depict Jewish characters in the media. For example, I saw a video on decoding TikTok aesthetics and noticed how the goblins depicted often had hook noses and an obsession with shiny trinkets and money. And in movies like Tangled, the villain has dark curly hair and is portrayed as evil. It's frustrating to see these stereotypes perpetuated, but continuing to challenge and educate others is important.
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Joan Marcus and Nora Marcus-Hecht
She/hers
How have stereotypes about physical appearance impacted how you convey and/or internalize your Jewish identity? (Con’t)
Joan: One thing that comes to mind is your previous question about aspects of my identity that are in conflict. As a Jew, I am proud of my heritage and the many contributions Jews have made to society. After returning home from my first semester in college, I told my father about how my English professor had mentioned four thinkers - Freud, Marx, Einstein, and Darwin -- who had greatly affected thought in the 20th century, and three of the four were Jewish. My father pointed this out with pride, and I always got the message that we were exceptional. So there's an impulse towards pride in being Jewish, especially when looking at the many achievements of Jewish people throughout history.
However, there's also a sense of embarrassment and not wanting to be seen as superior. I recognize that our history as diasporic people has contributed to our drive to excel, but I don't want to be seen as thinking we're better than anyone else. And, of course, the Holocaust is a reminder that we are not immune to oppression and violence and that genocide is always a tragedy no matter who it happens to. So there's a tension between being proud of my identity and not wanting to come across as arrogant or exclusive.
Nora: Oh, you're unlocking so many memories. That's a struggle that I've dealt with, especially in high school, of people coming up to me saying, ‘You're white, so you're not oppressed. You're white. So any anti-Semitism doesn't really count.
It's interesting how our Jewish experiences have been so different, even though we grew up in the same type of community. For me, joining Kol Haverim was a natural step because the community aspect of religion has always appealed to me. I remember feeling envious of my friends who attended church and had that sense of community. And I didn't go through a Holocaust literature phase as you did. It wasn't until I toured Yad Vashem that I felt any connection to the Holocaust. And, oh, that was the hardest thing I've ever done. I think about that a lot. So there's definitely a generational gap between us regarding how we have grown accustomed to our Judaism and how we not only celebrate it but also cope with it in that way. And, I think, it's not until now that I've grown to accept my Judaism and learn to love it.
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Joan Marcus and Nora Marcus-Hecht
She/hers
Is there anything else that you would like to add?
Joan: As an Ashkenazi Jew, I must recognize my white privilege in this country. At the same time, I have a very keen sense of myself as a person in the minority for whom many assumptions are made, and those assumptions could get me killed. So I would say those two things work against one another, or they're contradictions I must hold as a European Jew.
Nora: I realized recently that I didn't fully appreciate how safe I felt at Hillel until I went to Israel. It was just such a surreal feeling to be in a place where everyone around me was Jewish, and I didn't have to worry about encountering anti-Semitic symbols or hate crimes. As I've become more involved in the Jewish community here and helped prepare for Purim and Passover, that feeling of safety resurfaces. It's just something I didn't expect to feel when I first started engaging with Hillel, but I'm grateful for it now.
Joan to Nora: You’ve always been on a search for community. You know, all your life, you've been looking for community.
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Sydra Minkoff
She/her
"I like to say I grew up in a Shetl. I went to a Jewish preschool and then to a Jewish elementary school with a cookie-cutter way of being Jewish that left no room for interpretation. That was not a good experience for me. I felt like what I was doing wasn't Jewish enough or right in my community. I felt like if I strayed from the path, I was being a bad Jew. Connecting to something I didn't understand or agree with was difficult. So in fifth grade, I switched over to the public school. That was a culture shock in the best way: I made friends with many people I'd never interacted with before - people of every different background imaginable.
At the same time, I kind of grew resentful of Judaism and had a crisis of faith. And it wasn't until a few years later, when the rabbi I'd grown up with retired and a new rabbi came in, that I could address this crisis. Working with the new rabbi probably saved my Judaism.
I met with her around the time of my bat mitzvah, when I reached a place where I didn't believe in God and didn't want to go to synagogue because I disagreed with the interpretation of texts. So I told the new rabbi this, and she, quite literally, permitted me to not believe in God and told me that I could be Jewish and not agree with any of this. And that was life-changing.
