My personal connection to cancer is rooted in a deeply formative experience I had when my grandmother, who had been a constant source of love, guidance, and strength in my life, was diagnosed with a tumor in her frontal lobe. When her behavior began to change—becoming erratic, cruel, and unlike the woman I knew—I was confused and frightened. The medical professionals initially misdiagnosed her condition, labeling it as Alzheimer’s or dementia, and her cognitive decline was dismissed as a natural part of aging. However, my family and I refused to accept this narrative, believing there was something more at play. After much persistence, we received the diagnosis: brain cancer. For us, this wasn’t just a diagnosis; it was an explanation, a key to understanding the drastic shifts in her personality and behavior. My grandmother’s diagnosis had a profound impact on me. It was an eye-opening experience that underscored the complexities of brain cancer, a disease that can manifest in such diverse and subtle ways. Watching her fight through her surgery and recovery only deepened my resolve to pursue a career in medicine. More importantly, it sparked an enduring passion for advocacy in the realm of neurological diseases, particularly brain cancer. I learned firsthand how critical early diagnosis and proper treatment are in improving outcomes, and I became acutely aware of the ways in which patients and their families need support, both emotionally and medically, as they navigate the challenges of such a devastating diagnosis. In response to my grandmother's experience, I became actively involved in raising awareness and supporting individuals and families affected by brain cancer. Throughout my medical education, I have worked with my peers to organize local outreach programs aimed at educating the public on the signs and symptoms of brain cancer, as well as the importance of early detection. I’ve also participated in fundraising efforts for brain cancer research, contributing both my time and energy to initiatives that seek to improve both the quality of life and survival rates for individuals diagnosed with this disease. One specific initiative I’m particularly proud of is my involvement in organizing a "Brain Cancer Awareness Week" at Emory, which featured a series of events, including guest speakers, informational sessions, and a fundraising campaign to support brain cancer research. This initiative not only raised awareness within the medical community but also provided a platform for patients, families, and survivors to share their stories, creating a sense of solidarity and mutual support. These experiences have had a profound impact on my personal growth, teaching me the importance of not only raising awareness about a disease but also fostering a compassionate community for those impacted by it. Working alongside patients, survivors, and families who are directly affected by brain cancer has deepened my empathy and reinforced my commitment to improving the lives of those living with this disease. It has also reinforced my belief in the power of advocacy and education as tools for change and progress. Receiving this scholarship will provide me with the financial support I need to continue my medical education and pursue my goal of specializing in neurology or oncology. I am particularly focused on gaining a deeper understanding of brain cancer—its diagnosis, treatment options, and the psychological and emotional toll it takes on patients and their families. My long-term career goal is to contribute to the development of more effective treatments for brain cancer while ensuring that patients have access to comprehensive care and emotional support throughout their journey.

"They all say that it gets better, it gets better, but what if I don't?" This lyric from Olivia Rodrigo’s “Teenage Dream” captures the raw uncertainty of adolescence—an era defined by self-doubt, external pressures, and the terrifying unknowns of growing up. While adulthood is often framed as an escape from teenage struggles, Rodrigo’s lyric voices the silent fears many young people carry: What if I don’t get better? What if I never become who I’m supposed to be? These questions, though deeply personal, resonate universally with those who have faced the challenges of adolescence. One of the defining aspects of teenage years is the overwhelming pressure to succeed while simultaneously navigating personal hardships. There is an expectation that teenagers should enjoy their youth, make mistakes, and have carefree experiences, yet they are also burdened with responsibilities—whether it’s academic achievement, social acceptance, or family expectations. Rodrigo’s lyric embodies the dissonance between external reassurances and internal anxieties. Adults often tell young people that their struggles will pass, but for someone in the midst of pain, those words can feel hollow. The lyric voices the unspoken question: What if I am the exception? What if I never grow into the person I’m supposed to be? For those who have battled mental health challenges, this lyric carries an even deeper meaning. Adolescence can be particularly isolating for those dealing with eating disorders, anxiety, depression, or other personal struggles. The fear that things might not improve is paralyzing, especially when support systems fail to acknowledge the root of the issue. Many young people are met with concern for their future rather than understanding for their present struggles. Instead of being asked, “What do you need?” they are often told, “What if you ruin your future?”—a sentiment I personally experienced during high school while struggling with an eating disorder. Rather than being met with support, I was bombarded with fears about whether I would be “too sick for college.” The underlying message was clear: my struggles were an inconvenience, a problem to be fixed before I could move forward in life. But when you are struggling just to get through the day, the future feels like a distant, irrelevant concept. Rodrigo’s lyric encapsulates that emotional weight. The teenage years are often romanticized, but for many, they are defined by relentless uncertainty. The fear of not being “enough”—not smart enough, not strong enough, not successful enough—follows young people into adulthood, making it difficult to trust that things will improve. Ultimately, “Teenage Dream” is a song that gives voice to the anxieties that so many young people experience but are often afraid to express. It reminds us that growing up isn’t always linear, and healing isn’t immediate. The lyric “What if I don’t?” lingers because it is a question many of us have asked ourselves at our lowest points. And yet, in speaking those fears aloud, Rodrigo creates space for honesty, vulnerability, and the possibility of hope.

Ageism is a pervasive issue in medicine, leading to misdiagnoses, inadequate treatment, and the erosion of patient autonomy. Too often, older adults are reduced to stereotypes of frailty and dependence rather than seen as individuals with rich histories and ongoing aspirations. My friendship with Esther, an 85-year-old Israeli woman I met through the One Good Deed program, has given me a personal understanding of the resilience and independence of older adults. Esther, a former teacher and speech pathologist, is fiercely self-sufficient despite living with disabilities. Yet she frequently encounters people—including healthcare providers—who underestimate her capabilities based solely on her age. This awareness has shaped my approach to patient care and inspired me to take action against ageism in medicine. During a hospital shift, I met an 82-year-old woman admitted after a suicide attempt. She had been diagnosed with “dementia” in the emergency department, a label that could have drastically altered her care. But when I sat down with her, I saw a cognitively intact woman updating her address book and conversing fluently. By advocating for her reassessment, I ensured her autonomy was preserved—an outcome that may not have been possible had I simply accepted the initial assumption. Beyond clinical care, I am dedicated to improving healthcare for older adults through research. I am leading a project investigating biomarkers in Parkinson’s disease, with the goal of advancing early diagnosis and personalized treatment for neurodegenerative conditions that disproportionately affect aging populations. By combining scientific discovery with patient-centered advocacy, I hope to contribute to a future where aging is understood through evidence-based medicine rather than outdated stereotypes. Recognizing that well-being extends beyond physical health, I also founded Emory Medical Musicians, a group of student musicians who perform for seniors in assisted living facilities. As a flutist, I have seen how music transcends barriers of age, cognition, and illness. I have watched dementia patients light up as they recognize familiar melodies, and I have witnessed nonverbal individuals tap along to the rhythm, reconnecting with the world around them. These experiences reinforce my belief that healthcare must be holistic, addressing emotional and social needs alongside medical treatment. Through my clinical work, research, and music, I am committed to providing innovative and compassionate care for our aging population. Whether by challenging assumptions in the hospital, advancing scientific understanding, or using music to bridge generational gaps, I strive to create a healthcare system that respects and uplifts older adults. Aging is not a decline—it is a continuation of life’s richness, and it is our responsibility as future physicians to honor that journey with dignity and care.

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 state of Israel. He was a bright child with an insatiable curiosity, but education was a privilege he could scarcely afford. Without school supplies, a desk, or even enough food, studying felt impossible. Later, financial struggles forced him to drop out of college in order to support himself. His sacrifices instilled in me a deep appreciation for education—not just as a personal achievement, but as a responsibility to uplift others. In my community, I was one of the only Jewish students of non-European descent, and I often felt the sting of ignorance. I vividly remember a classmate asking if I was a terrorist when I mentioned my Iraqi background. That moment was painful, but it also awakened something in me. I realized that silence would not protect me, and that sharing my story could combat misunderstanding and foster change. From that moment, I committed myself to education—not only for myself but for others, using knowledge as a tool for advocacy and inclusion. Now, as a student doctor at Emory University School of Medicine, I carry these lessons into my medical career. I advocate for more inclusive medical education, ensuring that students of all backgrounds are represented and respected. I mentor other first-generation students, knowing how challenging it can be to navigate higher education without generational guidance. I conduct research on Parkinson’s disease biomarkers, hoping to improve early diagnosis and treatment for neurodegenerative conditions. And through Emory Medical Musicians, a volunteer group I founded, I play music for seniors in assisted living facilities, bringing comfort and joy to patients who are often overlooked. But perhaps my most meaningful education has come from my friendship with Esther, my 85-year-old best friend. She has taught me invaluable lessons about resilience, independence, and the failures of our healthcare system when it comes to older adults. Too often, seniors are underestimated, ignored, or patronized. I am determined to challenge this. Whether through clinical care, research, or simply taking the time to listen, I want to ensure that every senior patient—regardless of background—is treated with dignity, respect, and compassion. The legacy I hope to leave is one of kindness, mentorship, and support. I want to be remembered not just for my medical knowledge, but for the way I uplifted others. I want to know that I did everything I could for my senior patients, ensuring they felt seen, heard, and valued. Education has given me the power to create change, and I intend to use it to make the world a better place—one patient, one student, and one act of kindness at a time.

Excellence, to me, is not just about personal achievement—it is about using my skills, knowledge, and experiences to uplift others and create meaningful change. As a first-generation medical student, I have faced financial constraints and personal adversity, but these challenges have only strengthened my commitment to excellence in both my education and service to my community. In my everyday life, I strive for excellence through my dedication to medicine, leadership, and advocacy. At Emory, I am spearheading a research project investigating biomarkers in Parkinson’s disease, aiming to improve early diagnosis and personalized treatment for patients with neurodegenerative conditions. In my clinical rotations, I challenge myself to go beyond textbook knowledge by building genuine connections with my patients—particularly older adults, who are often overlooked or underestimated in healthcare settings. One such experience involved an 82-year-old woman misdiagnosed with dementia. By taking the time to listen to her, I realized she was cognitively intact, and my advocacy led to a reassessment of her diagnosis. Excellence in medicine is not just about knowing the right answers; it is about having the awareness and compassion to challenge assumptions and provide patient-centered care. Beyond clinical and research work, I consistently give back to my community by addressing social and healthcare disparities. As president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization, I launched JMed Mentorship, a program connecting Jewish medical students—particularly those from underprivileged backgrounds—with mentors who can support their journey in medicine. Recognizing the power of music in healing, I also founded Emory Medical Musicians, a group that performs at assisted living facilities to bring comfort and connection to older adults. As a flutist, I have seen firsthand how music evokes memories, reduces isolation, and restores dignity to seniors, particularly those with cognitive impairments. My commitment to service is also deeply personal. My best friend, Esther, an 85-year-old Israeli woman I met through the One Good Deed program, has profoundly shaped my perspective on aging and patient care. Her resilience has reinforced my passion for advocating for older adults, whether through research, policy efforts, or direct patient care. Excellence, to me, is a continuous process of learning, improving, and giving back. Whether through scientific discovery, mentorship, or the simple act of listening to a patient, I strive to leave a lasting, positive impact on those around me. As I continue my journey in medicine, I am committed to upholding a standard of excellence that is defined not just by personal success, but by the ways in which I contribute to the well-being of my community.

