Jessica Dahl Nurses with Chutzpah Scholarship

As a child, I often found myself at my father’s chiropractic office. I would marvel at the anatomy posters and skeletal models, scrutinizing the different bones, muscles and fascia, observing how one thing connected to the next. To say I was fascinated with these items would be an understatement. But what truly captivated me was witnessing the caring connection between my father and his patients, how they left not just feeling better physically, but with smiles on their faces. This early exposure to the interconnectedness of health and chesed - loving-kindness - planted seeds that would take time to blossom into my calling to nursing. The path to this decision has not been linear. After earning my BFA in Apparel Design from RISD in 2008, I spent fifteen years in various roles and industries - fashion design, bridal consulting, coordinating B'nai Mitzvot at Congregation B'nai Jeshurun in Manhattan, and finally in operations roles at Global Health Strategies (GHS). Throughout each position, a common thread emerged: my deep fulfillment from supporting people through significant, often stressful life moments. Whether helping brides find their perfect gown or guiding families through their children's coming-of-age milestones, I discovered my strength in offering compassionate, attentive support while providing clear communication and collaborative solutions. My time at GHS solidified my decision to pursue nursing. Learning about severe health inequities - the imbalanced distribution of the COVID-19 vaccine, the gender disparity where 70% of health workers are women, yet 70% of health leaders are men - ignited a fired within me. I realized that nurses have unique power to create positive change through both direct patient care and advocacy. This recognition aligned perfectly with the values instilled in me since childhood: that every person deserves respect, dignity and compassionate care, that we must advocate for what we believe in, and that we must lead with chesed. These values are deeply rooted in my Jewish upbringing. The concept of tikkun olam, repairing the world, has always resonated with me as both a responsibility and a calling. Working at B'nai Jeshurun reinforced how supporting others through life's meaningful moments is sacred work. Judaism teaches that pikuach nefesh, preservation of human life, supersedes nearly all other commandments, underscoring the profound importance of healthcare work. Finally, chesed guides my approach to patient care, reminding me that compassion must accompany competence. Returning to school in my late 30's required genuine chutzpah! For years, I feared this leap, doubting my ability to succeed academically after so much time away from formal education. Receiving an ADHD diagnosis around the same time paradoxically became a source of strength. Rather than letting self-doubt win, I approached my prerequisite courses with newfound self-awareness, tapping into my visual learning style and illustrating each bone in the body, different types of muscle tissue, and details of the cardiovascular system. This helped me transform potential obstacles into a creative opportunity for deeper understanding of the interconnected systems in the body. This journey has taught me that chutzpah isn't the absence of fear or doubt - it is the courage to pursue your calling in spite of them. My faith guides me through obstacles so they become opportunities for growth. It reminds me that speaking up, for myself, for patients, for marginalized communities, is not just acceptable, but necessary. I am pursuing nursing because I live by my Jewish values. I am called to serve others, to fight for equity and justice, and to bring light into places of suffering. With faith and a little chutzpah, I'm ready to be the confident, compassionate and bold nurse my patients deserve.