Camp is the other thing that saved my Judaism. Camp taught me how to connect to Judaism through values and relate them in a way relevant to our modern lives. So, for example, finding socialist values in Jewish texts and relating that to social justice.
Another influential aspect of Jewish education was taking a course that opened my eyes to Ashkenormativity in America. As someone who doesn't 'look Jewish,' I'm still white and benefit in the Jewish community from my whiteness. I think it's incredibly harmful and hurtful to say Judaism has a particular look. Stereotypes about Jews are also harmful because they portray Jews as either Conservative or Orthodox, but that's unrepresentative of Judaism. Judaism is a spectrum, and growing up, I felt both ends of the spectrum, where I didn't feel Jewish enough, or I felt too Jewish. So I don't fit the mold regarding appearance or beliefs. That's confusing and something that needs to change."
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Chloe Pearl she/her
"I went to Hebrew school practically all my life. And initially, I always felt out of place because I'm Asian American - I was adopted from China at nine months- and I didn't really understand the school. It was weird to me that I had to go to school on a Sunday when I thought it was typically Monday through Friday. And honestly, it wasn't until fourth or fifth grade, when we actually started learning about the Jewish holidays and stories, that things made more sense to me.
At that point, I'd been at school with the same people from second grade through bat mitzvah age. I stayed with those same people through confirmation and created strong relationships with my classmates and the administrators. The community felt like family, which made me feel more accepted in the Jewish community compared to when I tried to identify with my Asian identity.
I started Chinese lessons to learn more about the language and culture where I'm from. I had friends at Chinese school, but I felt like they didn't completely understand the Jewish side of me. A lot of the food in Asian culture consists of pork, pork broth, and all. And since I keep Kosher, I don't eat that food, so when I was at Chinese lessons, I would get stares or questions like, 'Why don't you?' And I wouldn't say I dropped my identification with Asian culture - I continued with Chinese lessons until high school - but rather, I just decided to embrace the American Jewish culture portion more. I also attended a private Jewish high school, which further drove me toward Jewish culture.
Now that I live outside the bubble I grew up in, and because I've confronted antisemitism on campus, I have a different, more intersectional perspective on my Jewish identity. Now, when I present myself, I don't just think about the Jewish side of my identity but also that I'm a female and a minority. I still fully embrace being Jewish in college, but it's a bit more in the shadows. I embrace the Jewish part of my identity through my awareness, talking about it with friends, and, most recently, through cooking. I started to question why certain Jewish foods are just a once-a-year type of thing, and since then, I've started doing this thing where I make matzah ball soup, noodle kugel, and Charoset every week. It's good, healthy, and connects me to Judaism and home."
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“Culturally and ethnically, being Jewish is a significant part of my identity. I am a ninth-generation Israeli, and I don't think I would have much of a Jewish identity without my connection to Israel. Being Middle Eastern is a considerable part of my identity, so I make an effort to educate myself on all conflicts in that region, particularly those related to Israel.
I also identify as progressive, but it's really hard to hold the identity of a place that is so controversial and often rejected. I align myself with a lot of the Democrats that we see on the Left, but their views on Israel are completely different from mine - in the sense that many people don't believe Israel should exist as a Jewish state. And I agree with a lot of the criticism surrounding Israel, but I also think there are some double standards, which make it hard to talk about or mention that I'm from Israel. The immediate thought goes to something overwhelmingly negative when it's the only place I can go where I won't experience antisemitism.
It's also hard to identify with Israel, or even Judaism, without feeling like I have to speak on it. I can't even count how many times I've said I'm from Israel or just that I’m Jewish, and the immediate response is, ‘Oh, talk about the Arab-Israeli conflict.’ Sometimes these encounters make me reach a point where it feels like I owe it to people to justify my identity. While other times, I just don't mention that I'm from Israel or even that I'm Jewish because it feels like when I do, it negates many of the other parts of my identity.
I think it's really important to have open-minded conversations about anything related to Judaism. If we did this more often, more people would understand the nuance of being Jewish, and it would feel much less isolating to be Jewish in America.”
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Noa Ran-Ressler she/her
He/him
“Early in my childhood, Judaism was simple. It was one of my identities. It wasn't my core identity, I was Jew-ish. I wasn't very observant, and that was okay. Hebrew School and semi-kashrut were the main Jewish mitzvot I followed.