Ageism is a pervasive issue in medicine, leading to misdiagnoses, inadequate treatment, and the erosion of patient autonomy. Too often, older adults are reduced to stereotypes of frailty and dependence rather than seen as individuals with rich histories and ongoing aspirations. My friendship with Esther, an 85-year-old Israeli woman I met through the One Good Deed program, has given me a personal understanding of the resilience and independence of older adults. Esther, a former teacher and speech pathologist, is fiercely self-sufficient despite living with disabilities. Yet she frequently encounters people—including healthcare providers—who underestimate her capabilities based solely on her age. This awareness has shaped my approach to patient care and inspired me to take action against ageism in medicine. During a hospital shift, I met an 82-year-old woman admitted after a suicide attempt. She had been diagnosed with “dementia” in the emergency department, a label that could have drastically altered her care. But when I sat down with her, I saw a cognitively intact woman updating her address book and conversing fluently. By advocating for her reassessment, I ensured her autonomy was preserved—an outcome that may not have been possible had I simply accepted the initial assumption. Beyond clinical care, I am dedicated to improving healthcare for older adults through research. I am leading a project investigating biomarkers in Parkinson’s disease, with the goal of advancing early diagnosis and personalized treatment for neurodegenerative conditions that disproportionately affect aging populations. By combining scientific discovery with patient-centered advocacy, I hope to contribute to a future where aging is understood through evidence-based medicine rather than outdated stereotypes. Recognizing that well-being extends beyond physical health, I also founded Emory Medical Musicians, a group of student musicians who perform for seniors in assisted living facilities. As a flutist, I have seen how music transcends barriers of age, cognition, and illness. I have watched dementia patients light up as they recognize familiar melodies, and I have witnessed nonverbal individuals tap along to the rhythm, reconnecting with the world around them. These experiences reinforce my belief that healthcare must be holistic, addressing emotional and social needs alongside medical treatment. Through my clinical work, research, and music, I am committed to providing innovative and compassionate care for our aging population. Whether by challenging assumptions in the hospital, advancing scientific understanding, or using music to bridge generational gaps, I strive to create a healthcare system that respects and uplifts older adults. Aging is not a decline—it is a continuation of life’s richness, and it is our responsibility as future physicians to honor that journey with dignity and care.

My journey to medicine is deeply rooted in my heritage, personal struggles, and unwavering commitment to serving others. My mother emigrated from Ukraine to the United States to pursue an education and create better opportunities for herself. Every summer, I traveled with her to Poltava, where I spent time with my grandmother, who shared stories of resilience and survival during World War II. My great-grandfather worked at the railway station in Grebinka, helping evacuate people amidst relentless bombings. Meanwhile, my great-grandmother and grandmother were rescued by neighbors and pushed onto a passing train, escaping the advancing German forces. Their survival is the reason I am here today, carrying forward a legacy of perseverance and courage. Growing up in a family where financial stability was never guaranteed, I learned early on the weight of socioeconomic adversity. As the first in my family to pursue medicine, I have faced many challenges stemming from financial constraints—navigating limited resources while balancing my education and supporting my family. Without the financial backing that many of my peers have, I have often had to rely on my own determination, resilience, and community support to push forward. These struggles have shaped my deep empathy for patients facing similar barriers to care and have fueled my passion for advocating for healthcare accessibility. At Emory University School of Medicine, I serve as the president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization (JMSA). In this role, I launched the "JMed" mentorship program, which connects Jewish medical students with Jewish Emory physicians, particularly to support students from underprivileged backgrounds. I also advocated for curriculum reform after a professor made insensitive remarks about Ashkenazi Jewish genetic conditions. Addressing my class, I spoke about the historical context of Jewish persecution and its genetic implications, then collaborated with faculty to update the curriculum. Additionally, when quizzes were scheduled on Yom Kippur, I successfully petitioned for accommodations, ensuring that observant students were not academically penalized for their religious practices. These experiences reinforced my commitment to advocacy and inclusivity in medicine. My passion for medicine also extends to research and patient care. I am spearheading a clinical research project on Parkinson’s Disease, exploring potential connections between biomarkers, disease progression, and genetic heritage—an endeavor inspired by my grandfather’s experience with the disease. During a recent hospital shift, I encountered an 82-year-old woman misdiagnosed with dementia after a suicide attempt. When I took the time to speak with her, I found an alert, lucid individual who had been incorrectly labeled. Our team swiftly corrected the diagnosis, a moment that underscored the dangers of implicit bias in medicine and the importance of truly listening to patients. My lived experiences have solidified my dedication to combating healthcare disparities, particularly for marginalized and economically disadvantaged patients. I believe that a person’s ability to receive quality medical care should not be dictated by financial privilege but rather by a healthcare system that prioritizes equity and compassion. As a future physician, I will continue advocating for my patients, ensuring that no one is denied care due to their socioeconomic background. Through mentorship, policy work, and community-building, I hope to foster a more inclusive and just medical field, where all individuals—regardless of background—have the opportunity to thrive.

My heritage is a story of resilience, survival, and unwavering perseverance. My mother emigrated from Ukraine to the United States for college, seeking education and opportunities for a better future. Every summer, I traveled with her to Poltava, where I spent time with my grandmother and listened to her stories of surviving World War II. Her father, my great-grandfather, worked at the railway station in Grebinka, an essential train hub, and played a critical role in evacuating people during the war. While he continued to drive trains amid relentless bombings, my great-grandmother and grandmother were rescued by neighbors as the German forces advanced through Zheremenka. They were pushed onto a passing train, escaping the same fate that tragically befell many members of my family, who were sent to Zherminskii Yar, a Nazi massacre site. Because of that courageous act, I am here today, carrying their legacy forward. On February 24, 2022, as the Ukraine crisis unfolded, I experienced an overwhelming sense of historical repetition. The fear, uncertainty, and loss my grandmother endured decades ago now echoed in the stories of Ukrainians fleeing for their lives. My family’s history instilled in me an enduring commitment to social justice, community support, and cultural preservation. As a Jewish individual, I have embraced my heritage and continue to educate myself on the intersections of faith, ethnicity, and justice. This commitment has guided me in my journey as a student doctor at Emory University School of Medicine. Growing up in a family where financial stability was never guaranteed, I understood the weight of socioeconomic adversity from an early age. As the first in my family to pursue medicine, I have navigated financial constraints while balancing my education and supporting my family. These struggles have given me a profound empathy for those facing similar challenges and a deep motivation to advocate for equitable healthcare access. At Emory, I serve as the president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization (JMSA). In this role, I launched the "JMed" mentorship program, designed to support Jewish medical students and connect them with Jewish Emory physicians. Beyond professional networking, this program provides guidance for students from underprivileged backgrounds, ensuring they receive support in both their academic and personal journeys. My advocacy also extends to curriculum reform—after a professor made insensitive remarks about Ashkenazi Jewish genetic conditions, I addressed the class on the history of persecution and its genetic consequences, then collaborated with faculty to revise the curriculum. Additionally, I successfully petitioned for flexible accommodations when quizzes were scheduled on Yom Kippur, ensuring that Jewish students could observe their traditions without academic penalties. My lived experiences have reinforced my dedication to fighting healthcare disparities, particularly for economically disadvantaged patients. I believe that medical success should not be determined by financial privilege but by passion, dedication, and skill. As a future physician, I will continue advocating for my patients, ensuring that no one is denied quality care due to socioeconomic barriers. Through mentorship, policy work, and community-building, I aim to foster an inclusive and compassionate healthcare environment where all individuals—regardless of background—can thrive.

As a medical school student, I have always believed in the power of empathy, community, and service. One of the most fulfilling volunteering experiences I have had was organizing and participating in Emory Medical Musicians, a small ensemble of musicians dedicated to bringing joy and connection to seniors in assisted living facilities across Atlanta. This project, which I founded, aims to create meaningful interactions between musicians and seniors by performing live music and fostering conversations that bridge generations and bring comfort, connection, and joy. Emory Medical Musicians was born out of my belief in the healing power of music, a sentiment I hold deeply as both a medical student and a flutist. As a student, I have learned that medicine is not only about diagnosing and treating physical ailments, but also about addressing the emotional and mental health of patients. Music, especially live music, can have a transformative effect on people's well-being. It can evoke memories, create a sense of belonging, and even improve cognitive function. With this in mind, I wanted to bring the power of music to the elderly in assisted living facilities, many of whom experience isolation and diminished connections with others. The primary way we volunteer is by organizing performances for seniors in these facilities. As an ensemble, we perform a variety of genres ranging from classical pieces to familiar folk songs and even contemporary tunes. We also listen to the stories of the residents, allowing them to share their experiences and memories. These moments of interaction are just as important as the music we play, as they remind the seniors of their own identities and histories. One particularly memorable experience was when we played an old Yiddish song for a woman with severe dementia. To our surprise, she immediately began singing along, remembering every word. After the performance, she shared her story with us about growing up in New York as a professional singer. It was an incredibly powerful reminder of how music can tap into memories that remain buried, even in the face of dementia. For the seniors, these performances provide a chance to feel seen, heard, and valued, and for us as musicians and students, it is an opportunity to develop a deeper understanding of the human side of medicine. We get to witness firsthand the importance of connection in healing. The feedback from both the residents and the staff has been overwhelmingly positive, and the smiles and tears of gratitude we receive are a testament to the power of music. Leadership through service is crucial because it exemplifies the idea that leaders are not just those who direct others from a distance, but those who actively engage and serve their communities. It is about using one's skills, knowledge, and resources to empower others and create a positive impact. As the leader of Emory Medical Musicians, I have learned that leadership is not about seeking recognition but about making a difference in the lives of others. Leadership through service teaches the importance of humility. The most meaningful contributions often come from listening to those around you, understanding their needs, and offering your time and abilities in a way that meets those needs. In my case, the elderly seniors taught me as much as I taught them. I learned about resilience, memory, and the deep human need for connection, lessons that will stay with me as I continue my journey in medicine.

