The car skidded across the highway, and, like a broken corkscrew roller coaster, rolled over into the median with a thunderous crash. I wiped my hands, looked down, and was startled by the crimson hue of fresh blood on my shirt. I was in shock. The events of a few turbulent seconds taught me lifelong lessons. Such a close brush with death taught me the value of life. From then on, I tried to live life to its fullest, pursuing every opportunity: AP courses, robotics competitions, hackathons, the school basketball team, piano, and other challenges. More importantly, the kindness of others that day taught me to give life, not just live it. I will never forget the fact that perfect strangers stopped on the side of the highway to help us by calling 9-1-1, administering first aid, providing blankets, and talking to us. Doctors and nurses gave the highest standard of care, even when that meant recommending a different practitioner. Our friends rushed to the hospital to provide familiar faces, religious needs, food, and new glasses. Those people have deeply inspired me. I, too, want to assist others, even strangers, the way those strangers helped me. I, too, want to become a medical professional who provides ethical, selfless care to every patient. I also want to be sensitive to my friends’ needs in their hardest times. I, too, want to take care of my family with single-minded loving devotion. Therefore, I view school as a time to give, not only get. As a freshman and sophomore, I volunteered at an afterschool program for children with special needs, where we sang, ate dinner, and played games. During 11th grade, I joined a big-sister little-sister program, attending activities with and cheering on a younger girl as she found herself. I also began calling an older woman who is bedridden to keep her company. This year, I am on my school’s committee for coordinating students’ volunteer work, a mammoth but fulfilling task. Between classes, I search for volunteer opportunities. If not for my family’s accident, I likely wouldn’t have taken on all of these responsibilities. The funny thing is, the more I give, the more I benefit myself. Working with people who have less than I do gives me a deeper appreciation for all the blessings in my life, which makes me a much happier person. When working with children, ostensibly I am the teacher, but I have learned so much from their zest for life, honesty, and kindness to each other. My adopted ‘little sister’ and ‘grandma’ are people whose company I tremendously appreciate. I have also formed cherished friendships with fellow volunteers whom I otherwise might not have met. More than academic success and awards, I am grateful for opportunities during the past few years to spread kindness. The corkscrew roller coaster crash that almost ended my life instead taught me to live life fully and take every opportunity to help others. Therefore, I decided to become a Physician Assistant, a medical professional trained to treat patients across a variety of specialties. The gift of life is one I want to keep on giving. My love of children pulls me to the field of pediatrics; I hope to work in a pediatric urgent care one day. Kids are often afraid of doctors, but I will aim to be warm and reassuring enough to soothe their emotional as well as physical pain. The gift of life is one I want to pay forward to countless others, and I look forward to doing so as a PA in pediatric care.

The car skidded across the highway, and, like a broken corkscrew roller coaster, rolled over into the median with a thunderous crash. I wiped my hands, looked down, and was startled by the crimson hue of fresh blood on my shirt. I was in shock. A concerned stranger stood over me, asking if I was alright. While exiting the car-turned-scrap-metal, I saw my brother, who had been ejected from the car, lying on the side of the road. Noticing the traffic behind us, I realized that being stuck in traffic is preferable to being part of the collision that caused it. Then the ambulances came. Emergency personnel urgently strapped us onto stretchers and whisked us off to the nearest hospitals. Ejected from the car, my older brother had sustained a TBI and many other injuries. My parents, who were also badly hurt, were admitted to the hospital for a few days. My younger siblings and I sustained relatively minor injuries and were discharged within hours. The events of a few turbulent seconds taught me lifelong lessons. Such a close brush with death taught me the value of life. From then on, I tried to live life to its fullest, pursuing every opportunity: AP courses, robotics competitions, hackathons, the school basketball team, piano, and other challenges. More importantly, the kindness of others that day taught me to give life, not just live it. I will never forget the fact that perfect strangers stopped on the side of the highway to help us by calling 9-1-1, administering first aid, providing blankets, and talking to us. Doctors and nurses gave the highest standard of care, even when that meant recommending a different practitioner. Those people have deeply inspired me. I,too, want to assist others, even strangers, the way those strangers helped me. I,too, want to become a medical professional who provides ethical, selfless care to every patient. I want to spend my days improving people’s quality of life, to help their hearts by using mine. Therefore, I decided to become a Physician Assistant, a medical professional trained to treat patients across a variety of specialties. The gift of life is one I want to keep on giving. My love of children pulls me to the field of pediatrics; I hope to work in a pediatric urgent care one day. Kids are often afraid of doctors, but I will aim to be warm and reassuring enough to soothe their emotional as well as physical pain. The gift of life is one I want to pay forward to countless others, and I look forward to doing so as a PA in pediatric care.