As I entered sixth grade, I became adamant about joining a youth group called CTeen. I eagerly expressed my desire to participate. However, my rabbi advised me to wait a little longer, suggesting I continue progressing and finish Hebrew school first. Finally, after completing seventh grade, the moment arrived—I joined CTeen. It marked a significant turning point, gradually deepening my connection to Judaism.
The following summer, in May 2016, I had my Bar Mitzvah. I didn't want a big celebration, so I proposed an idea to my family: Instead of throwing a big party, I suggested that we travel to Peru to visit Fiorella, our former au pair who had played a significant role in raising me from the ages of two to four.
During our time in Peru, Justin, my brother who’d just returned from a gap year in Israel, encouraged me to continue wrapping tefillin, which I had started learning about during my Bar Mitzvah preparations. I embraced the challenge of donning tefillin and wearing a yarmulke and tzitzit, finding a profound sense of beauty and connection during prayer.
However, upon returning to East Northport, Long Island, where being and looking Jewish was not the norm, the question of whether to continue wearing my yarmulke and tzitzit, considering the potential challenges and prejudices, weighed heavily on my mind.
Seeking guidance, I turned to my mom, who advised me to follow my comfort level. She encouraged me to wear them if I wanted to and to take them off if that felt better. Her words resonated with me, shaping my actions based on authenticity. With those words in mind, I continued wearing my yarmulke and tzitzit, wrapping tefillin daily, but I hadn't completely committed to keeping full kosher yet. When eating out, I maintained a vegetarian diet and discreetly concealed my tzitzit, covering my yarmulke when dining out, thinking, if I was not acting the part, why should I look the part?
Noah Rosenzweig
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This selective concealment felt like a dissonance between my actions and thoughts, but I pushed it aside for many years. However, with each step toward greater observance, I felt the weight of looking the part and felt compelled to "play" the part even more. Wearing tefillin became a regular practice in eighth grade, waking up early to fulfill this spiritual duty before catching the bus.
That same year, in February, attending the CTeen International Shabbaton in Crown Heights was a significant milestone. During our visit to the Rebbe's grave, the Ohel, I was overcome with an inexplicable mixture of sadness and regret. I felt a deep connection to this revered figure I had never known. While there, I followed the custom of writing a letter and reciting it at the Rebbe's resting place. However, instead of moving on swiftly like others, I wandered through the cemetery, consumed by a wave of bittersweetness and melancholy. Tears streamed down my face, and I couldn't resist the overwhelming emotions. At that moment, I felt truly integrated—I was both looking and feeling the part.
Returning to my daily life in a public school district, I maintained my practices without making significant changes. However, the longer I carried the cognitive dissonance, the more uncomfortable I became. Indulging in non-kosher foods or engaging in activities conflicting with my observance caused internal conflicts. I grappled with being honest and consistent with my beliefs while navigating social dynamics in both middle and high school.
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Noah Rosenzweig He/him
Gradually, I became more of a homebody, preferring to stay in rather than go out on Shabbat. In more recent years, particularly during my senior year of high school and first year of college, I began spending quality time with my mom on Shabbat. We would cook together, watch Netflix, and enjoy movies or TV shows. Our activities were relaxed and low-key, ensuring we followed our comfort level of observance without feeling isolated.
During college, as for most, things changed. These principles of observance extended beyond outward appearances. It became about embodying my beliefs and acting in alignment with them. Kashrut was now a 24/7 observance; making that decision and sticking to it has been amazing.
The summer after my first year in college, I decided college would be the best place to start becoming Shomer Shabbos. I knew it was going to happen at one point or another.
Through these experiences, I became increasingly committed to not just looking the part but genuinely playing the part with integrity. And this is all a part of my journey of becoming a baal teshuvah—a person returning to their Jewish ancestors' ways.”
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Noah Rosenzweig He/him
Asata Rothblatt
she/her
"Growing up in the conservative South, navigating my mixed-race background as three-quarters white and a quarter African American, I never felt I belonged to any community, including my Jewish identity. As a result, I constantly questioned if I was "Jewish enough." I felt like an outsider, as there was little appreciation for celebrating my identity.
Being both African American and Jewish, I am acutely aware of the deep-rooted trauma experienced by my ancestors due to the hardships they endured. However, I've always been proud of my Jewish identity, primarily due to my great-grandmother, a remarkable woman respected by my entire family. Unfortunately, she passed away a few years ago, but her legacy lives on. She always expressed her desire for me to have my Bat Mitzvah, but I have chosen to wait until I am fully prepared, wanting to approach this milestone with complete understanding and alignment of my heart and mind. Though her absence is bittersweet, I'm committed to honoring her legacy and making her proud.