Growing up in a family where financial stability was never a given, I learned early on the weight that socioeconomic adversity can carry. As the first person in my family to pursue a career in medicine, I’ve faced many challenges, particularly in terms of accessing resources and balancing the demands of education while supporting my family. These struggles have not only shaped who I am but have also fueled my passion for making healthcare more equitable and accessible. My experiences as a child of immigrants have instilled in me a deep sense of responsibility to ensure that others, especially those from marginalized backgrounds, have access to the same opportunities I’ve been fortunate to receive. During my high school years, I was diagnosed with a serious eating disorder. At times, it felt like my dreams—of becoming a physician, of achieving anything at all—were unreachable. However, everything began to change when I met a psychiatrist who truly believed in me. He didn’t just see my illness or my struggles; he saw my potential to recover and succeed. His belief in me was transformative. For the first time since I became ill, I believed in myself. With his support, I gained the courage to reach out to friends and family, ask for help when I needed it, and ultimately recover from my illness. I was able to graduate college, enter Emory University School of Medicine, and pursue my dream of becoming a physician—something I had once thought impossible. It was through this experience that I realized the immense power of mentorship and belief. Currently, as a medical student at Emory University School of Medicine, I am already putting this vision into action. I recently connected with a patient who had a history of an eating disorder. I could relate to 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 aimed at improving the education and prevention of eating disorders in Atlanta. I am particularly passionate about working with youth and teens, and through my medical and scientific background, I hope to advance our understanding of the neurobiological basis of eating disorders and improve access to care, especially for underrepresented communities. Another way I hope to make a lasting impact is by continuing to focus on mentorship and community-building. I believe that creating networks of support—especially for those who are first-generation or come from underprivileged backgrounds—is vital in helping individuals navigate the pressures of academia and healthcare. During my time as president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory, I launched the "JMed" mentorship program, designed to provide students with guidance from Jewish physicians and medical professionals. This experience reinforced my belief in the power of mentorship and the need for accessible support systems in academic and professional settings. I would continue to build on this work, advocating for mentorship programs that specifically cater to students facing financial and cultural obstacles. If awarded this scholarship, I would honor its values by leveraging this opportunity not only to further my education but also to contribute to the legacy of supporting education and innovation in healthcare. My own struggles with financial barriers and mental health challenges have fueled my desire to break down the systemic obstacles that prevent marginalized individuals from accessing the care they need. I hope to use my career in psychiatry to advocate for equitable access to mental health resources and ensure that individuals in underserved communities receive the support they deserve.

My personal connection to medicine is rooted in a deeply formative experience I had when my grandmother, who had been a constant source of love, guidance, and strength in my life, was diagnosed with a tumor in her frontal lobe. When her behavior began to change—becoming erratic, cruel, and unlike the woman I knew—I was confused and frightened. The medical professionals initially misdiagnosed her condition and her cognitive decline was dismissed as a natural part of aging. However, my family and I refused to accept this narrative and after much persistence, we received the diagnosis: brain cancer. For us, this wasn’t just a diagnosis; it was an explanation, a key to understanding the drastic shifts in her personality and behavior. It was an eye-opening experience that underscored the complexities of brain cancer. Watching her fight through her surgery and recovery only deepened my resolve to pursue a career in medicine. More importantly, it sparked an enduring passion for advocacy and research in the realm of neurological diseases. One specific initiative I’m particularly proud of is my involvement in organizing a "Brain Cancer Awareness Week" at Emory, which featured a series of events, including guest speakers, informational sessions, and a fundraising campaign to support brain cancer research. This initiative not only raised awareness within the medical community but also provided a platform for patients, families, and survivors to share their stories, creating a sense of solidarity and mutual support. I am particularly focused on gaining a deeper understanding of brain cancer—its diagnosis, treatment options, and the psychological and emotional toll it takes on patients and their families. My long-term career goal is to contribute to the development of more effective treatments for brain cancer while ensuring that patients have access to comprehensive care and emotional support throughout their journey.

Growing up in a family where financial stability was never a given, I learned early on the weight that socioeconomic adversity can carry. As the first person in my family to pursue a career in medicine, I’ve faced many challenges, particularly in terms of accessing resources and balancing the demands of education while supporting my family. These struggles have not only shaped who I am but have also fueled my passion for making healthcare more equitable and accessible. My experiences as a child of immigrants have instilled in me a deep sense of responsibility to ensure that others, especially those from marginalized backgrounds, have access to the same opportunities I’ve been fortunate to receive. During my high school years, I was diagnosed with a serious eating disorder. At times, it felt like my dreams—of becoming a physician, of achieving anything at all—were unreachable. However, everything began to change when I met a psychiatrist who truly believed in me. He didn’t just see my illness or my struggles; he saw my potential to recover and succeed. His belief in me was transformative. For the first time since I became ill, I believed in myself. With his support, I gained the courage to reach out to friends and family, ask for help when I needed it, and ultimately recover from my illness. I was able to graduate college, enter Emory University School of Medicine, and pursue my dream of becoming a physician—something I had once thought impossible. It was through this experience that I realized the immense power of mentorship and belief. Currently, as a medical student at Emory University School of Medicine, I am already putting this vision into action. I recently connected with a patient who had a history of an eating disorder. I could relate to 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 aimed at improving the education and prevention of eating disorders in Atlanta. I am particularly passionate about working with youth and teens, and through my medical and scientific background, I hope to advance our understanding of the neurobiological basis of eating disorders and improve access to care, especially for underrepresented communities. Another way I hope to make a lasting impact is by continuing to focus on mentorship and community-building. I believe that creating networks of support—especially for those who are first-generation or come from underprivileged backgrounds—is vital in helping individuals navigate the pressures of academia and healthcare. During my time as president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory, I launched the "JMed" mentorship program, designed to provide students with guidance from Jewish physicians and medical professionals. This experience reinforced my belief in the power of mentorship and the need for accessible support systems in academic and professional settings. I would continue to build on this work, advocating for mentorship programs that specifically cater to students facing financial and cultural obstacles. If awarded this scholarship, I would honor its values by leveraging this opportunity not only to further my education but also to contribute to the legacy of supporting education and innovation in healthcare. My own struggles with financial barriers and mental health challenges have fueled my desire to break down the systemic obstacles that prevent marginalized individuals from accessing the care they need. I hope to use my career in psychiatry to advocate for equitable access to mental health resources and ensure that individuals in underserved communities receive the support they deserve.

Compassion is the foundation upon which my personal and professional life is built. Having struggled with anorexia at 17, I understand firsthand how isolating and shameful it can feel to face mental health challenges, particularly when compounded by societal pressures and unrealistic standards. My own recovery journey began when I learned to extend compassion to myself, allowing vulnerability and opening up to others about my struggles. In my mental health work, compassion remains central to creating safe spaces for individuals to express their pain without fear of judgment. I aim to ensure that everyone, regardless of their background or struggle, knows they are not alone. Compassion means recognizing the validity of each person’s pain, offering empathy, and supporting others through their journey—whether it takes months, years, or a lifetime. Curiosity plays a vital role in my efforts to understand the complexities of the mind and body. As a student of biology and now a medical student at Emory University, my curiosity about the neurobiological roots of eating disorders and mental health has fueled my academic journey. This intellectual curiosity also extends to my work with patients, where I approach each individual with a desire to understand not only their symptoms but the underlying causes of their struggles. I strive to remain open-minded, continually seeking new methods and ideas to improve care, knowing that the field of mental health is ever-evolving. Curiosity allows me to remain adaptable, ensuring that I offer the most informed and compassionate care possible to those in need. In addition to compassion and curiosity, I place great emphasis on individuality. No two people’s experiences with mental health are the same, and I’ve learned through my recovery that healing is a deeply personal process. In my clinical work, I am committed to honoring each person’s unique journey, offering care that is tailored to their specific needs. For instance, when working with a patient who struggled with both an eating disorder and IBS, I was able to connect with her on a deeper level, acknowledging the intersection of her mental and physical health. By collaborating with a dietitian and focusing on her individual concerns, I helped create a care plan that was more aligned with her personal experience. In my advocacy work, I also emphasize the importance of individuality and self-empowerment. As a co-founder of "Educate Heal Empower," I work to promote body positivity and educate young people about healthy relationships with food and self-image. By engaging in this work, I hope to reduce the stigma surrounding mental health and encourage a global culture of self-compassion, understanding, and mutual respect. Through initiatives like this, I aim to help create a world where everyone feels valued and understood, no matter their mental health struggles or the way they look. Ultimately, my talents and skills—rooted in compassion, curiosity, and individuality—will guide my efforts to build a more empathetic and understanding global community. Whether through my future work as a psychiatrist or my advocacy efforts, I am committed to creating spaces where people feel safe to be vulnerable, supported in their unique journeys, and empowered to find healing. My mission is to foster resilience and compassion in a world where mental health is no longer a source of shame but a shared experience of human connection.

For me, three core values stand out: compassion, curiosity, and individuality. These values have been pivotal in my personal journey and continue to inform my work in mental health. At 17, I became ensnared in the world of body obsession and disordered eating, drawn into an internet culture that glamorized extreme weight control. As anorexia took hold, I felt increasingly isolated, ashamed, and disconnected from the people around me. It wasn’t until much later, that I realized the importance of compassion—not just from others, but for myself. My first step toward recovery came when I allowed myself to be vulnerable and open up to others. Sharing my struggles helped me realize that compassion, both self-directed and from others, was key to healing. In my work in mental health, compassion is central to creating a safe space for individuals to express their struggles without fear of judgment. I want those I work with to know they are not alone in their journey. Compassion means recognizing that each person’s pain is valid and offering empathy and support to help them find healing, no matter how long it takes. As I navigated my own recovery, my curiosity about the mind-body connection grew. While studying biology in college, I began to realize that the mind is often the most difficult aspect to heal. This curiosity drove me to explore the neurobiological roots of eating disorders and mental health. I sought help from counselors, learned from professors, and allowed my curiosity to deepen my understanding of mental health. Curiosity is also essential in my work as a future mental health professional. It fuels my desire to understand the underlying causes of a person's challenges, not just the symptoms they present. In addition, curiosity ensures I stay open to new methods and ideas, keeping me adaptable and informed in an ever-evolving field. During my recovery, I learned that every individual’s experience with mental health is unique. There’s no universal approach to healing—what worked for me might not work for someone else. This understanding of individuality will guide my practice in mental health. In my work, I aim to honor the uniqueness of each person’s journey, providing tailored support and interventions. For example, when I worked with a patient struggling with both an eating disorder and IBS, my personal experience allowed me to connect with her on a deeper level. I supported her in managing her anxiety around food and helped connect her with a dietitian, recognizing the importance of individualized care. Currently, as a medical student at Emory University School of Medicine, I am honing the skills and knowledge necessary to become a psychiatrist. I want to provide a combination of medical and psychological support for individuals struggling with these complex conditions. In addition to my studies, I am deeply involved in advocacy work. I helped found "Educate Heal Empower," a student-led organization dedicated to promoting body positivity and educating local middle and high school students about healthy relationships with food and self-image. In my journey from struggling with an eating disorder to becoming a medical student and mental health advocate, my values of compassion, curiosity, and individuality have been my anchors. These values guide how I connect with patients, approach their struggles, and provide care. I am passionate about using my experiences to support others, creating a world where no one has to face mental health challenges alone or in shame. Whether through my work as a psychiatrist or through advocacy efforts like "Educate Heal Empower," I am dedicated to fostering healing and resilience in those who need it most.

