The summer of seventeen, a time of pool parties and celebrating the freedom of drivers licenses, but I found a dark side of the internet filled with girls obsessed with perfecting their bodies at any cost. It was dark yet addictive. Only 17 years old, but I began to lose myself in the throes of anorexia, becoming deathly sick but completely unaware. While I was resistant to letting go of my sickness for a long time, months of slamming doors and lying to my loved ones exhausted me. I resolved to find a way to get better on my own before I left the comfort of home for college. Yet I didn’t understand that while it can be easy to fix a body, a mind is harder to heal. Feeling scared and alone, my prior habits warped into an ugly form of bulimia. I felt too ashamed to talk to anyone about what I was going through and I was nervous for what college would bring. On the first day of classes at Muhlenberg College, I walked into the 130 person Biology 1 lecture hall with my heart in my throat, but I studied hard and did well. My professor celebrated my successes and soon became a cherished mentor. I finally had a bright future to work for and was not going to let my eating disorder rob me of opportunities like it had robbed me of my life for years. When I experienced rare moments where I regressed, I realized that I was beginning a journey to study medicine yet was still sabotaging my own health. Shame and stigma towards mental health was something I would never want a patient to feel, yet was harboring it towards myself. Asking for help was challenging, but I swallowed my pride and scheduled appointments with my school’s counseling/health centers to continue healing both my mind and body. I called my friends and siblings to share my story, which returned stories of their struggles with mental health and medical scares and I became a better source of strength and comfort for them. We cried and laughed together, and for the first time I didn’t feel so alone. It’s easy to look back on a dark period of your life and wish it had never happened. I still regret the fights with my mom, the irreversible damage to my esophagus. Yet I have gained a source of strength and resilience I never knew I had. I’ve faced many challenging moments, but I never falter for long with the knowledge that every dark moment comes to an end. At the end of the day, I don’t want to waste any more time away from doing the things I love with the people I love. In the field of medicine, I hope to use my experiences to provide personalized, compassionate care for each patient. I want my patients to know that their pain and fears are valid, and that they are not alone in their struggles.

The summer of seventeen is supposed to be a time of pool parties and celebrating the freedom of a driver's license, but I found a dark side of the internet filled with girls obsessed with perfecting their bodies at any cost. It was dark yet addictive. I was 17 years old but began to lose myself in the throes of anorexia, becoming deathly ill but completely unaware. While I was resistant to change, months of slamming doors and lying to my loved ones exhausted me. I resolved to find a way to get better on my own before I left the comfort of home for college. Yet I didn’t understand that while it can be easy to fix a body, a mind is harder to heal. Feeling scared and alone, my prior habits warped into bulimia. I felt too ashamed to talk to anyone about what I was going through and I was nervous about what college would bring. At Muhlenberg College, my biology professor celebrated my successes and soon became a cherished mentor. I finally had a bright future to work for and was not going to let my eating disorder rob me of opportunities like it had robbed me of my life for years. When I experienced rare moments of relapse, I realized that I was beginning to study medicine yet was still sabotaging my health. Shame and stigma towards mental health was something I would never want my patients to feel, yet I was harboring it towards myself. Asking for help was challenging, but I scheduled appointments with my school’s counseling and health centers to continue healing my mind and body. For the first time, I called my friends and siblings to share my story, which returned stories of their own mental health struggles and I became a better source of strength and comfort for them. We cried and laughed together, and for the first time in years, I did not feel so alone. It’s easy to look back on a dark period of your life and wish it had never happened. Yet I have gained a source of strength and resilience that I never knew I had. I’ve faced many challenging moments, but I never falter for long knowing that every dark moment comes to an end. At the end of the day, I don’t want to waste any more time away from doing the things I love with the people I love. Currently, I am a medical school student at Emory University School of Medicine. I plan to use my experiences to provide personalized, compassionate care for each patient. Recently, I met a patient with a history of an eating disorder and IBS. I connected with her struggles and supported her in managing her anxiety around certain foods and in finding a dietician. Additionally, my peers and I have launched "Educate Heal Empower" - an organization to help improve the education and prevention of eating disorders in Atlanta. I am passionate about working with youth and teens and hope to use my medical and scientific background to advance our understanding of the neurobiological basis of eating disorders and improve access to care in underrepresented communities. Because of my experience, I want my patients to know that their pain and fears are valid and that they are not alone in their journeys. I believe there is a future where no one will have to suffer from mental illness in fear, shame, and isolation. Through advocacy, philanthropy, and community-building we can achieve that vision together.

Growing up, my father told me stories of his experiences with poverty as he and his family emigrated from Iraq to the state of Israel with nothing but a few suitcases. My father was a very bright child but shared how he could never study while growing up because he had no school supplies or even any food to fill his stomach. In college, he had to drop out because he could not keep up with his schoolwork as well as work to support himself. In the US, never knowing how much would be in our budget for the month, or having to scrimp and save every penny became second nature. My parents did not have the same educational opportunities that they provided me. My family has taught me resilience and optimism in the face of adversity, and I will never forget how powerful higher education is in transforming lives. As the president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory (Medical Mensches), I serve as a support system and advocate for Jewish medical school students. During our Genetics course this semester, one professor made insensitive comments surrounding the genetic conditions associated with Ashkenazi Jewish heritage. Unable to remain silent, I was able to speak to the entire class about the history of discrimination and persecution that resulted in less genetic diversity and increased risks of genetic conditions. Afterward, I collaborated with our professors to rewrite parts of the curriculum to more accurately educate future physicians about Jewish heritage and medical risks. When our school administration scheduled quizzes on Yom Kippur, I wrote a petition letter to our deans to respect our observations. This fortunately resulted in flexible accommodations for observing students. As a marginalized religious and ethnic identity, it is my obligation to speak for justice for others. As a future physician, guided by my experiences and Jewish values, I plan to advocate for my patients’ care. Geriatric medicine and caring for older adults is my passion. I have spent years serving older adults in hospice care, inpatient hospital settings, and through musical volunteering. During my time rotating in a primary care clinic, I have been able to form deeper relationships with older patients and understand the unspoken hardships of navigating the healthcare system as an older adult. I have been able to have frank, deep conversations about incontinence post-menopause, and the fatigue that comes more easily when you’re an older adult with a chronic illness (or multiple) because of time spent with older adults I love. When I work in the Movement Disorder Clinic, I make the effort to laugh with our patients with Parkinson’s because I can see my grandfather’s experience in their eyes. The summer after my first year of college, I watched my grandfather lose his ability to walk, speak, and swallow due to Parkinson’s Disease before passing at the age of 93. This experience helped me understand the importance of caring for vulnerable individuals in times of need while also progressing scientific advancement to treat degenerative conditions. Right now, I am spearheading a clinical research project on Parkinson’s Disease to find potential connections between specific biomarkers, disease progression, and genetics. I plan to contribute to greater scientific knowledge around Parkinson’s Disease and make a positive impact for patients like my grandfather. Jewish values and community have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become: an advocate for others, a compassionate caregiver, and a scientific investigator able to answer challenging questions in medicine. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients.

The summer of seventeen is supposed to be a time of pool parties and celebrating the freedom of a driver's license, but I found a dark side of the internet filled with girls obsessed with perfecting their bodies at any cost. It was dark yet addictive. I was 17 years old but began to lose myself in the throes of anorexia, becoming deathly ill but completely unaware. While I was resistant to change, months of slamming doors and lying to my loved ones exhausted me. I resolved to find a way to get better on my own before I left the comfort of home for college. Yet I didn’t understand that while it can be easy to fix a body, a mind is harder to heal. Feeling scared and alone, my prior habits warped into bulimia. I felt too ashamed to talk to anyone about what I was going through and I was nervous about what college would bring. At Muhlenberg College, my biology professor celebrated my successes and soon became a cherished mentor. I finally had a bright future to work for and was not going to let my eating disorder rob me of opportunities like it had robbed me of my life for years. When I experienced rare moments of relapse, I realized that I was beginning to study medicine yet was still sabotaging my health. Shame and stigma towards mental health was something I would never want my patients to feel, yet I was harboring it towards myself. Asking for help was challenging, but I scheduled appointments with my school’s counseling and health centers to continue healing my mind and body. For the first time, I called my friends and siblings to share my story, which returned stories of their own mental health struggles and I became a better source of strength and comfort for them. We cried and laughed together, and for the first time in years, I did not feel so alone. It’s easy to look back on a dark period of your life and wish it had never happened. Yet I have gained a source of strength and resilience that I never knew I had. I’ve faced many challenging moments, but I never falter for long knowing that every dark moment comes to an end. At the end of the day, I don’t want to waste any more time away from doing the things I love with the people I love. Currently, I am a medical school student at Emory University School of Medicine. I plan to use my experiences to provide personalized, compassionate care for each patient. Recently, I met a patient with a history of an eating disorder and IBS. I connected with her struggles and supported her in managing her anxiety around certain foods and in finding a dietician. Additionally, my peers and I have launched "Educate Heal Empower" - an organization to help improve the education and prevention of eating disorders in Atlanta. I am passionate about working with youth and teens and hope to use my medical and scientific background to advance our understanding of the neurobiological basis of eating disorders and improve access to care in underrepresented communities. Because of my experience, I want my patients to know that their pain and fears are valid and that they are not alone in their journeys. I believe there is a future where no one will have to suffer from mental illness in fear, shame, and isolation. Through advocacy, philanthropy, and community-building we can achieve that vision together.

My life has been shaped and guided by my Jewish values of “tikkun olam” and “gemilut hasadim”: repairing the world and acts of loving-kindness. I attended Hebrew School twice weekly as a child; throughout our lessons, nothing stuck with me more than these ideas. I felt like I finally had the vocabulary to describe my place in this world. In elementary school, I staged a one-woman protest over the trees next to our recess yard being cut down to build a parking lot. I always felt like an outsider -- just a little too loud and different. As I’ve grown up, I’ve embraced these oddities, recognizing it as something that makes me, me. Because of my heritage and my experiences, I feel proud of the person I am becoming and hopeful for my future. Growing up, my father shared his experiences with poverty and antisemitism as he and his family emigrated from Iraq to the state of Israel. With nothing but a few suitcases, my family fled Iraq for the newly formed nation of Israel. Every day, I am grateful that I am able to enrich my studies with my Jewish values and learn Hebrew. At Muhlenberg College, I learned about the widespread prevalence of food insecurity on college campuses. By directly working with both my peers and with administration, I have helped food and financial resources become more accessible to students. My father’s side grew up with nothing, but are some of the most generous people I know. Just as I learned values of faith and perseverance from them, my family on my mother’s side taught me much. My grandfather was my biggest supporter as a musician and student. Every chance I had, I would bring my flute to his apartment. When his Parkinson’s progressed to the point where he could hardly walk, I put on my marching band uniform and played jaunty tunes on my piccolo so he would not feel alone. He valued family and loyalty, and even as he lost his mobility and independence, never complained. I will never forget his strength and kindness. One of the most challenging moments of my life happened on the first day back on campus after two semesters of remote learning due to COVID-19. Students excitedly gathered outdoors, thrilled to see their friends, attend in-person classes, and even eat dining hall food again. Watching these reunions, I seethed. One month prior, someone I loved passed away in a tragic car accident. It was not fair that at only 21, his life was taken away from him by sheer fate. I could not understand why someone so full of love for his friends and campus would have his senior spring semester ripped away. I questioned if I could have been a better friend, if I could have made his last months a better experience. I mistakenly assumed this was an individual struggle, and I reached out to his friends and family, offering words of support and sharing funny anecdotes. I had to forgive myself for not doing more for him while he was still alive. While fate can be cruel and unfair, showing kindness to others and myself is how I could begin to heal. I am young, but I have seen how loss and hardships have shaped the people I love and have shaped me. My passions in life have come from my values of remaining present and connected with others through acts of kindness, but also from a desire to correct injustices. I am eager to begin the next chapter of my life in the field of medicine.

