Entering higher education, I carried both hope and apprehension. As a first-generation immigrant from a family of Iraqi Jews who fled persecution, I never underestimated the value and importance of higher education. My family taught me resilience, but it also meant I entered academic spaces acutely aware that they were not designed with people like us in mind. My grandparents were forced to leave Iraq due to antisemitism, and my grandfather was once arrested under the false accusation of learning Hebrew, despite being illiterate. When I entered higher education, I did so without generational knowledge of how to navigate academic systems, professional norms, or hidden curricula. I often felt like an outside. I was humbled and grateful to be present, yet I constantly battled the sinking feeling that I did not truly belong. Despite these concerns, higher education also became a source of empowerment. Medical school, in particular, showed me how transformative access to knowledge can be for both individuals and for entire communities. As president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory, I witnessed how institutional silence can perpetuate harm, and how advocacy can create change. Working with administrators to incorporate education on antisemitism into the medical curriculum affirmed my belief that outsiders bring essential perspectives that strengthen academic spaces. I am now a fourth-year medical student applying into psychiatry, with academic interests at the intersection of neurology and mental health. I watched my grandfather lose his ability to walk, speak, and swallow to Parkinson’s disease before passing at age 93. That experience solidified my commitment to both compassionate care and scientific advancement. I am currently spearheading a clinical research project examining biomarkers, disease progression, and genetic heritage in Parkinson’s disease, with the goal of contributing to more personalized and effective treatments. My immigrant background has profoundly shaped my future goals. My goals are deeply informed by my lived experience of marginalization, grief, and resilience. I want to practice medicine in a way that acknowledges the whole person, including their history, identity, and humanity. I will be the type of physician to see my patients beyond their symptoms. As I continue in higher education, my hope is to help reshape systems that once felt inaccessible to me. I want to create clinical and academic spaces where students and patients alike feel safe bringing their full selves, without fear of stigma or exclusion. My journey as a first-generation immigrant has taught me that being an outsider is not a weakness; it is a source of insight, empathy, and strength. It is this perspective that I will carry forward as a physician, advocate, and lifelong learner.

Singing along in my head, I finished the last notes of the old Yiddish love song on my flute for a group of Jewish seniors at a local assisted living facility. After the performance, I mingled among the audience, introducing myself to the residents and their loved ones, when I noticed something unusual. “Ruth,” a 90-year-old woman who had been incoherently mumbling to herself just an hour before, was bright-eyed and lucid. I was able to see Ruth for who she really was: a spirited woman and wildly successful musician. Music had broken her cognitive barriers and brought together two musicians of different generations. Helping patients with debilitating psychiatric illness – whether it is severe anxiety, delirium, or acute psychosis-- transform and grow into their true selves has been the defining experience of my medical education. On the inpatient psychosis unit at Emory Decatur Hospital, I worked closely with a young, intellectually disabled woman named “Destiny” who was admitted for voices telling her to self-harm. I called her aunt to learn about Destiny’s extensive trauma history with men, and using my best judgment, I advocated for female staff only. Soon, she began speaking to me from underneath the covers, and I found a new way to connect with Destiny: music. Nine days later, as her favorite songs played on my phone, I sat with Destiny as she took her first dose of fluoxetine and paliperidone. Over time, Destiny transformed from a scared woman banging her head on the wall, to a sweet, playful individual able to articulate her needs. On the day of discharge, I asked Destiny what she would do if she became upset: “I will listen to music, Miss. Natalie!” I am choosing to pursue a career in psychiatry because I can develop deep connections with patients and their support systems, break down their cognitive and emotional barriers, and help them heal despite the reality of how hard and painful healing can be. I love the field of psychiatry because I can provide hope to my patients in their darkest moments and help them transform into their healthiest selves. Specifically, I want to support older adults and their families in geriatric psychiatry as I understand personally how heartbreaking it is to watch a loved older adult suffer from neuropsychiatric symptoms. In college, I spent my time in assisted living facilities with my beloved grandfather suffering from Parkinson’s disease and in the neuroscience lab researching memory and cognition. When I arrived at medical school, I quickly pursued research in Emory’s Movement Disorder Center to learn how to help patients like my grandfather. My work has now evolved into understanding how molecular changes influence clinical presentations for Parkinson’s disease dementia. Through my personal, clinical, volunteering, and research experiences I learned how to support patients and their loved ones navigating the complicated loss of memory and function. Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on each individual note. Focus on the fundamentals. These mantras guide my flute practice to help me succeed on a challenging rhythm at home or finish a solo in front of hundreds. They also help me be focused and present with my patients, attentive to what they fully need in that moment. As a clinician-scientist, I apply the same attention to detail, focus, and discipline to understand how statistical results can improve real patient outcomes for those with neuropsychiatric disorders. As a resident physician in psychiatry, I will use the skills and experiences I have gained as a proud Jewish woman, musician, and scientist to continue learning how to provide the growth, transformation, and healing my patients deserve.

A harts ken benken, veynen on trern // A heart can yearn, cry without tears. Singing along in my head, I finished the last notes of the old Yiddish love song on my flute for a group of Jewish seniors at a local assisted living facility. After the performance, I mingled among the audience, introducing myself to the residents and their loved ones, when I noticed something unusual. “Ruth,” a 90-year-old woman who had been incoherently mumbling to herself just an hour before, was bright-eyed and lucid. She waved me over to tell stories of attending The Juilliard School for vocal performance. Now, I was able to see Ruth for who she really was: a spirited woman and wildly successful musician. Music had broken her cognitive barriers and brought together two musicians of different generations. Helping patients with debilitating psychiatric illness – whether it is severe anxiety, delirium, or acute psychosis-- transform and grow into their true selves has been the defining experience of my medical education. On the inpatient psychosis unit at Emory Decatur Hospital, I worked closely with a young, intellectually disabled woman named “Destiny” who was admitted for voices telling her to self-harm. I called her aunt to learn about Destiny’s extensive trauma history with men, and using my best judgment, I advocated for female staff only. Soon, she began speaking to me from underneath the covers, and I found a new way to connect with Destiny: music. Nine days later, as her favorite songs played on my phone, I sat with Destiny as she took her first dose of fluoxetine and received her loading dose of paliperidone. Over time, Destiny transformed from a scared woman banging her head on the wall, to a sweet, playful individual able to articulate her needs. On the day of discharge, I asked Destiny what she would do if she were to become upset: “I will listen to music, Miss. Natalie!” I am choosing to pursue a career in psychiatry because I can develop deep connections with patients and their support systems, break down their cognitive and emotional barriers, and help them heal despite the reality of how hard and painful healing can be. I love the field of psychiatry because I can provide hope to my patients in their darkest moments and help them transform into their healthiest selves. Specifically, I want to support older adults and their families in geriatric psychiatry as I understand personally how heartbreaking it is to watch a loved older adult suffer from neuropsychiatric symptoms. In college, I spent my time in assisted living facilities with my beloved grandfather suffering from Parkinson’s disease and in the neuroscience lab researching memory and cognition. When I arrived at medical school, I quickly pursued research in Emory’s Movement Disorder Center to learn how to help patients like my grandfather. My work has now evolved into understanding how molecular changes influence clinical presentations for Parkinson’s disease dementia. Through my personal, clinical, volunteering, and research experiences I learned how to support patients and their loved ones navigating the complicated loss of memory and function. Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on each individual note. Focus on the fundamentals. These mantras guide my flute practice to help me succeed on a challenging rhythm at home or finish a solo in front of hundreds. They also help me be focused and present with my patients, attentive to what they fully need in that moment. As a clinician-scientist, I apply the same attention to detail, focus, and discipline to understand how statistical results can improve real patient outcomes for those with neuropsychiatric disorders. As a resident physician in psychiatry, I will use the skills and experiences I have gained as a proud Jewish woman, musician, and scientist to continue learning how to provide the growth, transformation, and healing my patients deserve.

When I was a teenager, I struggled with an eating disorder that left me feeling powerless and unseen. Instead of being met with compassion, I was met with fear — told that I was “too sick for college,” as if my future had already been decided. But recovery taught me something invaluable: healing is not about perfection; it’s about finding the courage to begin again. My brother, who faced his own mental health struggles, was the first person who truly saw me for who I was, not for what I was going through. He would remind me, “Our struggles give us strength and compassion for others.” Losing him to suicide was the most profound loss of my life — but his words have stayed with me. They became the foundation of my purpose. Now, as a fourth-year medical student applying into psychiatry, I see my path as one of transformation — both for myself and for others. My experiences with mental illness and suicide loss have shaped my belief that the most powerful medicine we can offer is human connection. I have learned that when someone feels seen, heard, and believed, healing becomes possible. My brother’s compassion during my darkest moments is what I hope to bring to every patient I meet. In my work, I’m drawn to the intersection of neurology and psychiatry, where biology meets emotion. I’ve spent the past few years conducting research in Emory’s Movement Disorder Center, studying how neuropsychiatric symptoms manifest in Parkinson’s disease dementia. Witnessing the way mood, memory, and identity intertwine has deepened my commitment to understanding the brain as both a scientific and human frontier. I hope to pursue a career where I can combine clinical care, research, and advocacy — supporting patients with complex mental health and neurological conditions, and helping families navigate the pain of watching their loved ones change. My mental health journey has also transformed the way I relate to others. I lead with empathy and openness, knowing that everyone carries unseen battles. As president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization, I’ve advocated for compassionate understanding of minority experiences — from revising insensitive genetics curriculum to securing religious accommodations for students. I’ve learned that advocacy is an extension of healing; it’s how we protect dignity in spaces where it’s too often forgotten. Ultimately, my goal is to make psychiatry more human, especially for those who feel voiceless — survivors, older adults, immigrants, and anyone who has been made to feel small by their suffering. I want my patients to know what my brother taught me: that healing is always possible, even when it feels unreachable. Through compassion, curiosity, and science, I hope to build a world where no one’s pain goes unseen — and where every person feels worthy of recovery, just as they are.

I am currently a medical school student with a deep interest in providing compassionate, patient-centered care—especially to those who face communication challenges. I was born and raised speaking Hebrew as my first language, and growing up bilingual has had a profound impact on how I see the world, especially in clinical settings. One of the most formative experiences that shaped my sensitivity to language and communication was watching how others treated my father. He is one of the smartest, wittiest, and kindest people I know—but because of his broken English, I saw people dismiss him, underestimate him, or even laugh at him. It was painful to witness how quickly others judged his intelligence based solely on his ability to express himself in a second language. But I also knew who he really was without the constraints of a foreign tongue—a deeply thoughtful man with so much to offer. That experience taught me that language is not just a means of communication; it’s often a barrier to empathy. In medicine, this insight has become one of my greatest strengths. I’m especially patient and attentive with individuals who have difficulty communicating—whether due to language barriers, cognitive decline, or physical impairments. I know how much people can feel isolated or misunderstood when they struggle to express themselves, and I’ve made it a priority to ensure every patient feels heard and respected, even when words are few or hard to find. Being bilingual has also helped me connect with patients from diverse backgrounds. It has made me more adaptable, more open-minded, and more skilled at reading non-verbal cues. It’s also made me an advocate for improving accessibility and language services in healthcare settings. Over time, I came to see bilingualism not as a barrier, but as a strength. It allows me to dream and think in different ways, to express myself with nuance, and to connect with others across cultures. In medicine, it’s made me more empathetic and patient with those who struggle to communicate—whether due to a language barrier, cognitive impairment, or physical limitation. After graduation, I plan to pursue a residency that will allow me to continue working closely with underserved populations, including immigrants, older adults, and those with complex communication needs. I hope to combine clinical care with advocacy and education to help build a more equitable healthcare system—one where no one is overlooked or underestimated because of how they speak.

Only two months ago, I was holding my grandfather’s hand—feeling so utterly helpless—as he lay in hospice care. We fiddled with the humidifier, the lights, the white noise machine in his room, trying to feel some sense of purpose, but there was nothing left to do. I had spent the greater part of my teenage years in nursing homes, helping care for my grandfather as his Parkinson’s disease progressed beyond what my grandmother could manage alone. His final months were the hardest, as he lost his ability to speak and swallow. Watching him suffer while being unable to ease his pain was one of the most difficult experiences of my life. He passed away the next day, at 93 years old. Not long after, I was on clinical rounds during a shadowing experience when Dr. Goldberg handed me a patient file. The man we were about to see was receiving palliative care due to renal failure and complications from Parkinson’s. He was 73—twenty years younger than my grandfather when he died. His wife greeted us with a tearful smile, recounting how his last words to her had been “I love you,” spoken three days earlier. The doctor adjusted his care to ensure he remained hydrated and comfortable. I left the room shaken, stunned by how aggressively the same disease had affected this man decades earlier than it had my grandfather. In the hallway, Dr. Goldberg remarked on how slow the progress has been in developing effective treatments for Parkinson’s. The rest of the day passed in a blur of clinical cases and discussions of differential diagnoses, but my mind kept returning to that first patient. I couldn’t stop thinking about the human cost of stagnation in research and the unexplained variability in outcomes between patients. That day, and the years I spent with my grandfather, crystallized why I want to pursue a career in medicine. I want to care for patients and families during their most vulnerable moments, to be a source of knowledge, support, and dignity when it matters most. But I also want to be part of the generation that asks the hard questions—the one that advances our understanding of diseases like Parkinson’s so that fewer people have to suffer the way my grandfather did. My goal is to become a physician who not only practices medicine with empathy and skill, but who also contributes to meaningful research. I’m particularly drawn to neurology and geriatrics, and I hope to advocate for more comprehensive, compassionate care models for aging populations. Whether it’s through clinical work, research, or community outreach, I want to make a tangible impact on both individual lives and the broader field of medicine. This journey began with loss, but it continues with purpose. I’m driven not only by what I’ve witnessed, but by what I believe is still possible.

