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."

“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.”

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?

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.

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.”