The summer of seventeen is supposed to be a time of pool parties and celebrating the freedom of a driver's license, but I found a dark side of the internet filled with girls obsessed with perfecting their bodies at any cost. It was dark yet addictive. I was 17 years old but began to lose myself in the throes of anorexia, becoming deathly ill but completely unaware. While I was resistant to change, months of slamming doors and lying to my loved ones exhausted me. I resolved to find a way to get better on my own before I left the comfort of home for college. Yet I didn’t understand that while it can be easy to fix a body, a mind is harder to heal. Feeling scared and alone, my prior habits warped into bulimia. I felt too ashamed to talk to anyone about what I was going through and I was nervous about what college would bring. At Muhlenberg College, my biology professor celebrated my successes and soon became a cherished mentor. I finally had a bright future to work for and was not going to let my eating disorder rob me of opportunities like it had robbed me of my life for years. When I experienced rare moments of relapse, I realized that I was beginning to study medicine yet was still sabotaging my health. Shame and stigma towards mental health was something I would never want my patients to feel, yet I was harboring it towards myself. Asking for help was challenging, but I scheduled appointments with my school’s counseling and health centers to continue healing my mind and body. For the first time, I called my friends and siblings to share my story, which returned stories of their own mental health struggles and I became a better source of strength and comfort for them. We cried and laughed together, and for the first time in years, I did not feel so alone. It’s easy to look back on a dark period of your life and wish it had never happened. Yet I have gained a source of strength and resilience that I never knew I had. I’ve faced many challenging moments, but I never falter for long knowing that every dark moment comes to an end. At the end of the day, I don’t want to waste any more time away from doing the things I love with the people I love. Currently, I am a medical school student at Emory University School of Medicine. I plan to use my experiences to provide personalized, compassionate care for each patient. Recently, I met a patient with a history of an eating disorder and IBS. I connected with her struggles and supported her in managing her anxiety around certain foods and in finding a dietician. Additionally, my peers and I have launched "Educate Heal Empower" - an organization to help improve the education and prevention of eating disorders in Atlanta. I am passionate about working with youth and teens and hope to use my medical and scientific background to advance our understanding of the neurobiological basis of eating disorders and improve access to care in underrepresented communities. Because of my experience, I want my patients to know that their pain and fears are valid and that they are not alone in their journeys. I believe there is a future where no one will have to suffer from mental illness in fear, shame, and isolation. Through advocacy, philanthropy, and community-building we can achieve that vision together.

Growing up, my father shared stories of his experiences with poverty and anti-Semitism as he and his family fled Iraq for Israel. My father was a bright child, but could never study because he had no school supplies or even any food to fill his stomach. In college, he had to drop out because he could not afford to eat. Proud of my family’s strength, I was shocked when a peer asked if I was a terrorist after I mentioned my Iraqi background. Through speaking up, I quickly learned that I could turn my pain and anger into a moment of education. Through sharing my story, I soon found others like me. Because of this, I am continuously educating myself on connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice in my work with Challah for Hunger as a leader and advocate. Currently, I am collaborating with the Office of Multicultural Life and Hillel to establish satellite food pantries that offer wider ranges of products as these are locations where many marginalized students feel most comfortable. At Muhlenberg College, I’ve learned how to approach complex problems through multiple lenses and create sustainable change. I plan to continue my work in creating equity for peers at Emory University School of Medicine, where I am a second-year medical school student. I hope to create positive change for my patients of all backgrounds and identities as a future physician. However, one aspect of my identity that I have struggled to connect with my faith is my bisexuality due to my family’s traditional Jewish beliefs. When a friend made homophobic comments, I tried to protect myself, and was silent-- but complicit. I realized that I needed to educate myself further so I could lead meaningful dialogue around faith and the LGBTQ community. While I am still learning, I know in order to foster acceptance and understanding I cannot avoid these hard conversations. I later began attending Hillel lectures hosted by queer Jews, and for the first time saw individuals who were proudly queer but still connected to Judaism. Feeling hopeful for my future, I truly understood the power of representation. I am grateful for the opportunity to become a source of representation and provide a deeper level of care for patients like me. Continuously strengthened by my community and experiences, I will continue to advocate for marginalized individuals in Atlanta, GA and grow into a physician, scholar, and advocate.

My grandfather (my “Zayde”) was my biggest supporter as a musician and student. Every chance I had, I would bring my flute to my grandparents’ apartment to play and show him my performance. When his Parkinson’s progressed to the point where he could hardly walk, I put on my marching band uniform for him and played jaunty tunes on my piccolo so he would not feel alone. He valued family and loyalty, and even as he lost his mobility and independence, never complained. I will never forget his continuous strength and kindness. He passed away my freshman year of college. Because of this experience, geriatric medicine and caring for older adults has become my passion. I have spent years serving older adults in hospice care, inpatient hospital settings, and through musical volunteering. during my time rotating in a primary care clinic this past year, I have been able to form deeper relationships with older patients and understand the unspoken hardships of navigating the healthcare system as an older adult. I have been able to have frank, deep conversations about incontinence, and the fatigue that comes more easily when you’re an older adult with a chronic illness (or multiple) because of time spent with older adults I love. When I work in the Movement Disorder Clinic, I make the effort to laugh with our patients with Parkinson’s because I can see my grandfather’s experience in their eyes. Watching my grandfather's decline with Parkinson's Disease, with no real treatments available to halt the progression of this degenerative condition, showed underscored importance of caring for vulnerable individuals in times of need while also progressing scientific advancement to treat degenerative conditions. Right now, I am spearheading a clinical research project on Parkinson’s Disease to find potential connections between specific biomarkers, disease progression, and genetic heritage. I hope to contribute to greater scientific knowledge around Parkinson’s Disease and make a positive impact for patients like my grandfather. My grandfather's support of me as a musician has helped inspire me to launch a volunteer musical group at Emory School of Medicine. A few months ago, we performed at a home fo Jewish older adults. There was one woman in the audience who could barely remember what happened the day before, but when we played an old Yiddish love song called “tombalalaika”, she started singing along in the audience and then started describing her life in New York City. Music has such a power to connect people and reach people from all walks of life, and connect me to my past as well. My Zayda wasn't just a WWII veteran, or an ambulance driver, or camp counselor, but also a proud Jewish man who loved his family above all else. Because of him, the Jewish values he imparted and the community and family he built around us have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become. I will become an advocate for others, a compassionate caregiver, and a scientific investigator able to answer challenging questions in medicine. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients.

The summer of seventeen is supposed to be a time of pool parties and celebrating the freedom of a driver's license, but I found a dark side of the internet filled with girls obsessed with perfecting their bodies at any cost. It was dark yet addictive. I was 17 years old but began to lose myself in the throes of anorexia, becoming deathly ill but completely unaware. While I was resistant to change, months of slamming doors and lying to my loved ones exhausted me. I resolved to find a way to get better on my own before I left the comfort of home for college. Yet I didn’t understand that while it can be easy to fix a body, a mind is harder to heal. Feeling scared and alone, my prior habits warped into bulimia. I felt too ashamed to talk to anyone about what I was going through and I was nervous about what college would bring. At Muhlenberg College, my biology professor celebrated my successes and soon became a cherished mentor. I finally had a bright future to work for and was not going to let my eating disorder rob me of opportunities like it had robbed me of my life for years. When I experienced rare moments of relapse, I realized that I was beginning to study medicine yet was still sabotaging my health. Shame and stigma towards mental health was something I would never want my patients to feel, yet I was harboring it towards myself. Asking for help was challenging, but I scheduled appointments with my school’s counseling and health centers to continue healing my mind and body. For the first time, I called my friends and siblings to share my story, which returned stories of their own mental health struggles and I became a better source of strength and comfort for them. We cried and laughed together, and for the first time in years, I did not feel so alone. It’s easy to look back on a dark period of your life and wish it had never happened. Yet I have gained a source of strength and resilience that I never knew I had. I’ve faced many challenging moments, but I never falter for long knowing that every dark moment comes to an end. At the end of the day, I don’t want to waste any more time away from doing the things I love with the people I love. Currently, I am a medical school student at Emory University School of Medicine. I plan to use my experiences to provide personalized, compassionate care for each patient. Recently, I met a patient with a history of an eating disorder and IBS. I connected with her struggles and supported her in managing her anxiety around certain foods and in finding a dietician. Additionally, my peers and I have launched "Educate Heal Empower" - an organization to help improve the education and prevention of eating disorders in Atlanta. I am passionate about working with youth and teens and hope to use my medical and scientific background to advance our understanding of the neurobiological basis of eating disorders and improve access to care in underrepresented communities. Because of my experience, I want my patients to know that their pain and fears are valid and that they are not alone in their journeys. I believe there is a future where no one will have to suffer from mental illness in fear, shame, and isolation. Through advocacy, philanthropy, and community-building we can achieve that vision together.

My life has been shaped and guided by my Jewish values of “tikkun olam” and “gemilut hasadim”: repairing the world and acts of loving-kindness. I attended Hebrew School twice weekly as a child; throughout our lessons, nothing stuck with me more than these ideas. I felt like I finally had the vocabulary to describe my place in this world. In elementary school, I staged a one-woman protest over the trees next to our recess yard being cut down to build a parking lot. I always felt like an outsider -- just a little too loud and different. As I’ve grown up, I’ve embraced these oddities, recognizing it as something that makes me, me. Because of my heritage and my experiences, I feel proud of the person I am becoming and hopeful for my future. Growing up, my father shared his experiences with poverty and antisemitism as he and his family emigrated from Iraq to the state of Israel. With nothing but a few suitcases, my family fled Iraq for the newly formed nation of Israel. Every day, I am grateful that I am able to enrich my studies with my Jewish values and learn Hebrew. At Muhlenberg College, I learned about the widespread prevalence of food insecurity on college campuses. By directly working with both my peers and with administration, I have helped food and financial resources become more accessible to students. My father’s side grew up with nothing, but are some of the most generous people I know. Just as I learned values of faith and perseverance from them, my family on my mother’s side taught me much. My grandfather was my biggest supporter as a musician and student. Every chance I had, I would bring my flute to his apartment. When his Parkinson’s progressed to the point where he could hardly walk, I put on my marching band uniform and played jaunty tunes on my piccolo so he would not feel alone. He valued family and loyalty, and even as he lost his mobility and independence, never complained. I will never forget his strength and kindness. One of the most challenging moments of my life happened on the first day back on campus after two semesters of remote learning due to COVID-19. Students excitedly gathered outdoors, thrilled to see their friends, attend in-person classes, and even eat dining hall food again. Watching these reunions, I seethed. One month prior, someone I loved passed away in a tragic car accident. It was not fair that at only 21, his life was taken away from him by sheer fate. I could not understand why someone so full of love for his friends and campus would have his senior spring semester ripped away. I questioned if I could have been a better friend, if I could have made his last months a better experience. I mistakenly assumed this was an individual struggle, and I reached out to his friends and family, offering words of support and sharing funny anecdotes. I had to forgive myself for not doing more for him while he was still alive. While fate can be cruel and unfair, showing kindness to others and myself is how I could begin to heal. I am young, but I have seen how loss and hardships have shaped the people I love and have shaped me. My passions in life have come from my values of remaining present and connected with others through acts of kindness, but also from a desire to correct injustices. I am eager to begin the next chapter of my life in the field of medicine.