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.

There was a time when I thought struggling meant failing. When I experienced flare-ups in my condition, I felt ashamed and angry—convinced that a bad day erased all my progress. I hid how I felt, fearing I would be seen as weak or incapable. But over time, I began to unlearn that shame. I started to ask myself: would I judge someone else for needing rest, for having pain, for taking a step back? Of course not. I would tell them they’re strong for continuing on. I’d remind them that healing isn’t linear, and that their life still holds meaning. So why couldn’t I extend the same grace to myself? Living with a chronic medical condition has reshaped how I move through the world. It has forced me to slow down and listen to my body, to celebrate small victories, and to recognize that resilience isn’t about perfection—it’s about persistence. It’s about learning to hold joy and struggle in the same hand. And it’s taught me to build a life rooted in empathy, both for myself and others. Though my condition presents challenges, it has deepened my commitment to serving others, especially those who also feel overlooked, invisible, or misunderstood in the healthcare system. I’ve turned my experiences into action—launching mental health education programs for youth, advocating for underrepresented patients in research, and supporting my peers through mentorship and clinical outreach. These efforts aren’t in spite of my condition—they exist because of it. When I think about the future, I see myself as a physician who doesn’t just treat illness but affirms the humanity of every patient I meet. I want to help create a healthcare system where people don’t have to fight to be believed. Where chronic conditions are met with curiosity instead of dismissal. And where young people growing up with a diagnosis feel empowered to dream big, even when their bodies don’t always cooperate. What inspires me most is the community I’ve found—fellow patients, mentors, and friends who continue to show up with courage and kindness. They remind me that there is no one way to live a meaningful life. That strength can look like resting. That progress can look like asking for help. That purpose can be born not only from what we overcome, but from how we choose to use our voice along the way. I don’t want to hide my story—I want to use it. I want others to know that they are not alone, that their life matters even on the hardest days, and that their experiences can shape a better world for those who come next.

As a future psychiatrist and entrepreneur, I am committed to making mental health care more affordable, accessible, and compassionate—especially for those who have historically been left behind. I plan to build a mental health startup that offers comprehensive, culturally attuned care with a community-centered approach. The platform will integrate therapy, coaching, psychiatry, and peer support into one seamless model, reducing the fragmentation that often drives up cost and confusion. We will offer both in-person and virtual options with a sliding scale payment structure and partnerships with public schools, universities, and community clinics. Our services will center individuals experiencing minority stress, especially LGBTQ+ youth, BIPOC communities, and economically disadvantaged patients. In addition to evidence-based treatment, we will provide mindfulness tools such as guided meditations, sleepcasts, and body-based practices to promote everyday wellness and emotional regulation outside the clinic. Most importantly, I hope to shift the way we talk about mental health—from crisis to prevention, from stigma to support. My own journey through recovery taught me that healing is nonlinear and deeply personal. By building a system rooted in compassion, flexibility, and dignity, I want to empower people to access care before they’re at their breaking point. Mental health should never be a luxury. My contribution is to help create a world where it’s a right.

To me, legacy is not about fame or wealth—it’s about impact. It’s the values you leave behind, the lives you touch, and the quiet ways you make the world a little softer, safer, and more just. Legacy lives in the people who remember how you made them feel, in the systems you challenge, and in the doors you hold open for those coming after you. My upbringing shaped me in every way. I was raised in a low-income Iraqi Jewish household by parents who taught me to be proud of my heritage, even when the world didn’t understand it. My father fled persecution in Iraq and gave up his education to support his family. My mother, ever resourceful, stretched every dollar and every ounce of energy to make sure we had enough. We didn’t have a lot, but we had strength, culture, and the belief that we could create something better. But we also carried the weight of unspoken pain—mental health wasn’t discussed, and vulnerability wasn’t always safe. I struggled with an eating disorder in high school, and instead of support, I was often met with judgment. At times, I felt like I had to succeed in spite of what I was going through. That’s when I began to understand the kind of legacy I wanted to build: one that makes space for people to be fully human. I’ve made it my mission to break the cycle of silence and stigma. I co-founded Educate Heal Empower to bring mental health education and eating disorder awareness to middle and high school students, especially in marginalized communities. I speak openly about my own journey because I know the power of someone saying, “You’re not alone.” I also launched Emory Medical Musicians to bring joy and connection to older adults living with cognitive decline—people who are often left behind by our healthcare system. As I apply into Psychiatry, I carry with me the dreams my father couldn’t realize, and the compassion I wish I had received. I want to be the kind of doctor who sees the whole person, not just a chart. I want to bring healing to individuals with eating disorders and complex neuropsychiatric conditions, and use research to close the equity gaps that still exist in neuroscience and mental health care. My legacy, I hope, will be one of kindness, advocacy, and inclusion. I want to change not just individual lives, but the culture of medicine—so that every patient, regardless of background, feels worthy of care. I may come from a history of loss, silence, and struggle, but I plan to leave behind a cycle of healing, voice, and empowerment.

In my first year of medical school at Emory Univeristy, I signed up for the One Good Deed program, a volunteer initiative matching younger adults with isolated older adults. That’s how I met Esther. Eighty-five years old, fiercely independent, and a retired teacher, Esther welcomed me into her home with the determination to teach a young student about her experiences. At first, I thought I was there to help her—to bring companionship, to listen—but I quickly realized how mutual the relationship would become. Through our weekly visits, I found a kindred spirit: we shared stories of family, faith, and the complexity of identity. When Esther fell and was hospitalized, I was there, sitting by her side and advocating for her care. In that moment, I wasn’t just a student or a volunteer—I was her family. That experience reinforced how community isn’t just about proximity or shared interests; it’s about showing up, again and again, when someone needs you. Through Esther, I saw the power of steadfast companionship in preserving dignity and hope, especially during illness or uncertainty. Inspired by our bond and by the isolation I saw among older adults in Atlanta, I founded Emory Medical Musicians, a small musical ensemble of medical students who perform for seniors in assisted living facilities. What began as a way to combine our love for music and service has become something far more profound: a lesson in the healing power of connection. At a Jewish assisted living facility, we played an old Yiddish love song. After the show, we saw something unusual. A 90-year-old woman who had been mumbling incoherently just an hour before was now bright-eyed and lucid. She waved us over and began telling stories of attending The Juilliard School for vocal performance, of singing for crowds long before we were born. For the first time, we saw this woman for who she really was, a spirited woman and wildly successful performer. Music had reached beyond her cognitive barriers and bridged together two musicians of different generations. Living and working in Atlanta has taught me that resilience often blooms in community—especially when we center kindness. I’ve been moved by how small acts, like a conversation or a song, can reverberate deeply. In the face of widespread loneliness, particularly among older adults, building community isn’t just an ideal—it’s a responsibility. My experiences have shown me that healing goes beyond medicine: it lives in showing up for one another with compassion. This sense of connection gives me hope for the future. In medicine, in advocacy, in life—I believe we must lead with empathy, and that meaningful change often begins with one relationship at a time. Whether sitting beside Esther in the hospital or playing music for someone who hasn’t smiled in weeks, I’ve learned that we heal better—stronger—together. My dream is to become a psychiatrist who is an advocate for others and is a compassionate caregiver. I still have much to learn, but I am dedicated to creating positive change for my community. Through the support of this scholarship, my hopes and ambitions as a future physician will become that much more real.

I come from a lineage of resilience. My father was born into poverty in Iraq and fled to Israel with his family, escaping antisemitism with little more than hope. He was the brightest in his class, but systemic barriers forced him to leave college to support his family. I carry his unrealized dreams with me. Growing up in a low-income Iraqi Jewish household in the U.S., I knew what it meant to stretch groceries to the end of the week, to hesitate before going to the doctor because of the cost, and to see mental health concerns brushed off as weakness. But I also knew love, tradition, and the power of perseverance. When I was 15, I developed an eating disorder. My illness was met not with compassion, but with doubt. I was told I might be “too sick for college.” That experience nearly broke me—but it also taught me how to fight for myself. I recovered, not just physically but emotionally, and vowed to make space for others who felt unseen. Since then, I’ve made it my mission to transform pain into purpose. I’m currently a fourth-year medical student at Emory University, and I plan to pursue a career in Psychiatry. My passion for neuroscience and mental health grew out of both personal experience and scientific curiosity. I’ve conducted research on impulse control disorders in Parkinson’s disease, with a focus on gender and racial disparities in diagnosis and treatment. I’ve presented nationally and published my first first-author paper this spring. But my proudest accomplishments aren’t just academic—they’re rooted in community. I co-founded Educate Heal Empower, an organization that teaches middle and high school students about body image, eating disorders, and mental wellness, especially in marginalized communities. I also launched Emory Medical Musicians, a small ensemble that performs for older adults in assisted living. One man with dementia remembered the words to a song I played on flute and sang along with tears in his eyes. Moments like that remind me that healing doesn’t just happen in clinics—it happens in connection. Finances remain a constant challenge. I’ve supported myself through school with federal loans, and I help my family when I can. There have been times when I worried about affording basic needs while trying to study for exams. This scholarship would ease that burden and allow me to continue my work without having to choose between service and survival. In the future, I want to build a mental health startup that integrates therapy, psychiatry, and mindfulness tools—particularly for communities facing minority stress. I want to innovate systems of care that see the whole person, not just the diagnosis. I want to advocate for equity in neuroscience research, ensuring that women and people of color are represented in trials and treatments. I’ve never had the luxury of certainty—but I’ve always had purpose. I am who I am because of the barriers I’ve faced and the people I’ve vowed to uplift. Through medicine, music, and mentorship, I hope to leave a legacy of empathy, action, and change.

When I was 15, I developed an eating disorder. My illness was met not with compassion, but with doubt. I was told I might be “too sick for college.” That experience nearly broke me—but it also taught me how to fight for myself. I recovered, not just physically but emotionally, and vowed to make space for others who felt unseen. Since then, I’ve made it my mission to transform pain into purpose. Choosing recovery was the first time I ever made my mental, emotional, and physical health a true priority. It meant going to therapy even when I didn’t want to talk. It meant learning how to nourish my body and, more importantly, how to speak to myself with compassion. It meant unlearning the belief that my worth was tied to achievement or appearance. Healing wasn’t linear—and still isn’t—but every step taught me that strength looks more like vulnerability, connection, and honesty than perfection. That experience has deeply shaped how I approach my future. Now, as a fourth-year medical student, I carry those lessons into my clinical work. I’ve learned to listen more openly, especially to the quiet signals of suffering that don’t show up on lab tests. I’m entering the field of psychiatry because I know what it’s like to feel unseen—and I want to be the kind of physician who helps others feel safe, heard, and empowered in their healing. I co-founded Educate Heal Empower, an organization that teaches middle and high school students about body image, eating disorders, and mental wellness, especially in marginalized communities. I also launched Emory Medical Musicians, a small ensemble that performs for older adults in assisted living. One man with dementia remembered the words to a song I played on flute and sang along with tears in his eyes. Moments like that remind me that healing doesn’t just happen in clinics—it happens in connection. Prioritizing my health also means making space for joy in my life now: playing music with my group at assisted living homes, checking in with friends, taking time to rest, and saying “no” when I need to. These practices don’t make me weaker—they make me sustainable. I’ve learned that in order to show up for others, I have to first show up for myself. In the future, I hope to become a psychiatrist who supports individuals with eating disorders and complex neuropsychiatric conditions—particularly those from underserved or stigmatized communities. I aim to bridge the gaps in care with compassion, clinical expertise, and research that advances health equity. I want to be the doctor I needed when I was younger—someone who listens without judgment, who advocates without hesitation, and who believes recovery is possible for everyone.

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. This scholarship would relieve some of my financial burden and allow me to continue my training without having to make difficult choices between paying bills and pursuing the work I love. It would enable me to spend less time applying for part-time employment and more time studying ways to help my patients. It would also support the growth of the community programs I’ve built. I hope to build a community that supports people who feel isolated, especially those experiencing minority stress, anxiety, or depression. As someone who knows how hard it can be to access help, this dream is personal. My dream is to become a psychiatrist who is 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. Through the support of this scholarship, my hopes and ambitions as a future physician will become that much more real.

