We were just fourteen. He and I were fellow first years at The Center for Global Studies in Norwalk, Connecticut. I joyously commuted from nearly an hour away, powerfully drawn to its mission, “To Create a Global Society, One Student at a Time.” He must have noticed the Hebrew letters on my necklace, surmised my faith, and one winter morning (while our Arabic teacher conducted oral exams in the hallway), announced that I was “a dirty k*ke who deserved to die in a gas chamber like the others in the Holocaust …IF it ever really even happened.” I was mortified. Shrunken, I hid my Hebrew necklace. Over the next several weeks he drew swastikas on my notebook, harassed me in the hallway, and repeatedly threatened me with photos of his father’s gun. I reported each incident to administrators, but he only received a two-day suspension. The fourteen year old who fantasized about the potential for a pan-cultural global society and building bridges to peace suddenly refused to return to her dream school. For my safety, I transferred back to my local high school mid-semester, miserable and dejected. My parents contacted the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) of Connecticut for guidance. Their staff patiently absorbed my story and helped me rebuild confidence in my identity, assuring me that what happened was not my fault. They said they were impressed with my strength, and we discussed how I could use my voice to combat racism and hatred. I brightened, the prospect infusing me with a sense of purpose and hope. ADL asked me to become a “teen trainer”- a program exclusive to ADL of Connecticut that empowers teens to lead open and honest discussions about antisemitism. Now I regularly facilitate discussions about forms of hatred. Last summer I was selected to receive the Edward Brodsky Fellowship training, which aims to strengthen leadership skills including empathic listening and community-building. I recently had the opportunity to share my vision of how to create a hate-free society as a virtual panelist on a national webinar entitled “The Importance of Education in Fighting Antisemitism.” It is now three years later. I have spoken and interacted with over a thousand students through speeches and seminars, at Hebrew schools, Catholic schools, training seminars and victim counseling sessions- showing each the power of staring hatred in the eye, understanding without judgment (empathy, even with evil!), and the essential fight to preserve free speech - by replacing hate with education, and division with shared humanity. I felt an urgency to help those who have experienced the psychological trauma caused by hateful speech and developed a statewide pilot program for the ADL called “Teen Trainer Mentors,” which seeks to ensure mental health resources are available to victims of hate. While optimism might easily replace naivete, the courage to suspend assumptions and engage in active discourse feels earned by my experience. I have found that it is only when we truly accept and process the pain of others as our own that the riches of culturally diverse perspectives can be realized. I have learned to embrace the unknown with amplified energy and sense of purpose. I am no longer afraid or ashamed of who I am, and instead of hiding my Hebrew necklace, I welcome opportunities to discuss its meaning and history. By sharing my story, I believe I am making a meaningful difference in the lives of others - seeking to empower the ignorant, naive or pained to question their hatred, and those who have been harmed to speak out, heal their hearts, bridge all divides, and pay it forward.

We were just fourteen. He and I were fellow first years at The Center for Global Studies in Norwalk, Connecticut. I joyously commuted from nearly an hour away, powerfully drawn to its mission, “To Create a Global Society, One Student at a Time.” He must have noticed the Hebrew letters on my necklace, surmised my faith, and one winter morning (while our Arabic teacher conducted oral exams in the hallway), announced that I was “a dirty k*ke who deserved to die in a gas chamber like the others in the Holocaust …IF it ever really even happened.” I was mortified. Shrunken, I hid my Hebrew necklace. Over the next several weeks he drew swastikas on my notebook, harassed me in the hallway, and repeatedly threatened me with photos of his father’s gun. I reported each incident to administrators, but he only received a two-day suspension. The fourteen year old who fantasized about the potential for a pan-cultural global society and building bridges to peace suddenly refused to return to her dream school. For my safety, I transferred back to my local high school mid-semester, miserable and dejected. My parents contacted the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) of Connecticut for guidance. Their staff patiently absorbed my story and helped me rebuild confidence in my identity, assuring me that what happened was not my fault. They said they were impressed with my strength, and we discussed how I could use my voice to combat racism and hatred. I brightened, the prospect infusing me with a sense of purpose and hope. ADL asked me to become a “teen trainer”- a program exclusive to ADL of Connecticut that empowers teens to lead open and honest discussions about antisemitism. Now I regularly facilitate discussions about forms of hatred. Last summer I was selected to receive the Edward Brodsky