My life has been shaped and guided by my Jewish values of “tikkun olam” and “gemilut hasadim”: repairing the world and acts of loving-kindness. I attended Hebrew School twice weekly as a child; throughout our lessons, nothing stuck with me more than these ideas. I felt like I finally had the vocabulary to describe my place in this world. In elementary school, I staged a one-woman protest over the trees next to our recess yard being cut down to build a parking lot. I always felt like an outsider -- just a little too loud and different. As I’ve grown up, I’ve embraced these oddities, recognizing it as something that makes me, me. Because of my heritage and my experiences, I feel proud of the person I am becoming and hopeful for my future. Growing up, my father shared his experiences with poverty and antisemitism as he and his family emigrated from Iraq to the state of Israel. With nothing but a few suitcases, my family fled Iraq for the newly formed nation of Israel. Every day, I am grateful that I am able to enrich my studies with my Jewish values and learn Hebrew. At Muhlenberg College, I learned about the widespread prevalence of food insecurity on college campuses. By directly working with both my peers and with administration, I have helped food and financial resources become more accessible to students. My father’s side grew up with nothing, but are some of the most generous people I know. Just as I learned values of faith and perseverance from them, my family on my mother’s side taught me much. My grandfather was my biggest supporter as a musician and student. Every chance I had, I would bring my flute to his apartment. When his Parkinson’s progressed to the point where he could hardly walk, I put on my marching band uniform and played jaunty tunes on my piccolo so he would not feel alone. He valued family and loyalty, and even as he lost his mobility and independence, never complained. I will never forget his strength and kindness. One of the most challenging moments of my life happened on the first day back on campus after two semesters of remote learning due to COVID-19. Students excitedly gathered outdoors, thrilled to see their friends, attend in-person classes, and even eat dining hall food again. Watching these reunions, I seethed. One month prior, someone I loved passed away in a tragic car accident. It was not fair that at only 21, his life was taken away from him by sheer fate. I could not understand why someone so full of love for his friends and campus would have his senior spring semester ripped away. I questioned if I could have been a better friend, if I could have made his last months a better experience. I mistakenly assumed this was an individual struggle, and I reached out to his friends and family, offering words of support and sharing funny anecdotes. I had to forgive myself for not doing more for him while he was still alive. While fate can be cruel and unfair, showing kindness to others and myself is how I could begin to heal. I am young, but I have seen how loss and hardships have shaped the people I love and have shaped me. My passions in life have come from my values of remaining present and connected with others through acts of kindness, but also from a desire to correct injustices. I am eager to begin the next chapter of my life in the field of medicine.

Growing up, my father told me stories of his experiences with poverty and anti-semitism as he and his family fled Iraq for the newly formed nation of Israel. My father was a very bright child, but lamented how he could never study while growing up because he had no desk, no school supplies, and not even any food to fill his stomach. In college, he had to drop out because he could not keep up with his schoolwork as well as work to support himself. Every day I am grateful for both my college education for every moment I can study and express my faith. When my father came to this country, he was able to provide opportunities for me that he did not have growing up, yet life was still not easy for either of us. We both struggled to balance time with family with our jobs, and any extra penny we earned was sent back to our family in Israel. Because of my experiences, I am continuously educating myself on connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice in my work as a student advocate. On October 24th, 2022 I launched the Hunger Free Campus Symposium at Muhlenberg College. I connected with local legislators, philanthropic leaders, university administrators, and student leaders to create an impactful event that would empower guests to create change around food insecurity in higher education. We received remarks from individuals such as Senator Casey (PA), PA Governor Tom Wolf, First Lady of PA Frances Wolf, as well as the CEO of Hunger Free America. Guests were able to voice their questions and concerns to our legislators and engage in letter-writing. Building connections and advocating for positive change reinforced my desire to address issues of equity in my future career as a medical student and physician. We are continuing our work by launching a student survey to gather data on student needs on Muhlenberg’s campus. This information will allow us to understand which resources to provide for students as we draft plans with campus administrators to launch a second food pantry on campus. Due to our direct advocacy, the governor included Hunger Free Campus Grant Legislation as part of his budget proposal to the PA legislature for this year to support students struggling with food insecurity. Currently, I am at Emory University School of Medicine, where I am using my passion for advocacy to support others experiencing socioeconomic diversity. During a recent hospital shift, we admitted an 82-year-old unhoused woman after a non-fatal suicide attempt. In the emergency department, this woman was diagnosed as having “dementia”, a strong label that threatened her autonomy, limiting her ability to make decisions surrounding her own care. Yet, when I entered her room, I encountered a bright, alert woman updating her address book. Through talking with the patient, I formed a clearer picture of her emotional and mental state and our team quickly struck the dementia diagnosis from her chart. I still think about her and wonder what would have happened to her had no one taken the time to sit with her and listen with an unbiased perspective, rather than accept a faulty label based on preconceived notions. Socioeconomic hardship, Jewish values and community, and my father have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become: an advocate for others, a compassionate caregiver, and a scientific investigator able to answer challenging questions in medicine. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients.

The summer of seventeen is supposed to be a time of pool parties and celebrating the freedom of a driver's license, but I found a dark side of the internet filled with girls obsessed with perfecting their bodies at any cost. It was dark yet addictive. I was 17 years old but began to lose myself in the throes of anorexia, becoming deathly ill but completely unaware. While I was resistant to change, months of slamming doors and lying to my loved ones exhausted me. I resolved to find a way to get better on my own before I left the comfort of home for college. Yet I didn’t understand that while it can be easy to fix a body, a mind is harder to heal. Feeling scared and alone, my prior habits warped into bulimia. I felt too ashamed to talk to anyone about what I was going through and I was nervous about what college would bring. At Muhlenberg College, my biology professor celebrated my successes and soon became a cherished mentor. I finally had a bright future to work for and was not going to let my eating disorder rob me of opportunities like it had robbed me of my life for years. When I experienced rare moments of relapse, I realized that I was beginning to study medicine yet was still sabotaging my health. Shame and stigma towards mental health was something I would never want my patients to feel, yet I was harboring it towards myself. Asking for help was challenging, but I scheduled appointments with my school’s counseling and health centers to continue healing my mind and body. For the first time, I called my friends and siblings to share my story, which returned stories of their own mental health struggles and I became a better source of strength and comfort for them. We cried and laughed together, and for the first time in years, I did not feel so alone. It’s easy to look back on a dark period of your life and wish it had never happened. Yet I have gained a source of strength and resilience that I never knew I had. I’ve faced many challenging moments, but I never falter for long knowing that every dark moment comes to an end. At the end of the day, I don’t want to waste any more time away from doing the things I love with the people I love. Currently, I am a medical school student at Emory University School of Medicine. I plan to use my experiences to provide personalized, compassionate care for each patient. Recently, I met a patient with a history of an eating disorder and IBS. I connected with her struggles and supported her in managing her anxiety around certain foods and in finding a dietician. Additionally, my peers and I have launched "Educate Heal Empower" - an organization to help improve the education and prevention of eating disorders in Atlanta. I am passionate about working with youth and teens and hope to use my medical and scientific background to advance our understanding of the neurobiological basis of eating disorders and improve access to care in underrepresented communities. Because of my experience, I want my patients to know that their pain and fears are valid and that they are not alone in their journeys. I believe there is a future where no one will have to suffer from mental illness in fear, shame, and isolation. Through advocacy, philanthropy, and community-building we can achieve that vision together.

Growing up, my father told me stories of his experiences with poverty as he and his family emigrated from Iraq to the state of Israel with nothing but a few suitcases. My father was a very bright child, but shared how he could never study while growing up because he had no school supplies or even any food to fill his stomach. In college, he had to drop out because he could not keep up with his schoolwork as well as work to support himself. Spending time with my family has taught me resilience and optimism in the face of adversity, and I will never forget how powerful higher education is in transforming lives. Because of my heritage, I am continuously educating myself on connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice as a student doctor at Emory University School of Medicine. As the president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory (Medical Mensches), I serve as a support system and advocate for Jewish medical school students. During our Genetics course this semester, one professor made insensitive comments surrounding the genetic conditions associated with Ashkenazi Jewish heritage. Unable to remain silent, I was able to speak to the entire class about the history of discrimination and persecution that resulted in less genetic diversity and increased risks of genetic conditions. Afterwards, I collaborated with our professors to rewrite parts of the curriculum to more accurately educate future physicians around Jewish heritage and medical risks. When our school administration scheduled quizzes on Yom Kippur, I wrote a petition letter to our deans to respect our observations. This fortunately resulted in flexible accommodations for observing students. As a marginalized religious and ethnic identity, it is my obligation to speak for justice for others. As a future physician, guided by my experiences and Jewish values, I plan to advocate for my patients’ care. Geriatric medicine and caring for older adults has been a passion of mine for many years. The summer after my first year of college, I watched my grandfather lose his ability to walk, speak, and swallow to Parkinson’s Disease before passing at the age of 93. This experience helped me understand the importance of both caring for vulnerable individuals in times of need while also progressing scientific advancement to treat degenerative conditions. Right now, I am spearheading a clinical research project on Parkinson’s Disease to find potential connections between specific biomarkers, disease progression, and genetic heritage. I hope to contribute to greater scientific knowledge around Parkinson’s Disease and make a positive impact for patients like my grandfather. Jewish values and community have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become: an advocate for others, a compassionate caregiver, and a scientific investigator able to answer challenging questions in medicine. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients.

Growing up, my father told me stories of his experiences with poverty as he and his family emigrated from Iraq to the state of Israel with nothing but a few suitcases. My father was a very bright child, but shared how he could never study while growing up because he had no school supplies or even any food to fill his stomach. In college, he had to drop out because he could not keep up with his schoolwork as well as work to support himself. Spending time with my family has taught me resilience and optimism in the face of adversity, and I will never forget how powerful higher education is in transforming lives. Because of my heritage, I am continuously educating myself on connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice as a student doctor at Emory University School of Medicine. As the president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory (Medical Mensches), I serve as a support system and advocate for Jewish medical school students. During our Genetics course this semester, one professor made insensitive comments surrounding the genetic conditions associated with Ashkenazi Jewish heritage. Unable to remain silent, I was able to speak to the entire class about the history of discrimination and persecution that resulted in less genetic diversity and increased risks of genetic conditions. Afterwards, I collaborated with our professors to rewrite parts of the curriculum to more accurately educate future physicians around Jewish heritage and medical risks. When our school administration scheduled quizzes on Yom Kippur, I wrote a petition letter to our deans to respect our observations. This fortunately resulted in flexible accommodations for observing students. As a marginalized religious and ethnic identity, it is my obligation to speak for justice for others. As a future physician, guided by my experiences and Jewish values, I plan to advocate for my patients’ care. Geriatric medicine and caring for older adults has been a passion of mine for many years. The summer after my first year of college, I watched my grandfather lose his ability to walk, speak, and swallow to Parkinson’s Disease before passing at the age of 93. This experience helped me understand the importance of both caring for vulnerable individuals in times of need while also progressing scientific advancement to treat degenerative conditions. Right now, I am spearheading a clinical research project on Parkinson’s Disease to find potential connections between specific biomarkers, disease progression, and genetic heritage. I hope to contribute to greater scientific knowledge around Parkinson’s Disease and make a positive impact for patients like my grandfather. Jewish values and community have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become: an advocate for others, a compassionate caregiver, and a scientific investigator able to answer challenging questions in medicine. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients.