I was proud to be Jewish the moment I received my acceptance into medical school. I am from a family of Iraqi Jews, who left the country due to antisemitism. My grandfather was arrested by the government under the false accusation of learning Hebrew, despite being illiterate. My family 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, mentor, and advocate for Jewish medical school students. In response to recent incidents of antisemitism on campus, I worked with DEI curriculum administrators to incorporate education on how antisemitism presents in healthcare. Together, we created new case-based learning content exploring how antisemitic biases affect clinical interactions and patient trust. We highlighted the historical exclusion of Jewish physicians and the disparities that Jewish patients and professionals still experience. I also worked to strengthen our own community and support students struggling with antisemitism on campus. Last year, I launched a mentorship program (“JMed”) connecting Jewish students with faculty mentors, building community and guidance for those navigating medicine as a minority. Storytelling has become one of my most powerful tools, whether it is in the administrative board room or at a patient’s bedside. My love of music and building connections led me to launch “Emory Medical Musicians”, an ensemble that performs live music for older adults experiencing loneliness and memory loss. After one performance at a local Jewish assisted living facility, I noticed something unusual. A 90 year old woman who had been mumbling to herself incoherently just an hour before, was bright-eyed and lucid. She waved me over to tell stories of growing up on the Lower East Side of NYC and attending school for vocal performance. For the first time, I saw this woman for who she really was, a spirited artist and wildly successful musician. Music had broken her cognitive barriers and bridged together two musicians of different generations. I am now a fourth-year medical student and plan to apply into psychiatry this fall. My academic work focuses on the intersection of neurology and mental health. A few years ago, 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 and make a positive impact for patients like my grandfather. Currently, my education is funded entirely through federal loans. This scholarship would relieve some of my financial burden and allow me to continue my training without having to make difficult choices between paying bills and pursuing the work I love. It would enable me to spend less time applying for part-time employment and more time studying ways to help my patients. It would also support the growth of the community programs I’ve built—like JMed and Emory Medical Musicians. I hope to build a community that supports people who feel isolated, especially those experiencing minority stress, anxiety, or depression. As someone who knows how hard it can be to access help, this dream is personal. My dream is to become a psychiatrist who is 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. Through the support of this scholarship, my hopes and ambitions as a future physician will become that much more real.

I come from a lineage of resilience, pride, and determination. My father was born into poverty in Iraq and fled to Israel with his family with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. My father was the brightest in his class, but he left college to support his family. Growing up in a low-income Iraqi Jewish household, I knew what it meant to stretch groceries to the end of the week, to hesitate before going to the doctor because of the cost, and to see mental health concerns brushed off as weakness. But I also knew love, tradition, and the power of perseverance. 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. I am currently a fourth-year medical student at Emory University School of Medicine, and I plan to pursue a career in psychiatry. My passion for neuroscience and mental health grew out of personal experience and scientific curiosity. In college, my time was spent both in assisted living facilities with my beloved grandfather suffering from Parkinson’s disease and in the neuroscience lab researching memory and cognition. When I arrived at medical school, I quickly pursued research to help patients like my grandfather. I’ve conducted research on impulse control disorders in Parkinson’s disease, with a focus on gender and racial disparities in diagnosis and treatment. I also studied dopamine dysregulation syndrome and the impacts of deep brain stimulation—publishing my first first-author paper this spring. These experiences solidified my desire to support individuals navigating complex neuropsychiatric conditions. My proudest accomplishments are not academic—they’re rooted in the relationships I have built within my community. I co-founded the organization Educate Heal Empower, which teaches middle and high school students in low-income areas of Atlanta about body image, eating disorders, and mental wellness. When I was I high school, I struggled with a severe eating disorder. I faced so much shame and stigma surrounding my illness, both internally and externally. Now, I use the experiences I have faced to help young adults like me realize they are not alone and that recovery is always possible. I also launched Emory Medical Musicians, a small ensemble that performs for older adults in assisted living. At one performance, a 90-year-old woman who had been incoherently mumbling to herself was bright-eyed and lucid after we finished playing. She waved me over to tell stories of attending The Juilliard School for vocal performance. Music had broken her cognitive barriers and brought together two musicians of different generations. Moments like that remind me that healing does not always happen in the clinic or the hospital. In the near future, I hope to become a psychiatrist who supports individuals with eating disorders and complex neuropsychiatric conditions—particularly those from underserved or stigmatized communities. I will use the skills and experiences I have gained as a proud Iraqi-Jewish woman, musician, and scientist to continue learning how to provide the growth, transformation, and healing my patients deserve.

I come from a lineage of resilience, pride, and determination. My father was born into poverty in Iraq and fled to Israel with his family with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. My father was the brightest in his class, but he left college to support his family. Growing up in a low-income Iraqi Jewish household, I knew what it meant to stretch groceries to the end of the week, to hesitate before going to the doctor because of the cost, and to see mental health concerns brushed off as weakness. But I also knew love, tradition, and the power of perseverance. 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. I am currently a fourth-year medical student at Emory University School of Medicine, and I plan to pursue a career in psychiatry. My passion for neuroscience and mental health grew out of personal experience and scientific curiosity. In college, my time was spent both in assisted living facilities with my beloved grandfather suffering from Parkinson’s disease and in the neuroscience lab researching memory and cognition. When I arrived at medical school, I quickly pursued research to help patients like my grandfather. I’ve conducted research on impulse control disorders in Parkinson’s disease, with a focus on gender and racial disparities in diagnosis and treatment. I also studied dopamine dysregulation syndrome and the impacts of deep brain stimulation—publishing my first first-author paper this spring. These experiences solidified my desire to support individuals navigating complex neuropsychiatric conditions. My proudest accomplishments are not academic—they’re rooted in the relationships I have built within my community. I co-founded the organization Educate Heal Empower, which teaches middle and high school students in low-income areas of Atlanta about body image, eating disorders, and mental wellness. When I was I high school, I struggled with a severe eating disorder. I faced so much shame and stigma surrounding my illness, both internally and externally. Now, I use the experiences I have faced to help young adults like me realize they are not alone and that recovery is always possible. I also launched Emory Medical Musicians, a small ensemble that performs for older adults in assisted living. At one performance, a 90-year-old woman who had been incoherently mumbling to herself was bright-eyed and lucid after we finished playing. She waved me over to tell stories of attending The Juilliard School for vocal performance. Music had broken her cognitive barriers and brought together two musicians of different generations. Moments like that remind me that healing does not always happen in the clinic or the hospital. In the near future, I hope to become a psychiatrist who supports individuals with eating disorders and complex neuropsychiatric conditions—particularly those from underserved or stigmatized communities. I will use the skills and experiences I have gained as a proud Iraqi-Jewish woman, musician, and scientist to continue learning how to provide the growth, transformation, and healing my patients deserve. Currently, finances remain a constant challenge for me. I have supported myself through school with federal loans, and I help my family when I can. There have been times when I worried about affording basic needs while trying to study for exams. This scholarship would ease that burden and allow me to continue my training and service work without having to choose between survival and the career I love.

My experience with mental health has shaped every part of who I am—my beliefs, relationships, and the future I hope to build. Living through an eating disorder as a teenager taught me what it feels like to suffer silently, to carry shame for struggling, and to fear being misunderstood. That pain gave rise to some of the most important values I carry today: compassion, authenticity, and the deep belief that healing is possible for everyone, in their own time and in their own way. It changed how I relate to others. I’ve learned to listen more openly and meet people where they are, not where I think they should be. I no longer look for perfect strength—I look for honesty, for someone willing to say “I’m not okay,” and I try to be the kind of person who can say, “You don’t have to go through this alone.” My relationships have become more vulnerable, more real, and rooted in mutual care. I’ve also learned the importance of giving that same grace to myself. I used to feel ashamed of setbacks in my recovery, as though they erased any progress I had made. But then I asked myself—would I ever blame someone else for having a hard day? No. So why not offer myself the same compassion? Professionally, my experience has drawn me to psychiatry. I want to be the kind of doctor I wish I’d had—someone who doesn’t just treat symptoms but sees the full human being behind them. I’ve combined my lived experience with academic and clinical work, founding Educate Heal Empower to promote body positivity and early education, and playing music for seniors through Emory Medical Musicians to ease loneliness and cognitive decline. These experiences have shown me how much healing comes not just from medicine, but from connection. 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, 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.

Priscilla Shireen’s legacy is one I feel deeply connected to. Her devotion to service—putting the needs of others before her own and striving to better the world through compassion—mirrors the values that have guided my own journey. 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. That lesson stayed with me through my own struggles. After surviving an eating disorder in high school, I chose to speak out—because I knew there were other young people, especially from marginalized communities, suffering in silence. I co-founded Educate Heal Empower, an organization that brings body image and mental health education into middle and high schools, ensuring that the next generation is supported, seen, and empowered. At Emory, I launched Emory Medical Musicians, a small group that brings music to older adults facing cognitive decline and loneliness. After one performance, a 90-year-old woman who had been incoherently mumbling to herself just an hour before, was bright-eyed and lucid. She waved me over to tell stories of attending The Juilliard School for vocal performance. For the first time, I saw Ruth for who she really was, a spirited woman and wildly successful musician. Music had broken her cognitive barriers and brought together two musicians of different generations. I learned that healing does not always happen in the clinic or hospital. Now, I am in my final year of medical school, with plans to apply into the field of psychiatric medicine. I hope to specialize in treating eating disorders and complex neuropsychiatric conditions—especially for those in underserved populations. My research explores how neurological treatments for Parkinson’s disease impact mental health, with a focus on reducing gender and racial disparities. Through both my clinical work and advocacy, I strive to ensure that no one feels invisible in the healthcare system. This scholarship would not only support me financially as I pursue a service-driven career, but also affirm that the work I’m doing in honor of my community—and in memory of those like Priscilla—is worth continuing.

I come from a lineage of resilience, pride, and determination. My father was born into poverty in Iraq and fled to Israel with his family, escaping antisemitism with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. My father was the brightest in his class, but systemic barriers forced him to leave college to support his family. Growing up in a low-income Iraqi Jewish household in the U.S., I knew what it meant to stretch groceries to the end of the week, to hesitate before going to the doctor because of the cost, and unfortunately to see mental health concerns brushed off as weakness. But I also knew love, tradition, and the power of perseverance. 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. I am currently a fourth-year medical student at Emory University School of Medicine, and I plan to pursue a career in Psychiatry. My passion for neuroscience and mental health grew out of both personal experience and scientific curiosity. In college, my time was spent both in assisted living facilities with my beloved grandfather suffering from Parkinson’s disease (PD) and in the neuroscience lab researching memory and cognition. When I arrived at medical school, I quickly pursued research in Emory’s Movement Disorder Center to help patients like my grandfather. I’ve conducted research on impulse control disorders in Parkinson’s disease, with a focus on gender and racial disparities in diagnosis and treatment. I also studied dopamine dysregulation syndrome and the neuropsychiatric impacts of deep brain stimulation—publishing my first first-author paper this spring. These experiences solidified my desire to support individuals navigating complex neuropsychiatric conditions. Whether presenting to a physician at the top of their field or comforting a patient with newly diagnosed PD, my research taught me how to organize my thoughts and introduce information at a person’s own level. I learned how to use the same attention to detail in research in evaluating patients’ individual symptoms in the clinic. My proudest accomplishments are not academic—they’re rooted in the relationships I have built within my community. I co-founded the organization Educate Heal Empower, which teaches middle and high school students in Atlanta about body image, eating disorders, and mental wellness, particularly in school districts without access to many resources. When I was I high school, I struggled with a severe eating disorder. I faced so much shame and stigma surrounding my illness, both internally and externally. Now, I use the experiences I have faced to help young adults like me realize they are not alone and that recovery is always possible. Our students have grown so much more confident in their own skin through our programming, and have learned techniques for emotional regulation that will help them despite what hardships they might face. I also launched Emory Medical Musicians, a small ensemble that performs for older adults in assisted living facilities. A 90-year-old woman who had been incoherently mumbling to herself just an hour before, was bright-eyed and lucid. She waved me over to tell stories of attending The Juilliard School for vocal performance. For the first time, I saw Ruth for who she really was, a spirited woman and wildly successful musician. Music had broken her cognitive barriers and brought together two musicians of different generations. Moments like that remind me that healing does not always happen in the clinic or the hospital. In the future, I hope to become a psychiatrist who supports individuals with eating disorders and complex neuropsychiatric conditions—particularly those from underserved or stigmatized communities. I aim to bridge the gaps in care with compassion, clinical expertise, and research that advances health equity. I want to be the doctor that I needed when I was younger—someone who listens without judgment, who advocates without hesitation, and who believes recovery is possible for everyone. I will use the skills and experiences I have gained as a proud Iraqi-Jewish woman, musician, and scientist to continue learning how to provide the growth, transformation, and healing my patients deserve. Currently, finances remain a constant challenge for me. I have supported myself through school with federal loans, and I help my family when I can. There have been times when I worried about affording basic needs while trying to study for exams. This scholarship would ease that burden and allow me to continue my training and service work without having to choose between survival and the career I love. Eric Larson is the kind of scientist and human-being I hope to become, someone able to make a difference for communities often left behind by scientific research and progress. I hope to embody his same strength, resourcefulness, and determination in pursuing my dreams.