Choosing to become a nurse was not a simple or direct path for me it took courage, perseverance, and a lot of faith. I grew up in a traditional Jewish environment and attended yeshiva for most of my life. My education focused heavily on religious studies, and while that gave me a strong foundation in faith, discipline, and compassion, it meant I didn’t follow the typical academic route. I didn’t earn my GED until age 26, and starting college at that stage of life took a lot of chutzpah. I was stepping into an unfamiliar world, surrounded by students years younger than me, and I often questioned whether I truly belonged. But I knew that I was meant to pursue a career where I could care for others, and that belief kept me going. I am now proudly enrolled in the nursing program at Touro university, and I can say that every challenge I faced getting here made me stronger and more determined. Entering the nursing field as a male also took courage. Nursing is still a female-dominated profession, and there are times when I’ve felt out of place. But I’ve learned that compassion, skill, and dedication have no gender. I take pride in being part of a new generation of Jewish men who see nursing not only as a profession, but as a calling to help others with strength, humility, and empathy. My mother passed away when I was sixteen, and that experience shaped me deeply. Watching her struggle with illness, and witnessing how the nurses cared for her with kindness, patience, and respect left a lasting impression on me. Even as a teenager, I could feel how their presence brought comfort in the darkest moments. That experience planted the seed for what would later become my purpose: to give others the same care and support that my mother received. Her memory continues to motivate me every day in this journey. Being the first in my family to go to college has also been a meaningful achievement. My parents came from humble beginnings, and their dream was always for me to have opportunities they never had. Being the first in my family to go to college has also been a meaningful achievement. My parents came from humble beginnings, and their dream was always for me to have opportunities they never had. Pursuing higher education is not just for myself—it’s for them, too. My faith teaches me the value of perseverance, service, and compassion, and those values guide every decision I make. Nursing allows me to live those teachings in real, tangible ways-through caring for others, easing pain, and bringing comfort to those in need. After I graduate, my goal is to serve the Jewish community, providing care that respects both physical and spiritual needs. I also plan to continue my education and become a Nurse Practitioner, so I can have an even greater impact. I want to be someone who not only heals, but also inspires others from my community to follow their dreams no matter how unconventional the path may be. Looking back, it’s clear that every part of my journey,yeshiva, my mother’s passing, earning my GED at 26, and choosing nursing as a man required chutzpah. It took nerve, courage, and faith to believe I could start over and succeed. I am proud of how far I’ve come, and I’m even more excited for the future. My goal is not just to be a nurse, but to be a nurse who serves with heart, strength, and purpose rooted in both my faith and my community.

My decision to pursue a career in nursing grew out of experiences in places where health and survival are deeply tied to community and culture. Along Alaska’s coast, I lived and worked in villages facing the profound effects of climate change: disrupted hunting traditions, shrinking seasonal rhythms, and young people struggling with an uncertain future. Among Alaska Native youth, I witnessed devastating rates of substance use and suicide. It was in this setting that I came to see health care differently. It was not just about treating illness, but about listening, showing up, and honoring people’s stories. Healing meant addressing the full web of relationships that shape a life, family, land, culture, and history. That recognition led me to nursing. Nursing, to me, represents the meeting point of science and compassion. It requires technical skill, but it also demands presence, humility, and the ability to walk alongside people in their suffering. My work in trauma ICUs, maternal-fetal medicine, pediatrics, and public health has reinforced this conviction. Whether standing at a patient’s bedside in critical care or listening to an elder share stories of disrupted traditions, I have seen how trust and dignity are as crucial to healing as any medical intervention. Academically, I pursued a Master’s in One Health, a field that studies the interconnectedness of human, animal, and environmental well-being. My research focused on the emotional toll of avian influenza outbreaks on small and Indigenous flock owners. For many, losing their birds meant losing heritage, not just livelihood. This reinforced my belief that health care must be expansive enough to address grief and loss in all their forms. Now, as a student in Yale’s Psychiatric Mental Health Nurse Practitioner program, I am building advanced training in psychiatry, psychotherapy, and psychoanalysis to better address the complexity of mental health and trauma, particularly in underserved and Indigenous communities. My faith has been a quiet but steady guide in this journey. In Judaism, the principle of tikkun olam, repairing the world, has always resonated deeply with me. Nursing feels like a direct expression of that value: a commitment to easing suffering and contributing, in small but meaningful ways, to healing and wholeness. Jewish tradition also emphasizes chesed (loving-kindness) and the responsibility to care for the vulnerable. These values align with how I understand my role as a nurse: not only to treat, but to stand with patients in their most vulnerable moments, offering dignity, compassion, and respect. I chose nursing because it allows me to live out these values in practice. It is both a profession and a calling, one that weaves together science, service, and human connection. Guided by my faith, I hope to continue serving communities where health care is most needed, bringing both skill and heart to the work of repair.