Scientific exploration does not exist in a vacuum, and all work towards discovery and innovation must work with local communities. As a biology researcher at Muhlenberg College, connecting with farmers and ecologists of the Lehigh Valley was a critical role of mine while drafting the methodology for our field studies on bumblebee foraging behavior in different odor environments. I worked closely with local farmers to coordinate field pollinator walks to measure pollinator diversity and activity. Together, we hosted presentations on the importance of protecting native bumblebees to local community members. Aside from technological literacy and connecting laboratory data to broader ecological concepts, undergraduate research emphasized the importance of scientific mentorship and leadership. Much of my initial work has been with a small group of peers. When I noticed a concerning trend of my groupmates losing enthusiasm, it was important to find a balance between dividing responsibilities fairly while also ensuring our goals were met. I have been mentored greatly by my PI and my upperclassman peers, and it was an honor sharing my experiences and knowledge with new students on my project as I left for medical school. Currently, I am a second year student at Emory University School of Medicine. Here, I bring my values of creative and critical thinking to incorporate different schools of thought to advance scientific knowledge to better patient care. Geriatric medicine and caring for older adults has been a passion of mine for many years. The summer after my first year of college, I watched my grandfather lose his ability to walk, speak, and swallow to Parkinson’s Disease before passing at the age of 93. This experience helped me understand the importance of both caring for vulnerable individuals in times of need while also progressing scientific advancement to treat degenerative conditions. Right now, I am spearheading a clinical research project on Parkinson’s Disease to find potential connections between specific biomarkers, disease progression, and genetic heritage. I hope to contribute to greater scientific knowledge around Parkinson’s Disease and make a positive impact for patients like my grandfather. My research experience from Muhlenberg College sparked a passion for scientific discovery and my personal experiences with my family have focused my interests towards clinical innovation. For years, I have felt helpless in the face of my loved ones’ pain. I saw the importance of being present and compassionate, but there are still unanswered questions in medicine and challenges in our healthcare system. Becoming a physician will enable me to address these questions and become the advocate my patients need. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated towards creating this change by pursuing a career as both a clinician and scientist.

The summer of seventeen is supposed to be a time of pool parties and celebrating the freedom of a driver's license, but I found a dark side of the internet filled with girls obsessed with perfecting their bodies at any cost. It was dark yet addictive. I was 17 years old but began to lose myself in the throes of anorexia, becoming deathly ill but completely unaware. While I was resistant to change, months of slamming doors and lying to my loved ones exhausted me. I resolved to find a way to get better on my own before I left the comfort of home for college. Yet I didn’t understand that while it can be easy to fix a body, a mind is harder to heal. Feeling scared and alone, my prior habits warped into bulimia. I felt too ashamed to talk to anyone about what I was going through and I was nervous about what college would bring. At Muhlenberg College, my biology professor celebrated my successes and soon became a cherished mentor. I finally had a bright future to work for and was not going to let my eating disorder rob me of opportunities like it had robbed me of my life for years. When I experienced rare moments of relapse, I realized that I was beginning to study medicine yet was still sabotaging my health. Shame and stigma towards mental health was something I would never want my patients to feel, yet I was harboring it towards myself. Asking for help was challenging, but I scheduled appointments with my school’s counseling and health centers to continue healing my mind and body. For the first time, I called my friends and siblings to share my story, which returned stories of their own mental health struggles and I became a better source of strength and comfort for them. We cried and laughed together, and for the first time in years, I did not feel so alone. It’s easy to look back on a dark period of your life and wish it had never happened. Yet I have gained a source of strength and resilience that I never knew I had. I’ve faced many challenging moments, but I never falter for long knowing that every dark moment comes to an end. At the end of the day, I don’t want to waste any more time away from doing the things I love with the people I love. Currently, I am a medical school student at Emory University School of Medicine. I plan to use my experiences to provide personalized, compassionate care for each patient. Recently, I met a patient with a history of an eating disorder and IBS. I connected with her struggles and supported her in managing her anxiety around certain foods and in finding a dietician. Additionally, my peers and I have launched "Educate Heal Empower" - an organization to help improve the education and prevention of eating disorders in Atlanta. I am passionate about working with youth and teens and hope to use my medical and scientific background to advance our understanding of the neurobiological basis of eating disorders and improve access to care in underrepresented communities. Because of my experience, I want my patients to know that their pain and fears are valid and that they are not alone in their journeys. I believe there is a future where no one will have to suffer from mental illness in fear, shame, and isolation. Through advocacy, philanthropy, and community-building we can achieve that vision together.

Holding my grandfather’s hand, I watched as my family fiddled with the lights and white noise machine to feel some purpose; but there was nothing left to do. For as long as I could remember, time with my grandfather was spent in nursing homes, hospitals, and now in hospice. I watched him lose his ability to walk, speak, and swallow to Parkinson’s Disease before passing at the age of 93. Now listening to his ragged breath alongside the physician’s soft words, I felt powerless to take away my grandfather’s pain. Unlike me, physicians helped fight his disease until the very end, and could ease his pain now. For the first time, I began to recognize the power of medicine. In nursing homes I saw residents alone, unable to communicate or limited in mobility. Because of this, I began to volunteer at a local nursing home to care for these residents, and shadow the geriatrician of the facility to better understand their conditions and how to truly help them. Every afternoon at 1PM, one woman screamed from the confusion of her dementia. Taking her aside, I rubbed her shoulder and spoke softly to her until she calmed down. Listening to the white noise machine in her room, I felt the familiar feeling of helplessness. The roots of her pain came from her untreatable dementia and crippling arthritis. Shadowing the geriatrician of this facility, I was the one standing with the physician as he explained palliative care options and comforted crying family members the same way I was comforted only a few months ago as I stood by my grandfather’s bed. There are often no easy solutions, and there are patients who do not get better no matter what is done. I understood these realities, but I still couldn’t stop thinking of my grandfather and how much medical science had to explain and offer to patients like him. “Are you feeling okay, sweetie?” the nurse gently asked, but I hardly registered what she said as I witnessed the C-section in front of me. Only an hour ago I was stocking baby blankets and cleaning cribs while volunteering in the postpartum unit of the hospital. Assisting new mothers and calming crying infants was a stark contrast to my days in the nursing home, yet a job I equally loved. After listening to my constant questions about reproductive health, the doctor led me into the delivery room. Under the bright lights of the OR, I breathlessly witnessed each member of the surgical team working seamlessly to ensure a baby girl’s delivery and mother’s recovery. Later at home, curled up on the couch with my sister, she replied to my description with her own story. For almost two years, she had been struggling with severe, chronic pelvic pain due to a misaligned incision of her C-section. It did not feel right that my big sister-- nearly a second mother to me given our age gap-- had suffered for years in silence. How did the happiest day of my sister’s life leave her in lifelong pain? Seeing how the same procedure could have two vastly different outcomes changed my initial excitement into a deeper desire to improve outcomes for patients. Currently, I am a second year medical student at Emory University. My experiences have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become: an advocate for others, a compassionate caregiver, and a scientific investigator able to answer challenging questions in medicine. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients.

The summer of seventeen is supposed to be a time of pool parties and celebrating the freedom of a driver's license, but I found a dark side of the internet filled with girls obsessed with perfecting their bodies at any cost. It was dark yet addictive. I was 17 years old but began to lose myself in the throes of anorexia, becoming deathly ill but completely unaware. While I was resistant to change, months of slamming doors and lying to my loved ones exhausted me. I resolved to find a way to get better on my own before I left the comfort of home for college. Yet I didn’t understand that while it can be easy to fix a body, a mind is harder to heal. Feeling scared and alone, my prior habits warped into bulimia. I felt too ashamed to talk to anyone about what I was going through and I was nervous about what college would bring. At Muhlenberg College, my biology professor celebrated my successes and soon became a cherished mentor. I finally had a bright future to work for and was not going to let my eating disorder rob me of opportunities like it had robbed me of my life for years. When I experienced rare moments of relapse, I realized that I was beginning to study medicine yet was still sabotaging my health. Shame and stigma towards mental health was something I would never want my patients to feel, yet I was harboring it towards myself. Asking for help was challenging, but I scheduled appointments with my school’s counseling and health centers to continue healing my mind and body. For the first time, I called my friends and siblings to share my story, which returned stories of their own mental health struggles and I became a better source of strength and comfort for them. We cried and laughed together, and for the first time in years, I did not feel so alone. It’s easy to look back on a dark period of your life and wish it had never happened. Yet I have gained a source of strength and resilience that I never knew I had. I’ve faced many challenging moments, but I never falter for long knowing that every dark moment comes to an end. At the end of the day, I don’t want to waste any more time away from doing the things I love with the people I love. Currently, I am a medical school student at Emory University School of Medicine. I plan to use my experiences to provide personalized, compassionate care for each patient. Recently, I met a patient with a history of an eating disorder and IBS. I connected with her struggles and supported her in managing her anxiety around certain foods and in finding a dietician. Additionally, my peers and I have launched "Educate Heal Empower" - an organization to help improve the education and prevention of eating disorders in Atlanta. I am passionate about working with youth and teens and hope to use my medical and scientific background to advance our understanding of the neurobiological basis of eating disorders and improve access to care in underrepresented communities. Because of my experience, I want my patients to know that their pain and fears are valid and that they are not alone in their journeys. I believe there is a future where no one will have to suffer from mental illness in fear, shame, and isolation. Through advocacy, philanthropy, and community-building we can achieve that vision together.

Growing up, my father told me stories of his experiences with poverty and anti-semitism as he and his family fled Iraq for the newly formed nation of Israel. My father was a very bright child, but lamented how he could never study while growing up because he had no desk, no school supplies, and not even any food to fill his stomach. In college, he had to drop out because he could not keep up with his schoolwork as well as work to support himself. Every day I am grateful for both my college education for every moment I can study and express my faith. When my father came to this country, he was able to provide opportunities for me that he did not have growing up, yet life was still not easy for either of us. We both struggled to balance time with family with our jobs, and any extra penny we earned was sent back to our family in Israel. Because of my experiences, I am continuously educating myself on connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice in my work as a student advocate. On October 24th, 2022 I launched the Hunger Free Campus Symposium at Muhlenberg College. I connected with local legislators, philanthropic leaders, university administrators, and student leaders to create an impactful event that would empower guests to create change around food insecurity in higher education. We received remarks from individuals such as Senator Casey (PA), PA Governor Tom Wolf, First Lady of PA Frances Wolf, as well as the CEO of Hunger Free America. Guests were able to voice their questions and concerns to our legislators and engage in letter-writing. Building connections and advocating for positive change reinforced my desire to address issues of equity in my future career as a medical student and physician. We are continuing our work by launching a student survey to gather data on student needs on Muhlenberg’s campus. This information will allow us to understand which resources to provide for students as we draft plans with campus administrators to launch a second food pantry on campus. Due to our direct advocacy, the governor included Hunger Free Campus Grant Legislation as part of his budget proposal to the PA legislature for this year to support students struggling with food insecurity. Currently, I am at Emory University School of Medicine, where I am using my passion for advocacy to support others experiencing socioeconomic diversity. During a recent hospital shift, we admitted an 82-year-old unhoused woman after a non-fatal suicide attempt. In the emergency department, this woman was diagnosed as having “dementia”, a strong label that threatened her autonomy, limiting her ability to make decisions surrounding her own care. Yet, when I entered her room, I encountered a bright, alert woman updating her address book. Through talking with the patient, I formed a clearer picture of her emotional and mental state and our team quickly struck the dementia diagnosis from her chart. I still think about her and wonder what would have happened to her had no one taken the time to sit with her and listen with an unbiased perspective, rather than accept a faulty label based on preconceived notions. Socioeconomic hardship, Jewish values and community, and my father have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become: an advocate for others, a compassionate caregiver, and a scientific investigator able to answer challenging questions in medicine. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients.