As a first-generation medical student, I carry with me the resilience of my family, the memory of those we’ve lost, and a commitment to building a more just and compassionate world through medicine. I grew up in a low-income Iraqi Jewish household where access to care was inconsistent and stigma around mental health ran deep. These early experiences shaped my passion for health equity and fueled my drive to become a physician who not only treats illness but also uplifts the voices of those historically silenced. My path to medicine has been shaped by both personal struggle and community activism. After recovering from an eating disorder in high school, I realized how rarely these illnesses are openly discussed—especially among marginalized youth. At Emory, I co-founded Educate Heal Empower, an organization dedicated to promoting body positivity and teaching middle and high school students about healthy relationships with food and self-image. We provide workshops that emphasize self-worth, early intervention, and the importance of seeking help. I speak openly about my own experiences because I believe storytelling can break stigma, especially for those who feel alone in their struggle. Healing comes in many forms, and for me, one of the most profound is music. I launched Emory Medical Musicians, an ensemble that performs for older adults experiencing loneliness and cognitive decline. Through music, we connect across generations and awaken memory and emotion in people often left behind by the healthcare system. Whether playing a nostalgic melody or listening to stories from the past, I’ve witnessed how human connection—through something as simple as a song—can bring joy and healing in ways medicine alone cannot. I’m currently researching Parkinson’s disease, focusing on improving representation of women and racial minorities in clinical trials and exploring neuropsychiatric complications. I hope to pursue a career in psychiatry and neurology, fields where science and soul intersect. In the future, I plan to launch a mental health startup that offers accessible, culturally sensitive care through therapy, psychiatry, and community support—all under one roof. Catrina Celestine Aquilino’s legacy resonates deeply with me. Her life was a testament to the belief that where someone comes from should never determine how much they are cared for. Like Catrina, I believe justice and healing go hand in hand, and that every life deserves dignity, no matter their origin or circumstances. This scholarship would allow me to continue casting my circle wider—uplifting others through innovation, compassion, and relentless advocacy. I hope to honor Catrina’s memory by becoming a physician who listens deeply, acts boldly, and works every day to repair the broken spaces in our world—because healing, like justice, must be for everyone.

One of the most important social issues I am working to address is the lack of cultural and religious sensitivity in medical education. As a Jewish medical student, I have witnessed firsthand how ignorance—both unintentional and systemic—can harm students and, by extension, the future patients we serve. I believe that a more inclusive, respectful, and informed approach to medical training is necessary to provide truly equitable care. During our Genetics course this semester, a professor made insensitive comments about conditions associated with Ashkenazi Jewish heritage. Rather than contextualizing these conditions with historical or social awareness, the lecture reinforced stereotypes and failed to acknowledge the broader implications of genetic bottleneck effects resulting from persecution and genocide. I felt a responsibility not only to speak out for myself, but to protect the dignity of future Jewish patients who would be cared for by my peers. I addressed the entire class, explaining how systemic discrimination throughout history has impacted genetic diversity in the Jewish population. What could have been a moment of shame or silence turned into an opportunity for education, growth, and empathy. Following this moment, I collaborated with faculty to help revise parts of the curriculum. We worked together to ensure the lecture more accurately reflects the historical, cultural, and ethical context of genetic risks, avoiding language that reduces people to their conditions. This experience taught me how essential it is for medical education to honor the identities of all communities it discusses, and how students have the power to influence change when they use their voices. In response to recent incidents of antisemitism on campus, I worked with our Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) curriculum administrators to incorporate education on antisemitism in healthcare. Together, we created new content exploring how antisemitic biases—whether conscious or unconscious—can affect clinical interactions, patient trust, and provider decision-making. We also highlighted the historical exclusion of Jewish physicians and the lingering disparities that Jewish patients and professionals may still experience. This initiative was designed to ensure my classmates graduate with a deeper understanding of antisemitism as a relevant, ongoing issue—not a relic of the past. Another instance of advocacy came when our school scheduled quizzes on Yom Kippur, the holiest day in the Jewish calendar. For observant students, this is a time for fasting, prayer, and reflection—not academic testing. I wrote a letter to the administration requesting religious accommodations. Thanks to this effort, the school implemented flexible quiz scheduling for Yom Kippur, setting a precedent for future observance-based accommodations. As president of the Jewish Medical Student Association, I launched a mentorship program connecting Jewish students with faculty mentors, building community and guidance for those navigating medicine as a minority. Through curriculum reform, policy advocacy, and peer support, I aim to build a more inclusive future in medicine. Guided by the Jewish values of Tikkun Olam (repairing the world) and Gemilut Chasadim (acts of loving kindness), I am committed to ensuring all patients—and all students—are treated with dignity, compassion, and respect.

Caregiving, for me, has never been just a role—it has been a way of life. In high school and college, I served as my grandmother’s primary caregiver after she was diagnosed with a frontal lobe tumor. She lost much of her short-term memory, but her long-term memories, her wisdom, and her fiery spirit remained beautifully intact. I helped her with meals, bathing, and clothing, but in many ways, she was caring for me too. She was my biggest supporter—cheering me on as I dealt with the social ups and downs of high school, navigating friendships, and trying to decide where I belonged in college. Despite her illness, she remained full of love, life, and encouragement. Balancing schoolwork and caregiving wasn’t easy. While my friends focused solely on academics and extracurriculars, I was learning how to schedule doctor’s appointments between tests, how to calmly answer the same question ten times in an hour, and how to offer comfort in moments of confusion. I also helped support my family during times of financial hardship, taking on additional responsibilities at home. These experiences taught me discipline and resilience, but more importantly, they taught me how to lead with compassion. Today, I carry those lessons with me into my medical education. I’m drawn to psychiatry and neurology because I’ve witnessed firsthand how memory loss, cognitive decline, and mental illness affect not just individuals but entire families. I know what it’s like to sit in a waiting room with unanswered questions, to feel both love and fear for someone slipping away before your eyes. These moments have made me more than just a future physician—they’ve made me a source of comfort for the caregivers and loved ones I now meet in the hospital. I don’t just care for my patients—I advocate for their families too, because I know how much it means to feel seen. Receiving this scholarship would ease the financial strain of medical school and allow me to focus more fully on becoming the kind of physician I strive to be—one who uplifts both patients and their support systems. It would also allow me to continue supporting my own family, who have given up so much to help me reach this point. This scholarship is more than financial support—it’s an affirmation that caregiving is a strength, not a setback. It’s the reason I chose medicine, and it continues to shape my path with purpose and heart.

One of the national health issues I feel most passionate about is mental health—specifically, how stigma, systemic barriers, and lack of access to care prevent people from getting the help they need. Mental health issues affect millions across the United States, yet treatment remains stigmatized, underfunded, and inaccessible for far too many. My passion for mental health stems from my own lived experience and my commitment to creating a healthcare system where no one feels alone, ashamed, or forgotten in their suffering. As a teenager, I struggled with an eating disorder. Instead of receiving empathy or support, I was often met with judgment and assumptions. I was once told I was “too sick for college,” a statement that made me feel like my future had already been written off. That experience left me with a sense of hopelessness that I wouldn't wish on anyone. But it also gave me a sense of purpose. I realized how critical it is to build a culture of understanding around mental illness—one that is rooted in compassion, not fear or shame. Now, as a medical student at Emory University, I am turning that pain into purpose. I launched Educate Heal Empower, a community-based initiative focused on eating disorder education and prevention for youth and teens in Atlanta. We work to improve early recognition and support, particularly for underrepresented communities who are often overlooked in mental health discourse. Our workshops include discussions on body positivity, social media literacy, and healthy relationships with food—all aimed at empowering students to understand and care for their mental health. But my passion extends beyond eating disorders. I hope to become a psychiatrist with a deep understanding of neuropsychiatric illness, particularly conditions like Parkinson’s disease and Lewy body dementia, which affect both the brain and the mind. These illnesses have profound psychological components—depression, anxiety, psychosis—that often go undertreated or misdiagnosed. My grandfather’s journey with Lewy body dementia, during which his behavioral symptoms were the most heartbreaking and confusing part for our family, solidified my commitment to improving care for patients whose suffering lies beneath the surface. Mental health is not separate from physical health—it is deeply intertwined. And yet, we continue to treat it as secondary. This needs to change. I am committed to being part of that change by promoting integrated, stigma-free, accessible mental health care. Whether it’s through clinical work, community outreach, or eventually building a mental health startup to expand access to care, I hope to create a future where seeking help is not only normalized, but celebrated as a courageous and healing act. We all have minds. We all have struggles. And we all deserve to be cared for—fully, and without shame.

Caregiving, for me, has never been just a role—it has been a way of life. In high school and college, I served as my grandmother’s primary caregiver after she was diagnosed with a frontal lobe tumor. She lost much of her short-term memory, but her long-term memories, her wisdom, and her fiery spirit remained beautifully intact. I helped her with meals, bathing, and clothing, but in many ways, she was caring for me too. She was my biggest supporter—cheering me on as I dealt with the social ups and downs of high school, navigating friendships, and trying to decide where I belonged in college. Despite her illness, she remained full of love, life, and encouragement. Balancing schoolwork and caregiving wasn’t easy. While my friends focused solely on academics and extracurriculars, I was learning how to schedule doctor’s appointments between tests, how to calmly answer the same question ten times in an hour, and how to offer comfort in moments of confusion. I also helped support my family during times of financial hardship, taking on additional responsibilities at home. These experiences taught me discipline and resilience, but more importantly, they taught me how to lead with compassion. Today, I carry those lessons with me into my medical education. I’m drawn to psychiatry and neurology because I’ve witnessed firsthand how memory loss, cognitive decline, and mental illness affect not just individuals but entire families. I know what it’s like to sit in a waiting room with unanswered questions, to feel both love and fear for someone slipping away before your eyes. These moments have made me more than just a future physician—they’ve made me a source of comfort for the caregivers and loved ones I now meet in the hospital. I don’t just care for my patients—I advocate for their families too, because I know how much it means to feel seen. Receiving this scholarship would ease the financial strain of medical school and allow me to focus more fully on becoming the kind of physician I strive to be—one who uplifts both patients and their support systems. It would also allow me to continue supporting my own family, who have given up so much to help me reach this point. This scholarship is more than financial support—it’s an affirmation that caregiving is a strength, not a setback. It’s the reason I chose medicine, and it continues to shape my path with purpose and heart.

Growing up in a family that faced financial instability, I quickly learned that access to healthcare, education, and basic resources is not equal for everyone. My early experiences shaped my understanding of the barriers many individuals face and sparked my passion for public service. I realized that by becoming a physician, I could advocate for those who do not have a voice, particularly for those in underserved communities who experience systemic inequality. As I continue my journey through medical school at Emory University, I am committed to using my education and experiences to create a lasting impact in the lives of others, especially those who are marginalized or facing adversity. One of the most profound motivators for my desire to work in public service was my personal experience with my grandmother’s battle with a brain tumor. I witnessed the difficulties that came with both the misdiagnosis and lack of early intervention, which deeply affected her care. This ignited my passion to improve the healthcare system, particularly in neurology and geriatrics, where I saw the most room for improvement in terms of accessibility and patient advocacy. During my clinical experiences, I have seen firsthand how deeply socioeconomic status impacts the quality of care and the outcomes of treatment. Many people, particularly older adults, face multiple barriers—financial, geographic, and social—that prevent them from receiving timely and adequate care. This is why I have chosen to work at the intersection of medicine and public service. My dedication to making healthcare accessible to everyone aligns with my goal of reducing health disparities in my community. As the president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory, I launched the “JMed” mentorship program, which pairs Jewish medical students with Jewish physicians to help navigate the medical field. Through this initiative, I have worked to promote mentorship and community-building, which I believe are crucial for creating long-term systemic change. It is not enough to simply provide care; we must support and uplift communities by making them feel seen and heard, especially those from underrepresented backgrounds. In addition to my work with JMed, I have also been involved in the “Educate Heal Empower” initiative, which focuses on educating teens and young adults about eating disorders and the importance of healthy relationships with food. Through this initiative, I have worked to make healthcare more accessible by raising awareness of conditions that are often stigmatized or misunderstood. I hope to continue this work by expanding mental health resources and advocacy efforts, particularly in schools, where many individuals lack access to support and treatment. As I move forward in my career, I am committed to using the knowledge and skills I acquire in medicine to improve the lives of individuals facing challenges within my community. I hope to use my expertise to advocate for more comprehensive healthcare programs, support mental health initiatives, and expand access to medical resources for underserved populations. I also envision creating a mental health startup that focuses on destigmatizing treatment for conditions like anxiety and depression, with an emphasis on community and support for minority groups. In summary, my passion for public service is driven by a deep sense of responsibility to improve healthcare access for all. I have seen the devastating effects of social and economic disparities and am determined to create positive change. By applying the skills I gain through my medical education and by continuing to build supportive and inclusive communities, I will work tirelessly to ensure that everyone has access to the care and resources they need to live healthy, fulfilling lives.

