Tag Archives: proud of being Jewish

May 11, 2026 · 7:30 am

The Seven Ages of Growing Up Jewish

by Kayla Anderson (Irvine, CA)

(a Jewish twist on Shakespeare’s “Seven Ages of Man” monologue)

1. You’re snuggled tight in mommy’s arms as she lights the menorah candles. You tear off wrapping paper with chubby fingers, bouncing up and down with joy at the sight of your shiny new toy. Before you know it, the moon is smiling down on you and mommy is rocking you back and forth, singing gently. The familiar melody of Hatikvah lulls you to sleep.

2. Today at preschool you made a magen david out of popsicle sticks, leaving you sticky with glue. Now you’re standing on the bimah with your classmates, singing. Your dress itches a little, and you’ve forgotten most of the lyrics, but at the sight of your parents beaming at you from the pews, you can’t help but smile.

3. Hanukkah rolls around again, and you’re finally old enough to light the candles all by yourself. At school the next day, you bring leftover latkes for lunch and tell your friends about the special holiday, but they look at you with confusion. “You don’t celebrate Christmas?” they ask, wide-eyed. “No,” you mumble. Shame burns hot on your cheeks. 

4. Eventually, you realize that being Jewish can feel lonely. While the rest of your girl scout troop decorates ornaments, you just sit silently. Your fourth grade teacher says, “Have a great Christmas break!” and then glances at you and corrects herself: “Sorry—winter break.” And no matter how many times you remind your friend’s parents that you’re Jewish, they always ask, “How was church?” After a while, you get tired of correcting them, so you force a smile and say, “It was good.”

5. You’ve just turned thirteen, and after many months of practice, your big day—your bat mitzvah—is finally here. Nervousness and excitement war for dominance in your brain as you prepare to read from the Torah. You take a deep breath and look out into the crowd of friends and family, all of them here just for you. In this moment, you feel both the weight of responsibility and the liberation of independence. 

6. You’re older now, and you finally understand the duality of the Jewish experience. For every Shabbat service you attend is another antisemitic comment or Holocaust joke that makes its way onto your social media feed. For every precious memory made at Jewish sleepaway camp is another synagogue vandalized, broken into, attacked. So you buy a silver chai necklace and wear it proudly—the world can’t silence your Jewishness.

7. The rest of your Jewish life lies brightly ahead. Among many things you look forward to are your Birthright trip to Israel, your Jewish wedding, and—eventually—raising your children in a house filled with perfectly-crispy latkes and popsicle-stick magen davids. Growing up Jewish is a rollercoaster of highs and lows, but you know in your heart you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Kayla Anderson is a high school senior and proud Reform Jew from California. Creative writing has always been one of her greatest passions, and she finds it immensely fulfilling to weave her Jewish identity into her work. She plans to pursue a career in education, where she can help children discover the joys of language and literature. One day, she hopes to fulfill her longtime dream of publishing a book, and hopes her work inspires, resonates, and sparks joy.

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August 4, 2025 · 7:30 am

A Cultural Jew

by Herbert Munshine (Great Neck, NY)

I am a cultural Jew, a result of my upbringing.

I am not religious in terms of doctrine, attending

synagogue or following the rules of Sabbath or

the strictly kosher culture. Still, I’ve never thought

of myself as anything but Jewish. 

The religion has a magnetic hold on me. 

I felt this way most potently when I was dating 

the woman who became my girlfriend, my wife, 

and, finally, my much more than significant other. 

She came from a kosher life, a family that celebrated 

holy days and attended synagogue … if you’ll excuse 

the play on words …  religiously. 

I was not a smooth fit, not the final piece of a sacred

jigsaw puzzle. It took much flexibility and patience 

for them to welcome me into the fold, a little like a 

shepherd embracing the prodigal lost sheep … but 

in time it happened, and there was a wedding which was

instructive to this somewhat ill-fitting member of

the congregation.