The car skidded across the highway, and, like a broken corkscrew roller coaster, rolled over into the median with a thunderous crash. I wiped my hands, looked down, and was startled by the crimson hue of fresh blood on my shirt. I was in shock. A concerned stranger stood over me, asking if I was alright. While exiting the car-turned-scrap-metal, I briefly saw my brother lying on the side of the road. Then the ambulances came. Emergency personnel urgently strapped us onto stretchers and whisked us off to the nearest hospitals. The events of a few turbulent seconds taught me lifelong lessons. Such a close brush with death taught me the value of life. From then on, I tried to live life to its fullest, pursuing every opportunity: AP courses, robotics competitions, hackathons, the school basketball team, piano, and other challenges. More importantly, the kindness of others that day taught me to give life, not just live it. I will never forget the fact that perfect strangers stopped on the side of the highway to help us by calling 9-1-1, administering first aid, providing blankets, and talking to us. Doctors and nurses gave the highest standard of care, even when that meant recommending a different practitioner. Our friends rushed to the hospital to provide familiar faces, religious needs, food, and new glasses. My grandparents flew long distances and put their busy lives on hold for weeks to take care of us while we healed. They cooked meals, ran errands, tended to medical needs, and most all, provided loving care. Those people have deeply inspired me. I, too, want to assist others, even strangers, the way those strangers helped me. I, too, want to become a medical professional who provides ethical, selfless care to every patient. I also want to be sensitive to my friends’ needs in their hardest times. I, too, want to take care of my family with single-minded loving devotion. Therefore, I view school as a time to give, not only get. As a freshman and sophomore, I volunteered at an afterschool program for children with special needs, where we sang, ate dinner, and played games. Then, I joined a big-sister little-sister program, attending activities with and cheering on a younger girl as she found herself. I also began calling an older woman who is bedridden to keep her company. I am on my school’s committee for coordinating students’ volunteer work, a mammoth but fulfilling task. If not for my family’s accident, I likely wouldn’t have taken on all of these responsibilities. The funny thing is, the more I give, the more I benefit myself. Working with people who have less than I do gives me a deeper appreciation for all the blessings in my life, which makes me a much happier person. When working with children, ostensibly I am the teacher, but I have learned so much from their zest for life, honesty, and kindness to each other. My adopted ‘little sister’ and ‘grandma’ are people whose company I tremendously appreciate. I have also formed cherished friendships with fellow volunteers whom I otherwise might not have met. More than academic success and awards, I am grateful for opportunities during the past few years to spread kindness. The corkscrew roller coaster crash that almost ended my life instead taught me to live life fully and take every opportunity to help others. Therefore, I decided to become a Physician Assistant, a medical professional trained to treat patients across a variety of specialties. The gift of life is one I want to keep on giving.

Hi, I'm Aliza! I love to hike, spend time with family and friends, read, volunteer, and play basketball. Additionally, I hope this scholarship will be a significant drop in the overwhelmingly large college bill bucket. Since a young age, I dreamed of a career in medicine which would allow me to help people in a concrete way, every day. This dream grew stronger when, at age 9, the car my entire family was in careened, corkscrew style, into the highway median. Much medical intervention later, we are all leading productive lives. I want to pass on this great gift of life to others. However, as college progresses, the costs loom, and an increasingly foreboding debt cloud seems to be gathering. I hope I will get the assistance I need to complete my degree and become a healthcare provider in the DMV area. The vast knowledge required for a career in medicine means long, expensive schooling, which I hope will not be prohibitive for me. Financial aid such as this scholarship would allow me to achieve my dreams without them turning into nightmares. As a teen in these tumultuous times, hobbies such as basketball, reading, photography, and walking with friends help me stay positive. However, my most important, fulfilling, and impactful hobby is community service. Throughout high school, I used extra time to volunteer, leveraging my personal boredom for the greater good. This began with weekly volunteering in a program for special needs program. Then, when COVID hit, I began helping my cousins with their homework over Zoom, as well as conversing with a bedridden woman. My involvement in community service eventually lead to presiding over my school's community service organization, a demanding but meaningful job which I happily devoted much of my senior year to. Ironically, there is a relatively small contribution to my community had a large impact on me. In April 2020, during the thick of the pandemic, I felt the pain, sadness and worry enveloping just about everyone. However, I also saw that there were countless little blessings to be grateful for, like the view of sunset out my window or a simple game with my little sister. Recognizing small gifts brightened my day, and I wanted the same for others. Therefore, I created a shared spreadsheet for people to record things they were grateful for. Based on the feedback I received, this truly helped to spread positivity. Doing this increased my positivity, not only about life but also about myself. I learned that even in the darkest of times, I could do small things that make a big difference. This is a lesson I hope to internalize as a medical professional; while not every ailment can be healed through medicine, treating patients with true care, as people deserve to be treated, injects positivity even in their darkest times.