Faith plays a central role in my life, shaping the way I navigate challenges and the decisions I make in both my personal and professional journey. For me, faith is about building community, trusting in myself and others, and having emunah—the belief that everything will unfold as it is meant to. This trust has helped me navigate moments of uncertainty, grounding me in the belief that I am part of something bigger than myself. Faith reminds me that healing isn’t just about fixing what’s broken, but also about offering compassion, support, and understanding to those in need, especially when they face struggles that seem insurmountable. In medicine, faith has profoundly influenced my approach to patient care. The Jewish principles of Tikkun Olam (repairing the world) and Gemilut Chasadim (acts of loving kindness) guide me in my desire to make healthcare more compassionate, accessible, and human-centered. My goal as a future psychiatrist is to integrate medical expertise with emotional support, providing holistic care that doesn’t just treat symptoms, but nurtures the person as a whole. This vision is shaped by my belief in the power of community, empathy, and understanding—values I hold close to my heart through my faith. Beyond my faith, my family’s sacrifices and the challenges I’ve faced have also pushed me to pursue higher education. My father’s journey—fleeing Iraq due to antisemitism and poverty—has been a powerful motivator. His inability to pursue education due to circumstances instilled in me a deep appreciation for the opportunities I’ve had. Despite the financial hardships my family faced, my father always emphasized the importance of education, urging me to pursue my dreams in medicine. Additionally, my grandmother’s misdiagnosed brain tumor and my grandfather’s battle with Parkinson’s disease have had a lasting impact on my desire to enter the field of neurology and psychiatry. These personal experiences with the healthcare system, particularly with misdiagnoses and the complexities of neurodegenerative diseases, have deepened my commitment to improving patient care, especially for marginalized communities who often face disparities in healthcare access. The tragic events of October 7th also reinforced my commitment to pursuing higher education and leadership in medicine. As a Jewish student navigating a healthcare field that can sometimes feel isolating, I sought ways to create solidarity and support. This led to the creation of the JMed Mentorship Program, which matches Jewish medical students with experienced physicians to help them navigate their careers and cultural connections. This initiative is a reflection of my faith and belief that no one should face adversity alone. Ultimately, my faith and personal experiences have shaped my academic goals and aspirations. I aim to make a meaningful impact on healthcare, focusing on mental health and neurological diseases, with a particular interest in underrepresented populations. Through my work, I hope to foster a more inclusive, compassionate, and holistic approach to healthcare, guided by the same values of empathy and healing that faith has instilled in me.

When my grandfather was first diagnosed with Lewy body dementia, my family and I were unprepared for the journey ahead. Unlike the typical progression of Parkinson’s disease, which we initially thought he had, my grandfather’s cognitive and behavioral changes preceded his physical decline. At first, we were simply confused—his memory lapses, sudden mood shifts, and moments of disorientation seemed unlike the man we had always known. He had always been sharp, witty, and full of warmth, a pillar of stability in our family. But over time, those qualities faded, replaced by unpredictability and frustration. The most challenging aspect of my grandfather’s illness was not the loss of his ability to walk or feed himself, though those were painful realities we had to face. It was the way his mind unraveled, leaving behind a person who sometimes no longer recognized us or lashed out in ways that felt foreign to his gentle nature. For his wife of 60 years, this transformation was devastating. She had spent decades by his side, raising children, celebrating milestones, and building a life together. Now, she found herself caring for a man who looked like her husband but often did not act like him. The emotional toll was immense—on her, on my family, and on me. We quickly learned that dementia is not just about memory loss; it strips away independence, dignity, and, often, relationships. As much as we tried to ground him in the present, the past and present blurred in his mind. He would get angry over things that never happened or cry over events from decades ago, reliving them as if they were fresh wounds. The hardest moments were those when he was aware of what was happening to him. In his moments of clarity, he would tell us how scared he was—how he felt like he was slipping away and could do nothing to stop it. It was heartbreaking to watch a man who had always been strong and capable feel so powerless. Through this experience, I learned that dementia is not just a disease of the patient—it is a disease of the entire family. We all had to adjust, finding new ways to communicate, to reassure, and to care. I saw firsthand the impact on my grandmother, who struggled with the exhaustion of caregiving and the grief of slowly losing the love of her life. I watched my parents juggle their responsibilities while making time to be there for him. I felt my own helplessness, wishing I could do more but knowing that no amount of effort could bring back the person we once knew. This journey instilled in me a deep sense of empathy for families navigating similar challenges. It also fueled my passion for medicine, particularly in neurology and geriatrics. Now, as a medical student at Emory University School of Medicine, I am studying Parkinson’s disease and Lewy body dementia biomarkers, hoping to contribute to the scientific understanding of these conditions. I aspire to become a physician who can address both the neurological and psychiatric components of these devastating diseases, ensuring that patients receive comprehensive and compassionate care. My grandfather’s struggle with Lewy body dementia changed me in profound ways, but it also strengthened my resolve to create meaningful change for others facing the same heartbreak.

I am a medical student at Emory University School of Medicine, driven by a deep passion for neuroscience and a commitment to making healthcare more equitable. Growing up in a family that faced financial hardship, I witnessed how socioeconomic barriers shape access to medical care. These experiences, along with my Jewish values—particularly Tikkun Olam (repairing the world)—have fueled my desire to create meaningful change in medicine by improving patient care and addressing disparities in healthcare. My passion for neuroscience stems from deeply personal experiences with neurological disorders in my family. My grandmother’s misdiagnosis of a frontal lobe tumor, initially thought to be Alzheimer’s or dementia, exposed me to the complexities of brain diseases and the devastating impact of delayed and inaccurate diagnoses. I saw firsthand how cognitive changes affected not only her but also our entire family, highlighting the urgent need for better diagnostic tools and early interventions. Later, I witnessed my grandfather’s battle with Parkinson’s disease, which further shaped my interest in neurodegenerative conditions. As his disease progressed, I saw how it affected his movement, cognition, and independence, gradually taking away pieces of the person I had always known. Seeing the limitations of current treatments and the lack of representation in clinical research motivated me to delve deeper into Parkinson’s disease and pursue research that could help bridge these gaps. Now, my research focuses on identifying biomarkers for Parkinson’s disease in underrepresented groups—particularly women and racial minorities—who have historically been overlooked in clinical trials. The majority of Parkinson’s research has focused on white male populations, leaving crucial questions unanswered about how the disease manifests and progresses in other demographics. By addressing this research gap, I hope to contribute to more personalized and effective treatments that reflect the diverse patient population affected by the disease. Additionally, I am investigating dopamine dysregulation syndrome and impulse control disorders in Parkinson’s patients—conditions that can arise as side effects of dopamine-based treatments. These disorders, which can lead to compulsive behaviors such as gambling, binge eating, or hypersexuality, are often misunderstood and overlooked in patient care. My goal is to improve awareness and management strategies, ensuring that patients receive treatment that not only addresses their motor symptoms but also considers their cognitive and emotional well-being. These experiences—both personal and academic—have solidified my commitment to neuroscience, patient advocacy, and research. I hope to use my medical career to bridge the gap between scientific discovery and compassionate patient care, ensuring that no one is left behind due to a lack of representation or understanding.

Losing my older brother was the most painful experience of my life. He was 21, a senior in college, full of dreams and ambitions, when a tragic car accident took him away. It felt impossible to comprehend—one moment, he was here, making me laugh with his quick wit and boundless energy, and the next, he was gone. The grief was overwhelming, but what I hadn’t anticipated was the anger that followed. I was furious at the truck driver who struck him, at G-d for allowing this to happen, and at myself for not being a better sister while he was alive. When I returned to campus after two semesters of remote learning due to COVID-19, I felt like I was walking through a world that no longer made sense. Around me, students were joyfully reuniting, excited for in-person classes and the return of normalcy. I, however, seethed with resentment. My world had shattered, and yet life for everyone else moved forward. How could that be fair? How could fate be so cruel as to take away someone who had so much left to give? For months, I held onto the belief that my grief was mine alone to carry. I convinced myself that no one could truly understand the depth of what I had lost. But grief is a strange thing—it isolates you, yet it also connects you in ways you don’t expect. It was only when I finally reached out to my brother’s friends and our extended family that I began to understand this. We shared stories about him—the ridiculous jokes he would tell, the way he always made people feel seen, the way he loved fiercely. And in doing so, I realized that he wasn’t truly gone. He lived on in our memories, in the people he touched, and in the love we continued to hold for him. I also had to learn the hardest lesson of all: forgiveness. I had to forgive myself for the moments I wished I had done more—for the phone calls I didn’t return, for the days I was too busy to check in, for the ways I now wished I had made his last months better. I had to forgive the world for taking him too soon, even though I may never understand why. And most of all, I had to extend kindness to myself. Losing my brother changed me in ways I am still coming to terms with. It deepened my empathy for others who carry unseen pain. It reinforced my belief in the power of community and storytelling to heal. And it strengthened my resolve to live my life with the kindness and love that he embodied. Now, as a medical student, I carry my big brother’s charisma, kindness, and patience with me in every patient room I enter. I know that so many of the people I will care for will be facing some of the hardest moments of their lives. While fate can be cruel and unfair, I have come to understand that honoring my brother’s memory means being a source of comfort and support for others—just as he was for me.

Chappell Roan’s music has been a profound source of strength, confidence, and joy in my life. As a bisexual individual who has long struggled with the fear of coming out to my religious parents and friends, her music has given me a sense of empowerment that I never thought possible. Her boldness, authenticity, and unapologetic embrace of her identity have inspired me to step into my own truth with courage and self-love. One of the songs that has impacted me the most is "Red Wine Supernova." This song encapsulates the sheer joy and beauty of being queer—something I had often struggled to see for myself. In a world that sometimes feels unaccepting, Roan’s music radiates a message of celebration and love, reminding me that queerness is something to embrace, not hide. The infectious energy of the song makes me feel alive and proud of who I am, even in moments of doubt. Another song that resonates deeply with me is "Good Luck, Babe!" This song speaks to the painful experience of falling in love with people I could never have—especially girls who were straight. For a long time, I carried the weight of those unfulfilled emotions, feeling trapped by longing and self-doubt. Roan’s music helped me navigate those feelings, reminding me that it’s okay to let go of the past and fully embrace my true self. Her lyrics capture the bittersweet nature of moving forward, teaching me that while some love stories remain unrequited, there is always something better waiting ahead. Beyond her music, Chappell Roan herself is an artist I deeply admire. Her commitment to authenticity, queer visibility, and theatrical self-expression makes her a powerful role model. She doesn’t conform to industry expectations; instead, she creates her own vibrant, unapologetic world that invites everyone to dance, love, and be themselves. Her rise in the music industry proves that being true to oneself is a strength, not a weakness, and that message is invaluable to someone like me, who has spent years afraid of fully embracing my identity. Roan’s music has also given me some of my most cherished memories. As a medical student, I am often hyper-focused on my studies and struggle to let loose. However, last winter, my female friends and I spent a night together blasting and singing "Hot To Go!" at the top of our lungs. It was a rare moment of pure joy and freedom, reminding me that life isn’t just about responsibilities—it’s also about celebrating who we are with the people we love. Her music has given me permission to experience that kind of happiness without guilt. I support Chappell Roan’s career not only because she is a phenomenal musician but because she represents something much greater: the power of self-acceptance, resilience, and joy. Her music has helped me feel seen, loved, and fearless in ways I never imagined. For that, I will always be grateful, and I will continue to champion her artistry as she inspires others to embrace their own truths.

If I could start a business with my late brother, it would be a Pokémon-themed restaurant—a fusion of our greatest shared passions: Pokémon and food. My brother was nine years older than me and grew up with the earliest generations of Pokémon, playing Pokémon Red on his Gameboy and collecting trading cards. Before I was old enough to own a Gameboy or DS, we would roleplay Pokémon battles in our living room, imagining the creatures we wished existed. We designed our own Pokémon, debated over the strongest types, and bonded over our love for the world of Pokémon. But beyond our shared adventures in the Pokémon universe, food was another love that connected us. We enjoyed trying new restaurants, exploring different cuisines, and savoring meals together as a form of shared experience and joy. A Pokémon-themed restaurant would be the perfect way to honor our bond. It would be a place where nostalgia, creativity, and community come together. The menu would be inspired by different Pokémon types—spicy dishes for Fire-types, fresh plant-based meals for Grass-types, and vibrant, oceanic seafood for Water-types. Signature dishes might include a Pokéball sushi roll, a Thunderbolt lemonade with a zesty spark, or a legendary dessert trio themed after the legendary birds: Articuno (blueberry ice), Zapdos (mango chili sorbet), and Moltres (spiced lava cake). Each dish would be designed not only to delight taste buds but to evoke childhood wonder and shared memories. Beyond just food, the restaurant would serve as a communal space for Pokémon fans of all ages. Trading card game nights, themed trivia events, and a section where guests could design their own Pokémon-inspired dishes—just as my brother and I once created our own Pokémon—would make it an immersive and interactive experience. The restaurant would be a place where families, friends, and even strangers could bond over a shared love of the Pokémon world, much like my brother and I did. This business would be more than just a restaurant; it would be a tribute to my brother and the adventures we shared. It would celebrate the joy of imagination, the comfort of a good meal, and the connections forged over both. Losing him was one of the most painful experiences of my life, but I have found healing in carrying forward the things that connected us. A Pokémon-themed restaurant would be a way to keep his spirit alive—through every bite, every laugh, and every moment of childlike wonder that it brings to others. Through this business, I would hope to create a place where people don’t just eat but experience joy, nostalgia, and belonging. Just as Pokémon brought my brother and me together, it would bring others together, reminding them—through food, fun, and shared passion—that the bonds we build in life never truly fade.