Growing up, my father told me stories of his experiences with poverty as he and his family emigrated from Iraq to the state of Israel with nothing but a few suitcases. My father was a very bright child, but shared how he could never study while growing up because he had no school supplies or even any food to fill his stomach. In college, he had to drop out because he could not keep up with his schoolwork as well as work to support himself. Spending time with my family has taught me resilience and optimism in the face of adversity, and I will never forget how powerful higher education is in transforming lives. Because of my heritage, I am continuously educating myself on connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice as a student doctor at Emory University School of Medicine. As the president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory (Medical Mensches), I serve as a support system and advocate for Jewish medical school students. During our Genetics course this semester, one professor made insensitive comments surrounding the genetic conditions associated with Ashkenazi Jewish heritage. Unable to remain silent, I was able to speak to the entire class about the history of discrimination and persecution that resulted in less genetic diversity and increased risks of genetic conditions. Afterward, I collaborated with our professors to rewrite parts of the curriculum to more accurately educate future physicians about Jewish heritage and medical risks. When our school administration scheduled quizzes on Yom Kippur, I wrote a petition letter to our deans to respect our observations. This fortunately resulted in flexible accommodations for observing students. As a marginalized religious and ethnic identity, it is my obligation to speak for justice for others. As a future physician, guided by my experiences and Jewish values, I plan to advocate for my patients’ care. Geriatric medicine and caring for older adults has been a passion of mine for many years. The summer after my first year of college, I watched my grandfather lose his ability to walk, speak, and swallow due to Parkinson’s Disease before passing at the age of 93. This experience helped me understand the importance of both caring for vulnerable individuals in times of need while also progressing scientific advancement to treat degenerative conditions. Right now, I am spearheading a clinical research project on Parkinson’s Disease to find potential connections between specific biomarkers, disease progression, and genetic heritage. I hope to contribute to greater scientific knowledge around Parkinson’s Disease and make a positive impact for patients like my grandfather. Jewish values and community have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become: an advocate for others, a compassionate caregiver, and a scientific investigator able to answer challenging questions in medicine. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients.

The summer of seventeen is supposed to be a time of pool parties and celebrating the freedom of a driver's license, but I found a dark side of the internet filled with girls obsessed with perfecting their bodies at any cost. It was dark yet addictive. I was 17 years old but began to lose myself in the throes of anorexia, becoming deathly ill but completely unaware. While I was resistant to change, months of slamming doors and lying to my loved ones exhausted me. I resolved to find a way to get better on my own before I left the comfort of home for college. Yet I didn’t understand that while it can be easy to fix a body, a mind is harder to heal. Feeling scared and alone, my prior habits warped into bulimia. I felt too ashamed to talk to anyone about what I was going through and I was nervous about what college would bring. At Muhlenberg College, my biology professor celebrated my successes and soon became a cherished mentor. I finally had a bright future to work for and was not going to let my eating disorder rob me of opportunities like it had robbed me of my life for years. When I experienced rare moments of relapse, I realized that I was beginning to study medicine yet was still sabotaging my health. Shame and stigma towards mental health was something I would never want my patients to feel, yet I was harboring it towards myself. Asking for help was challenging, but I scheduled appointments with my school’s counseling and health centers to continue healing my mind and body. For the first time, I called my friends and siblings to share my story, which returned stories of their own mental health struggles and I became a better source of strength and comfort for them. We cried and laughed together, and for the first time in years, I did not feel so alone. It’s easy to look back on a dark period of your life and wish it had never happened. Yet I have gained a source of strength and resilience that I never knew I had and have become closer with my friends and family. I’ve faced many challenging moments, but I never falter for long knowing that every dark moment comes to an end. At the end of the day, I don’t want to waste any more time away from doing the things I love with the people I love. Currently, I am a medical school student at Emory University School of Medicine. I plan to use my experiences to provide personalized, compassionate care for each patient. Recently, I met a patient with a history of an eating disorder and IBS. I connected with her struggles and supported her in managing her anxiety around certain foods and in finding a dietician. Additionally, I am collaborating with a peer to launch "Educate Heal Empower" - an organization to help improve the education and prevention of eating disorders in Atlanta. I am passionate about working with youth and teens and hope to use my medical and scientific background to advance our understanding of the neurobiological basis of eating disorders and improve access to care in underrepresented communities. Because of my experience, I want my patients to know that their pain and fears are valid and that they are not alone in their journeys. I believe there is a future where no one will have to suffer from mental illness in fear, shame, and isolation. Through advocacy, philanthropy, and community-building we can achieve that vision together.

The summer of seventeen is supposed to be a time of pool parties and celebrating the freedom of a driver's license, but I found a dark side of the internet filled with girls obsessed with perfecting their bodies at any cost. It was dark yet addictive. I was 17 years old but began to lose myself in the throes of anorexia, becoming deathly ill but completely unaware. While I was resistant to change, months of slamming doors and lying to my loved ones exhausted me. I resolved to find a way to get better on my own before I left the comfort of home for college. Yet I didn’t understand that while it can be easy to fix a body, a mind is harder to heal. Feeling scared and alone, my prior habits warped into bulimia. I felt too ashamed to talk to anyone about what I was going through and I was nervous about what college would bring. At Muhlenberg College, my biology professor celebrated my successes and soon became a cherished mentor. I finally had a bright future to work for and was not going to let my eating disorder rob me of opportunities like it had robbed me of my life for years. When I experienced rare moments of relapse, I realized that I was beginning to study medicine yet was still sabotaging my health. Shame and stigma towards mental health was something I would never want my patients to feel, yet I was harboring it towards myself. Asking for help was challenging, but I scheduled appointments with my school’s counseling and health centers to continue healing my mind and body. For the first time, I called my friends and siblings to share my story, which returned stories of their own mental health struggles and I became a better source of strength and comfort for them. We cried and laughed together, and for the first time in years, I did not feel so alone. It’s easy to look back on a dark period of your life and wish it had never happened. Yet I have gained a source of strength and resilience that I never knew I had. I’ve faced many challenging moments, but I never falter for long knowing that every dark moment comes to an end. At the end of the day, I don’t want to waste any more time away from doing the things I love with the people I love. Currently, I am a medical school student at Emory University School of Medicine. I plan to use my experiences to provide personalized, compassionate care for each patient. Recently, I met a patient with a history of an eating disorder and IBS. I connected with her struggles and supported her in managing her anxiety around certain foods and in finding a dietician. Additionally, I am collaborating with a peer to launch "Educate Heal Empower" - an organization to help improve the education and prevention of eating disorders in Atlanta. I am passionate about working with youth and teens and hope to use my medical and scientific background to advance our understanding of the neurobiological basis of eating disorders and improve access to care in underrepresented communities. Because of my experience, I want my patients to know that their pain and fears are valid and that they are not alone in their journeys. I believe there is a future where no one will have to suffer from mental illness in fear, shame, and isolation. Through advocacy, philanthropy, and community-building we can achieve that vision together.

Growing up, my father told me stories of his experiences with poverty as he and his family emigrated from Iraq to the state of Israel with nothing but a few suitcases. My father was a very bright child but shared how he could never study while growing up because he had no school supplies or even any food to fill his stomach. In college, he had to drop out because he could not keep up with his schoolwork as well as work to support himself. Spending time with my family has taught me resilience and optimism in the face of adversity, and I will never forget how powerful higher education is in transforming lives. Because of my heritage, I am continuously educating myself on connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice as a student doctor at Emory University School of Medicine. As the president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory (Medical Mensches), I serve as a support system and advocate for Jewish medical school students. During our Genetics course this semester, one professor made insensitive comments surrounding the genetic conditions associated with Ashkenazi Jewish heritage. Unable to remain silent, I was able to speak to the entire class about the history of discrimination and persecution that resulted in less genetic diversity and increased risks of genetic conditions. Afterward, I collaborated with our professors to rewrite parts of the curriculum to more accurately educate future physicians about Jewish heritage and medical risks. When our school administration scheduled quizzes on Yom Kippur, I wrote a petition letter to our deans to respect our observations. This fortunately resulted in flexible accommodations for observing students. As a marginalized religious and ethnic identity, it is my obligation to speak for justice for others. As a future physician, guided by my experiences and Jewish values, I plan to advocate for my patients’ care. Geriatric medicine and caring for older adults is my passion. I have spent years serving older adults in hospice care, inpatient hospital settings, and through musical volunteering. during my time rotating in a primary care clinic this past year, I have been able to form deeper relationships with older patients and understand the unspoken hardships of navigating the healthcare system as an older adult. I have been able to have frank, deep conversations about incontinence post-menopause, and the fatigue that comes more easily when you’re an older adult with a chronic illness (or multiple) because of time spent with older adults I love. When I work in the Movement Disorder Clinic, I make the effort to laugh with our patients with Parkinson’s because I can see my grandfather’s experience in their eyes. The summer after my first year of college, I watched my grandfather lose his ability to walk, speak, and swallow due to Parkinson’s Disease before passing at the age of 93. This experience helped me understand the importance of caring for vulnerable individuals in times of need while also progressing scientific advancement to treat degenerative conditions. Right now, I am spearheading a clinical research project on Parkinson’s Disease to find potential connections between specific biomarkers, disease progression, and genetic heritage. I hope to contribute to greater scientific knowledge around Parkinson’s Disease and make a positive impact for patients like my grandfather. Jewish values and community have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become: an advocate for others, a compassionate caregiver, and a scientific investigator able to answer challenging questions in medicine. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients.

Growing up, my father told me stories of his experiences with poverty as he and his family emigrated from Iraq to the state of Israel with nothing but a few suitcases. My father was a very bright child but shared how he could never study while growing up because he had no school supplies or even any food to fill his stomach. In college, he had to drop out because he could not keep up with his schoolwork as well as work to support himself. Spending time with my family has taught me resilience and optimism in the face of adversity, and I will never forget how powerful higher education is in transforming lives. Because of my heritage, I am continuously educating myself on connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice as a student doctor at Emory University School of Medicine. As the president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory (Medical Mensches), I serve as a support system and advocate for Jewish medical school students. During our Genetics course this semester, one professor made insensitive comments surrounding the genetic conditions associated with Ashkenazi Jewish heritage. Unable to remain silent, I was able to speak to the entire class about the history of discrimination and persecution that resulted in less genetic diversity and increased risks of genetic conditions. Afterward, I collaborated with our professors to rewrite parts of the curriculum to more accurately educate future physicians about Jewish heritage and medical risks. When our school administration scheduled quizzes on Yom Kippur, I wrote a petition letter to our deans to respect our observations. This fortunately resulted in flexible accommodations for observing students. As a marginalized religious and ethnic identity, it is my obligation to speak for justice for others. As a future physician, guided by my experiences and Jewish values, I plan to advocate for my patients’ care. Geriatric medicine and caring for older adults has been a passion of mine for many years. The summer after my first year of college, I watched my grandfather lose his ability to walk, speak, and swallow due to Parkinson’s Disease before passing at the age of 93. This experience helped me understand the importance of caring for vulnerable individuals in times of need while also progressing scientific advancement to treat degenerative conditions. Right now, I am spearheading a clinical research project on Parkinson’s Disease to find potential connections between specific biomarkers, disease progression, and genetic heritage. I hope to contribute to greater scientific knowledge around Parkinson’s Disease and make a positive impact for patients like my grandfather. Jewish values and community have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become: an advocate for others, a compassionate caregiver, and a scientific investigator able to answer challenging questions in medicine. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients.