Growing up in a family where financial stability was never a given, I learned early on the weight that socioeconomic adversity can carry. As the first person in my family to pursue a career in medicine, I’ve faced many challenges that stem from financial constraints—both in terms of accessing resources and the added pressure of balancing my education with the realities of needing to support my family. These struggles have not only shaped who I am but have also fueled my passion for making healthcare more equitable and accessible to all. During my medical school journey, I’ve found myself constantly navigating the tension between academic demands and financial limitations. My family cannot afford to support me, and I’ve often had to rely on my own resources, both financial and emotional, to make it through. However, it is precisely through these struggles that I’ve developed a deep empathy for those facing similar socioeconomic barriers. These experiences have led me to recognize that while academic and professional success is important, it is equally crucial to address the systemic challenges that disproportionately affect marginalized communities, especially in healthcare. One way I’ve worked to make a positive impact is through my leadership role as president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization (JMSA) at Emory. In this role, I launched the "JMed" mentorship program, aimed at supporting Jewish medical students and connecting them with Jewish Emory physicians. However, it wasn’t just about building a network—it was also about creating a space where students from underprivileged backgrounds could receive guidance and support, not only in their academic journeys but also in navigating the financial and emotional hurdles that often accompany such a demanding career path. Additionally, my experiences with financial and mental health challenges have inspired me to advocate for better access to mental health care and resources for students who are dealing with adversity. Recognizing the connection between mental health and academic performance, I’ve worked alongside other student leaders to promote programs that address the mental and emotional needs of students who face socioeconomic difficulties. Having experienced firsthand the impact of financial insecurity, I am committed to making medicine a field where success is not determined by one’s financial background but by their dedication, skills, and passion for helping others. As a future physician, I plan to actively work toward policies that address healthcare disparities, particularly for patients who are economically disadvantaged. I want to be a physician who is not only skilled in the clinical aspects of care but also sensitive to the socioeconomic factors that deeply affect a patient's health. In terms of relationships, my experiences have fostered a deep sense of empathy, and I have learned the importance of community support. I’ve seen how relationships—whether personal or professional—can become lifelines in times of adversity. I plan to continue building these connections, creating support systems within the medical field that uplift those who face adversity, and ensuring that people from all socioeconomic backgrounds feel seen, heard, and respected. Ultimately, experiencing socioeconomic adversity has shaped my belief that a person’s potential should never be limited by their economic circumstances. I am determined to help create a more inclusive and compassionate healthcare environment where every individual, regardless of their background, has the opportunity to thrive. Through mentorship, advocacy, and community-building, I hope to leave a lasting impact on my school and future patients by helping to break down the barriers that prevent people from accessing the care and resources they deserve.

brat by Charli XCX, now THAT is a total vibe. It’s a standout track because of its infectious energy and confident, unapologetic attitude. Charli's whole CRASH era, and especially this song, really captures a raw and rebellious side of her personality. My favorite track off brat would probably be "CRASH" itself. Here's why: First of all, the production is fire. It’s a perfect blend of electronic pop with a bit of a punk-rock edge, which Charli is so great at pulling off. It feels both futuristic and gritty at the same time—like it's about to explode. The lyrics, too, are all about vulnerability mixed with defiance. Charli sings about being reckless and living life on her own terms, without caring about the consequences. That’s something a lot of people, especially those who embrace their individuality, can relate to. Charli's always been someone who pushes boundaries in pop music, and brat feels like a moment of rebellion—like saying, “I don’t fit the mold, and I’m not sorry about it.” She’s got that unapologetic, "I’m gonna do me" vibe that makes it so empowering to listen to. The track is catchy, but it also has an edge that makes it stand out from more mainstream pop.

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.

Challenge Name: “Heartstrings & Handcuffs”. This challenge is designed to test the emotional and physical connection between couples, while also adding an element of trust and creativity. Couples will have to work together to unlock a series of heart-shaped locks and keys, all while navigating obstacles and dealing with the pressure of time. To make it more interesting, there will be twists that push them to be strategic with their emotions and decisions. How the Challenge Works: The Setup: The Islanders are split into their couples. Each couple gets a set of handcuffs that connect their two wrists, which they’ll wear throughout the challenge. Alongside the handcuffs, each couple gets a “key ring” filled with 5 keys, each key corresponding to a lock located around the villa. These locks are heart-shaped and attached to a different challenge area. The Tasks/Challenges: “Tangled Hearts” (Emotional Puzzle): One partner will have to solve a complicated puzzle that’s all about their relationship. They’ll need to answer questions, eg, “What’s your partner’s biggest fear?” or “What’s one thing that annoys you about them but you still love anyway?” After each answer, the other partner will either confirm or deny if it’s correct. If they answer all questions correctly, they get the first key to unlock a “heart-shaped” lock. “Pass the Love” (Physical Bonding): The couple will be asked to pass a heart-shaped balloon between them using only their bodies, without using their hands. They’ll have to squeeze through tight spaces, balance on beams, and climb over obstacles while still tethered together by the handcuffs. If they drop the balloon, they have to start over. This part is all about teamwork, trust, and communication. Successfully passing the balloon earns them the second key. If the blindfolded partner completes the obstacle course successfully, they earn the second key. “Love Letters Relay” (Creative Challenge): Each couple has to write a heartfelt love letter to each other (but there’s a twist!). The couple has to include a funny, romantic, or emotional anecdote about their relationship, and both partners must read the letter aloud in front of the group.This task challenges their communication skills, vulnerability, and creativity while also allowing the other Islanders to witness their bond. After reading their letters, they unlock the third heart-shaped lock. The Twist: As the challenge progresses, the hosts announce that one key from each couple’s key ring is a “decoy”—meaning it doesn’t fit any of the locks. Couples have to figure out which one to throw away, which adds a layer of strategic thinking and stress as they approach the final task. The couple that has the most keys unlocked (or unlocks the most in the fastest time) wins the challenge! The Stakes: The winning couple gets to have a romantic date—set in a secluded, special spot in the villa, away from prying eyes. They also get the privilege of choosing one couple to face elimination. The losing couples face a slight "punishment" like having to clean the villa together, or they may be given a silly, lighthearted task that lets them bond and recover from the loss. Why It Works: This challenge blends the physical and emotional components that Love Island is known for while keeping things fun and competitive. The handcuffs force couples to work closely together, and the tasks test their communication, trust, and connection. Plus, the added drama of the decoy keys and the emotional love letters adds some extra layers to the typical physical challenges, making the outcome more exciting!

If I had to pick a favorite athlete from Team USA, it would probably be Simone Biles. Her resilience, grace, and sheer athleticism are nothing short of inspiring. What makes her stand out to me is not just her dominance in gymnastics but the way she’s used her platform to speak out on issues like mental health and athlete welfare. Simone’s ability to perform at the highest level while facing immense pressure is incredible. Her performances, especially at the Tokyo Olympics where she made the decision to prioritize her mental health, showed an entirely new dimension of strength. It wasn’t just physical, but emotional and mental strength, too. The courage it took to step back when the pressure was overwhelming wasn’t just a personal decision; it was a statement that athletes are human beings first, and their well-being matters. Beyond that, Simone has consistently raised the bar for gymnastics, rewriting the sport’s history with her unparalleled skills. She's brought attention to the importance of innovation in the sport, doing things no one has ever done before, and her consistency over the years has been awe-inspiring. The way she remains grounded, despite all the success, is another reason to admire her. I think the combination of her athletic brilliance and her advocacy for mental health makes her someone worth rooting for. It’s not just about the medals—it's about the impact she’s had in changing the conversation around athletes' rights, mental health, and the importance of taking care of yourself. Plus, her humility and authenticity make her even more admirable.

Billie Eilish has an incredible ability to blend raw emotion with atmospheric sound, which is why so many of her songs resonate deeply with fans. Here are my top three: “everything i wanted” This song stands out because it captures the vulnerability and complexity of fame, mental health, and self-worth. The haunting production paired with Billie’s soft, almost ethereal vocals make it feel like an intimate conversation with the listener. The lyrics hit hard, particularly when she talks about the pressure of expectations and the feeling of wanting more, but not knowing what that “more” is. It’s a reflection on the isolation that can come even when surrounded by success, which resonates with anyone who’s ever struggled with feeling understood or enough. “bury a friend” From the dark, almost nightmarish production to Billie’s whispered delivery, this song captures the feeling of inner turmoil and confusion in such a unique way. It’s eerie but also hypnotic, and the lyrics create a sense of discomfort, like trying to confront your own darkest thoughts. There’s a strange mix of intrigue and unease when listening to it, which is why it feels so powerful. It explores themes of fear, self-doubt, and questioning reality, things that many people struggle with but might be too afraid to voice, and the way Billie translates that into music feels both rebellious and cathartic. “idontwannabeyouanymore” This one is more subdued but incredibly emotional. The song is an honest expression of self-doubt and the struggle with one’s own reflection. It’s not about being misunderstood by others, but about feeling lost within yourself, which is a powerful and universal sentiment. The simplicity of the song, both musically and lyrically, makes it feel raw and real. The line “I don’t wanna be you anymore” hits deep because it speaks to the pressure of living up to an image—either one imposed by others or by yourself—and the desire to escape that version of yourself. Each of these songs captures a different aspect of the human experience, but they all share a thread of emotional honesty and vulnerability. Billie Eilish has this incredible way of expressing things that feel hard to articulate, making her music feel personal yet universal. Her unique sound and introspective lyrics create a space for listeners to feel seen, heard, and connected, even when navigating dark or complex emotions.