She couldn’t be gone. Bubby, always arranging family events. Bubby, who kept her family strong. Bubby, who showed me how to be strong. Her life was tough; she lost her husband when she had 5 school aged daughters, the eldest of whom is my mother. But she was tougher, raising those daughters with care and determination, fundraising for a non-profit organization, and always exceeding expectations. At the young age of 64, she was gone, lost to the war against cancer despite winning many heroic battles. The entire family reeled in shock, grieving for the superhuman matriarch who kept us all together. From her we had learned to do the impossible. That with hard work, the impossible becomes possible. To use every ounce of talent to help others, whether at home or at work. She tirelessly fundraised for a non-prifit organization, using her interpersonal and writing talents to score wins for those struggling with mental, physical, or developmental health. Her strong work ethic led her to over-achieve; her colleagues quipped they’d need a whole team to replace her. But her strength was also in her kindness. Maintenance workers from her building said she greeted them all by name every morning. As a grandchild, I felt her love in her hugs, her gifts, her phone calls. No matter how early I came downstairs, she was already working at her computer, but would greet me with a smile and a cookie. She encouraged my love of reading by bringing books whenever she came, feeding my insatiable desire for knowledge. Holidays were extra special in her home, surrounded with cousins, enveloped by her warmth. We all know Bubby loved us. She loved us individually, and she loved us as a group. She kept the family together, organizing events, reminding us of each other’s milestones, and acting as a rock of support for anyone in need. And suddenly, she was gone. After the customary week of mourning, we had to continue with our lives. Continuing without Bubby was hard, but the entity she had kept going her whole life now kept us going: family. Sisters and cousins, aunts and nieces had learned from Bubby to keep each other close through sunshine and storms. So we weathered this storm together, offering one another solace, filling at least parts of the gaping hole left by Bubby’s absence. We urged each other to tap into her strength. She passed away in the spring. That summer, and the next, the extended family gathered for a Sabbath, strengthening our relationship with one another, continuing the connections planted by our beloved grandmother. Now, three years after her passing, time has softened the sting loss, though we still feel her spiritual presence and physical absence, especially on special occasions. But thanks to her, we have not drifted apart. Her strength continues to give us courage, and her commitment to family has kept us committed to one another. These are values which shape me as a person, giving me the resilience to succeed in education and other areas of life, following the example of my Bubby.

The Ode to Millenials-Gen Z is not just a description of this generation; it is a description of world history. Time after time, the older generation leaves messes for the younger generation to clean up. These messes are worldwide struggles that earlier generations failed to fix. So they leave their problems as an unrequested legacy to those still fresh behind their ears. However, as noted in reference to "The Greatest Generation," the younger generation often steps up to the plate and overcomes obstacles that were insurmountable to previous generations. Because of this pattern, there is hope for our planet. There is hope for our poor. There is hope for our economy, and for all the other struggles the previous generations dumped on us. No, I can't tell you what the solutions will be. Those will be invented by my ingenious fellow Gen Zers, so you will have to wait. Don't worry though, the wait will be a short one, for as our elders love to tell us, we are very bad at waiting. Good news is, this trait means we won't make society wait too long for us to solve its problems. So look out world- we are here, we are innovative, and we are going to solve the problems we have been saddled with.

The car skidded across the highway, and, like a broken corkscrew roller coaster, rolled over into the median with a thunderous crash. I wiped my hands, looked down, and was startled by the crimson hue of fresh blood on my shirt. I was in shock. A concerned stranger stood over me, asking if I was alright. While exiting the car-turned-scrap-metal, I briefly saw my brother lying on the side of the road. Noticing the traffic behind us, I realized that being stuck in traffic is preferable to being part of the collision that caused it. Then the ambulances came. Emergency personnel strapped us onto stretchers and whisked us off to the nearest hospitals. Ejected from the car, my older brother had sustained a TBI and many other injuries. My parents, who were also badly hurt, were admitted to the hospital for a few days. My younger siblings and I sustained relatively minor injuries and were discharged within hours. The events of a few turbulent seconds taught me lifelong lessons. Such a close brush with death taught me the value of life. From then on, I tried to live life to its fullest, pursuing every opportunity: AP courses, robotics competitions, hackathons, the school basketball team, piano, and other challenges. More importantly, the kindness of others that day taught me to give life, not just live it. I will never forget the fact that perfect strangers stopped on the side of the highway to help us by calling 9-1-1, administering first aid, providing blankets, and talking to us. Doctors and nurses gave the highest standard of care, even when that meant recommending a different practitioner. Our friends rushed to the hospital to provide familiar faces, religious needs, food, and new glasses. My grandparents flew long distances and put their busy lives on hold for weeks to take care of us while we healed. They cooked meals, ran errands, tended to medical needs, and most all, provided loving care. Those people have deeply inspired me. I, too, want to assist others, even strangers, the way those strangers helped me. I, too, want to become a medical professional who provides ethical, selfless care to every patient. I, too want to be sensitive to my friends’ needs in their hardest times. I, too, want to take care of my family with single-minded loving devotion. Therefore, I view school as a time to give, not only get. As a freshman and sophomore, I volunteered at an afterschool program for children with special needs, where we sang, ate dinner, and played games. During 11th grade, I joined a big-sister little-sister program, attending activities with and cheering on a younger girl as she found herself. I also began calling an older, bedridden woman to keep her company. Senior year I was on my school’s committee for coordinating students’ volunteer work, a mammoth but fulfilling task. During the summers, I was a camp counselor for young children. If not for my family’s accident, I likely wouldn’t have taken on all of these responsibilities. More than academic success and awards, I am grateful for opportunities during the past few years to spread kindness. The corkscrew roller coaster crash that almost ended my life instead taught me to live life fully, taking every opportunity to help others. Therefore, I decided to enter medicine, to help people who are also patients. The gift of life is one I want to keep on giving. The gift of life is one I want to pay forward to countless others, and I look forward to doing so as a PA in pediatric care.

I don't have one. Thank you!

