When I was 12 years old I wrote a letter to my future self. Upon receiving the letter in my senior year of high school, one of the things I said to myself was that I wanted to work in healthcare. By the time I received the letter I had already decided nursing was what I wanted to study and was committed to a program across the country from the only home I have ever known. One of the main reasons I chose to pursue a career in nursing is because caring for others has been woven into my life through both my family history and my Jewish faith. Some of my earliest and most meaningful memories are with my great-grandmother, a Holocaust survivor. Spending time with her shaped not only who I am, but how I see the responsibility we have to care for one another. Her survival, resilience, and deep appreciation for life taught me lessons that no textbook ever could. As a child, I spent every Shabbat with my great-grandmother, listening to her stories and simply being in her presence. She carried unimaginable trauma, yet met life with gratitude and quiet strength. As she grew older and became ill, our relationship changed. I began helping care for her in more tangible ways. I assisted with daily tasks, sat with her during moments of discomfort, and offered reassurance when she felt afraid or weak. Being there for her during this vulnerable stage of her life showed me how powerful compassion and presence can be. It was during this time my passion for helping others was solidified and I knew I had made the right choice for my future. Judaism and the lessons my great-grandmother taught me played a central role in shaping that calling. One of the values I was raised with is pikuach nefesh, the belief that saving a life is one of the highest commandments. This principle deeply resonates with me and aligns naturally with the profession of nursing. I was also taught the importance of chesed (loving-kindness) and tikkun olam (repairing the world). Caring for my great-grandmother felt like living out these values, not through grand gestures, but through the core values of nursing: patience, empathy, compassion, advocacy, and veracity. Watching her age and struggle with illness also gave me a deep respect for dignity in care. As a Jewish woman who survived the Holocaust, her life represented both suffering and survival. I felt a responsibility to honor her by treating her with the utmost respect and compassion. That experience has shaped how I have cared for the patients I have had through my nursing school experience thus far: seeing them as whole people, not just their illness or disease. Nursing appeals to me because it allows me to combine my love of science with humanity. Nurses are the ones who advocate for patients, educate families, and provide comfort during life’s most difficult moments. I want to continue to be that trusted person of comfort for others, just as I was for my great-grandmother. My faith teaches me that every person is created b’tzelem Elohim (in the image of God) and deserves care that honors their worth, no matter what. Everything I do and have done has been inspired by my great-grandmother’s life and guided by Jewish values. I am pursuing nursing as not only a career, but also as a calling. I hope to bring compassion, resilience, and faith into my practice, providing care that heals not only the body, but also the heart with every patient I meet along the way.

When I was 17 years old, my eyes were opened in a new way to the evil that exists in the world, but also to how beautiful a little bit of kindness can be. I grew up in a large family and was lucky enough to have had 17 wonderful years with my great-grandmother, who was a survivor of the Holocaust. Every Shabbat for as long as I can remember, I slept over at her house. Her biggest joy in life was caring for me and her other 13 great-grandchildren. Towards the end of her life, her memory began to diminish and she would get stuck in these episodes where the time and place were not clear to her. One day, while my mom was in the shower, my aunt called her in a panic. I answered, and not realizing it was me on the other end of the phone, she told me that the hospice providers said my great-grandmother, or Nanny as I called her, had at most 2 days left to live. Immediately, I got in my car and drove to her house. Shoving my way into her home, I ran to her bedroom to find her wailing in a way you see in horror movies. I was scared, but as I approached her, things changed. She had been fighting her nurses who were trying to get her out of the wheelchair and into bed and to take her medication. At the time, she thought her hospice nurses were the same people she watched slaughter her entire family. She kept yelling in Yiddish, screaming in such fear you could feel the goosebumps appear on your body. And then she saw my face. Although she didn't know who I was, I could tell I brought her comfort. She began to calm down while I got settled on my knees, holding her hand, and telling her it was all going to be okay. I got her to take her medication and get into bed. I got in beside her and listened to her talk about what she had experienced on the day she had been living in her mind. She then called me by the name of her younger sister who had been killed in the war. I listened to her promises to protect me, to care for me, to make sure we didn't die in Auschwitz. Holding back my tears, I began to sing her a song she would sing to me when I was a baby, and she sang right along with me until she fell asleep. It was on this day that I realized just how strong she was, and just how far a little bit of empathy and compassion will go. It was also the scariest day of my life because I got a glimpse into what my life would have been like if I had been born in the 1930s instead of 2004. I think about this day a lot, but now it reminds me of how the only thing that truly mattered to her was to be a good person and to show kindness to those who needed it the most. It was this day that I knew I wanted to be just like her. It was this day that I knew I wanted to spend my adult life taking care of others and showing them the light in the darkest of times. I knew then, that I wanted to be a nurse. Now, even though she is gone, she lives in my heart, inspiring and motivating me to achieve my goals.