Sabrina Carpenter is a name that resonates with many young people today, not just for her music but for the strength and authenticity she embodies in her career. From her start as a Disney Channel star to becoming an empowering voice in the pop music industry, Sabrina has shown that it’s possible to grow, evolve, and remain true to yourself despite the pressures of the public eye. As someone navigating a male-dominated field, her career has had a significant impact on me, especially in how I view strength, femininity, and success. Sabrina’s musical career is a prime example of resilience and personal growth. While many artists tend to play it safe, Sabrina has continuously pushed boundaries with her music, evolving from bubblegum pop to more mature, introspective work. Songs like "Skin" and "Vicious" reflect her ability to tackle complex emotions and experiences, such as self-worth and dealing with public scrutiny, with both vulnerability and strength. Her willingness to dive into topics that matter—mental health, self-empowerment, and the complexities of personal relationships—has made her music feel incredibly relatable. It’s not just about catchy beats or clever lyrics; it’s about creating a dialogue with her audience, letting us know that we’re not alone in our struggles. But what truly sets Sabrina apart is the way she handles her femininity and strength. In an industry where women are often expected to conform to certain standards or stereotypes, Sabrina has managed to find her own voice, refusing to let society’s expectations dictate her worth or image. She has shown that it’s entirely possible to be both strong and feminine without having to choose between the two. This message of self-empowerment is something I deeply admire, and it has influenced the way I approach my own career. As a medical school student, I often find myself navigating a space that is still largely male-dominated, where women—especially those who don’t conform to traditional expectations—can struggle to be taken seriously. Sabrina’s career has taught me that I don’t have to sacrifice my femininity to be strong, capable, or worthy of success. Her ability to be confident and unapologetically herself, while still embracing her feminine side, serves as a powerful reminder that strength comes in many forms. Whether in a lab coat or a song, we can embody both power and grace, and neither diminishes the other. One of the most profound lessons I’ve learned from Sabrina’s journey is the importance of self-acceptance and mental health awareness. Medicine, like many demanding fields, can be incredibly stressful and mentally taxing. The pressure to perform at a high level while maintaining a sense of personal well-being is something that often feels at odds. Sabrina’s openness about her own mental health struggles has made me realize that it’s okay to not have everything figured out, to take breaks when needed, and to prioritize my mental health. By embracing vulnerability, Sabrina has created space for others to do the same, encouraging us to seek help and to treat ourselves with kindness. In conclusion, Sabrina’s career has had a lasting impact on me because of the way she combines strength, vulnerability, and authenticity. She has shown me that I can be strong, articulate, and successful without losing sight of who I am or conforming to the expectations others may have for me. Her music and public persona have empowered me to take up space in fields where women are often overlooked. Through Sabrina, I’ve learned that true strength comes from embracing every part of yourself, and that’s a lesson I carry with me every day as I continue my journey in medicine.

Growing up in a family where financial stability was never a given, I learned early on the weight that socioeconomic adversity can carry. As the first person in my family to pursue a career in medicine, I’ve faced many challenges, particularly in terms of accessing resources and balancing the demands of education while supporting my family. These struggles have not only shaped who I am but have also fueled my passion for making healthcare more equitable and accessible. I believe that creating networks of support—especially for those who are first-generation or come from underprivileged backgrounds—is vital in helping individuals navigate the pressures of academia and healthcare. During my time as president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory, I launched the "JMed" mentorship program, designed to provide students with guidance from Jewish physicians and medical professionals. This experience reinforced my belief in the power of mentorship and the need for accessible support systems in academic and professional settings. I would continue to build on this work, advocating for mentorship programs that specifically cater to students facing financial and cultural obstacles. If awarded this scholarship, I would honor its values by leveraging this opportunity not only to further my education but also to contribute to the legacy of supporting education and innovation in healthcare. My own struggles with financial barriers and mental health challenges have fueled my desire to break down the systemic obstacles that prevent marginalized individuals from accessing the care they need. I hope to use my career in psychiatry to advocate for equitable access to mental health resources and ensure that individuals in underserved communities receive the support they deserve.

Growing up in a family where financial stability was never a given, I learned early on the weight that socioeconomic adversity can carry. As the first person in my family to pursue a career in medicine, I’ve faced many challenges, particularly in terms of accessing resources and balancing the demands of education while supporting my family. These struggles have not only shaped who I am but have also fueled my passion for making healthcare more equitable and accessible. My experiences as a child of immigrants have instilled in me a deep sense of responsibility to ensure that others, especially those from marginalized backgrounds, have access to the same opportunities I’ve been fortunate to receive. During my high school years, I was diagnosed with a serious eating disorder. At times, it felt like my dreams—of becoming a physician, of achieving anything at all—were unreachable. However, everything began to change when I met a psychiatrist who truly believed in me. He didn’t just see my illness or my struggles; he saw my potential to recover and succeed. His belief in me was transformative. For the first time since I became ill, I believed in myself. With his support, I gained the courage to reach out to friends and family, ask for help when I needed it, and ultimately recover from my illness. I was able to graduate college, enter Emory University School of Medicine, and pursue my dream of becoming a physician—something I had once thought impossible. It was through this experience that I realized the immense power of mentorship and belief. Currently, as a medical student at Emory University School of Medicine, I am already putting this vision into action. I recently connected with a patient who had a history of an eating disorder. I could relate to 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 aimed at improving the education and prevention of eating disorders in Atlanta. I am particularly passionate about working with youth and teens, and through my medical and scientific background, I hope to advance our understanding of the neurobiological basis of eating disorders and improve access to care, especially for underrepresented communities. Another way I hope to make a lasting impact is by continuing to focus on mentorship and community-building. I believe that creating networks of support—especially for those who are first-generation or come from underprivileged backgrounds—is vital in helping individuals navigate the pressures of academia and healthcare. During my time as president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory, I launched the "JMed" mentorship program, designed to provide students with guidance from Jewish physicians and medical professionals. This experience reinforced my belief in the power of mentorship and the need for accessible support systems in academic and professional settings. I would continue to build on this work, advocating for mentorship programs that specifically cater to students facing financial and cultural obstacles. If awarded this scholarship, I would honor its values by leveraging this opportunity not only to further my education but also to contribute to the legacy of supporting education and innovation in healthcare. My own struggles with financial barriers and mental health challenges have fueled my desire to break down the systemic obstacles that prevent marginalized individuals from accessing the care they need. I hope to use my career in psychiatry to advocate for equitable access to mental health resources and ensure that individuals in underserved communities receive the support they deserve.

Growing up in a family where financial stability was never a given, I learned early on the weight that socioeconomic adversity can carry. As the first person in my family to pursue a career in medicine, I’ve faced many challenges, particularly in terms of accessing resources and balancing the demands of education while supporting my family. These struggles have not only shaped who I am but have also fueled my passion for making healthcare more equitable and accessible. My experiences as a child of immigrants have instilled in me a deep sense of responsibility to ensure that others, especially those from marginalized backgrounds, have access to the same opportunities I’ve been fortunate to receive. During my high school years, I was diagnosed with a serious eating disorder. At times, it felt like my dreams—of becoming a physician, of achieving anything at all—were unreachable. However, everything began to change when I met a psychiatrist who truly believed in me. He didn’t just see my illness or my struggles; he saw my potential to recover and succeed. His belief in me was transformative. For the first time since I became ill, I believed in myself. With his support, I gained the courage to reach out to friends and family, ask for help when I needed it, and ultimately recover from my illness. I was able to graduate college, enter Emory University School of Medicine, and pursue my dream of becoming a physician—something I had once thought impossible. It was through this experience that I realized the immense power of mentorship and belief. Currently, as a medical student at Emory University School of Medicine, I am already putting this vision into action. I recently connected with a patient who had a history of an eating disorder. I could relate to 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 aimed at improving the education and prevention of eating disorders in Atlanta. I am particularly passionate about working with youth and teens, and through my medical and scientific background, I hope to advance our understanding of the neurobiological basis of eating disorders and improve access to care, especially for underrepresented communities. Another way I hope to make a lasting impact is by continuing to focus on mentorship and community-building. I believe that creating networks of support—especially for those who are first-generation or come from underprivileged backgrounds—is vital in helping individuals navigate the pressures of academia and healthcare. During my time as president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory, I launched the "JMed" mentorship program, designed to provide students with guidance from Jewish physicians and medical professionals. This experience reinforced my belief in the power of mentorship and the need for accessible support systems in academic and professional settings. I would continue to build on this work, advocating for mentorship programs that specifically cater to students facing financial and cultural obstacles. If awarded this scholarship, I would honor its values by leveraging this opportunity not only to further my education but also to contribute to the legacy of supporting education and innovation in healthcare. My own struggles with financial barriers and mental health challenges have fueled my desire to break down the systemic obstacles that prevent marginalized individuals from accessing the care they need. I hope to use my career in psychiatry to advocate for equitable access to mental health resources and ensure that individuals in underserved communities receive the support they deserve.

Growing up in a family where financial stability was never a given, I learned early on the weight that socioeconomic adversity can carry. As the first person in my family to pursue a career in medicine, I’ve faced many challenges, particularly in terms of accessing resources and balancing the demands of education while supporting my family. These struggles have not only shaped who I am but have also fueled my passion for making healthcare more equitable and accessible. My experiences as a child of immigrants have instilled in me a deep sense of responsibility to ensure that others, especially those from marginalized backgrounds, have access to the same opportunities I’ve been fortunate to receive. During my high school years, I was diagnosed with a serious eating disorder. At times, it felt like my dreams—of becoming a physician, of achieving anything at all—were unreachable. However, everything began to change when I met a psychiatrist who truly believed in me. He didn’t just see my illness or my struggles; he saw my potential to recover and succeed. His belief in me was transformative. For the first time since I became ill, I believed in myself. With his support, I gained the courage to reach out to friends and family, ask for help when I needed it, and ultimately recover from my illness. I was able to graduate college, enter Emory University School of Medicine, and pursue my dream of becoming a physician—something I had once thought impossible. It was through this experience that I realized the immense power of mentorship and belief. Currently, as a medical student at Emory University School of Medicine, I am already putting this vision into action. I recently connected with a patient who had a history of an eating disorder. I could relate to 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 aimed at improving the education and prevention of eating disorders in Atlanta. I am particularly passionate about working with youth and teens, and through my medical and scientific background, I hope to advance our understanding of the neurobiological basis of eating disorders and improve access to care, especially for underrepresented communities. Another way I hope to make a lasting impact is by continuing to focus on mentorship and community-building. I believe that creating networks of support—especially for those who are first-generation or come from underprivileged backgrounds—is vital in helping individuals navigate the pressures of academia and healthcare. During my time as president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory, I launched the "JMed" mentorship program, designed to provide students with guidance from Jewish physicians and medical professionals. This experience reinforced my belief in the power of mentorship and the need for accessible support systems in academic and professional settings. I would continue to build on this work, advocating for mentorship programs that specifically cater to students facing financial and cultural obstacles. If awarded this scholarship, I would honor its values by leveraging this opportunity not only to further my education but also to contribute to the legacy of supporting education and innovation in healthcare. My own struggles with financial barriers and mental health challenges have fueled my desire to break down the systemic obstacles that prevent marginalized individuals from accessing the care they need. I hope to use my career in psychiatry to advocate for equitable access to mental health resources and ensure that individuals in underserved communities receive the support they deserve.