The car skidded across the highway, and, like a broken corkscrew roller coaster, rolled over into the median with a thunderous crash. I wiped my hands, looked down, and was startled by the crimson hue of fresh blood on my shirt. I was in shock. A concerned stranger stood over me, asking if I was alright. While exiting the car-turned-scrap-metal, I briefly saw my brother lying on the side of the road. Noticing the traffic behind us, I realized that being stuck in traffic is preferable to being part of the collision that caused it. Then the ambulances came. Emergency personnel strapped us onto stretchers and whisked us off to the nearest hospitals. Ejected from the car, my older brother had sustained a TBI and many other injuries. My parents, who were also badly hurt, were admitted to the hospital for a few days. My younger siblings and I sustained relatively minor injuries and were discharged within hours. The events of a few turbulent seconds taught me lifelong lessons. Such a close brush with death taught me the value of life. From then on, I tried to live life to its fullest, pursuing every opportunity: AP courses, robotics competitions, hackathons, the school basketball team, piano, and other challenges. More importantly, the kindness of others that day taught me to give life, not just live it. I will never forget the fact that perfect strangers stopped on the side of the highway to help us by calling 9-1-1, administering first aid, providing blankets, and talking to us. Doctors and nurses gave the highest standard of care, even when that meant recommending a different practitioner. Our friends rushed to the hospital to provide familiar faces, religious needs, food, and new glasses. My grandparents flew long distances and put their busy lives on hold for weeks to take care of us while we healed. They cooked meals, ran errands, tended to medical needs, and most all, provided loving care. Those people have deeply inspired me. I, too, want to assist others, even strangers, the way those strangers helped me. I, too, want to become a medical professional who provides ethical, selfless care to every patient. I, too want to be sensitive to my friends’ needs in their hardest times. I, too, want to take care of my family with single-minded loving devotion. Therefore, I view school as a time to give, not only get. As a freshman and sophomore, I volunteered at an afterschool program for children with special needs, where we sang, ate dinner, and played games. During 11th grade, I joined a big-sister little-sister program, attending activities with and cheering on a younger girl as she found herself. I also began calling an older, bedridden woman to keep her company. Senior year I was on my school’s committee for coordinating students’ volunteer work, a mammoth but fulfilling task. During the summers, I was a camp counselor for young children. If not for my family’s accident, I likely wouldn’t have taken on all of these responsibilities. More than academic success and awards, I am grateful for opportunities during the past few years to spread kindness. The corkscrew roller coaster crash that almost ended my life instead taught me to live life fully, taking every opportunity to help others. Therefore, I decided to enter medicine, the world of helping patients. The gift of life is one I want to keep on giving. The gift of life is one I want to pay forward to countless others, and I look forward to doing so as a PA in pediatric care.

The car skidded across the highway, and, like a broken corkscrew roller coaster, rolled over into the median with a thunderous crash. I wiped my hands, looked down, and was startled by the crimson hue of fresh blood on my shirt. I was in shock. A concerned stranger stood over me, asking if I was alright. While exiting the car-turned-scrap-metal, I saw my brother, who had been ejected from the car, lying on the side of the road. Noticing the traffic behind us, I realized that being stuck in traffic is preferable to being part of the collision that caused it. Then the ambulances came. Emergency personnel urgently strapped us onto stretchers and whisked us off to the nearest hospitals. Ejected from the car, my older brother had sustained a TBI and many other injuries. My parents, who were also badly hurt, were admitted to the hospital for a few days. My younger siblings and I sustained relatively minor injuries and were discharged within hours. The events of a few turbulent seconds taught me lifelong lessons. Such a close brush with death taught me the value of life. From then on, I tried to live life to its fullest, pursuing every opportunity: AP courses, robotics competitions, hackathons, the school basketball team, piano, and other challenges. More importantly, the kindness of others that day taught me to give life, not just live it. I will never forget the fact that perfect strangers stopped on the side of the highway to help us by calling 9-1-1, administering first aid, providing blankets, and talking to us. Doctors and nurses gave the highest standard of care, even when that meant recommending a different practitioner. Those people have deeply inspired me. I,too, want to assist others, even strangers, the way those strangers helped me. I,too, want to become a medical professional who provides ethical, selfless care to every patient. I want to spend my days improving people’s quality of life, to help their hearts by using mine. Therefore, I decided to become a Physician Assistant, a medical professional trained to treat patients across a variety of specialties. The gift of life is one I want to keep on giving. My love of children pulls me to the field of pediatrics; I hope to work in a pediatric urgent care one day. Kids are often afraid of doctors, but I will aim to be warm and reassuring enough to soothe their emotional as well as physical pain. The gift of life is one I want to pay forward to countless others, and I look forward to doing so as a PA in pediatric care.