My journey to medicine is deeply personal, shaped by witnessing how socioeconomic disparities limit access to quality healthcare. Growing up in a financially unstable household, I saw my father, an Iraqi Jewish refugee, sacrifice his education to support our family. His struggles taught me resilience, but they also exposed me to the harsh reality that medical care is often a privilege rather than a right. My decision to pursue a STEM-related field, specifically medicine, was deeply personal. One defining moment in my path was my grandmother’s misdiagnosed frontal lobe tumor. Initially mistaken for Alzheimer’s or dementia, her condition went unnoticed for too long. Watching her struggle, I realized that medicine is not just about treating diseases—it is about listening, understanding, and advocating for those who are too often overlooked. Her experience solidified my commitment to a career at the intersection of neurology and psychiatry, where I hope to improve early diagnosis and patient-centered care. As a student doctor at Emory University, I work to address these gaps through advocacy and education. I founded Educate Heal Empower, an initiative promoting eating disorder awareness in underrepresented communities, recognizing that many marginalized groups lack access to proper diagnosis and treatment. I also launched JMed, a mentorship program supporting Jewish medical students from disadvantaged backgrounds, because I know firsthand how vital support and representation are in navigating medicine. Beyond clinical medicine, I am deeply invested in research and innovation. I currently spearhead a research project investigating biomarkers in Parkinson’s disease, aiming to improve early diagnosis and treatment outcomes. I hope to expand access to mental health care for underserved communities. Many individuals, particularly those facing socioeconomic challenges, struggle to access mental health services due to financial constraints, stigma, or systemic barriers. Through my future work as a psychiatrist and entrepreneur, I aim to build a model of care that is both accessible and comprehensive. My goal is to integrate holistic mental health services into community-based care, ensuring that individuals from all backgrounds can receive the support they need. I want to cultivate a space where individuals, especially those from marginalized backgrounds, feel heard, validated, and empowered in their healing journeys. Ultimately, my goal is to leave a legacy of kindness, mentorship, and advocacy. Whether through my work as a physician, my research, or my entrepreneurial endeavors, I strive to build a more compassionate healthcare system—one that ensures every patient, regardless of background, receives the care and dignity they deserve.

I have always believed that adversity is not a barrier but a catalyst for change. Growing up in a financially unstable household, I saw firsthand how limited access to healthcare and education deepens inequality. My father, an Iraqi Jewish refugee, sacrificed his own education to support our family, instilling in me the resilience to break cycles of hardship. Today, as a student doctor at Emory University, I am driven by a mission to make healthcare more equitable. I serve as president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization, where I launched "JMed," a mentorship program connecting underprivileged Jewish medical students with physician mentors. I also founded Educate Heal Empower, an initiative promoting eating disorder education in marginalized communities. At my core, I am a creator. I founded Emory Medical Musicians, where my friends and I play music for older adults, using melody to rekindle lost memories and ease loneliness. I write poetry about my clinical experiences, weaving words into reflections on grief, healing, and resilience. Art is how I process the weight of medicine, and I cannot separate the two—because medicine, at its best, is deeply human. But my journey has not been easy. I have juggled medical school while financially supporting my family, often facing moments of uncertainty about whether I could continue. Yet, I have never let obstacles define me. Instead, I’ve turned them into fuel for my advocacy. This scholarship is not just financial support; it is a vote of confidence in my ability to create change. It would allow me to focus on my medical training, expand my initiatives, and ultimately fulfill my dream of building a healthcare system that serves not just the privileged but everyone in need. Because no one’s future should be limited by where they started.

Growing up in a family that faced financial instability, I learned resilience at an early age. My father, an Iraqi Jewish refugee, was forced to abandon his education to support himself. His sacrifices instilled in me a fierce determination to pursue medicine despite the barriers in my way. As a first-generation student and the first in my family to enter medicine, I have navigated my journey with grit, driven by a deep-seated belief in lifting others as I climb. Compassion is the foundation upon which I have built my personal and professional life. At 17, I struggled with anorexia, an experience that made me painfully aware of the stigma surrounding mental health. Rather than receiving support, I was told I was “too sick for college,” reinforcing the idea that my struggles made me incapable. I fought against this narrative, seeking recovery on my own terms. My healing began when I learned to extend compassion to myself—allowing vulnerability and opening up to others about my struggles. Now, as a medical student, I strive to create spaces where individuals feel safe sharing their pain without fear of judgment. Curiosity is another force that has shaped me. My fascination with the brain and mental health led me to study biology and ultimately pursue psychiatry. I am particularly drawn to the intersection of neurology and psychiatry, as my grandmother’s misdiagnosed brain tumor highlighted the urgent need for better diagnostic approaches. This experience fuels my passion for research and advocacy, ensuring that patients receive not only proper treatment but also the dignity and understanding they deserve. At Emory, I have turned my experiences into action. I co-founded Educate Heal Empower, an organization dedicated to promoting body positivity and educating middle and high school students about healthy relationships with food and self-image. Through workshops and open discussions, I aim to dismantle the stigma surrounding eating disorders and encourage early intervention. Additionally, I launched Emory Medical Musicians, an ensemble that brings comfort to older adults struggling with loneliness and cognitive decline. Witnessing music spark joy in individuals who feel forgotten has reinforced my commitment to using every tool available—whether medical, artistic, or educational—to heal others. As a first-generation medical student, I have faced financial obstacles while pursuing my education, balancing rigorous coursework with the need to support myself and my family. The Sloane Stephens Doc & Glo Scholarship would ease this burden, allowing me to focus more on my medical training, research, and advocacy work. It would also empower me to expand Educate Heal Empower, reaching more underserved communities, and continue integrating psychiatry, neurology, and oncology to improve patient care. Ultimately, my goal is to use my voice and platform to uplift others. I want to create a future where mental health care is not only accessible but also compassionate and personalized. With this scholarship’s support, I can continue turning adversity into action—ensuring that no one feels alone in their struggles.

Compassion is the foundation upon which my personal and professional life is built. At 17, I struggled with anorexia, an experience that taught me firsthand how isolating and shameful it can feel to battle mental health challenges—especially in the face of societal pressures and unrealistic standards. My recovery began when I learned to extend compassion to myself, allowing vulnerability and opening up to others about my struggles. This realization shapes my work in mental health today, where I strive to create safe spaces for individuals to express their pain without fear of judgment. To me, compassion is not just about kindness; it is about recognizing the validity of each person’s pain, extending empathy, and walking alongside them through their healing, no matter how long the journey takes. Curiosity is another driving force in my life. As a medical student at Emory University, I have been deeply fascinated by the neurobiological underpinnings of eating disorders and mental health. This intellectual curiosity fuels both my research and patient care. I seek to understand not only symptoms but also the root causes of struggles—knowing that true healing requires a holistic perspective. Mental health care is an evolving field, and I remain open-minded, continuously learning and adapting to provide the most informed, compassionate care possible. Alongside compassion and curiosity, I deeply value individuality. No two people experience mental health in the same way, and my own recovery has reinforced how deeply personal healing is. In my clinical work, I am committed to honoring each patient’s unique journey. For instance, I recently worked with a patient navigating both an eating disorder and IBS—conditions that are often intertwined yet rarely treated with an integrative approach. By acknowledging the intersection of her mental and physical health and collaborating with a dietitian, I helped her develop a care plan that respected her personal experience and long-term well-being. At Emory, I co-founded Educate Heal Empower, an organization dedicated to promoting body positivity and educating middle and high school students about healthy relationships with food and self-image. By developing workshops and speaking openly about my experiences, I aim to break the stigma surrounding eating disorders and encourage early intervention. Additionally, I launched Emory Medical Musicians, an ensemble that plays for older adults struggling with loneliness and cognitive decline, using music as a tool for emotional healing. These initiatives reflect my lifelong commitment to using knowledge and advocacy to uplift others. As a first-generation medical student, I have faced financial challenges while pursuing my education, balancing academic demands with the need to support myself and my family. The Kayla Nicole Monk Memorial Scholarship would alleviate some of this financial burden, allowing me to focus more on my medical training, research, and community impact. With this support, I could expand Educate Heal Empower to reach more underserved communities, dedicate more time to Emory Medical Musicians, and advance my long-term goal of integrating psychiatry, neurology, and oncology to improve mental health care and brain cancer treatment. Ultimately, this scholarship is not just an investment in my education—it is an investment in the future of compassionate, patient-centered care that I strive to provide. I hope to continue breaking barriers in mental health advocacy, ensuring that no one faces their struggles alone.

The perfect ending to The Bear would balance realism and optimism, giving closure to its characters while acknowledging the chaos and beauty of the restaurant world. Here’s how I imagine it: At some point—maybe after losing another talented chef, or after a blowout fight with Sydney—Carmy is forced to confront the fact that he has become exactly the kind of chef who made his life miserable in New York. He sees how his obsessive pursuit of perfection, his lashing out, and his inability to trust others are not just "the price of greatness" but real harm being inflicted on the people who believe in him. Maybe Sydney is the one to finally say it outright: “You talk about all these terrible people you worked under, but have you ever thought about how you’re doing the same thing?” Or maybe it comes from Richie, in a rare moment of wisdom: “Mikey treated me like shit sometimes, but at least I knew he loved me. Do these people even know you give a shit about them?” Carmy doesn’t have an immediate, grand redemption. But he starts taking real steps—apologizing, loosening his grip on control, showing gratitude instead of assuming people should just "get it." He realizes that being a great chef isn’t just about making perfect food but about creating an environment where people want to cook. Instead of running from his trauma, Carmy uses his experiences to do better, maybe he starts mentoring young chefs in a positive way that he never got. Maybe Carmy implements healthier kitchen practices—breaks, actual days off, a culture where people don’t have to be screamed at to learn. He doesn’t become some perfect, always-calm leader overnight, but he makes the conscious choice to be better. By the end of the series, Carmy isn’t just a brilliant chef—he’s someone people want to work with. And for the first time, he’s not just surviving. He’s living. He does not measure his meaning or worth in life by the success of his restaurant. Sydney evolves into Carmy’s true partner, not just in the kitchen but in vision and leadership. She gets the respect and credit she deserves as co-owner of The Bear, and her talent earns her a Michelin star. More importantly, she realizes she doesn’t need Carmy’s validation—she has always been brilliant. She still dreams of having her own place, but instead of running away, she builds it within The Bear, making it an extension of herself.

My journey in mental health advocacy began with my own struggles. As a teenager, I battled an eating disorder and often felt isolated and misunderstood. Through recovery, I realized the power of compassion, community, and individualized support. This experience shaped my commitment to helping others navigate their mental health challenges. I used to get angry with myself for having a bad mental health day or experiencing setbacks in my recovery. I saw those moments as a failure until I asked myself—would I ever judge a fellow patient for having a difficult day? Would I blame them for struggling? Of course not. I would meet them with kindness, understanding, and encouragement. That was when I realized I needed to extend the same grace to myself. I would remind a patient that healing is not linear and I had to accept that my own journey deserved the same compassion. At Emory, I co-founded the organization "Educate Heal Empower", which is dedicated to promoting body positivity and educating middle and high school students about healthy relationships with food and self-image. By developing workshops and speaking openly about my experiences, I aim to break the stigma surrounding eating disorders and encourage early intervention. Additionally, I launched Emory Medical Musicians, an ensemble that plays for older adults struggling with loneliness and cognitive decline, using music as a tool for emotional healing. As a future psychiatrist, I plan to integrate medical expertise with deep emotional support. My goal is to create a mental health startup that provides accessible, stigma-free care, combining therapy, psychiatry, and mindfulness-based interventions. I want to cultivate a space where individuals, especially those from marginalized backgrounds, feel heard, validated, and empowered in their healing journeys. Ultimately, my career will be guided by the same values that shaped my own recovery—compassion, curiosity, and individuality. I strive to make mental health care more human-centered, ensuring that no one feels alone in their struggles.

Losing my older brother was the most painful experience of my life. He was 21, a senior in college, full of dreams and ambitions, when a tragic car accident took him away. It felt impossible to comprehend—one moment, he was here, making me laugh with his quick wit and boundless energy, and the next, he was gone. The grief was overwhelming, but what I hadn’t anticipated was the anger that followed. I was furious at the truck driver who struck him, at G-d for allowing this to happen, and at myself for not being a better sister while he was alive. When I returned to campus after two semesters of remote learning due to COVID-19, I felt like I was walking through a world that no longer made sense. Around me, students were joyfully reuniting, excited for in-person classes and the return of normalcy. I, however, seethed with resentment. My world had shattered, and yet life for everyone else moved forward. How could that be fair? How could fate be so cruel as to take away someone who had so much left to give? For months, I held onto the belief that my grief was mine alone to carry. I convinced myself that no one could truly understand the depth of what I had lost. But grief is a strange thing—it isolates you, yet it also connects you in ways you don’t expect. It was only when I finally reached out to my brother’s friends and our extended family that I began to understand this. We shared stories about him—the ridiculous jokes he would tell, the way he always made people feel seen, the way he loved fiercely. In doing so, I realized that he wasn’t truly gone. He lived on in our memories, in the people he touched, and in the love we continued to hold for him. I also had to learn the hardest lesson of all: forgiveness. I had to forgive myself for the moments I wished I had done more—for the phone calls I didn’t return, for the days I was too busy to check in, for the ways I now wished I had made his last months better. I had to forgive the world for taking him too soon, even though I may never understand why. And most of all, I had to extend kindness to myself. Losing my brother changed me in ways I am still coming to terms with. It deepened my empathy for others who carry unseen pain. It reinforced my belief in the power of community and storytelling to heal and it strengthened my resolve to live my life with the kindness and love that he embodied. Now, as a medical student, I carry my big brother’s charisma, kindness, and patience with me in every patient room I enter. I know that so many of the people I will care for will be facing some of the hardest moments of their lives. While fate can be cruel and unfair, I have come to understand that honoring my brother’s memory means being a source of comfort and support for others—just as he was for me.