The summer of seventeen is supposed to be a time of pool parties and celebrating the freedom of driver's licenses, but I found a dark side of the internet filled with girls obsessed with perfecting their bodies at any cost. It was dark yet addictive. I was only 17 years old, but began to lose myself in the throes of anorexia, becoming deathly sick but completely unaware. While I was resistant to letting go of my sickness for a long time, months of slamming doors and lying to my loved ones exhausted me. I resolved to find a way to get better on my own before I left the comfort of home for college. Yet I didn’t understand that while it can be easy to fix a body, a mind is harder to heal. Feeling scared and alone, my prior habits warped into an ugly form of bulimia. I felt too ashamed to talk to anyone about what I was going through and I was nervous about what college would bring. On the first day of classes at Muhlenberg College, I walked into the 130-person Biology 1 lecture hall with my heart in my throat, but I studied hard and did well. My professor celebrated my successes and soon became a cherished mentor. I finally had a bright future to work for and was not going to let my eating disorder rob me of opportunities like it had robbed me of my life for years. When I experienced rare moments where I regressed, I realized that I was beginning a journey to study medicine yet was still sabotaging my own health. Shame and stigma towards mental health was something I would never want one of my patients to feel, yet I was harboring it towards myself. Asking for help was challenging, but I swallowed my pride and scheduled appointments with my school’s counseling and health centers to continue healing both my mind and body. For the first time, I called my friends and siblings to share my story, which returned stories of their struggles with mental health and medical scares and I became a better source of strength and comfort for them. We cried and laughed together, and for the first time in years, I did not feel so alone. It’s easy to look back on a dark period of your life and wish it had never happened. I still regret the fights with my mom and the irreversible damage to my esophagus. Yet I have gained a source of strength and resilience that I never knew I had. I’ve faced many challenging moments, but I never falter for long with the knowledge that every dark moment comes to an end. At the end of the day, I don’t want to waste any more time away from doing the things I love with the people I love. Currently, I am a medical school student at Emory University School of Medicine. In the field of medicine, I plan to use my experiences to provide personalized, compassionate care for each patient. Recently, I met a patient with a history of an eating disorder and severe IBS. I was able to empathize with her struggles greatly and encouraged and supported her in managing her anxiety around certain foods as well as in reaching out to a dietician. Additionally, I am collaborating with a peer to launch "Educate Heal Empower" which is an organization to help improve the education and prevention of eating disorders in the Atlanta community. I am passionate about working with youth and teens and hope to use my medical and scientific background to advance our understanding of the neurobiological basis of eating disorders and improve access to care in underrepresented communities. Because of my past struggles, I want my patients to know that their pain and fears are valid and that they are not alone in their journeys. I believe there is a future where no one will have to suffer from mental illness in fear, shame, and isolation and that through advocacy, philanthropy, and community-building we can achieve that vision together.

Growing up, my father told me stories of his experiences with poverty and anti-semitism as he and his family fled Iraq for the newly formed nation of Israel. My father was a very bright child but lamented how he could never study while growing up because he had no desk, no school supplies, and or any food to fill his stomach. In college, he had to drop out because he could not keep up with his schoolwork as well as work to support himself. Every day I am grateful for every college course I take and for every moment I can study and express my faith. In my community, I was one of the only Jewish students of non-European descent. I vividly remember one girl asking if I was a terrorist when I mentioned my Iraqi background. Stunned and hurt, I tried to refute her ignorance. I quickly learned that I could use my voice to create change. Because of this, I am continuously educating myself on connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice in my work as a student leader at Emory University School of Medicine. As the president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory, I am a support system and advocate for Jewish medical school students. During our Genetics course this semester, one professor made insensitive comments surrounding genetic conditions associated with Ashkenazi Jewish heritage. Unable to remain silent, I spoke to our class about the history of discrimination and persecution that resulted in less genetic diversity and increased risks of genetic conditions. Afterward, I collaborated with our professors to rewrite parts of the curriculum to more accurately educate future physicians about Jewish heritage and medical risks. When our school administration scheduled quizzes on Yom Kippur, I wrote a petition letter to our deans to respect our observations. This fortunately resulted in flexible accommodations. As a marginalized religious and ethnic identity, I must speak for justice for others. As a future physician, guided by my experiences and Jewish values, I plan to advocate for my patients’ care. The summer after my first year of college, I watched my grandfather lose his ability to walk, speak, and swallow due to Parkinson’s Disease before passing at the age of 93. This experience helped me understand the importance of caring for vulnerable individuals in times of need while also progressing scientific advancement to treat degenerative conditions. Right now, I am spearheading a clinical research project on Parkinson’s Disease to find connections between specific biomarkers, disease progression, and genetic heritage. I hope to contribute to greater scientific knowledge around Parkinson’s Disease and make a positive impact for patients like my grandfather. Jewish values and community have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become: an advocate for others, a compassionate caregiver, and a scientific investigator able to answer challenging questions in medicine. The struggles I have experienced as an Iraqi-Jewish woman have made me a more empathetic and capable advocate for other marginalized groups. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients. While my family has instilled in me great values and strength, they are unable to support my medical career financially. My mother is currently caring for my aging grandmother - and inspires me to push towards the field of geriatrics every day. My father is currently suffering from a herniated back and is unable to work. Thank you for considering me for this scholarship. These funds would make a world of difference in my ability to be a successful medical student and future geriatrician.

Holding my grandfather’s hand, I watched as my family fiddled with the lights and white noise machine to feel some purpose; but there was nothing left to do. For as long as I could remember, time with my grandfather was spent in nursing homes, hospitals, and now in hospice. I watched him lose his ability to walk, speak, and swallow to Parkinson’s Disease before passing at 93 years old. Now listening to his ragged breath alongside the physician’s soft words, I felt powerless to take away my grandfather’s pain. Unlike me, physicians helped fight his disease until the very end and could ease his pain. For the first time, I began to recognize the power of medicine. In nursing homes I saw residents alone, unable to communicate or limited in mobility. Because of this, I volunteered at a local nursing home to care for these residents and shadow the geriatrician of the facility to better understand their conditions. Every afternoon at 1 PM, one woman screamed from the confusion of her dementia. Taking her aside, I rubbed her shoulder and spoke softly to her until she calmed down. I felt the familiar feeling of helplessness. Her pain came from her untreatable dementia and crippling arthritis. Shadowing the geriatrician of this facility, I was the one standing with the physician as he explained palliative care options and comforted crying family members the same way I was comforted only a few months ago as I stood by my grandfather’s bed. There are often no easy solutions, and there are patients who do not get better no matter what is done. I understood these realities, but I couldn’t stop thinking of my grandfather and how much medical science had to explain and offer to patients like him. Assisting new mothers and calming crying infants was a stark contrast to working in the nursing home, yet I equally loved it. One day a physician led me into the delivery room. Under the bright lights of the OR, I breathlessly witnessed each member of the surgical team working seamlessly to ensure a baby girl’s delivery and mother’s recovery. Later at home, curled up on the couch with my sister, she replied to my description with her own story. For almost two years, she had been struggling with severe, chronic pelvic pain due to a misaligned incision of her C-section. It did not feel right that my big sister-- nearly a second mother to me given our age gap-- had suffered for years in silence. Observing successful deliveries, and then caring for postpartum women and their newborns, had shown me how much joy medicine can bring to patients. How did the happiest day of my sister’s life leave her in lifelong pain? Once again, I felt helpless and powerless to ease her pain. Seeing how the same procedure could have two vastly different outcomes changed my initial excitement into a deeper desire to improve outcomes for patients. For years, I have felt helpless in the face of my loved ones’ pain. I saw the importance of being present and compassionate, but there are still unanswered questions in medicine and challenges in our healthcare system. Becoming a physician will enable me to address these questions and become the advocate my patients need. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating this change by pursuing a career as both a clinician and scientist at Emory University School of Medicine.

The summer of seventeen was supposed to be a time of pool parties and celebrating the freedom of driver's licenses, but I found a dark side of the internet filled with girls obsessed with perfecting their bodies at any cost. It was dark, yet addictive. Only 17 years old, but I began to lose myself in the throes of anorexia, becoming deathly sick but completely unaware. While I was resistant to letting go of my sickness for a long time, months of slamming doors and lying to my loved ones exhausted me. I resolved to find a way to get better on my own before I left the comfort of home for college. Yet I didn’t understand that while it can be easy to fix a body, a mind is harder to heal. Feeling scared and alone, my prior habits warped into an ugly form of bulimia. I felt too ashamed to talk to anyone about what I was going through and I was nervous about what college would bring. On the first day of classes at Muhlenberg College, I walked into the 130-person Biology 1 lecture hall with my heart in my throat, but I studied hard and did well. My professor celebrated my successes and soon became a cherished mentor. I finally had a bright future to work for and was not going to let my eating disorder rob me of opportunities like it had robbed me of my life for years. When I experienced rare moments where I regressed, I realized that I was beginning a journey to study medicine yet was still sabotaging my own health. Shame and stigma towards mental health was something I would never want a patient to feel, yet was harboring it towards myself. Asking for help was challenging, but I swallowed my pride and scheduled appointments with my school’s counseling/health centers to continue healing both my mind and body. I called my friends and siblings to share my story, which returned stories of their struggles with mental health and medical scares and I became a better source of strength and comfort for them. We cried and laughed together, and for the first time I didn’t feel so alone. It’s easy to look back on a dark period of your life and wish it had never happened. I still regret the fights with my mom and the irreversible damage to my esophagus. Yet I have gained a source of strength and resilience I never knew I had. I’ve faced many challenging moments, but I never falter for long with the knowledge that every dark moment comes to an end. At the end of the day, I don’t want to waste any more time away from doing the things I love with the people I love. In the field of medicine, I hope to use my experiences to provide personalized, compassionate care for each patient. I want my patients to know that their pain and fears are valid and that they are not alone in their struggles.

Growing up, my father told me stories of his experiences with poverty as he and his family emigrated from Iraq to the state of Israel with nothing but a few suitcases. My father was a very bright child, but shared how he could never study while growing up because he had no school supplies or even any food to fill his stomach. In college, he had to drop out because he could not keep up with his schoolwork as well as work to support himself. Spending time with my family has taught me resilience and optimism in the face of adversity, and I will never forget how powerful higher education is in transforming lives. Because of my heritage, I am continuously educating myself on connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice as a student doctor at Emory University School of Medicine. As the president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory (Medical Mensches), I serve as a support system and advocate for Jewish medical school students. During our Genetics course this semester, one professor made insensitive comments surrounding the genetic conditions associated with Ashkenazi Jewish heritage. Unable to remain silent, I was able to speak to the entire class about the history of discrimination and persecution that resulted in less genetic diversity and increased risks of genetic conditions. Afterwards, I collaborated with our professors to rewrite parts of the curriculum to more accurately educate future physicians around Jewish heritage and medical risks. When our school administration scheduled quizzes on Yom Kippur, I wrote a petition letter to our deans to respect our observations. This fortunately resulted in flexible accommodations for observing students. As a marginalized religious and ethnic identity, it is my obligation to speak for justice for others. As a future physician, guided by my experiences and Jewish values, I plan to advocate for my patients’ care. Geriatric medicine and caring for older adults has been a passion of mine for many years. The summer after my first year of college, I watched my grandfather lose his ability to walk, speak, and swallow to Parkinson’s Disease before passing at the age of 93. This experience helped me understand the importance of both caring for vulnerable individuals in times of need while also progressing scientific advancement to treat degenerative conditions. Right now, I am spearheading a clinical research project on Parkinson’s Disease to find potential connections between specific biomarkers, disease progression, and genetic heritage. I hope to contribute to greater scientific knowledge around Parkinson’s Disease and make a positive impact for patients like my grandfather. Jewish values and community have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become: an advocate for others, a compassionate caregiver, and a scientific investigator able to answer challenging questions in medicine. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients.