During high school, I enrolled in a boarding school where I started attending regular Shabbat services. Given my limited Jewish connections and the fact that I hadn't experienced a Bat Mitzvah, it took me some time to gather the courage to participate. However, joining those services became a life-changing experience, despite not understanding all the prayers. The sense of joy and belonging I felt there was indescribable. Unfortunately, COVID shorted my time at that school, and I had to switch to another high school.
However, upon arriving in Ithaca, I reconnected with Shabbat and found a sense of belonging within the Jewish community despite harboring insecurities about my Jewish identity. The warmth and understanding I felt during Shabbat services were unlike anything I had experienced since attending my first Shabbat. I've found solace in coming together, praying, and being among others who truly understand me in ways that no one from my upbringing did.
By celebrating holidays such as Shabbat and Passover, I can genuinely connect with my ancestor's struggles and acknowledge the privileges I have today. As a child, I remember long Passover evenings, spending hours with my family reading from the Haggadah. It could be draining for a young child. But now, it brings me immense joy and a spirit of celebration. It reminds me of the ongoing work we must do to create a better future, and this connection holds a profound healing power for me."
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Eliel Safran
she/her
“I grew up in a unique hippie Jewish community in the Bay Area that embraced nature and tradition. My family created a warm, joyful Jewish home that was far from rule-oriented; instead, it was filled with singing, banging on tables, and immersive rituals, hosting guests, and inviting strangers to our table to get to know them. My social circle primarily consisted of fellow Jewish students at the Jewish Day School I attended. Jewish culture permeated every aspect of my life during this time, shaping my identity. So when I moved to Portland, the transition to a public high school was a stark contrast. The non-Jewish environment felt unfamiliar, highlighting the cultural differences and making me aware of my uniqueness. During this time, I began establishing my Jewish identity, as being surrounded by a majority group for the first time as a religious minority forced me to confront and define who I was. I immersed myself in Jewish activities, trying to seek connection and emulate some of the sense of community I had in the past.
I took on leadership roles in Jewish groups and encountered instances of anti-Semitism that made me feel othered, but I didn’t really piece together the gravity of the pattern. In my senior year of high school, I found unity by collaborating with students from different minority backgrounds on campus to organize a large event to initiate conversations and address issues of racism at our school. As we shared our experiences and prepared for the event, I began to piece together the moments and incidents that shaped my encounters as a Jewish person at school. Speaking alongside other minority students during the event, I expressed my perspective and the perspective of other Jewish students at school. As I spoke, experiences that once seemed normal to me were met with surprise and shock by the audience. This reaction was a somewhat jarring realization, highlighting that my experiences were not as common or acceptable as I had thought. However, the camaraderie among the diverse group of students during that event was both surprising and rewarding. It was my first sense of community at the school, and the experience opened my eyes to the power of unity and solidarity among different minority groups.
Now in college, I feel more distanced from Judaism, primarily due to being away from my family. Growing up in a joyous, colorful household, I realize that some people perceive Judaism differently from an outside perspective. They may assume that these guidelines are restrictive or suffocating. What they don’t fully grasp is that the rules and practices within Judaism are meant to be frequent opportunities for the celebration of joy and to provide outlets for the expression of inherent human things like mourning or sadness.
In art classes, one thing my professors often mention is the art of structure. We can become more creative within boundaries and by creating rules for ourselves. Following a set of practices adds flavor to life and allows us to find deeper meaning within that structure. In contrast, people without such structure often struggle aimlessly in a nihilistic and painful way, lacking the tools to discover the beauty within life's philosophical challenges.
As an Ashkenazi Jew, I appreciate how Judaism has been a survival mechanism throughout history. Despite the hardships faced by Jews in places like Eastern Europe, they created a structure that allowed them to find joy and purpose. Judaism continues to offer guidelines for living a more directed life in any chosen direction. Even if you’re not following the rules super strictly. So, even though my religious observance has decreased, I cherish the traditions and their associated joy and belonging that enriched my upbringing. When I think of Jewish practice, I always think of joy.”