My personal connection to medicine is rooted in a deeply formative experience I had when my grandmother, a constant source of love, guidance, and strength in my life, was diagnosed with a tumor in her frontal lobe. When her behavior changed—becoming erratic, cruel, and unlike the woman I knew—I was confused and frightened. The medical professionals initially misdiagnosed her condition as Alzheimer’s or dementia, dismissing her cognitive decline 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 correct 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 experience had a profound impact on me. It was an eye-opening lesson in the complexities of brain cancer, a disease that can manifest in such diverse and subtle ways. Watching her fight through surgery and recovery deepened my resolve to pursue medicine and sparked an enduring passion for advocacy in neurological diseases. I learned firsthand how critical early diagnosis and proper treatment are in improving outcomes, and I became acutely aware of the need for emotional and medical support for patients and families navigating 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 my time and energy to initiatives that seek to improve both the quality of life and survival rates for those diagnosed with this disease. One initiative I’m particularly proud of is organizing "Brain Cancer Awareness Week" at Emory, which featured 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 shaped 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. 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 families. My long-term goal is to contribute to the development of more effective treatments while ensuring that patients receive comprehensive care and support. My grandmother’s journey ignited my passion for medicine, and I am committed to carrying forward her strength by dedicating my career to improving outcomes for individuals affected by cancer.

The Jim Coots Scholarship funding would have a profound impact on both my education and my ability to make a meaningful difference in the field of holistic health and healing. As a first-generation medical student, I have faced financial challenges while pursuing my education, balancing academic demands with the need to support myself and my family. This scholarship would alleviate some of the financial burden, allowing me to focus more on my medical training and research in psychiatry and holistic approaches to mental health care. It would provide me with the stability to continue my studies without the added stress of financial insecurity, empowering me to dedicate myself fully to becoming the best physician I can be. My vision for holistic health extends beyond traditional psychiatry. I believe in an integrative approach that addresses mental health through a combination of therapy, medication, mindfulness, community support, and lifestyle interventions. My experiences as a medical student and mental health advocate have shown me that healing is not one-size-fits-all—each patient requires a personalized approach that considers their unique emotional, physical, and social circumstances. The Jim Coots Scholarship would enable me to further explore innovative ways to bridge traditional psychiatric care with holistic practices, such as mindfulness-based therapy, movement-based interventions, and social connection programs that foster long-term healing. In addition to my clinical work, I hope to expand access to mental health care for underserved communities. Many individuals, particularly those facing socioeconomic challenges, struggle to access mental health services due to financial constraints, stigma, or systemic barriers. Through my future work as a psychiatrist and entrepreneur, I aim to build a model of care that is both accessible and comprehensive. My goal is to integrate holistic mental health services into community-based care, ensuring that individuals from all backgrounds can receive the support they need. Furthermore, my own experiences with grief and resilience have reinforced the importance of emotional and spiritual well-being in healing. After losing my brother, I initially believed I had to endure the pain alone, but I later found solace in community, self-compassion, and faith. This journey has shaped my approach to medicine, as I recognize that true healing requires not only clinical interventions but also human connection, kindness, and understanding. With the support of the Jim Coots Scholarship, I will continue to advocate for a holistic, patient-centered approach to healing—one that empowers individuals to take control of their mental health, fosters community support, and integrates diverse healing modalities. My mission is to create a world where mental health care is not only accessible but also deeply compassionate and individualized, ensuring that every patient feels seen, heard, and valued on their journey to well-being.

As a Jewish individual, the principles of Tikkun Olam (repairing the world) and Gemilut Chasadim (acts of loving kindness) have shaped the foundation of my personal and professional aspirations. These values have guided me toward a career in medicine, where I aim to heal and help others while promoting equity and justice. Through my experiences, I have come to understand that healing is not just a matter of physical treatment, but of understanding, compassion, and connection. These Jewish principles have deeply influenced my approach to patient care and my vision for making a positive impact on the world. Tikkun Olam teaches that each of us has a responsibility to make the world a better place. In the context of healthcare, this means working to address the disparities that exist in access to care. I have seen firsthand how marginalized communities face challenges in receiving adequate medical treatment, and this drives me to advocate for healthcare equity. I am particularly passionate about advocating for mental health, as the stigma and lack of resources surrounding mental illness can be devastating for individuals, especially those from underprivileged backgrounds. Through my work with Educate Heal Empower and my future career as a psychiatrist, I aim to dismantle these barriers and provide comprehensive, stigma-free care. By focusing on preventive care, access to mental health services, and community education, I hope to make a lasting impact on the lives of those who need it most. Gemilut Chasadim, the practice of performing acts of loving kindness, is at the heart of my interactions with others. Throughout my life, I have seen how small acts of kindness can profoundly impact someone's well-being. As a medical student, I apply this principle in my work by taking the time to listen to my patients, offering them empathy and understanding in their most vulnerable moments. I believe that showing kindness—whether through a comforting word, a thoughtful gesture, or simply being present—can provide healing that extends beyond medicine. As I continue my education and eventually begin practicing psychiatry, I will carry this principle with me, ensuring that I approach each patient with the respect, care, and compassion they deserve. Moreover, my Jewish faith instills in me the belief that every person has a purpose. This idea has been a source of great strength throughout my life, particularly during difficult times such as the loss of my brother. It has given me the confidence to trust that my own purpose is to help others, to be a compassionate healer, and to contribute to the well-being of the world. It has provided me with the resilience to continue on my path, even when faced with challenges, knowing that I am fulfilling my calling by supporting others. In my future career as a psychiatrist, I will use the values of Tikkun Olam and Gemilut Chasadim to guide my work, ensuring that I provide not only expert care but also the emotional and spiritual support my patients need. Through these values, I am committed to creating a healthcare environment where everyone is treated with dignity and kindness, where healing is about the whole person, and where every individual can find their path toward well-being.

My favorite book-to-film adaptation is Fantastic Mr. Fox, a film that perfectly captures the whimsy and charm of Roald Dahl’s beloved book. As a child, Fantastic Mr. Fox resonated with me in a profound way. The cleverness of Mr. Fox and his ability to outwit his enemies gave me confidence in being the “weird” kid and helped me recognize my own unique qualities. The story’s sense of adventure, combined with its quirky characters, instilled in me the understanding that being different was something to embrace and celebrate. This lesson was formative for me as I navigated my own childhood and adolescence, where I often felt out of place due to my unique background and interests. When the film adaptation directed by Wes Anderson was released, it bridged the gap between the reading and viewing experiences in a way that added an entirely new dimension to the story. Anderson’s signature stop-motion animation style brought the book’s vibrant world to life in an incredibly detailed and imaginative way. The characters, settings, and actions that I had visualized while reading were now tangible, and the film’s meticulous craftsmanship allowed me to experience the story in a fresh and exciting way. Anderson’s use of color, symmetry, and quirky visual compositions gave the film a warmth and depth that enhanced the emotional impact of the story, while still staying true to Dahl’s original spirit. The adaptation didn’t just rely on visuals; it introduced a level of emotional complexity that deepened the story’s themes. In the book, Mr. Fox is a charming and clever character, but the film explores his inner conflicts in a way that adds a layer of growth and vulnerability. The dynamic between Mr. Fox and his family felt even more tangible in the film, as Anderson’s direction and the voice acting brought out the warmth and care in their relationships. These moments of emotional depth provided a stronger connection to the characters, making their struggles and triumphs feel even more meaningful. What truly makes Fantastic Mr. Fox special is the way it blends humor and heart, and the music plays a key role in this. The film’s soundtrack, composed by Alexandre Desplat, adds another layer of love and warmth to the story. The music has a nostalgic, almost comforting quality to it, which is especially meaningful to me. When I’m going through tough times, the film’s music helps bring me back to the comforting world of Fantastic Mr. Fox, where resilience and family are celebrated. It’s a reminder that no matter the challenges we face, there’s always room for love, humor, and creativity. In conclusion, Fantastic Mr. Fox stands out as an exceptional book-to-film adaptation because it bridges the gap between the reading and viewing experiences in a meaningful way. The film enhances the story with its stunning visuals, emotional depth, and unforgettable music, making it not just a retelling, but an enriching extension of the original book. As both a child and an adult, the story continues to inspire me to embrace my individuality and find strength in my uniqueness, making this adaptation an enduring favorite.

Mental health plays a crucial role in both academic performance and personal life, especially for students navigating the pressures of rigorous academic environments. As a medical student, the demands of school can be overwhelming at times, and maintaining mental health becomes an ongoing challenge. When mental health is not prioritized, it can lead to burnout, decreased academic performance, and a general sense of disconnection from both studies and personal life. However, by actively managing my mental health, I’ve learned to create a balance that allows me to thrive in both areas. Academic performance is often directly influenced by mental health. High stress, anxiety, or a lack of self-compassion can lead to difficulty focusing, procrastination, and even physical symptoms such as fatigue or sleep disturbances. During moments of stress, I’ve noticed a decline in my ability to retain information and perform well on exams, as anxiety can cloud my concentration and decision-making. This can create a vicious cycle—poor mental health affects academic performance, which then leads to more stress, further impacting mental health. Recognizing this cycle early on was crucial to my academic success and well-being. One of the most important steps I’ve taken to prioritize mental health while in school is practicing self-compassion. I remind myself that setbacks, stress, or mistakes do not define my worth or abilities. When I begin to feel overwhelmed, I allow myself to step back, take a deep breath, and reassess my approach. By acknowledging my limitations and treating myself with the same kindness I would offer to a friend, I create an environment in which I can focus on progress rather than perfection. This mindset helps me reframe challenges as opportunities for growth, rather than sources of anxiety. In addition to self-compassion, I maintain a strong support network. Building connections with classmates, professors, and mentors who understand the pressures of school provides both emotional and academic support. Having people to talk to, share experiences with, and receive encouragement from makes a world of difference in reducing feelings of isolation or inadequacy. I also make it a priority to engage in activities outside of school that bring me joy and relaxation, such as playing the flute or participating in "Emory Medical Musicians." These activities help me disconnect from the academic world and recharge, which is essential for maintaining both my mental health and my academic performance. Personal life also demands attention when balancing the pressures of school. As a first-generation student with a strong sense of responsibility to my family, I often feel torn between academic commitments and personal obligations. The pressure to succeed academically while remaining present for my loved ones can lead to feelings of guilt, especially when I am unable to meet expectations on all fronts. To manage this, I set boundaries, ensure I allocate time for family and personal needs, and practice mindfulness to stay grounded in the present moment. By prioritizing self-care and recognizing that I can only do my best, I reduce the pressure to be perfect and create space for balance. Overall, taking steps to prioritize my mental health has allowed me to succeed academically while leading a fulfilling personal life. Through self-compassion, a strong support system, and the maintenance of a healthy balance, I continue to thrive despite the challenges that come with being a student.

I enrolled in my current program at Emory University School of Medicine to pursue a career in medicine, driven by my passion for helping others, particularly those from underserved communities, and addressing healthcare disparities. As a first-generation student, I am deeply aware of the barriers many people face in accessing quality healthcare, and I want to use my medical training to challenge these inequities. My background in working with marginalized groups, particularly through initiatives like JMed and Educate Heal Empower, has only strengthened my commitment to creating a more inclusive healthcare system. Through my program, I have gained invaluable knowledge and skills that will help me make a positive impact on society. I am learning not only the clinical aspects of medicine but also the human side of healthcare—how to connect with patients, understand their experiences, and advocate for their needs. I plan to use this knowledge to not only treat patients but also to drive systemic change, particularly in mental health care, where I hope to integrate innovative, accessible, and stigma-free treatment options. My goal is to make healthcare more equitable and ensure that no one is left behind, regardless of their socioeconomic background. Working while being a college student has had a profound impact on me both personally and academically. Juggling work with my studies has taught me time management, resilience, and the importance of self-care. It also deepened my understanding of the struggles faced by many students, particularly those from lower-income backgrounds, and how external pressures can affect academic performance and well-being. Balancing work and school has further fueled my desire to advocate for students facing financial hardships, as I’ve seen firsthand how difficult it can be to navigate the pressures of both academics and personal responsibilities. Working has also allowed me to apply what I’ve learned in real-world settings, particularly through my involvement in various community initiatives. Whether organizing mentorship programs or providing education on eating disorders, my work has allowed me to connect with people, listen to their stories, and gain a deeper understanding of the challenges they face. This knowledge, in turn, has enriched my studies, giving me a more well-rounded perspective on the needs of my future patients and the broader societal challenges we need to address in healthcare. In sum, my enrollment in this program has been a stepping stone toward a career dedicated to improving the lives of those who are often overlooked by the healthcare system. I plan to use my education, along with my personal experiences, to advocate for equitable care, support marginalized communities, and create meaningful change in the healthcare system.