Growing up in a family where financial stability was never a given, I learned early on the weight that socioeconomic adversity can carry. As the first person in my family to pursue a career in medicine, I’ve faced many challenges, particularly in terms of accessing resources and balancing the demands of education while supporting my family. These struggles have not only shaped who I am but have also fueled my passion for making healthcare more equitable and accessible. My experiences as a child of immigrants have instilled in me a deep sense of responsibility to ensure that others, especially those from marginalized backgrounds, have access to the same opportunities I’ve been fortunate to receive. During my high school years, I was diagnosed with a serious eating disorder. At times, it felt like my dreams—of becoming a physician, of achieving anything at all—were unreachable. However, everything began to change when I met a psychiatrist who truly believed in me. He didn’t just see my illness or my struggles; he saw my potential to recover and succeed. His belief in me was transformative. For the first time since I became ill, I believed in myself. With his support, I gained the courage to reach out to friends and family, ask for help when I needed it, and ultimately recover from my illness. I was able to graduate college, enter Emory University School of Medicine, and pursue my dream of becoming a physician—something I had once thought impossible. It was through this experience that I realized the immense power of mentorship and belief. Currently, as a medical student at Emory University School of Medicine, I am already putting this vision into action. I recently connected with a patient who had a history of an eating disorder. I could relate to 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 aimed at improving the education and prevention of eating disorders in Atlanta. I am particularly passionate about working with youth and teens, and through my medical and scientific background, I hope to advance our understanding of the neurobiological basis of eating disorders and improve access to care, especially for underrepresented communities. Another way I hope to make a lasting impact is by continuing to focus on mentorship and community-building. I believe that creating networks of support—especially for those who are first-generation or come from underprivileged backgrounds—is vital in helping individuals navigate the pressures of academia and healthcare. During my time as president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory, I launched the "JMed" mentorship program, designed to provide students with guidance from Jewish physicians and medical professionals. This experience reinforced my belief in the power of mentorship and the need for accessible support systems in academic and professional settings. I would continue to build on this work, advocating for mentorship programs that specifically cater to students facing financial and cultural obstacles. If awarded this scholarship, I would honor its values by leveraging this opportunity not only to further my education but also to contribute to the legacy of supporting education and innovation in healthcare. My own struggles with financial barriers and mental health challenges have fueled my desire to break down the systemic obstacles that prevent marginalized individuals from accessing the care they need. I hope to use my career in psychiatry to advocate for equitable access to mental health resources and ensure that individuals in underserved communities receive the support they deserve.

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. As a student at Emory University School of Medicine, 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. During a recent hospital shift, an 82 year old woman was admitted after an attempted suicide. In the emergency department, this woman was diagnosed as having “dementia”, a strong label that then limited her ability to make decisions surrounding her own care. When I entered her room, I encountered an alert woman updating her address book. Through talking with her, I was able to get a clear 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. A recent poll of 2035 older adults in the U.S found that 93% of individuals experienced incidents of “everyday ageism” including verbal and non-verbal hostility, with these incidents associated with poorer well-being and health outcomes among older adults. Yet the population of older adults in our country continues to rise, as well as the proportion of individuals living in a multi-generational household. There’s a disconnect between these two ideas, that I believe can be corrected by taking the time to form real, meaningful connections with the older adults in our lives. Even as we rise through the ranks of medical practice, we can allow ourselves to be mentored once again, and learn from others with different backgrounds and lived experiences. We can understand the challenges an older adult can experience before they even reach the examination room. Through taking this time to listen and understand, whether from our own relatives or just a brief conversation with a neighbor - we can realize that we are more alike than different. These experiences have helped 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 vulnerable older adults.

The idea of "paying it forward" is deeply meaningful to me, as I’ve personally experienced the profound impact that a single act of kindness and belief can have on someone’s life. It’s about offering the support, encouragement, and opportunities to others that we’ve received ourselves, creating a ripple effect of compassion and care. When I was in high school, I was diagnosed with a serious eating disorder, and I spent years struggling to find my way out of the darkness. At times, it felt like my dreams—of becoming a physician, of achieving anything at all—were unreachable. However, everything began to change when I met a psychiatrist who truly believed in me. He didn’t just see my illness or my struggles; he saw my potential to recover and to succeed. His belief in me was transformative. For the first time since I became ill, I believed in myself. With his support, I gained the courage to reach out to friends and family. I learned to ask for help when I needed it. I recovered from my illness and I was able to graduate college and enter into Emory University School of Medicine, a dream I had thought was impossible. His mentorship wasn’t just about clinical treatment—it was about restoring my sense of self-worth and giving me the tools to build a future I could be proud of. I am where I am today because of his unwavering faith in me, and that experience has shaped my desire to "pay it forward" in my own career. I am now passionate about the field of mental health and am determined to become a psychiatrist to help others who are lost and scared, just as I once was, find their way back to health. I want to offer the same compassion, belief, and guidance that my psychiatrist gave me. I want to be the one who helps a patient see their potential, not just their pain. Through the field of psychiatry, I hope to be the support system for others, providing not just innovate medical treatment, but also the same hope that was once given to me. Just as one person’s belief in me allowed me to recover and thrive, I hope to make a similar impact on my future patients and "pay it forward" in a way that can change lives. 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. 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 in a family where financial stability was never a given, I learned early on the weight that socioeconomic adversity can carry. As the first person in my family to pursue a career in medicine, I’ve faced many challenges that stem from financial constraints—both in terms of accessing resources and the added pressure of balancing my education with the realities of needing to support my family. These struggles have not only shaped who I am but have also fueled my passion for making healthcare more equitable and accessible to all. During my medical school journey, I’ve found myself constantly navigating the tension between academic demands and financial limitations. My family cannot afford to support me, and I’ve often had to rely on my own resources, both financial and emotional, to make it through. However, it is precisely through these struggles that I’ve developed a deep empathy for those facing similar socioeconomic barriers. These experiences have led me to recognize that while academic and professional success is important, it is equally crucial to address the systemic challenges that disproportionately affect marginalized communities, especially in healthcare. One way I’ve worked to make a positive impact is through my leadership role as president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization (JMSA) at Emory. In this role, I launched the "JMed" mentorship program, aimed at supporting Jewish medical students and connecting them with Jewish Emory physicians. However, it wasn’t just about building a network—it was also about creating a space where students from underprivileged backgrounds could receive guidance and support, not only in their academic journeys but also in navigating the financial and emotional hurdles that often accompany such a demanding career path. Additionally, my experiences with financial and mental health challenges have inspired me to advocate for better access to mental health care and resources for students who are dealing with adversity. Recognizing the connection between mental health and academic performance, I’ve worked alongside other student leaders to promote programs that address the mental and emotional needs of students who face socioeconomic difficulties. Having experienced firsthand the impact of financial insecurity, I am committed to making medicine a field where success is not determined by one’s financial background but by their dedication, skills, and passion for helping others. As a future physician, I plan to actively work toward policies that address healthcare disparities, particularly for patients who are economically disadvantaged. I want to be a physician who is not only skilled in the clinical aspects of care but also sensitive to the socioeconomic factors that deeply affect a patient's health. In terms of relationships, my experiences have fostered a deep sense of empathy, and I have learned the importance of community support. I’ve seen how relationships—whether personal or professional—can become lifelines in times of adversity. I plan to continue building these connections, creating support systems within the medical field that uplift those who face adversity, and ensuring that people from all socioeconomic backgrounds feel seen, heard, and respected. Ultimately, experiencing socioeconomic adversity has shaped my belief that a person’s potential should never be limited by their economic circumstances. I am determined to help create a more inclusive and compassionate healthcare environment where every individual, regardless of their background, has the opportunity to thrive. Through mentorship, advocacy, and community-building, I hope to leave a lasting impact on my school and future patients by helping to break down the barriers that prevent people from accessing the care and resources they deserve.

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. As a student at Emory University School of Medicine, 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. During a recent hospital shift, an 82 year old woman was admitted after an attempted suicide. In the emergency department, this woman was diagnosed as having “dementia”, a strong label that then limited her ability to make decisions surrounding her own care. When I entered her room, I encountered an alert woman updating her address book. Through talking with her, I was able to get a clear 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. A recent poll of 2035 older adults in the U.S found that 93% of individuals experienced incidents of “everyday ageism” including verbal and non-verbal hostility, with these incidents associated with poorer well-being and health outcomes among older adults. Yet the population of older adults in our country continues to rise, as well as the proportion of individuals living in a multi-generational household. There’s a disconnect between these two ideas, that I believe can be corrected by taking the time to form real, meaningful connections with the older adults in our lives. Even as we rise through the ranks of medical practice, we can allow ourselves to be mentored once again, and learn from others with different backgrounds and lived experiences. We can understand the challenges an older adult can experience before they even reach the examination room. Through taking this time to listen and understand, whether from our own relatives or just a brief conversation with a neighbor - we can realize that we are more alike than different. These experiences have helped 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 vulnerable older adults.

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. As a student at Emory University School of Medicine, 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. During a recent hospital shift, an 82 year old woman was admitted after an attempted suicide. In the emergency department, this woman was diagnosed as having “dementia”, a strong label that then limited her ability to make decisions surrounding her own care. When I entered her room, I encountered an alert woman updating her address book. Through talking with her, I was able to get a clear 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. A recent poll of 2035 older adults in the U.S found that 93% of individuals experienced incidents of “everyday ageism” including verbal and non-verbal hostility, with these incidents associated with poorer well-being and health outcomes among older adults. Yet the population of older adults in our country continues to rise, as well as the proportion of individuals living in a multi-generational household. There’s a disconnect between these two ideas, that I believe can be corrected by taking the time to form real, meaningful connections with the older adults in our lives. Even as we rise through the ranks of medical practice, we can allow ourselves to be mentored once again, and learn from others with different backgrounds and lived experiences. We can understand the challenges an older adult can experience before they even reach the examination room. Through taking this time to listen and understand, whether from our own relatives or just a brief conversation with a neighbor - we can realize that we are more alike than different. These experiences have helped 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 vulnerable older adults.