I was born into the medical field. In 2000, my mother was in nursing school while my father was finishing his undergraduate degree in preparation for medical school. They worked opposite shifts in the same hospital so one of them could always be home with us. On Friday nights, my siblings and I would meet my father in the hospital food court, beginning Shabbat together as a family even when he had to work. Hospitals were not intimidating places for me. They were extensions of home. My mother worked full time in the Emergency Room while pregnant with triplets so that my father could focus on medical school. Later, when he began residency and we moved to a new city, we would visit him in the residents lounge whenever his eighty hour workweeks allowed. Some of my earliest and fondest memories are of walking those halls and absorbing the rhythms of patient care long before I understood them. My father always encouraged me to pursue nursing, a stable and meaningful career that would give me both purpose and flexibility. When I started college in 2018, I took his advice. I began working as a nursing assistant on Pulmonary Med Surg, and because I was PRN, I floated almost every shift. I learned from Oncology, Orthopedics, and everything in between. I fell in love with patient care. Then COVID 19 changed everything. I cared for the first COVID patient at Holston Valley Medical Center when I was floated to another floor. Because I was unmarried and did not have children, I was sent in with medications, dressing changes, and meals. From that point forward, I became the COVID tech for both hospitals I worked at, full time in the ER and PRN on the floors, often working mandatory overtime that had me pulling six 17 hour shifts per week. Classes had moved online, and I found myself drowning between schoolwork and the emotional weight of the pandemic. Eventually, burned out and unable to continue my prerequisites, I shifted to Communication and Journalism in hopes of making a difference through storytelling. Yet even after stepping away, the pull of healthcare never left me. Five years later, I still feel most myself at the bedside. I love being the person patients meet at some of the lowest moments of their lives, the one who can offer a kind word, a prayer, or simply presence. I love showing families that not every part of a hospital stay is frightening or lonely. My Jewish faith plays a profound role in why I continue to feel called to this field. I grew up hearing the commandment to care for the foreigner, the orphan, and the widow, and to treat every person with dignity and compassion. Those teachings are not abstract ideals to me. They are an active responsibility, a way of living out my faith through service. In every patient I meet, I see someone entrusted to my care, someone deserving of gentleness, advocacy, and respect. That sense of sacred duty is what keeps drawing me back to nursing and to the healing professions as a whole. My dream is to return to nursing, work while raising my children, and eventually pursue a higher degree. For as long as I can remember, I have been drawn to midwifery, the unique blend of science, intuition, and sacred trust that defines the field. It is the path I envisioned as a child walking the halls of my parents hospital, and it remains the path I feel called to now. P.S. (Thank you for reading my story)

From the time I was three years old, I knew I wanted to enter the medical field. For proof, watch this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OY0VVkml94E. Perhaps this knowledge didn't exactly help me with my anatomy and physiology final exam, but it shows my passion for the human body from a young age. Growing up, both my parents were medical professionals, and our house was always full of a mixture of "body fluid talk" and Chessed (kindness). My father is a pediatrician, and many a time on Shabbat afternoon, we would hear a knock on the door- a parent and a child, seeking medical help, but who could not drive to a local clinic, would instead stop by our house. His go-to question was: "Is your blood flowing round and round? Is your breath going in and out?" If so, it's not an emergency. I remember his pager going off at odd hours of the night, and him immediately calling back to help that mom in distress. My father also works in a lower-class neighborhood, and many of his patients are low-income, single-mother families on federal insurance. But that doesn't stop him from giving high-quality care to those individuals. Living in a house surrounded by medical terminology and the value of helping others has influenced my career decision to become a nurse. Aside from growing up in a house with these values, my faith as a Jewish woman has also played a part in my nursing journey (and perhaps, these two points are interconnected). The Jewish religion emphasizes two things: the importance of Chessed (kindness, volunteering) and the concept of "Ve'nishmartem meod le'nafshoseichem," which loosely translates to, "You should guard your souls (your life) very much." From this verse in the Torah, we understand the idea of prioritizing our health and taking care of our bodies. The nursing field is a perfect combination of these two ideas. As a nurse, you are constantly on your feet helping others by taking care of their medical needs. However, nursing school is expensive! It will require years of paying back student loans and hard work before I am fully debt-free. I was shocked when I saw the price tag for my nursing education. But I thought about it, and I decided my values and passion overwhelmed the steep investment. Because that's really what it is- an investment. An investment for my future, a sacrifice for my values, and a service to others. So thank you for considering me for your scholarship. My three-year-old self practicing what's inside her body thanks you, and my future self, living a life of purpose according to her faith, does as well.