The car skidded across the highway, and, like a broken corkscrew roller coaster, rolled over into the median with a thunderous crash. I wiped my hands, looked down, and was startled by the crimson hue of fresh blood on my shirt. I was in shock. A concerned stranger stood over me, asking if I was alright. While exiting the car-turned-scrap-metal, I briefly saw my brother lying on the side of the road. Then the ambulances came. Emergency personnel urgently strapped us onto stretchers and whisked us off to the nearest hospitals. Ejected from the car, my older brother sustained a TBI and many other injuries. My parents, who were also badly hurt, were admitted to the hospital for a few days. My younger siblings and I sustained relatively minor injuries and were discharged within hours. The events of a few turbulent seconds taught me lifelong lessons. Such a close brush with death taught me the value of life. From then on, I tried to live life to its fullest, pursuing every opportunity: AP courses, robotics competitions, hackathons, the school basketball team, piano, and other challenges. More importantly, the kindness of others that day taught me to give life, not just live it. I will never forget the fact that perfect strangers stopped on the side of the highway to help us by calling 9-1-1, administering first aid, providing blankets, and talking to us. Doctors and nurses gave the highest standard of care, even when that meant recommending a different practitioner. Our friends rushed to the hospital to provide familiar faces, religious needs, food, and new glasses. My grandparents flew long distances and put their busy lives on hold for weeks to take care of us while we healed. They cooked meals, ran errands, tended to medical needs, and most all, provided loving care. Those people have deeply inspired me. I, too, want to assist others, even strangers, the way those strangers helped me. I, too, want to become a medical professional who provides ethical, selfless care to every patient. I, too, want to be sensitive to my friends’ needs in their hardest times. I, too, want to take care of my family with single-minded loving devotion. Therefore, I viewed high school as a time to give, not only get. I volunteered at an afterschool program for children with special needs, where we sang, ate dinner, and played games. I joined a big-sister little-sister program, attending activities with and cheering on a younger girl as she found herself. I called an older bedridden woman to keep her company. I ran my school’s committee for coordinating students’ volunteer work, a mammoth but fulfilling task. If not for my family’s accident, I likely wouldn’t have taken on all of these responsibilities. The corkscrew roller coaster crash that almost ended my life instead taught me to live life fully and take every opportunity to help others. Therefore, I decided to become a Physician Assistant, a medical professional trained to treat patients across a variety of specialties. The gift of life is one I want to keep on giving. My love of children pulls me to the field of pediatrics; I hope to work in pediatric urgent care one day. Kids are often afraid of doctors, but I will aim to be warm and reassuring enough to soothe their emotional as well as physical pain. The gift of life is one I want to pay forward to countless others, and I look forward to doing so as a PA in pediatric care.

Math is more than the sum of all its many parts; it's the system that makes everything else tick. In today’s hi-tech world, it goes without saying that behind every wireless toaster and artificial intelligence is math-based computer programming, complicated skyscrapers of logic built by billions of 1s and 0s. But long before the first calculator, stock analyst, or equation was created, math, though unnamed and undiscovered, flourished in the universe. Plants instinctively grow branches according to the sequence later discovered by Mr. Fibonacci. Nautilus shells form without knowing that their curve ratio is golden. Moons hurtled along their complicated ellipses long before life developed to graph them. Atoms organized themselves into compounds long before the periodic table measured their weights to explain bonds. Nature operates smoothly without human help. However, we need math to harness nature to help us. Mathematics’s magnetic attraction stems from the fact that it eloquently expresses the patterns inherent in our organized world. Trees cultivate branches without understanding their own Fibonacci rate of growth, but economists must cultivate comprehension of Fibonacci numbering to predict markets and more. Likewise, crustaceans swim blissfully in their beautiful shells. Maybe fish enjoy the sight. But humans, with modern mathematics, can recognize the pattern behind the beauty and replicate it in enjoyable artwork. Children notice that the moon grows and shrinks. Early astronomers using rudimentary math recorded its patterns to predict tides and calibrate religious ceremonies. With modern advanced equations, we can calculate the moon’s motion well enough to land on it. Giant leaps for mankind, fostered by math. Besides for its calculable benefits, algebra implicitly teaches another important message. In algebra class, as in life, one is faced with givens, but also with unknown variables. Kids learn in the classroom that by manipulating the equation, they can find out information that initially seemed inaccessible. As they grow up, this lesson is critical; so often, they will find themselves at crossroads, facing choices whose repercussions are significant, seemingly without enough knowledge. However, as in math class, by thoroughly reviewing the knowledge they do have, they can make informed decisions, increasing their chances of a positive outcome. Obviously, the above is but a fraction of the many benefits of math. That’s what I love about learning it; by learning math, you begin to comprehend the rules of the physical universe. Math rules can be applied and reapplied without ever running out. Equations equal enlistment of nature to our benefit. Math makes me happy because math makes progress.