I am a first-generation college student, a future psychiatrist, and an advocate for mental health equity. Growing up in a family that faced financial instability, I witnessed firsthand how socioeconomic barriers limit access to both education and medical care. These experiences shaped my commitment to creating a more inclusive healthcare system—one that not only treats patients but also works to dismantle systemic inequities in mental health care. My passion for psychiatry stems from both personal and community experiences. I have seen how mental health struggles can go unnoticed, dismissed, or stigmatized, particularly in marginalized communities. My own journey has reinforced how crucial it is to have support, understanding, and accessible treatment. This inspired me to launch Educate Heal Empower, an organization focused on improving eating disorder education and prevention, particularly in underrepresented communities. I hope to continue this work as a psychiatrist, ensuring that those struggling with mental illness—especially those from underserved backgrounds—receive the care and advocacy they deserve. Beyond psychiatry, music has always been an integral part of my life and a powerful tool for connection. I launched Emory Medical Musicians, an ensemble that brings live music to struggling older adults, particularly those facing loneliness or cognitive decline. Playing the flute for these individuals has shown me firsthand how music can spark joy, evoke memories, and even improve cognitive function. This experience has deepened my understanding of the mind-body connection and the role of creative expression in mental well-being—an approach I hope to integrate into my future psychiatric practice. In addition to patient care, I am committed to mentorship and breaking down barriers for future generations of medical students. I founded JMed, a mentorship program that connects Jewish medical students—especially those from underprivileged backgrounds—with experienced physicians to provide guidance and support. I know firsthand the challenges of navigating higher education and medical school without a built-in support system, and I strive to ensure that others facing similar struggles have the resources and community they need to succeed. Looking ahead, I plan to further expand access to mental health care by launching a mental health startup that provides comprehensive, stigma-free treatment for anxiety and depression. By integrating coaching, therapy, psychiatry, and mindfulness tools under one platform, I hope to create a supportive community that empowers individuals to prioritize their well-being. At the heart of my career goals is the belief that healthcare should be compassionate, inclusive, and accessible to all. Whether through direct patient care, mentorship, advocacy, music, or innovation, I am committed to breaking down barriers and ensuring that no one is left behind in their pursuit of health and healing. As a future psychiatrist, I hope to not only treat mental illness but also create lasting change in how we approach and support mental well-being in our society.

Being a first-generation college student has profoundly shaped my career goals by instilling in me a deep understanding of resilience, perseverance, and the importance of accessible opportunities. Coming from a family that faced financial instability, I saw firsthand how socioeconomic barriers could limit access to education, healthcare, and upward mobility. These experiences fueled my passion for medicine—not just as a means of healing individuals, but as a way to address systemic inequities in healthcare. Navigating college and medical school without the guidance of family members who had been through the process meant I had to seek out mentors, advocate for myself, and build my own support system. This has made me deeply committed to mentorship and advocacy, particularly for students from underrepresented and economically disadvantaged backgrounds. Through initiatives like JMed, the mentorship program I launched at Emory, I strive to ensure that others facing similar struggles have the guidance and community they need to succeed. Moreover, my firsthand experience with financial and social challenges has strengthened my resolve to work toward a more equitable healthcare system. I understand what it means to delay or forgo care due to financial concerns, and I want to be the kind of physician who not only treats patients but also fights for policies that improve healthcare accessibility. My long-term goal of launching a mental health startup stems from this same motivation—I want to create innovative solutions that make mental health care more affordable, inclusive, and accessible to those who need it most. Being a first-generation student means constantly pushing past barriers, but it has also given me a unique perspective—one that fuels my drive to uplift others, challenge inequities, and ensure that the path to education and healthcare is more accessible for future generations.

Wicked resonates deeply with me because it challenges the idea of good versus evil, showing how perspective shapes our understanding of others. Elphaba, the so-called “Wicked Witch,” is judged unfairly for being different—ostracized for her green skin and labeled a villain despite her compassion and strong moral convictions. Her story mirrors the experiences of those who face prejudice simply for who they are, something I’ve encountered as an Iraqi Jewish individual. Like Elphaba, I’ve seen how misconceptions can lead to exclusion, and her resilience in the face of adversity inspires me. Beyond its powerful themes of identity and injustice, Wicked is also a story about friendship, personal growth, and the struggle between staying true to oneself and seeking acceptance. The relationship between Elphaba and Glinda reminds me of the people in my life who have shaped me, particularly my big brother. For Good speaks to the lasting impact we have on one another, echoing the way my brother’s kindness and charisma continue to guide me as I care for patients. As a medical student, Wicked reinforces my belief in looking beyond labels and assumptions. Many patients, especially those from marginalized backgrounds, face stigma that affects their care. Elphaba’s story reminds me that advocacy is not always easy, but it is necessary. Her determination to stand up for what’s right, even when the world misunderstands her, mirrors my own commitment to creating a more inclusive and compassionate healthcare system. Ultimately, Wicked is about rewriting the narrative—seeing beyond what we’ve been told and embracing the complexity of people’s stories. It reminds me to lead with empathy, challenge injustice, and, like Elphaba, defy expectations to create a better world.

From an early age, I was captivated by the intersection of science and human resilience. Growing up in a family that faced financial instability, I understood the disparities in healthcare access and the profound impact that medical care—or the lack thereof—could have on a person’s life. My decision to pursue a STEM-related field, specifically medicine, was deeply personal. Watching my father struggle with limited educational opportunities after fleeing Iraq for Israel, I recognized that knowledge could be both a privilege and a powerful tool for change. I was determined to use my education to improve healthcare accessibility for underserved communities. My passion for medicine was solidified when I faced my own health struggles as a teenager. At 17, I battled alcoholism, an experience that not only shaped my understanding of addiction but also revealed the critical gaps in mental health care. It was through the support of a compassionate psychiatrist that I found the courage to recover, and this experience inspired me to become a physician who would provide that same level of care and understanding to others. As a student doctor at Emory University School of Medicine, I am committed to advancing mental health treatment and working to reduce the stigma surrounding addiction and psychiatric care. Beyond clinical medicine, I am deeply invested in research and innovation. I currently spearhead a research project investigating biomarkers in Parkinson’s disease, aiming to improve early diagnosis and treatment outcomes. I also plan to launch a mental health startup that offers comprehensive care and medication management online. Through this venture, I hope to destigmatize mental health treatment and create a holistic platform that integrates therapy, coaching, psychiatry, and mindfulness tools, ensuring that mental health care is both accessible and personalized. Community service is at the heart of everything I do. As president of the Jewish Medical Student Organization at Emory, I have worked to create mentorship opportunities for Jewish medical students, particularly those from underprivileged backgrounds. I also founded Emory Medical Musicians, a volunteer group that brings live music to seniors in assisted living facilities, recognizing the therapeutic power of music in improving mental well-being. In addition, I launched Educate Heal Empower, an organization focused on educating young people about alcoholism, addiction, and mental health. Ultimately, my goal is to leave a legacy of kindness, mentorship, and advocacy. Whether through my work as a physician, my research, or my entrepreneurial endeavors, I strive to build a more compassionate healthcare system—one that ensures every patient, regardless of background, receives the care and dignity they deserve.

Compassion is the foundation upon which my personal and professional life is built. At 17, I struggled with alcoholism, an experience that taught me firsthand how isolating and shameful it can feel to battle mental health challenges—especially in the face of societal pressures and unrealistic standards. My recovery began when I learned to extend compassion to myself, allowing vulnerability and opening up to others about my struggles. This realization shapes my work in mental health today, where I strive to create safe spaces where individuals can express their pain without fear of judgment. I want everyone, regardless of background or struggle, to know they are not alone. Compassion, to me, is not just about offering kindness—it is about recognizing the validity of each person’s pain, extending empathy, and walking alongside them through their healing, no matter how long the journey takes. Curiosity is another driving force in my life. As a student of biology and now a medical student at Emory University, I have been deeply fascinated by the neurobiological underpinnings of alcoholism and mental health. This intellectual curiosity fuels both my research and my approach to patient care. In working with individuals, I seek to understand not only their symptoms but also the root causes of their struggles—knowing that true healing requires a holistic perspective. Mental health care is an evolving field, and I strive to remain open-minded, continuously learning and adapting to provide the most informed, compassionate care possible. Alongside compassion and curiosity, I deeply value individuality. No two people experience mental health in the same way, and my own recovery has reinforced how deeply personal healing is. In my clinical work, I am committed to honoring each patient’s unique journey, tailoring care to their specific needs. For instance, I recently worked with a patient navigating both alcoholism and chronic pain, conditions that are often intertwined yet rarely treated with an integrative approach. By acknowledging the intersection of her mental and physical health and collaborating with a multidisciplinary team, I helped her develop a care plan that respected her personal experience and long-term well-being. Ultimately, my guiding mission is to foster resilience and compassion in a world where mental health is no longer stigmatized but embraced as an integral part of well-being. Whether through my future work as a psychiatrist, my research on alcoholism, or my entrepreneurial aspirations in mental health care, I am committed to creating spaces where people feel seen, supported, and empowered in their unique journeys toward healing.

Growing up in a family where financial stability was never a given, I learned early on the weight of socioeconomic adversity. As the first in my family to pursue medicine, I’ve faced many challenges—balancing rigorous education while supporting my family, navigating spaces where I didn’t always feel I belonged, and overcoming financial constraints. But these struggles have also given me a deep sense of responsibility: to ensure that others, especially those from marginalized backgrounds, have access to the care and opportunities they deserve. During high school, I was diagnosed with a serious eating disorder. At my lowest point, I felt like my dreams—of becoming a physician, of achieving anything at all—were slipping away. But everything changed when I met a psychiatrist who truly saw me. He didn’t just see my illness; he saw my potential. His belief in me was transformative, giving me the courage to seek help, lean on my community, and ultimately recover. This experience shaped my understanding of the profound impact that mentorship and compassionate care can have on a person’s life. Now, as a medical student at Emory University School of Medicine, I strive to be that source of support for others. When I recently connected with a patient struggling with an eating disorder, I could see myself in her story. I helped her manage her anxiety around food and guided her in finding a dietitian, hoping to provide the same unwavering belief that once saved me. Beyond individual encounters, I co-founded Educate Heal Empower, an organization dedicated to improving education and prevention of eating disorders in Atlanta, with a focus on youth and underrepresented communities. I’m passionate about advancing the neurobiological understanding of eating disorders and expanding access to care, particularly for those who have been historically overlooked. My commitment to healthcare extends beyond my clinical work. I plan to leave a legacy of kindness, mentorship, and advocacy—ensuring that I do everything I can for my patients, particularly aging and underserved populations. To further this mission, I am spearheading a research project on biomarkers in Parkinson’s disease and founded Emory Medical Musicians, a volunteer group that brings music to seniors in assisted living facilities. Looking ahead, I plan to build a mental health startup that offers comprehensive, accessible online care. Our goal is to create a community that destigmatizes mental health treatment, integrating coaching, therapy, psychiatry, and Employee Assistance Program (EAP) services under one roof. We are developing mindfulness tools—including guided meditations, sleepcasts, mindful movement, and focus exercises—to provide holistic support beyond traditional medication management. Through every initiative I undertake, whether in medicine, research, or entrepreneurship, my goal remains the same: to uplift those who feel unseen, to create spaces of belonging, and to leave behind a legacy of care and compassion.

Losing my older brother was the most painful experience of my life. He was 21, a senior in college, full of dreams and ambitions, when a tragic car accident took him away. It felt impossible to comprehend—one moment, he was here, making me laugh with his quick wit and boundless energy, and the next, he was gone. The grief was overwhelming, but what I hadn’t anticipated was the anger that followed. I was furious at the truck driver who struck him, at G-d for allowing this to happen, and at myself for not being a better sister while he was alive. When I returned to campus after two semesters of remote learning due to COVID-19, I felt like I was walking through a world that no longer made sense. Around me, students were joyfully reuniting, excited for in-person classes and the return of normalcy. I, however, seethed with resentment. My world had shattered, and yet life for everyone else moved forward. How could that be fair? How could fate be so cruel as to take away someone who had so much left to give? For months, I held onto the belief that my grief was mine alone to carry. I convinced myself that no one could truly understand the depth of what I had lost. But grief is a strange thing—it isolates you, yet it also connects you in ways you don’t expect. It was only when I finally reached out to my brother’s friends and our extended family that I began to understand this. We shared stories about him—the ridiculous jokes he would tell, the way he always made people feel seen, the way he loved fiercely. And in doing so, I realized that he wasn’t truly gone. He lived on in our memories, in the people he touched, and in the love we continued to hold for him. I also had to learn the hardest lesson of all: forgiveness. I had to forgive myself for the moments I wished I had done more—for the phone calls I didn’t return, for the days I was too busy to check in, for the ways I now wished I had made his last months better. I had to forgive the world for taking him too soon, even though I may never understand why. And most of all, I had to extend kindness to myself. Losing my brother changed me in ways I am still coming to terms with. It deepened my empathy for others who carry unseen pain. It reinforced my belief in the power of community and storytelling to heal. And it strengthened my resolve to live my life with the kindness and love that he embodied. Now, as a medical student, I carry my big brother’s charisma, kindness, and patience with me in every patient room I enter. I know that so many of the people I will care for will be facing some of the hardest moments of their lives. While fate can be cruel and unfair, I have come to understand that honoring my brother’s memory means being a source of comfort and support for others—just as he was for me.

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.