Growing up, my father told me stories of his experiences with poverty and anti-semitism as he and his family fled Iraq for the newly formed nation of Israel. My father was a very bright child, but lamented how he could never study while growing up because he had no desk, no school supplies, and not even any food to fill his stomach. In college, he had to drop out because he could not keep up with his schoolwork as well as work to support himself. Every day I am grateful for both my college education and for every moment I can study and express my faith. In my community, I was one of the only Jewish students of non-European descent. I vividly remember one girl asking if I was a terrorist when I mentioned my Iraqi background. I quickly learned that I could use my voice to create change, and through sharing my story found others similar to me. Spending time with my family has taught me resilience and optimism in the face of adversity, and I will never forget how powerful higher education is in transforming lives. Because of my heritage, I am continuously educating myself on connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice as a student doctor at Emory University School of Medicine. As the president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory (Medical Mensches), I serve as a support system and advocate for Jewish medical school students. During our Genetics course this semester, one professor made insensitive comments surrounding the genetic conditions associated with Ashkenazi Jewish heritage. Unable to remain silent, I was able to speak to the entire class about the history of discrimination and persecution that resulted in less genetic diversity and increased risks of genetic conditions. Afterward, I collaborated with our professors to rewrite parts of the curriculum to more accurately educate future physicians about Jewish heritage and medical risks. When our school administration scheduled quizzes on Yom Kippur, I wrote a petition letter to our deans to respect our observations. This fortunately resulted in flexible accommodations for observing students. As a marginalized religious and ethnic identity, it is my obligation to speak for justice for others. As a future physician, guided by my experiences and Jewish values, I plan to advocate for my patients’ care. Jewish values and community have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become: an advocate for others, a compassionate caregiver, and a scientific investigator able to answer challenging questions in medicine. Yet, it is my father - a brave immigrant, a compassionate single father - who taught me to be the strong woman I am today. I would not be in this privileged position of studying to become a doctor if it had not been for his sacrifices. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients.

Growing up, my father told me stories of his experiences with poverty as he and his family emigrated from Iraq to the state of Israel with nothing but a few suitcases. My father was a very bright child but shared how he could never study while growing up because he had no school supplies or even any food to fill his stomach. In college, he had to drop out because he could not keep up with his schoolwork as well as work to support himself. Spending time with my family has taught me resilience and optimism in the face of adversity, and I will never forget how powerful higher education is in transforming lives. Because of my heritage, I am continuously educating myself on connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice as a student doctor at Emory University School of Medicine. As the president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory (Medical Mensches), I serve as a support system and advocate for Jewish medical school students. During our Genetics course this semester, one professor made insensitive comments surrounding the genetic conditions associated with Ashkenazi Jewish heritage. Unable to remain silent, I was able to speak to the entire class about the history of discrimination and persecution that resulted in less genetic diversity and increased risks of genetic conditions. Afterward, I collaborated with our professors to rewrite parts of the curriculum to more accurately educate future physicians about Jewish heritage and medical risks. When our school administration scheduled quizzes on Yom Kippur, I wrote a petition letter to our deans to respect our observations. This fortunately resulted in flexible accommodations for observing students. As a marginalized religious and ethnic identity, I must speak for justice for others. As a future physician, guided by my experiences and Jewish values, I plan to advocate for my patients’ care. Geriatric medicine and caring for older adults have been a passion of mine for many years. The summer after my first year of college, I watched my grandfather lose his ability to walk, speak, and swallow due to Parkinson’s Disease before passing at the age of 93. This experience helped me understand the importance of caring for vulnerable individuals in times of need while also progressing scientific advancement to treat degenerative conditions. Right now, I am spearheading a clinical research project on Parkinson’s Disease to find potential connections between specific biomarkers, disease progression, and genetic heritage. I hope to contribute to greater scientific knowledge around Parkinson’s Disease and make a positive impact on patients like my grandfather. Jewish values and community have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become: an advocate for others, a compassionate caregiver, and a scientific investigator able to answer challenging questions in medicine. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients. This scholarship will allow me to pursue geriatric medicine without the strain of student loans or financial struggle deterring me from pursuing my dreams of lifelong service to vulnerable patients.

Spending time with senior patients and helping them maintain mental clarity during long stays at Abington Memorial Hospital has been incredibly rewarding. One responsibility I have through the Hospital Elder Life Program is visiting patients for orientation exercises that are used to prevent delirium, discuss how patients are feeling, and offer resources or activities. One of my proudest moments was only a few months ago when I met a kind woman named “Rose.” Upon entering Rose’s room and introducing myself, she smiled, and in a voice barely rose above a whisper, thanked me for the company. After conducting mental orientation exercises, I mentioned my observation of her markedly quiet voice to her nurse, who mentioned that Rose’s voice was so soft because for fourteen months she had not spoken a single word. Rose lived in an assisted living facility, and because of COVID-19 restrictions no longer had any social interactions or visitors. I was reminded of the times I spent caring for my grandfather in his assisted living facility and later volunteering with residents like him. Without consistent engagement, seniors’ cognitive ability and mental health would quickly deteriorate. While I could provide temporary assistance as a volunteer, it was always heartbreaking to be unable to offer more. I resolved to help Rose find her voice. Over the following weeks, we worked through word puzzles and conversation cards to encourage her to practice speaking and remain present. During my last visit with Rose, she started crying from pain but did not want to bother the nurses by asking for her medication. After comforting Rose, I was able to talk to her nurse who gave her the scheduled dose. Scared and in pain, Rose needed someone who was there for her and could advocate for her in that moment. I want to create positive change in people’s health and lives as a future physician. At this point in my life, I could not take away Rose’s arthritis or adjust her medication. However, I knew I could provide personalized care that could make this challenging moment in her life a little less painful. After four weeks in the hospital, Rose was discharged. While I miss our conversations, I am grateful and proud to have left a positive impact on her life. Moving forward, these experiences helped reinforce the type of physician I hope to become: someone who can provide skilled, compassionate care for vulnerable patients and able to speak up for patients who’ve lost their voice.

The summer of seventeen, a time of pool parties and celebrating the freedom of drivers licenses, but I found a dark side of the internet filled with girls obsessed with perfecting their bodies at any cost. It was dark yet addictive. Only 17 years old, but I began to lose myself in the throes of anorexia, becoming deathly sick but completely unaware. While I was resistant to letting go of my sickness for a long time, months of slamming doors and lying to my loved ones exhausted me. I resolved to find a way to get better on my own before I left the comfort of home for college. Yet I didn’t understand that while it can be easy to fix a body, a mind is harder to heal. Feeling scared and alone, my prior habits warped into an ugly form of bulimia. I felt too ashamed to talk to anyone about what I was going through and I was nervous for what college would bring. On the first day of classes at Muhlenberg College, I walked into the 130 person Biology 1 lecture hall with my heart in my throat, but I studied hard and did well. My professor celebrated my successes and soon became a cherished mentor. I finally had a bright future to work for and was not going to let my eating disorder rob me of opportunities like it had robbed me of my life for years. When I experienced rare moments where I regressed, I realized that I was beginning a journey to study medicine yet was still sabotaging my own health. Shame and stigma towards mental health was something I would never want a patient to feel, yet was harboring it towards myself. Asking for help was challenging, but I swallowed my pride and scheduled appointments with my school’s counseling/health centers to continue healing both my mind and body. I called my friends and siblings to share my story, which returned stories of their struggles with mental health and medical scares and I became a better source of strength and comfort for them. We cried and laughed together, and for the first time I didn’t feel so alone. It’s easy to look back on a dark period of your life and wish it had never happened. I still regret the fights with my mom, the irreversible damage to my esophagus. Yet I have gained a source of strength and resilience I never knew I had. I’ve faced many challenging moments, but I never falter for long with the knowledge that every dark moment comes to an end. At the end of the day, I don’t want to waste any more time away from doing the things I love with the people I love. In the field of medicine, I hope to use my experiences to provide personalized, compassionate care for each patient. I want my patients to know that their pain and fears are valid, and that they are not alone in their struggles.

Growing up, my father told me stories of his experiences with poverty as he and his family emigrated from Iraq to the state of Israel with nothing but a few suitcases. My father was a very bright child, but shared how he could never study while growing up because he had no school supplies or even any food to fill his stomach. In college, he had to drop out because he could not keep up with his schoolwork as well as work to support himself. Spending time with my family has taught me resilience and optimism in the face of adversity, and I will never forget how powerful higher education is in transforming lives. Because of my heritage, I am continuously educating myself on connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice as a student doctor at Emory University School of Medicine. As the president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory (Medical Mensches), I serve as a support system and advocate for Jewish medical school students. During our Genetics course this semester, one professor made insensitive comments surrounding the genetic conditions associated with Ashkenazi Jewish heritage. Unable to remain silent, I was able to speak to the entire class about the history of discrimination and persecution that resulted in less genetic diversity and increased risks of genetic conditions. Afterwards, I collaborated with our professors to rewrite parts of the curriculum to more accurately educate future physicians around Jewish heritage and medical risks. When our school administration scheduled quizzes on Yom Kippur, I wrote a petition letter to our deans to respect our observations. This fortunately resulted in flexible accommodations for observing students. As a marginalized religious and ethnic identity, it is my obligation to speak for justice for others. As a future physician, guided by my experiences and Jewish values, I plan to advocate for my patients’ care. Geriatric medicine and caring for older adults has been a passion of mine for many years. The summer after my first year of college, I watched my grandfather lose his ability to walk, speak, and swallow to Parkinson’s Disease before passing at the age of 93. This experience helped me understand the importance of both caring for vulnerable individuals in times of need while also progressing scientific advancement to treat degenerative conditions. Right now, I am spearheading a clinical research project on Parkinson’s Disease to find potential connections between specific biomarkers, disease progression, and genetic heritage. I hope to contribute to greater scientific knowledge around Parkinson’s Disease and make a positive impact for patients like my grandfather. Jewish values and community have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become: an advocate for others, a compassionate caregiver, and a scientific investigator able to answer challenging questions in medicine. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients.

Growing up, my father told me stories of his experiences with poverty as he and his family emigrated from Iraq to the state of Israel with nothing but a few suitcases. My father was a very bright child, but shared how he could never study while growing up because he had no school supplies or even any food to fill his stomach. In college, he had to drop out because he could not keep up with his schoolwork as well as work to support himself. Spending time with my family has taught me resilience and optimism in the face of adversity, and I will never forget how powerful higher education is in transforming lives. Because of my heritage, I am continuously educating myself on connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice as a student doctor at Emory University School of Medicine. As the president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory (Medical Mensches), I serve as a support system and advocate for Jewish medical school students. During our Genetics course this semester, one professor made insensitive comments surrounding the genetic conditions associated with Ashkenazi Jewish heritage. Unable to remain silent, I was able to speak to the entire class about the history of discrimination and persecution that resulted in less genetic diversity and increased risks of genetic conditions. Afterwards, I collaborated with our professors to rewrite parts of the curriculum to more accurately educate future physicians around Jewish heritage and medical risks. When our school administration scheduled quizzes on Yom Kippur, I wrote a petition letter to our deans to respect our observations. This fortunately resulted in flexible accommodations for observing students. As a marginalized religious and ethnic identity, it is my obligation to speak for justice for others. As a future physician, guided by my experiences and Jewish values, I plan to advocate for my patients’ care. Geriatric medicine and caring for older adults has been a passion of mine for many years. The summer after my first year of college, I watched my grandfather lose his ability to walk, speak, and swallow to Parkinson’s Disease before passing at the age of 93. This experience helped me understand the importance of both caring for vulnerable individuals in times of need while also progressing scientific advancement to treat degenerative conditions. Right now, I am spearheading a clinical research project on Parkinson’s Disease to find potential connections between specific biomarkers, disease progression, and genetic heritage. I hope to contribute to greater scientific knowledge around Parkinson’s Disease and make a positive impact for patients like my grandfather. Jewish values and community have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become: an advocate for others, a compassionate caregiver, and a scientific investigator able to answer challenging questions in medicine. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients.