Standing at the podium, heart pounding, I was overwhelmed by hundreds of faces gazing expectantly at me. I mouthed the words of my well-practiced valedictory address, but the words caught in my throat. Burning in shame, I sat down, unable to speak publicly, and unable to face myself or anyone else present. The public fears public speaking more than death, and so did I. Upon hearing that I would be my grade’s valedictorian, the above vision came to mind, uninvited yet inescapable. I shun publicity, by choice and by instinct. How could a girl who shies away from raising her hand in class possibly speak in front of her educators, friends, and all of their families? I could not, would not speak. However, this was not a refusable privilege (or, punishment, as I viewed it). My parents, teachers, principals, and friends thought I should do it, and I was not granted veto power. Thus, I had two months to overcome my fear of public speaking, or my nightmare would become a self-fulfilling prophetic dream. Franklin Delano Roosevelt famously declared that “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” In the case of public speaking, it is fear which freezes the person, preventing them from relaying even the worthiest of messages. Somehow, I needed reason with my unreasonable phobia, to overcome my nervous instinct. Step one: stop strengthening it! Agonizing about bad outcomes strengthens neural pathways of fear, increasing the chances you will feel and act on that fear in the future. So I stopped allowing myself to sink into such thought patterns. When fears arose, I switched mental channels to something more productive. I needed to believe I was capable of facing a crowd. How? By mentally telling myself that I could. It sounds foolish, and initially even felt foolish, but after a few weeks, I began to believe it, especially since I had stopped telling myself that I couldn’t speak. Additionally, when conversation turned to graduation, I stopped bemoaning my fears aloud, because that only reinforced my self-imposed handicap. Instead, when relevant, I’d ask for encouragement or advice, both of which people happily provided. Next, I had to write a speech worth repeating. Much effort went into drafting a script that was engaging, relevant, and succinct. Observing teachers and lecturers taught me that you speak best when you speak about your passions. Thankfully, I am passionate about my school and about life, so a speech combining both was natural as well as fitting. Then came a grueling week of practicing, practicing, and practicing. First, alone. Then in front of close friends and relatives, whose patience and support gave me the guts to keep going. The hardest rehearsal was in the large auditorium, in front of my principal, who had said that the speech was great but my presentation could use improvement. Crushed, I resolved to perfect my presentation, by being me, saying it with genuine emotion, instead of with perfectly planned pauses. Standing at the podium, heart pounding, I surveyed hundreds of faces gazing expectantly at me. I spoke the words of my well-practiced valedictory address, confidence growing stronger as I gave a message of strength, telling the crowd that while we may be nervous about ‘real’ life, we can be confident the lessons we learned in school will continue to guide us. It rang true because it was true; I had just utilized facts learned in school to succeed beyond my wildest dreams. Bolstered by the audience’s applause, I sat down, grateful that I learned to face a crowd by first facing myself.

The car skidded across the highway, and, like a broken corkscrew roller coaster, rolled over into the median with a thunderous crash. I wiped my hands, looked down, and was startled by the crimson hue of fresh blood on my shirt. I was in shock. A concerned stranger stood over me, asking if I was alright. While exiting the car-turned-scrap-metal, I saw my brother, who had been ejected from the car, lying on the side of the road. Noticing the traffic behind us, I realized that being stuck in traffic is preferable to being part of the collision that caused it. Then the ambulances came. Emergency personnel urgently strapped us onto stretchers and whisked us off to the nearest hospitals. Ejected from the car, my older brothersustained a TBI and many other injuries. My parents, who were also badly hurt, were admitted to the hospital for a few days. My younger siblings and I sustained relatively minor injuries and were discharged within hours. The events of a few turbulent seconds taught me lifelong lessons. Such a close brush with death taught me the value of life. From then on, I tried to live life to its fullest, pursuing every opportunity: AP courses, robotics competitions, hackathons, the school basketball team, piano, and other challenges. More importantly, the kindness of others that day taught me to give life, not just live it. I will never forget the fact that perfect strangers stopped on the side of the highway to help us by calling 9-1-1, administering first aid, providing blankets, and talking to us. Doctors and nurses gave the highest standard of care, even when that meant recommending a different practitioner. Those people have deeply inspired me. I, too, want to assist others, even strangers, the way those strangers helped me. I, too, want to become a medical professional who provides ethical, selfless care to every patient. I want to spend my days improving people’s quality of life, to help their hearts by using mine. Therefore, I decided to become a Physician Assistant, a medical professional trained to treat patients across a variety of specialties. The gift of life is one I want to keep on giving. My love of children pulls me to the field of pediatrics; I hope to work in pediatric urgent care one day. Kids are often afraid of doctors, but I will aim to be warm and reassuring enough to soothe their emotional as well as physical pain. The gift of life is one I want to pay forward to countless others, and I look forward to doing so as a PA in pediatric care.

The car skidded across the highway, and, like a broken corkscrew roller coaster, rolled over into the median with a thunderous crash. I wiped my hands, looked down, and was startled by the crimson hue of fresh blood on my shirt. I was in shock. A concerned stranger stood over me, asking if I was alright. While exiting the car-turned-scrap-metal, I saw my brother, who had been ejected from the car, lying on the side of the road. Noticing the traffic behind us, I realized that being stuck in traffic is preferable to being part of the collision that caused it. Then the ambulances came. Emergency personnel urgently strapped us onto stretchers and whisked us off to the nearest hospitals. Ejected from the car, my older brother sustained a TBI and many other injuries. My parents, who were also badly hurt, were admitted to the hospital for a few days. My younger siblings and I sustained relatively minor injuries and were discharged within hours. The events of a few turbulent seconds taught me lifelong lessons. Such a close brush with death taught me the value of life. From then on, I tried to live life to its fullest, pursuing every opportunity: AP courses, robotics competitions, hackathons, the school basketball team, piano, and other challenges. More importantly, the kindness of others that day taught me to give life, not just live it. I will never forget the fact that perfect strangers stopped on the side of the highway to help us by calling 9-1-1, administering first aid, providing blankets, and talking to us. Doctors and nurses gave the highest standard of care, even when that meant recommending a different practitioner. Those people have deeply inspired me. I, too, want to assist others, even strangers, the way those strangers helped me. I, too, want to become a medical professional who provides ethical, selfless care to every patient. I want to spend my days improving people’s quality of life, to help their hearts by using mine. Therefore, I decided to become a Physician Assistant, a medical professional trained to treat patients across a variety of specialties. The gift of life is one I want to keep on giving. My love of children pulls me to the field of pediatrics; I hope to work in pediatric urgent care one day. Kids are often afraid of doctors, but I will aim to be warm and reassuring enough to soothe their emotional as well as physical pain. The gift of life is one I want to pay forward to countless others, and I look forward to doing so as a PA in pediatric care.

