Resilience to me is not something you are born with, but something you gain through moments of struggle. It grows in the moments when you feel alone, overwhelmed, and tempted to give up. Moving to America shaped me in many ways and taught me to be resilient in ways I never imagined. My first day of school felt like walking into a dark tunnel. I was confused, unable to understand what anyone was saying, and I felt less capable than other students because of the language barrier. I spent hours translating lessons, practicing pronunciation, and teaching myself new words every evening. Those moments of sacrifice shaped the person I am today. I learned to never give up, even when an assignment felt impossible. I learned to prepare ahead of time, and most importantly, I learned to stop comparing myself to others. In my sophomore year, I wanted to join a club, but I backed out. I told myself I was shy, but deep down, it was fear. I was afraid of being judged for the way I spoke. The following year was even harder, but I made a decision. I would no longer let fear control me. I joined clubs, volunteered, and pushed myself out of my comfort zone because serving my community has always mattered to me. My way of serving was different, but it was intentional. People around me noticed how dedicated I was to helping others, and teachers admired my work ethic. Because of that, I also began helping students who struggled with lessons the way I once did. Something I have always done, even before I realized it, is encourage the people around me to succeed. Some of my friends were scared to join clubs just like I once was, but I encouraged them to try anyway so they would not regret waiting as long as I did. Seeing them step out of their comfort zones made me understand that my resilience was influencing others in a positive way. The moment that truly showed me the impact of my resilience was when my younger sibling started high school. I was able to guide him through challenges I once faced alone. I helped him avoid the mistakes I made, encouraged him to get involved early, and supported him so he would not struggle the way I did. Watching him succeed, and even surpass me in some areas, made me realize that resilience is not just about surviving your own battles. It is about using your experience to make someone else’s path easier. One day, a classmate told me she worked hard despite her language barrier because she saw how hard I worked and how I pushed myself to grow. That moment made me realize something important. People did not see my weaknesses or my accent. They saw my determination. They saw someone who kept going even when she had every reason to quit. That is what resilience means to me. It is rising through challenges and inspiring others to rise with you.

I still remember the exhaustion on my dad’s face when he came home from work during our first year in America. Back home, he was the strongest man I knew, proudly working in his office and providing for us with confidence. Here, everything changed. He became a warehouse employee, doing physical labor he had never done before. I watched him come home with sore hands, tired eyes, and a quiet heaviness that I had never seen in him before. Every day, after long shifts that felt like years, he would look at me and say, “Keren, ma chérie, tu dois étudier et arriver là où moi, je n’ai pas pu arriver,” which means “Keren, my darling, you must study and reach the place I could not reach.” Hearing those words from a man who had sacrificed everything to bring us here stayed with me more than he probably realized. Those words followed me into every classroom. They were with me when I struggled to understand English, when I felt behind other students, and when I stayed up late trying to catch up. I remember moments when I wanted to cry out of frustration because I understood the material in my mind, but I did not yet have the language to express it. Still, I kept going. Seeing how education can shape lives in America and how much low‑income families struggle without it pushed me to work harder than ever. Even when the language barrier made things tough, I refused to let it stop me. I wanted to build a life my parents couldn’t afford because opportunity was never offered to them. I wanted to show them that their sacrifices were not in vain. Getting this degree means more than a personal achievement. It marks the moment when my family’s story moves from uncertainty to stability. It represents every challenge we faced as immigrants trying to rebuild our lives from the ground up. It proves that hard work pays off, that sacrifice is not wasted, and that your background does not determine your future. You define it. For my parents, it would be a moment of relief, knowing that everything they endured helped create a better path for their child. It would show them that the dreams they carried across borders and oceans are finally becoming a reality. For future generations in my family, this degree becomes a new starting point. My siblings and my future children will grow up seeing education not as a distant dream but as a path that someone in our family has walked and opened for them. They will know that success is possible even when you start with nothing. They will understand that our story did not end with struggle but continued with growth, opportunity, and hope. This degree becomes a symbol of what is possible when determination meets opportunity. I want my family to look back and see this moment as the turning point, the moment when we stopped surviving and started building. This is how I honor my father’s words, and this is how I start rewriting our future.