My personal connection to medicine is rooted in a deeply formative experience I had when my grandmother, who had been a constant source of love, guidance, and strength in my life, was diagnosed with a tumor in her frontal lobe. When her behavior began to change—becoming erratic, cruel, and unlike the woman I knew—I was confused and frightened. The medical professionals initially misdiagnosed her condition, labeling it as Alzheimer’s or dementia, and her cognitive decline was dismissed as a natural part of aging. However, my family and I refused to accept this narrative, believing there was something more at play. After much persistence, we received the diagnosis: brain cancer. For us, this wasn’t just a diagnosis; it was an explanation, a key to understanding the drastic shifts in her personality and behavior. My grandmother’s diagnosis had a profound impact on me. It was an eye-opening experience that underscored the complexities of brain cancer, a disease that can manifest in such diverse and subtle ways. Watching her fight through her surgery and recovery only deepened my resolve to pursue a career in medicine. More importantly, it sparked an enduring passion for advocacy in the realm of neurological diseases. I learned firsthand how critical early diagnosis and proper treatment are in improving outcomes, and I became acutely aware of the ways in which patients and their families need support, both emotionally and medically, as they navigate the challenges of such a devastating diagnosis. In response to my grandmother's experience, I became actively involved in raising awareness and supporting individuals and families affected by brain cancer. Throughout my medical education, I have worked with my peers to organize local outreach programs aimed at educating the public on the signs and symptoms of brain cancer, as well as the importance of early detection. I’ve also participated in fundraising efforts for brain cancer research, contributing both my time and energy to initiatives that seek to improve both the quality of life and survival rates for individuals diagnosed with this disease. One specific initiative I’m particularly proud of is my involvement in organizing a "Brain Cancer Awareness Week" at Emory, which featured a series of events, including guest speakers, informational sessions, and a fundraising campaign to support brain cancer research. This initiative not only raised awareness within the medical community but also provided a platform for patients, families, and survivors to share their stories, creating a sense of solidarity and mutual support. These experiences have had a profound impact on my personal growth, teaching me the importance of not only raising awareness about a disease but also fostering a compassionate community for those impacted by it. Working alongside patients, survivors, and families who are directly affected by brain cancer has deepened my empathy and reinforced my commitment to improving the lives of those living with this disease. It has also reinforced my belief in the power of advocacy and education as tools for change and progress. Receiving this scholarship will provide me with the financial support I need to continue my medical education and pursue my goal of specializing in neurology or oncology. I am particularly focused on gaining a deeper understanding of brain cancer—its diagnosis, treatment options, and the psychological and emotional toll it takes on patients and their families. My long-term career goal is to contribute to the development of more effective treatments for brain cancer while ensuring that patients have access to comprehensive care and emotional support throughout their journey.

My personal connection to brain cancer is rooted in a deeply formative experience I had when my grandmother, who had been a constant source of love, guidance, and strength in my life, was diagnosed with a tumor in her frontal lobe. When her behavior began to change—becoming erratic, cruel, and unlike the woman I knew—I was confused and frightened. The medical professionals initially misdiagnosed her condition, labeling it as Alzheimer’s or dementia, and her cognitive decline was dismissed as a natural part of aging. However, my family and I refused to accept this narrative, believing there was something more at play. After much persistence, we received the diagnosis: brain cancer. For us, this wasn’t just a diagnosis; it was an explanation, a key to understanding the drastic shifts in her personality and behavior. My grandmother’s diagnosis had a profound impact on me. It was an eye-opening experience that underscored the complexities of brain cancer, a disease that can manifest in such diverse and subtle ways. Watching her fight through her surgery and recovery only deepened my resolve to pursue a career in medicine. More importantly, it sparked an enduring passion for advocacy in the realm of neurological diseases, particularly brain cancer. I learned firsthand how critical early diagnosis and proper treatment are in improving outcomes, and I became acutely aware of the ways in which patients and their families need support, both emotionally and medically, as they navigate the challenges of such a devastating diagnosis. In response to my grandmother's experience, I became actively involved in raising awareness and supporting individuals and families affected by brain cancer. Throughout my medical education, I have worked with my peers to organize local outreach programs aimed at educating the public on the signs and symptoms of brain cancer, as well as the importance of early detection. I’ve also participated in fundraising efforts for brain cancer research, contributing both my time and energy to initiatives that seek to improve both the quality of life and survival rates for individuals diagnosed with this disease. One specific initiative I’m particularly proud of is my involvement in organizing a "Brain Cancer Awareness Week" at Emory, which featured a series of events, including guest speakers, informational sessions, and a fundraising campaign to support brain cancer research. This initiative not only raised awareness within the medical community but also provided a platform for patients, families, and survivors to share their stories, creating a sense of solidarity and mutual support. These experiences have had a profound impact on my personal growth, teaching me the importance of not only raising awareness about a disease but also fostering a compassionate community for those impacted by it. Working alongside patients, survivors, and families who are directly affected by brain cancer has deepened my empathy and reinforced my commitment to improving the lives of those living with this disease. It has also reinforced my belief in the power of advocacy and education as tools for change and progress. Receiving this scholarship will provide me with the financial support I need to continue my medical education and pursue my goal of specializing in neurology or oncology. I am particularly focused on gaining a deeper understanding of brain cancer—its diagnosis, treatment options, and the psychological and emotional toll it takes on patients and their families. My long-term career goal is to contribute to the development of more effective treatments for brain cancer while ensuring that patients have access to comprehensive care and emotional support throughout their journey.

Growing up in a family where financial stability was never a given, I learned early on the weight that socioeconomic adversity can carry. As the first person in my family to pursue a career in medicine, I’ve faced many challenges that stem from financial constraints—both in terms of accessing resources and the added pressure of balancing my education with the realities of needing to support my family. These struggles have not only shaped who I am but have also fueled my passion for making healthcare more equitable and accessible to all. During my medical school journey, I’ve found myself constantly navigating the tension between academic demands and financial limitations. My family cannot afford to support me, and I’ve often had to rely on my own resources, both financial and emotional, to make it through. However, it is precisely through these struggles that I’ve developed a deep empathy for those facing similar socioeconomic barriers. These experiences have led me to recognize that while academic and professional success is important, it is equally crucial to address the systemic challenges that disproportionately affect marginalized communities, especially in healthcare. One way I’ve worked to make a positive impact is through my leadership role as president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization (JMSA) at Emory. In this role, I launched the "JMed" mentorship program, aimed at supporting Jewish medical students and connecting them with Jewish Emory physicians. However, it wasn’t just about building a network—it was also about creating a space where students from underprivileged backgrounds could receive guidance and support, not only in their academic journeys but also in navigating the financial and emotional hurdles that often accompany such a demanding career path. Additionally, my experiences with financial and mental health challenges have inspired me to advocate for better access to mental health care and resources for students who are dealing with adversity. Recognizing the connection between mental health and academic performance, I’ve worked alongside other student leaders to promote programs that address the mental and emotional needs of students who face socioeconomic difficulties. Having experienced firsthand the impact of financial insecurity, I am committed to making medicine a field where success is not determined by one’s financial background but by their dedication, skills, and passion for helping others. As a future physician, I plan to actively work toward policies that address healthcare disparities, particularly for patients who are economically disadvantaged. I want to be a physician who is not only skilled in the clinical aspects of care but also sensitive to the socioeconomic factors that deeply affect a patient's health. In terms of relationships, my experiences have fostered a deep sense of empathy, and I have learned the importance of community support. I’ve seen how relationships—whether personal or professional—can become lifelines in times of adversity. I plan to continue building these connections, creating support systems within the medical field that uplift those who face adversity, and ensuring that people from all socioeconomic backgrounds feel seen, heard, and respected. Ultimately, experiencing socioeconomic adversity has shaped my belief that a person’s potential should never be limited by their economic circumstances. I am determined to help create a more inclusive and compassionate healthcare environment where every individual, regardless of their background, has the opportunity to thrive. Through mentorship, advocacy, and community-building, I hope to leave a lasting impact on my school and future patients by helping to break down the barriers that prevent people from accessing the care and resources they deserve.

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, 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. During a recent hospital shift, an 82 year old woman was admitted after an attempted suicide. In the emergency department, this woman was diagnosed as having “dementia”, a strong label that then limited her ability to make decisions surrounding her own care. When I entered her room, I encountered an alert woman updating her address book. Through talking with her, I was able to get a clear 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. Jewish values and community have shaped who I am and what kind of geriatrician 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 idea of "paying it forward" is deeply meaningful to me, as I’ve personally experienced the profound impact that a single act of kindness and belief can have on someone’s life. It’s about offering the support, encouragement, and opportunities to others that we’ve received ourselves, creating a ripple effect of compassion and care. When I was in high school, I was diagnosed with a serious eating disorder, and I spent years struggling to find my way out of the darkness. At times, it felt like my dreams—of becoming a physician, of achieving anything at all—were unreachable. However, everything began to change when I met a psychiatrist who truly believed in me. He didn’t just see my illness or my struggles; he saw my potential to recover and to succeed. His belief in me was transformative. For the first time since I became ill, I believed in myself. With his support, I gained the courage to reach out to friends and family. I learned to ask for help when I needed it. I recovered from my illness and I was able to graduate college and enter into Emory University School of Medicine, a dream I had thought was impossible. His mentorship wasn’t just about clinical treatment—it was about restoring my sense of self-worth and giving me the tools to build a future I could be proud of. I am where I am today because of his unwavering faith in me, and that experience has shaped my desire to "pay it forward" in my own career. I am now passionate about the field of mental health and am determined to become a psychiatrist to help others who are lost and scared, just as I once was, find their way back to health. I want to offer the same compassion, belief, and guidance that my psychiatrist gave me. I want to be the one who helps a patient see their potential, not just their pain. Through the field of psychiatry, I hope to be the support system for others, providing not just innovate medical treatment, but also the same hope that was once given to me. Just as one person’s belief in me allowed me to recover and thrive, I hope to make a similar impact on my future patients and "pay it forward" in a way that can change lives. 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.