Math is more than the sum of all its many parts; it's the system that makes everything else tick. In today’s hi-tech world, it goes without saying that behind every wireless toaster and artificial intelligence is math-based computer programming, complicated skyscrapers of logic built by billions of 1s and 0s. But long before the first calculator, stock analyst, or equation was created, math, though unnamed and undiscovered, flourished in the universe. Plants instinctively grow branches according to the sequence later discovered by Mr. Fibonacci. Nautilus shells form without knowing that their curve ratio is golden. Moons hurtled along their complicated ellipses long before life developed to graph them. Atoms organized themselves into compounds long before the periodic table measured their weights to explain bonds. Nature operates smoothly without human help. However, we need math to harness nature to help us. Mathematics’s magnetic attraction stems from the fact that it eloquently expresses the patterns inherent in our organized world. Trees cultivate branches without understanding their own Fibonacci rate of growth, but economists must cultivate comprehension of Fibonacci numbering to predict markets and more. Likewise, crustaceans swim blissfully in their beautiful shells. Maybe fish enjoy the sight. But humans, with modern mathematics, can recognize the pattern behind the beauty and replicate it in enjoyable artwork. Children notice that the moon grows and shrinks. Early astronomers using rudimentary math recorded its patterns to predict tides and calibrate religious ceremonies. With modern advanced equations, we can calculate the moon’s motion well enough to land on it. Giant leaps for mankind, fostered by math. Besides for its calculable benefits, algebra implicitly teaches another important message. In algebra class, as in life, one is faced with givens, but also with unknown variables. Kids learn in the classroom that by manipulating the equation, they can find out information that initially seemed inaccessible. As they grow up, this lesson is critical; so often, they will find themselves at crossroads, facing choices whose repercussions are significant, seemingly without enough knowledge. However, as in math class, by thoroughly reviewing the knowledge they do have, they can make informed decisions, increasing their chances of a positive outcome. Obviously, the above is but a fraction of the many benefits of math. That’s what I love about learning it; by learning math, you begin to comprehend the rules of the physical universe. Math rules can be applied and reapplied without ever running out. Equations equal enlistment of nature to our benefit. Math makes me happy because math makes progress.

Math is more than the sum of all its many parts; it's the system that makes everything else tick. In today’s hi-tech world, it goes without saying that behind every wireless toaster and artificial intelligence is math-based computer programming, complicated skyscrapers of logic built by billions of 1s and 0s. But long before the first calculator, stock analyst, or equation was created, math, though unnamed and undiscovered, flourished in the universe. Plants instinctively grow branches according to the sequence later discovered by Mr. Fibonacci. Nautilus shells form without knowing that their curve ratio is golden. Moons hurtled along their complicated ellipses long before life developed to graph them. Atoms organized themselves into compounds long before the periodic table measured their weights to explain bonds. Nature operates smoothly without human help. However, we need math to harness nature to help us. Mathematics’s magnetic attraction stems from the fact that it eloquently expresses the patterns inherent in our organized world. Trees cultivate branches without understanding their own Fibonacci rate of growth, but economists must cultivate comprehension of Fibonacci numbering to predict markets and more. Likewise, crustaceans swim blissfully in their beautiful shells. Maybe fish enjoy the sight. But humans, with modern mathematics, can recognize the pattern behind the beauty and replicate it in enjoyable artwork. Children notice that the moon grows and shrinks. Early astronomers using rudimentary math recorded its patterns to predict tides and calibrate religious ceremonies. With modern advance equations, we can calculate the moon’s motion well enough to land on it. Giant leaps for mankind, fostered by math. Obviously, the above is but a fraction of the many benefits of math. That’s what I love about learning it; by learning math, you begin to comprehend the rules of the physical universe. Math rules can be applied and reapplied without ever running out. Equations equal enlistment of nature to our benefit. Math makes me happy because math makes progress.