I did not come to nursing through a straight or predictable path. I came to it the way many people come to faith—through desperation, humility, and the realization that I could not survive on my own strength anymore. Addiction stripped my life down to its barest truths. It exposed my limits, my fear, and my need for something greater than myself. In that unraveling, I found both God and my calling. Chutzpah is often described as courage or boldness, but to me it also means standing upright after being brought to your knees. Recovery demanded a kind of nerve I didn’t know I possessed. It required me to face myself honestly, to speak when silence felt safer, and to trust that showing up—day after day—mattered even when progress felt invisible. That same courage is what led me into nursing. I had learned, through recovery, how to sit with discomfort, how to stay steady in chaos, and how to speak up when something wasn’t right. Those skills didn’t come from textbooks. They came from lived experience and faith rebuilt one day at a time. My faith did not arrive as certainty; it arrived as surrender. In recovery, I learned to ask for help—first from people, then from God. I learned that strength does not mean doing everything alone, and that humility can coexist with confidence. Nursing reflects those lessons every day. It requires decisiveness paired with compassion, confidence anchored in accountability, and the courage to advocate for patients even when it is uncomfortable. Faith gave me the grounding to trust my judgment while remaining open to learning and correction. Today, I serve my own rural community as a Family Nurse Practitioner while pursuing my Doctor of Nursing Practice degree. Many of my patients carry stories of loss, addiction, mental illness, and poverty that mirror my own past. When I walk into an exam room, I don’t see diagnoses alone—I see people who deserve dignity, honesty, and care that meets them where they are. My faith reminds me that every person has inherent worth, even when they feel forgotten by the system. That belief shapes the way I practice, the way I listen, and the way I speak up when something isn’t right. Choosing nursing was an act of audacity. Continuing my education despite financial strain, long hours, and lingering self-doubt takes nerve. But faith has taught me that fear does not mean stop—it means proceed with integrity. I believe deeply that I was given a second chance not just to survive, but to serve. Nursing allows me to do that with both skill and heart. Chutzpah, for me, is the courage to claim this calling fully. It is trusting that my voice matters, that my experiences hold value, and that my faith—born in brokenness—can guide me to care for others with clarity, strength, and compassion.

I was originally drawn to the field of nursing by the phrase, “Don’t waste your life.” I wanted to devote my time and abilities to something meaningful, something that honored the belief that every human being is created in the image of the Name. Because of that, I see inherent dignity in all people, regardless of their condition or their desire to be well. I believe we are called to be light in the world, and that much of the moral good found in Western culture exists because our people have safeguarded and transmitted the traditions of the Name across generations. Our contributions are well documented: Jews make up only a tiny fraction of the world’s population, but individuals of Jewish descent have received an overwhelming share of scientific recognitions. Roughly one-fifth of all Nobel Prizes, and over one-quarter of all Nobel Prizes in Physiology or Medicine, have been awarded to Jewish scientists. In the United States, a community representing only about 2% of the population accounts for roughly 40% of American Nobel laureates in science and health. These numbers reflect a longstanding cultural emphasis on scholarship, healing, ethics, and the sanctity of life. We do not seek recognition, yet our contributions are overwhelming and undeniable. The Name is with us. And since much has been given to us, much is required of us in return. I chose to pursue a career in nursing because caring for others has always felt like a sacred responsibility. Throughout my nursing journey, I have witnessed how meaningful it is to support people in their most vulnerable moments. Nursing allows me to combine science, compassion, problem-solving, and human connection in a way that aligns deeply with my purpose. As I work toward becoming a Family Nurse Practitioner, I am driven by the belief that every patient deserves dignity, advocacy, and a clinician who truly listens. My faith has been an anchor throughout this calling. The values I was raised with, tikkun olam (repairing the world), chesed (loving-kindness), and honoring the divine spark in every person, shape the way I approach patient care. Healing is not merely a profession; it is a mitzvah, an act of sacred service. When I sit with a frightened patient, hold someone’s hand in the ER, or help a family navigate a difficult decision, I feel connected to generations who taught that our purpose is to bring light to one another with courage and compassion. My faith also guides me through the emotional weight of healthcare. Caring for the sick is holy work, and even small acts of kindness can ripple outward in ways we may never fully see. These values help me remain grounded, patient, and humble, especially in moments of grief, uncertainty, and moral complexity. Pursuing nursing, and now my FNP, is the fulfillment of both a professional calling and a spiritual path. It allows me to live out my values each day: to ease suffering, to act with justice and empathy, and to join with other Jewish people to be a light to the world.