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. As a student at Emory University School of Medicine, 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. During a recent hospital shift, an 82 year old woman was admitted after an attempted suicide. In the emergency department, this woman was diagnosed as having “dementia”, a strong label that then limited her ability to make decisions surrounding her own care. When I entered her room, I encountered an alert woman updating her address book. Through talking with her, I was able to get a clear 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. A recent poll of 2035 older adults in the U.S found that 93% of individuals experienced incidents of “everyday ageism” including verbal and non-verbal hostility, with these incidents associated with poorer well-being and health outcomes among older adults. Yet the population of older adults in our country continues to rise, as well as the proportion of individuals living in a multi-generational household. There’s a disconnect between these two ideas, that I believe can be corrected by taking the time to form real, meaningful connections with the older adults in our lives. Even as we rise through the ranks of medical practice, we can allow ourselves to be mentored once again, and learn from others with different backgrounds and lived experiences. We can understand the challenges an older adult can experience before they even reach the examination room. Through taking this time to listen and understand, whether from our own relatives or just a brief conversation with a neighbor - we can realize that we are more alike than different. These experiences have helped 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 vulnerable older adults.

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.

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.

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. As a student at Emory University School of Medicine, 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. During a recent hospital shift, an 82 year old woman was admitted after an attempted suicide. In the emergency department, this woman was diagnosed as having “dementia”, a strong label that then limited her ability to make decisions surrounding her own care. When I entered her room, I encountered an alert woman updating her address book. Through talking with her, I was able to get a clear 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. A recent poll of 2035 older adults in the U.S found that 93% of individuals experienced incidents of “everyday ageism” including verbal and non-verbal hostility, with these incidents associated with poorer well-being and health outcomes among older adults. Yet the population of older adults in our country continues to rise, as well as the proportion of individuals living in a multi-generational household. There’s a disconnect between these two ideas, that I believe can be corrected by taking the time to form real, meaningful connections with the older adults in our lives. Even as we rise through the ranks of medical practice, we can allow ourselves to be mentored once again, and learn from others with different backgrounds and lived experiences. We can understand the challenges an older adult can experience before they even reach the examination room. Through taking this time to listen and understand, whether from our own relatives or just a brief conversation with a neighbor - we can realize that we are more alike than different. These experiences have helped 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 vulnerable older adults.

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. As a student at Emory University School of Medicine, 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. During a recent hospital shift, an 82 year old woman was admitted after an attempted suicide. In the emergency department, this woman was diagnosed as having “dementia”, a strong label that then limited her ability to make decisions surrounding her own care. When I entered her room, I encountered an alert woman updating her address book. Through talking with her, I was able to get a clear 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. A recent poll of 2035 older adults in the U.S found that 93% of individuals experienced incidents of “everyday ageism” including verbal and non-verbal hostility, with these incidents associated with poorer well-being and health outcomes among older adults. Yet the population of older adults in our country continues to rise, as well as the proportion of individuals living in a multi-generational household. There’s a disconnect between these two ideas, that I believe can be corrected by taking the time to form real, meaningful connections with the older adults in our lives. Even as we rise through the ranks of medical practice, we can allow ourselves to be mentored once again, and learn from others with different backgrounds and lived experiences. We can understand the challenges an older adult can experience before they even reach the examination room. Through taking this time to listen and understand, whether from our own relatives or just a brief conversation with a neighbor - we can realize that we are more alike than different. These experiences have helped 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 vulnerable older adults.

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. As a student at Emory University School of Medicine, 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. During a recent hospital shift, an 82 year old woman was admitted after an attempted suicide. In the emergency department, this woman was diagnosed as having “dementia”, a strong label that then limited her ability to make decisions surrounding her own care. When I entered her room, I encountered an alert woman updating her address book. Through talking with her, I was able to get a clear 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. A recent poll of 2035 older adults in the U.S found that 93% of individuals experienced incidents of “everyday ageism” including verbal and non-verbal hostility, with these incidents associated with poorer well-being and health outcomes among older adults. Yet the population of older adults in our country continues to rise, as well as the proportion of individuals living in a multi-generational household. There’s a disconnect between these two ideas, that I believe can be corrected by taking the time to form real, meaningful connections with the older adults in our lives. Even as we rise through the ranks of medical practice, we can allow ourselves to be mentored once again, and learn from others with different backgrounds and lived experiences. We can understand the challenges an older adult can experience before they even reach the examination room. Through taking this time to listen and understand, whether from our own relatives or just a brief conversation with a neighbor - we can realize that we are more alike than different. These experiences have helped 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 vulnerable older adults.

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. As a student at Emory University School of Medicine, 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. During a recent hospital shift, an 82 year old woman was admitted after an attempted suicide. In the emergency department, this woman was diagnosed as having “dementia”, a strong label that then limited her ability to make decisions surrounding her own care. When I entered her room, I encountered an alert woman updating her address book. Through talking with her, I was able to get a clear 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. A recent poll of 2035 older adults in the U.S found that 93% of individuals experienced incidents of “everyday ageism” including verbal and non-verbal hostility, with these incidents associated with poorer well-being and health outcomes among older adults. Yet the population of older adults in our country continues to rise, as well as the proportion of individuals living in a multi-generational household. There’s a disconnect between these two ideas, that I believe can be corrected by taking the time to form real, meaningful connections with the older adults in our lives. Even as we rise through the ranks of medical practice, we can allow ourselves to be mentored once again, and learn from others with different backgrounds and lived experiences. We can understand the challenges an older adult can experience before they even reach the examination room. Through taking this time to listen and understand, whether from our own relatives or just a brief conversation with a neighbor - we can realize that we are more alike than different. These experiences have helped 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 vulnerable older adults.

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. During a recent hospital shift, an 82 year old woman was admitted after an attempted suicide. In the emergency department, this woman was diagnosed as having “dementia”, a strong label that then limited her ability to make decisions surrounding her own care. When I entered her room, I encountered an alert woman updating her address book. Through talking with her, I was able to get a clear 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. A recent poll of 2035 older adults in the U.S found that 93% of individuals experienced incidents of “everyday ageism” including verbal and non-verbal hostility, with these incidents associated with poorer well-being and health outcomes among older adults. Yet the population of older adults in our country continues to rise, as well as the proportion of individuals living in a multi-generational household. There’s a disconnect between these two ideas, that I believe can be corrected by taking the time to form real, meaningful connections with the older adults in our lives. Even as we rise through the ranks of medical practice, we can allow ourselves to be mentored once again, and learn from others with different backgrounds and lived experiences. We can understand the challenges an older adult can experience before they even reach the examination room. Through taking this time to listen and understand, whether from our own relatives or just a brief conversation with a neighbor - we can realize that we are more alike than different. These experiences have helped 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 vulnerable older adults.

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. During a recent hospital shift, an 82 year old woman was admitted after an attempted suicide. In the emergency department, this woman was diagnosed as having “dementia”, a strong label that then limited her ability to make decisions surrounding her own care. When I entered her room, I encountered an alert woman updating her address book. Through talking with her, I was able to get a clear 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. A recent poll of 2035 older adults in the U.S found that 93% of individuals experienced incidents of “everyday ageism” including verbal and non-verbal hostility, with these incidents associated with poorer well-being and health outcomes among older adults. Yet the population of older adults in our country continues to rise, as well as the proportion of individuals living in a multi-generational household. There’s a disconnect between these two ideas, that I believe can be corrected by taking the time to form real, meaningful connections with the older adults in our lives. Even as we rise through the ranks of medical practice, we can allow ourselves to be mentored once again, and learn from others with different backgrounds and lived experiences. We can understand the challenges an older adult can experience before they even reach the examination room. Through taking this time to listen and understand, whether from our own relatives or just a brief conversation with a neighbor - we can realize that we are more alike than different. These experiences have helped 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 vulnerable older adults.

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 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, and through sharing my story found others similar to me. Because of this, I am continuously educating myself on connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice. 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. 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. 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, and through sharing my story found others similar to me. 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, 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. My experiences as a first-generation student alongside my Jewish values have shaped who I am and what kind of physician I hope to become: an advocate for others and a compassionate caregiver. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my patients.

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 work with the geriatrician of the facility. 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. Working with the geriatrician of this facility, I was the one explaining palliative care options and comforting 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. 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, my sister 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 towards creating this change by pursuing a career as both a clinician and scientist.

With a mother from Israel and a father from Iraq, this might seem like an unlikely couple, but their shared pride in Jewish tradition and ability to discuss their differences, are what shaped my experience as a child. 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, 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 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. 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. 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.

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. During a recent hospital shift, an 82 year old woman was admitted after an attempted suicide. In the emergency department, this woman was diagnosed as having “dementia”, a strong label that then limited her ability to make decisions surrounding her own care. When I entered her room, I encountered an alert woman updating her address book. Through talking with her, I was able to get a clear 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. Even as we rise through the ranks of medical practice, we can allow ourselves to be mentored once again, and learn from others with different backgrounds and lived experiences. We can understand the challenges an older adult can experience before they even reach the examination room. Through taking this time to listen and understand, whether from our own relatives or just a brief conversation with a neighbor - we can realize that we are more alike than different. 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 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. My father, who raised me on his own since I was a little girl, has taught me resilience and optimism in the face of adversity. Despite what challenges we faced, his stories and my grandparents' experiences showed me how much strength and hope we have for the future. One lesson I will never forget is 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, 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. The Jewish values and community my father has shared with me 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 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, and through sharing my story found others similar to me. Because of my experiences, I am continuously educating myself on connections of faith, ethnicity, and social justice. During my first semester at Muhlenberg College, I learned about the widespread prevalence of food insecurity on college campuses in the U.S and knew this was something that needed to change. By directly working with both my peers and with administration, I have been able to help make student resources more accessible. Realizing that as a student advocate I have a voice has been so empowering, and I hope to continue my work in creating equity in my future. In January 2021, AAMC released an article on hunger on medical school campuses. However, there is still little research on this issue in medical school and action towards addressing it. We must continue this conversation if we are to provide better outcomes for future physicians. At Muhlenberg College, I’ve learned how to approach complex problems in my community through multiple lenses and speak out in support of my peers. It has been a privilege to be able to advocate for my peers at Emory University School of Medicine. As a future physician, I hope to serve my patients not only as a clinician but as an advocate for basic needs. Within Atlanta, barriers to fresh, healthy food increase the risk of asthma, diabetes, heart attack. As a future physician, I cannot advise my patients simply to change their lifestyle and diet without understanding the systemic barriers to a safe environment and healthy food and without fighting for my patients’ ability to access these resources.

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. I am currently in medical school, and plan to become a psychiatrist. I hope to use my experiences to provide personalized, compassionate care for patients struggling with eating disorders and other mental health conditions. 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, 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. I am currently in medical school, and plan to become a psychiatrist. I hope to use my experiences to provide personalized, compassionate care for patients struggling with eating disorders and other mental health conditions. 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, 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.