She couldn’t be gone. Bubby, always arranging family events. Bubby, who kept her family strong. Bubby, who showed me how to be strong. Her life was tough; she lost her husband when she had 5 school-aged daughters, the eldest of whom is my mother. But she was tougher, raising those daughters with care and determination, fundraising for a non-profit organization, and always exceeding expectations. At the young age of 64, she was gone, lost to the war against cancer despite winning many heroic battles. The entire family reeled in shock, grieving for the superhuman matriarch who kept us all together. From her, we had learned to do the impossible. That with hard work, the impossible becomes possible. To use every ounce of talent to help others, whether at home or work. Her strong work ethic led her to over-achieve; her colleagues quipped they’d need a whole team to replace her. But her strength was also in her kindness. Maintenance workers from her building said she greeted them all by name every morning. As a grandchild, I felt her love in her hugs, her gifts, her phone calls. No matter how early I came downstairs, she was already working at her computer, but would greet me with a smile and a cookie. Holidays were extra special in her home, surrounded by cousins, enveloped by her warmth. We all know Bubby loved us. She loved us individually, and she loved us as a group. She kept the family together, organizing events, reminding us of each other’s milestones, and acting as a rock of support for anyone in need. And suddenly, she was gone. After the customary week of mourning, we had to continue with our lives. Continuing without Bubby was hard, but the entity she had kept going her whole life now kept us going: family. Sisters and cousins, aunts and nieces had learned from Bubby to keep each other close through sunshine and storms. So we weathered this storm together, offering one another solace, filling at least parts of the gaping hole left by Bubby’s absence. We urged each other to tap into her strength. She passed away in the spring. That summer, and the next, the extended family gathered for a Sabbath, strengthening our relationship with one another, continuing the connections planted by our beloved grandmother. Now, three years after her passing, time has softened the sting loss, though we still feel her spiritual presence and physical absence, especially on special occasions. But thanks to her, we have not drifted apart. Her strength continues to give us courage, and her commitment to family has kept us committed to one another. These are values which shape me as a person, giving me the resilience to succeed in education and other areas of life, following the example of my Bubby.

Sitting at a desk, taking notes. Sitting in the car, driving to the supermarket. Sitting at the computer, writing a paper. Sitting, sitting sitting. With all the sitting we do today, it's not a surprise that in 2022, a whopping 69% of American adults were overweight or obese. As a teenager on the verge of adulthood, I became determined to break myself out of that statistic. However, both from reading and from personal experience, I am all too aware that crash diets just don't work. Therefore, with the help of my nutritionist, I made some sustainable, responsible changes to my diet. Throughout High School, I often skipped breakfast, mistakenly believing this would help me lose weight. In truth, it just led to binge eating later in the day. By starting off my day with a yogurt, a fruit, and some cereal, I start the day with enough energy to end it without 3 bowls of ice cream. Initially, it seemed counterintuitive to me, but it helped me; seems like breakfast really is the most important meal of the day. I've also been adding activity into my day. Often, this means walking instead of taking the bus. In the hills of Jerusalem where I was in school, this was a great workout. Trekking up steep hills prevented me from gaining that infamous "freshman 15." Additionally, it added to my quality of life; I enjoyed the fresh, crisp breezes on these outings, especially when compared to the stale air inside buses. Ironically, by walking, I often reached my destination faster than my friends who waited for the bus to arrive and then sat in traffic. Building on that good habit, I've continued to once returning home, deliberately scheduling strolls around the neighborhood. By going on a walk with a friend, I stay socially connected, unwind after a long day of work and school, and also get healthy. At work as well, I've been deliberately adding motion to my day. When printing documents for patients, rather than using the printer at my feet, I use the one behind my desk, necessitating standing up, stretching my legs, and walking the few steps there. Thus, rather than sitting for 8 hours straight, I activate muscles every few minutes. Though I have yet to reach all of my health goals, these are strides in the right direction, and I am grateful to have made so much progress.

Hi, I'm Aliza! I love to hike, spend time with family and friends, read, volunteer, and play basketball. Additionally, I hope this scholarship will be a significant drop in the overwhelmingly large college bill bucket. Since a young age, I dreamed of a career in medicine which would allow me to help people in a concrete way, every day. This dream grew stronger when, at age 9, the car my entire family was in careened, corkscrew style, into the highway median. Much medical intervention later, we are all leading productive lives. I want to pass on this great gift of life to others. However, as college progresses, the costs loom, and an increasingly foreboding debt cloud seems to be gathering. I hope I will get the assistance I need to complete my degree and become a healthcare provider in the DMV area. The vast knowledge required for a career in medicine leads to long, expensive schooling, which I hope will not be prohibitive for me. Financial aid such as this scholarship would allow me to achieve my dreams without them turning into nightmares. As a teen in these tumultuous times, hobbies such as basketball, reading, photography, and walking with friends help me stay positive. However, my most important, fulfilling, and impactful hobby is community service. Throughout high school, I used extra time to volunteer, leveraging my personal boredom for the greater good. This began with weekly volunteering in a program for special needs program. Then, when COVID hit, I began helping my cousins with their homework over Zoom, as well as conversing with a bedridden woman. My involvement in community service eventually lead to presiding over my school's community service organization, a demanding but meaningful job which I happily devoted much of my senior year to. Ironically, there is a relatively small contribution to my community had a large impact on me. In April 2020, during the thick of the pandemic, I felt the pain, sadness and worry enveloping just about everyone. However, I also saw that there were countless little blessings to be grateful for, like the view of sunset out my window or a simple game with my little sister. Recognizing small gifts brightened my day, and I wanted the same for others. Therefore, I created a shared spreadsheet for people to record things they were grateful for. Based on the feedback I received, this truly helped to spread positivity. Doing this increased my positivity, not only about life but also about myself. I learned that even in the darkest of times, I could do small things that make a big difference. This is a lesson I hope to internalize as a medical professional; while not every ailment can be healed through medicine, treating patients with true care, as people deserve to be treated, injects positivity even in their darkest times.