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February Schneck
They/them
"Growing up, I lived in a predominantly Jewish community, so despite my mom being Christian and my dad being Jewish, I didn't have to think very hard about what that meant for my Jewish identity. However, things changed when my family moved to Georgia when I was 11. There weren't any synagogues around, so my dad decided we would start attending church with my mom to continue the 'fostering of my relationship with god.' Unfortunately, those Methodist beliefs clashed with my growing Jewish identity. As I spent more time there, it was somewhat assumed I would adopt certain Christian beliefs and claim Jesus Christ as my own. But that wasn't the case, as I knew I didn't feel comfortable with some Christian beliefs, and I recognized I identified more with my Jewish community.
Navigating this situation was challenging, and between the ages of 11 and 16, I struggled to find my place in Judaism. I didn't do much with Judaism until seventh grade when I heard criticism about my identity. At the time, I attended a military school, and to save my parents some money on haircuts, I shaved my head. Around the same time, with my upcoming bar mitzvah, people became more aware of my Jewish identity beyond just my close friends. As we were reading and watching 'The Boy in the Striped Pajamas,' people quickly connected the Jewish child in the concentration camp with a shaved head and me. For several months, they stopped using my name and started calling me Shmuel, the character's name. It was a tough experience to handle at a young age.
I eventually learned that people would say whatever they wanted, and I had to stand firm in my identity. This lesson applies to our whole life and culture. We won't be scared away; we're resilient, like a hydra with two heads growing back for every one cut off. We're a strong community; if anyone comes after us, we'll return even stronger. So, I tapped into this belief, rediscovered my connection to Judaism, and formed a Jewish Student Union at my boarding school to reconnect with my faith and community.
Now that I'm at Ithaca, my relationship with Judaism has expanded, and I actively participate in events and embrace my identity. Even if the event has nothing to do with Judaism, just being in that space and seeing how we operate with one another is a form of embracing my identity. It's not just about educating others but having witnesses to acknowledge it. I believe that great art is only great when someone is there to witness it, and the same goes for identity. As it feels great to be who I am, it's always better when someone is there to say, 'Hey, I see you.'
This belief ties into my deep love for storytelling, which is deeply rooted in my chosen profession and Jewish heritage. I believe it's important to have witnesses who acknowledge and honor our stories, as well as the narratives carried by objects we interact with. They serve as reminders of our journey and contribute to the tapestry of our identities. Living authentically is my priority. Recently, I attended the Pride Prom and publicly wore a dress for the first time, despite feeling nervous. The overwhelming kindness and support from the community reminded me of the power of living true to oneself. We live in a scary but exciting time, so we must acknowledge our challenges without blindsiding ourselves. Thankfully, more people are listening and recognizing the ongoing hatred we endure. Living authentically and being true to ourselves is crucial, and I hope we revel in this moment where people are finally listening, and there's a genuine interest in what we have to say."
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Isaac Schneider
He/him
“Throughout high school, I was very involved in my Jewish community, but things changed when my sister was diagnosed with cancer. My family had always been close with our rabbi, who was more like a family friend to us. We had seen how the community rallied around him when his youngest son was diagnosed with leukemia, which stuck with me. So when my sister got sick, our congregation relocated, and our rabbi started a much smaller congregation. It wasn't the same core group of people, but it was still a strong community we were a part of.
During my freshman year of high school, my sister was diagnosed with leukemia, and we became very involved with Chai Lifeline Midwest, an organization that supports families with seriously ill children. Chicago, where I'm from, has a large Orthodox Jewish community, and Lurie Children's Hospital is located there, so many families were naturally involved with Chai Lifeline. Within a few weeks, we were informally assigned to three or four families, and we did everything with them.
Being involved with Chai Lifeline changed my life in many ways. My family spent significant time with the families we were assigned to and the Chai Lifeline staff in general. Even though we weren't necessarily doing anything specifically Jewish, the people we were with were inherently Jewish, which made me feel connected to my faith differently. It also exposed me to a different way to practice Judaism. Chai Lifeline reminded me that Judaism is about more than just going to synagogue or observing holidays. It's about being part of a community and supporting each other, even during the most difficult times.