Fellowship training, which aims to strengthen leadership skills including empathic listening and community-building. I recently had the opportunity to share my vision of how to create a hate-free society as a virtual panelist on a national webinar entitled “The Importance of Education in Fighting Antisemitism.” It is now three years later. I have spoken and interacted with over a thousand students through speeches and seminars, at Hebrew schools, Catholic schools, training seminars and victim counseling sessions- showing each the power of staring hatred in the eye, understanding without judgment (empathy, even with evil!), and the essential fight to preserve free speech - by replacing hate with education, and division with shared humanity. I felt an urgency to help those who have experienced the psychological trauma caused by hateful speech and developed a statewide pilot program for the ADL called “Teen Trainer Mentors,” which seeks to ensure mental health resources are available to victims of hate. While optimism might easily replace naivete, the courage to suspend assumptions and engage in active discourse feels earned by my experience. I have found that it is only when we truly accept and process the pain of others as our own that the riches of culturally diverse perspectives can be realized. I have learned to embrace the unknown with amplified energy and sense of purpose. I am no longer afraid or ashamed of who I am, and instead of hiding my Hebrew necklace, I welcome opportunities to discuss its meaning and history. By sharing my story, I believe I am making a meaningful difference in the lives of others - seeking to empower the ignorant, naive or pained to question their hatred, and those who have been harmed to speak out, heal their hearts, bridge all divides, and pay it forward.

We were just fourteen. He and I were fellow first years at The Center for Global Studies in Norwalk, Connecticut. I joyously commuted from nearly an hour away, powerfully drawn to its mission, “To Create a Global Society, One Student at a Time.” He must have noticed the Hebrew letters on my necklace, surmised my faith, and one winter morning (while our Arabic teacher conducted oral exams in the hallway), announced that I was “a dirty k*ke who deserved to die in a gas chamber like the others in the Holocaust …IF it ever really even happened.” I was mortified. Shrunken, I hid my Hebrew necklace. Over the next several weeks he drew swastikas on my notebook, harassed me in the hallway, and repeatedly threatened me with photos of his father’s gun. I reported each incident to administrators, but he only received a two-day suspension. The fourteen year old who fantasized about the potential for a pan-cultural global society and building bridges to peace suddenly refused to return to her dream school. For my safety, I transferred back to my local high school mid-semester, miserable and dejected. My parents contacted the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) of Connecticut for guidance. Their staff patiently absorbed my story and helped me rebuild confidence in my identity, assuring me that what happened was not my fault. They said they were impressed with my strength, and we discussed how I could use my voice to combat racism and hatred. I brightened, the prospect infusing me with a sense of purpose and hope. ADL asked me to become a “teen trainer”- a program exclusive to ADL of Connecticut that empowers teens to lead open and honest discussions about antisemitism. Now I regularly facilitate discussions about forms of hatred. Last summer I was selected to receive the Edward Brodsky Fellowship training, which aims to strengthen leadership skills including empathic listening and community-building. I recently had the opportunity to share my vision of how to create a hate-free society as a virtual panelist on a national webinar entitled “The Importance of Education in Fighting Antisemitism.” It is now three years later. I have spoken and interacted with over a thousand students through speeches and seminars, at Hebrew schools, Catholic schools, training seminars and victim counseling sessions- showing each the power of staring hatred in the eye, understanding without judgment (empathy, even with evil!), and the essential fight to preserve free speech - by replacing hate with education, and division with shared humanity. I felt an urgency to help those who have experienced the psychological trauma caused by hateful speech and developed a statewide pilot program for the ADL called “Teen Trainer Mentors,” which seeks to ensure mental health resources are available to victims of hate. While optimism might easily replace naivete, the courage to suspend assumptions and engage in active discourse feels earned by my experience. I have found that it is only when we truly accept and process the pain of others as our own that the riches of culturally diverse perspectives can be realized. I have learned to embrace the unknown with amplified energy and sense of purpose. I am no longer afraid or ashamed of who I am, and instead of hiding my Hebrew necklace, I welcome opportunities to discuss its meaning and history. By sharing my story, I believe I am making a meaningful difference in the lives of others - seeking to empower the ignorant, naive or pained to question their hatred, and those who have been harmed to speak out, heal their hearts, bridge all divides, and pay it forward.