I recall with fondness seeing so many happy faces,

standing under a chuppah for the first and only time,

breaking the glass. At that time, to me, a rabbi was a

rabbi. But I later learned that the rabbi who said magical

words that united me and my ever-after wife was special. 

He’d helped liberate Buchenwald and had supervised 

the start of new lives for Elie Wiesel and a thousand other 

orphans … and this night he was leading me and my bride 

to our own new life.

I am now in my eighties and remain a cultural Jew,

but I say with pride that I am as Jewish as I can be.

I show all Jews respect, love learning, try to harm no one.

I stand as tall as my fellow Jews. I look upon all Jews

as children of HaShem. I know my place in the scheme

of Judaism and am sincere in my love of all the tribes.

And when the time arrives, I will sit among my ancestors 

and I will be quite comfortable and proud of the life I led.

Herbert Munshine grew up in the Bronx and graduated from C.C.N.Y. with both a B.S. in Education and a Master’s Degree in English. You can find his baseball poetry on Baseball Bard where he has had more than 100 poems published, and where he was recently inducted into that site’s Hall of Fame. He lives with his wife in Great Neck, NY.

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June 23, 2025 · 7:30 am

My grandfather, Bubushi 

By Sophia Nourafshan (Los Angeles, California) 

My grandfather, Bubushi, is a man who wears his Jewish identity with pride, refusing to conceal it, regardless of the circumstances. My grandfather shared a painful incident he experienced, and the impact of his words has stayed with me ever since. It was a typical Saturday afternoon when he walked out of the synagogue, his blue kippah on, tzitzit hanging visibly, a siddur in one hand, and some chicken and rice from Shul in the other. As he walked toward the crosswalk, he saw a man sitting on the cold ground, shivering in ragged clothes, with a sign asking for money.

My grandfather, always looking for a chance to do a mitzvah, went over and slowly began placing the meal beside him. That’s when the man grabbed his wrist, looked him in the eye, and yelled, “You filthy Jew,” before punching him. I vividly remember the deep wave of upset that hit me when Bubushi initially told me about this. All I could think was, how could anyone treat him that way, simply because he is Jewish? But the next part of the story completely changed how I saw the situation.

Instead of reacting in anger or fear, I learned that my grandfather calmly placed the food beside the man, looked at him, and said softly, “Shabbat Shalom, and have a great rest of your day.” I could hardly believe it. I was told that he did not flinch. He did not feel the need to fight back nor defend himself. It struck me that what he did in order to perform a mitzvah was more powerful than any retaliation could ever be.

Hearing this story made me rethink how I approach life. I was always proud of my faith, but after hearing what my grandfather had done, I felt a deep connection to his act of kindness, one rooted in resilience. I now wear my Star of David every day, not just as a symbol, but as a reminder that I should not let fear or prejudice silence who I am. Walking with my grandfather to Shul every Saturday has become more meaningful as each step with him feels like a quiet statement of who we are and where we stand.

Bubushi has shown me that real strength comes from humility and kindness in a world that can sometimes be hostile. His example has shaped how I see myself, my faith, and the importance of standing tall, even when the world tries to knock you down. I have learned from him that dignity does not come from how others treat you but from how you choose to respond. Like him, I hope to embrace faith and resilience as the core of my identity, a testament to the strength that comes from knowing who I am and standing by it, no matter what. 

Sophia Nourfshan is a current senior at Milken Community High School. She writes: “I am fortunate to have two older brothers and wonderful parents who inspire me and set an example for me every day. From a young age, my parents instilled in me the importance of Judaism and the values that define us. This story is essential for me to share, as it reflects who I am and resonates with the challenges we are facing in today’s world. Judaism is a core part of my identity, and despite the antisemitism we encounter, I will continue to live proudly and authentically as a Jew. I hope my story can inspire others to stand up for their faith and respond courageously in the face of adversity.” 

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