Growing up, my father told me stories of his experiences with poverty as he and his family emigrated from Iraq to the state of Israel with nothing but a few suitcases. My father was a very bright child, but shared how he could never study while growing up because he had no school supplies or even any food to fill his stomach. In college, he had to drop out because he could not keep up with his schoolwork as well as work to support himself. Spending time with my family has taught me resilience and optimism in the face of adversity, and I will never forget how powerful higher education is in transforming lives. Because of my heritage, I am continuously educating myself on connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice as a student doctor at Emory University School of Medicine. As the president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory (Medical Mensches), I serve as a support system and advocate for Jewish medical school students. During our Genetics course this semester, one professor made insensitive comments surrounding the genetic conditions associated with Ashkenazi Jewish heritage. Unable to remain silent, I was able to speak to the entire class about the history of discrimination and persecution that resulted in less genetic diversity and increased risks of genetic conditions. Afterwards, I collaborated with our professors to rewrite parts of the curriculum to more accurately educate future physicians around Jewish heritage and medical risks. When our school administration scheduled quizzes on Yom Kippur, I wrote a petition letter to our deans to respect our observations. This fortunately resulted in flexible accommodations for observing students. As a marginalized religious and ethnic identity, it is my obligation to speak for justice for others. As a future physician, guided by my experiences and Jewish values, I plan to advocate for my patients’ care. Geriatric medicine and caring for older adults has been a passion of mine for many years. The summer after my first year of college, I watched my grandfather lose his ability to walk, speak, and swallow to Parkinson’s Disease before passing at the age of 93. This experience helped me understand the importance of both caring for vulnerable individuals in times of need while also progressing scientific advancement to treat degenerative conditions. Right now, I am spearheading a clinical research project on Parkinson’s Disease to find potential connections between specific biomarkers, disease progression, and genetic heritage. I hope to contribute to greater scientific knowledge around Parkinson’s Disease and make a positive impact for patients like my grandfather. Jewish values and community have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become: an advocate for others, a compassionate caregiver, and a scientific investigator able to answer challenging questions in medicine. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients.

Growing up, my father shared stories of his experiences with poverty and anti-Semitism as he and his family fled Iraq for the newly formed nation of Israel. My father was a bright child, but could never study because he had no desk, no school supplies, no food to fill his stomach. In university, he had to drop out because he could not afford to eat. Every day I am grateful for each college course I can take and for each moment I can study and express my faith. Proud of my family’s strength, I was shocked when a peer asked if I was a terrorist after I mentioned my Iraqi heritage. Through speaking up, I quickly learned that I could turn my pain and anger into a moment of education. Through sharing my story, I soon found others like me. Because of these experiences, I am continuously educating myself on the connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice. I understand how important it is to serve my community as a voice for positive change. However, one aspect of my identity that I have sometimes struggled to connect with my faith is my bisexuality due to my family’s traditional Jewish beliefs around marriage and family. When a friend made homophobic comments, I tried to protect myself, and was silent-- but complicit. I realized that I needed to educate myself further so I could lead meaningful dialogue around faith and the LGBTQIA community. While I am still learning, I know that if I want to foster acceptance and understanding I cannot avoid these hard conversations. I truly understood the power of representation. As a future physician, I am grateful for the opportunity to become a source of representation and provide a deeper level of care for patients like me.

Summer before junior year of highschool is a time of pool parties and college tours, but I found a side of the internet of girls obsessed with perfecting their bodies at any cost. It was dark yet addictive. Only 17, I lost myself in the throes of anorexia, becoming deathly sick but unaware. While I was resistant to letting go of my illness, months lying to loved ones exhausted me and I resolved to recover. Yet, I didn’t understand how it is easy to mend a body, but a mind is harder to heal. Ashamed to talk to anyone, I was nervous for what college would bring. However, my biology professors celebrated my successes and became my cherished mentors. I had a bright future and was not going to let eating disorders rob me of any more opportunities. It was reaching out, but I met with my school’s counseling/health centers to continue healing both my mind and body. I called friends and siblings to share my story, and they shared stories of their own struggles with mental health. I was touched to become their source of strength. Crying and laughing together, I began feeling truly hopeful. Because of my struggles with eating disorders I’ve gained strength and resilience I never knew I had. I’ve developed empathy and compassion for others who struggle with mental health, understanding how hard it can be to ask for help. These are experiences that have continuously shaped me on my journey to medicine.

Growing up, my father shared stories of his experiences with poverty and anti-Semitism as he and his family fled Iraq for Israel. My father was a bright child, but could never study because he had no school supplies or even any food to fill his stomach. In university, he had to drop out because he could not afford to eat. Every day I am grateful for each college course I can take and for each moment I can study and express my faith. Proud of my family’s strength, I was shocked when a peer asked if I was a terrorist after I mentioned my Iraqi heritage. Through speaking up, I learned that I could turn my pain and anger into a moment of education. Through sharing my story, I soon found others like me. Because of these experiences, I am continuously educating myself and educating others. I think back to the hardships my family endured when they first came to Israel. They lived in tents, tenements, and metal shacks while the country was still in its infancy. They barely had any food or money, but they had each other. Despite every challenge and heartache, my family has the best sense of humor and the biggest hearts of anyone I know. While they never forget their past, they work tirelessly to make sure their children and grandchildren could live freely as Jews in Israel. In Iraq, my grandfather was arrested because he was falsely accused of studying Hebrew. Now, I am studying Hebrew and Jewish studies and will soon be graduating Muhlenberg College to attend medical school. Education is an opportunity to have unlimited potential, an unlimited future. My family has supported me through my ambitions my whole life, and now it is my turn to say thank you. I hope to become a source of light, pride, joy for my family and the Jewish community as a physician.

Spending time with senior patients and helping them maintain mental clarity during long stays at Abington Memorial Hospital has been incredibly rewarding. One responsibility I have through the Hospital Elder Life Program is visiting patients for orientation exercises that are used to prevent delirium, discuss how patients are feeling, and offer resources or activities. One of my proudest moments was only a few months ago, as I met a kind woman named “Rose.” Upon entering Rose’s room and introducing myself, she smiled, and in a voice barely rose above a whisper, thanked me for the company. After conducting mental orientation exercises, I mentioned my observation of her markedly quiet voice to her nurse, who mentioned that Rose’s voice was so soft because for fourteen months she had not spoken a single word. Rose lived in an assisted living facility, and because of COVID-19 restrictions no longer had any social interactions or visitors. I was reminded of the times I spent caring for my grandfather in his assisted living facility and later volunteering with residents like him. Without consistent engagement, seniors’ cognitive ability and mental health would quickly deteriorate. I resolved to help Rose find her voice. Over the following weeks, we worked through word puzzles and conversation cards to encourage her to practice speaking and remain present. I want to create positive change in people’s health and lives as a future physician. After four weeks in the hospital, Rose was discharged. While I miss our conversations, I am grateful and proud to have left a positive impact on her life. Moving forward, these experiences helped reinforce the type of physician I hope to become: someone who can provide skilled, compassionate care for vulnerable elderly patients in my community.

The summer before junior year of high school is a time of pool parties and college tours, but I found a side of the internet of girls obsessed with perfecting their bodies at any cost. It was dark yet addictive. Only 17 years old, I began to lose myself in the throes of anorexia, becoming deathly sick but completely unaware. While I was resistant to letting go of my sickness for a long time, months of slamming doors and lying to my loved ones exhausted me. I resolved to find a way to get better on my own before I left the comfort of home for college. Yet I did not understand that while it can be easy to fix a body, a mind is harder to heal. Feeling scared and alone, my prior habits warped into an ugly form of bulimia. Too ashamed to talk to anyone about what I was going through, I was nervous for what college would bring. On the first day of classes at Muhlenberg, I walked into the 130 person Biology 1 lecture hall with my heart in my throat, as this was the first biology class I had taken in four years. However, I immediately fell in love with the material, and studied hard and did well. My professor celebrated my successes and soon became a cherished mentor. I had a bright future to work for and was not going to let my eating disorder rob me of opportunities like it had robbed me of my life for the last three years. Shame and stigma towards mental health was something I would never want a patient to feel, yet was harboring it towards myself. It was hard to ask for help, but I swallowed my pride and scheduled appointments with my school’s counseling and health centers to continue healing both my mind and body. I called my friends and siblings to share my story, which returned stories of their own struggles with mental health and medical scares. I was touched to be able to become their source of strength. Crying and laughing together, I no longer felt so alone, but rather hopeful for my future. It is easy to look back on a dark period of your life and wish it had never happened. I still regret the fights with my mom, the irreversible damage to my esophagus. Yet I have gained a source of strength and resilience I never knew I had. I have faced many challenging moments since then, but no matter what, I never falter for long with the knowledge that every dark moment comes to an end. At the end of the day I refuse to waste any more time away from doing the things I love with the people I love. Now, I am planning on attending medical school next year and pursuing Psychiatry. I am grateful for the opportunity to become a source of representation and provide a deeper level of care for patients like me. I hope to use my passion for medicine and human connection to provide individualized, compassionate, and equitable care for my patients. While I am still learning how I can make an impact in the field of medicine, I know what kind of psychiatrist I want to become. I want my patients to feel heard and respected. I want my patients to know that their pain and fears are valid, and that they are not alone in their struggles.

Growing up, my father shared stories of his experiences with poverty and anti-Semitism as he and his family fled persecution in Iraq for the newly formed nation of Israel. My father was a bright child, but could never study because he had no desk, no school supplies, and no food to fill his stomach. In university, he had to drop out because he could not afford to eat. Every day I am grateful for each college course I can take and for each moment I can study and express my faith. Proud of my family’s strength, I was shocked when a peer asked if I was a terrorist after I mentioned my Iraqi heritage. Through speaking up, I quickly learned that I could turn my pain and anger into a moment of education. Through sharing my story, I soon found others like me. Because of these experiences, I am continuously educating myself on the connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice in my work with Challah for Hunger. By working directly with both my peers and administration of Muhlenberg College (my undergraduate institution), I have been able to make student resources more accessible through the establishment of campus resource guides, a meal swipe donation program, and a new food pantry. I am attending medical school next year, and hope to serve the student body as a voice for positive change. Hunger in higher education is unjustly stigmatized and disproportionately affects LGBTQIA individuals and students of color. We must continue addressing these intersectional issues in medical education in order to provide better outcomes for future physicians. However, one aspect of my identity that I have struggled to connect with my faith is my bisexuality due to my family’s traditional beliefs. When a friend made homophobic comments, I tried to protect myself, and was silent-- but complicit. I realized that I needed to educate myself further so I could lead meaningful dialogue around faith and the LGBTQ community. While I am still learning, I know in order to foster acceptance and understanding I cannot avoid these hard conversations. I later began attending Hillel lectures hosted by queer Jews, and for the first time saw individuals who were proudly queer but still connected to Judaism. Feeling hopeful for my future, I truly understood the power of representation. As a future medical school student, I plan to help my peers better understand LGBTQ issues so they can better support their patients. I am grateful for the opportunity to become a source of representation and provide a deeper level of care for patients like me. Continuously strengthened by my community and experiences, I hope to use my perspective and experiences to grow into a compassionate physician, scholar, and advocate.