Since high school, my relationship with my Jewish identity and how it interacts with other aspects of my identity has also evolved. I used to feel like my trans and Jewish identities were such distinct parts of myself that they couldn't possibly fit together. But in college, I’ve had more agency to explore my relationship with Judaism on my own terms, and I’ve taken the opportunity to understand how my identities can intersect. As I’ve become more comfortable with my trans identity, I’ve realized it is just another part of who I am, and the tension has somewhat dissipated. Of course, it’s still there, but I believe it's possible to hold multiple identities and find ways for them to coexist.
As a musician, my Jewish identity has significantly impacted my love for music. Jewish culture places a high value on music, and many Jewish students are encouraged to pursue music beyond what is typically required in American public schools. Even if the music isn't specifically Jewish, the emphasis on music in Jewish homes and culture at large has influenced my love for music. As a music education major and a musician, I feel that my Jewish identity and my passion for music are two chiefly important identities to me.
Looking back, I never thought I would be the President of my Hillel or serving on the Hillel International Student Cabinet, especially considering that just a few years ago, I did not feel particularly qualified for such positions. However, these experiences have enriched my life, and I suspect my engagement with Judaism will continue evolving.”
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“Growing up, I was not very observant at all, and I didn't have any ways to practice. I was the only open Jewish person in my high school and had no Jewish friends. So it was kind of just me until I met another Jewish friend. I went to her house and celebrated Hanukkah and Purim together. That was my first real taste of Judaism since pre-school at the JCC. At about the same time, I learned that my great-grandparents fled Ukraine after the Holocaust. My great-grandfather didn't tell my grandmother that she was Jewish until the '90s when he had a big health scare. That was when my grandmother became in touch with Judaism. Hearing this story made me want to carry on the tradition my ancestors couldn't.
I knew that I wanted to get more serious about Judaism in college, and Ithaca’s large Jewish population was one of the reasons I decided to come here. At Ithaca, I'm doing things I never thought I would do, like observing Shabbat, finding my place, and discovering what being Jewish means to me.
Defining my relationship with Judaism and the community has been a very interesting journey. I am Hispanic, Latino, and Jewish, and I've struggled greatly with feeling out of place in both communities. I’ve felt at odds with Jewish communities because there's a very small portion of Hispanic and Latino Jews and because they’re mostly Ashkenazi. This makes it difficult to find the intersection of my identities, like learning Ladino instead of Yiddish. And with my Hispanic side, I didn't grow up Catholic, so I didn't know anything. So, not knowing where I fit in has been weird for me, but I’ve realized that despite feeling this way, I definitely can find good pieces from both and put them together in my way.
Putting these pieces of my identity together has pulled me more toward Judaism. Learning about the rich history of queer theology in Judaism and finding a large community of queer Jews has opened my eyes. I've realized that being transgender and queer and being a Jew can absolutely work together. My Jewish journey has allowed me to decide which pieces are and aren't for me and discover a rich history, which I get to be a part of."
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Chandler Silva she/he/ze
A Note from the Photographer and Creator
After hundreds of conversations and hours spent listening to students' stories, I became increasingly aware that the Ashkenormative lens through which Jewish narratives are told is a problem that leaves many Jewish students feeling like they struggle to belong.
In response, I tapped into my background as an artist and a photographer to create the Portrait Identity Project (PIP). This initiative pairs portraiture photography, reflective interviews, and storytelling to broaden the perception of what being Jewish "looks like" and instigate reflection on intersectional identities.
Two years and about 90 interviews spanning students from Tulane to Cal Berkley to Ithaca College later, I’m in awe of students’ vulnerability and ability to reflect on how their experiences have shaped their identity. By sharing their stories, students uplift us all, reminding us of the complexity of the human experience.
I hope the impact of this project extends beyond this book and encourages all to engage with and listen to people’s stories, for what we’re doing with the Portrait Identity Project is telling stories of contemporary that will become history.
It’s also important to note that while this project serves as a platform to share, discover, and document individual stories, it’s limited to the people I had the privilege to interview and photograph. This body of work is ongoing and by no means a complete representation of all people who embrace “Jewish” as a part of their identity.
– Julia Mattis
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The PIP and Your community
Tulane Hillel is excited to expand the scope and impact of the Portrait Identity Project by expanding this meaningful project on a national scale, ensuring more students and community members across the country can learn, grow, and share their stories.
If you would like to learn more about the Portrait Identity Project and how it would be impactful at to your campus and help your organization meet your goals, please contact jmattis@tulane.edu.
For more information, visit: tulanehillel.org, or find us on Instagram @tuhillel.
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