“Knowledge, ultimately, calls for a life of service,” which aligns with the Hebrew phrase Tikkun Olam, meaning "repairing the world."Tikkun Olam and a commitment to service—reflect my lifelong advocacy, which I approach through faith. Through my connection to Judaism, I have connected with Christians in Los Angeles to sing songs of worship, I have led religious services, and have traveled across the country to study history through a religious lens. My idea of "paying it forward" entails building bridges, leading discussions to build empathy, and listening to differing points of view. I believe that while it is easy to love a neighbor who shares similar circumstances, loving a stranger requires greater compassion; During my recent travels to Selma and Birmingham Alabama, I traveled with Reverends, Pastors, and Rabbis to study the Civil Rights movement. I worked with Reverend Tucker, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr’s former bodyguard, and Reverend Gwendolyn Webb who was a footsoldier during the Children's March. This experience made me realize that anyone at any age can be a change-maker-- further strengthening my desire to heal the world with compassion and advocacy. At my reformed synagogue I chant Torah in honor of all the women who are prohibited from doing so, and sing on the bimah-- challenging traditional laws that restrain women from praying like a man. I lead discussions at school regarding bodily autonomy and combine my love for the arts with my passion for human and civil laws. Though I have much to learn, having access to education has given me the platform to understand that knowledge is power, and it is only a gift if I can uplift people with it. As Tikkun Olam and acts of service live symbiotically, both phrases imply that with education comes the responsibility to not mend the world, but do my part to not stand idly by in the face of injustice. Hearing Reverend Gwendolyn Webb say “You are not the leaders of tomorrow, you are the leaders of today" opened my eyes, and sparked a larger flame within me to continue advocating against educational barriers, discrimination, and hate. Reverend Gwen's story of resilience and leadership at just 14 years old, taught me that advocacy begins when there is a need to address injustice and that waiting for the perfect opportunity is not an option-- reminding me that making change has no age limit and that achieving peace is possible at any stage of life. Her story inspired me to continue serving the communities I come from and her words are stored in the back of my mind like fuel to keep my spark ignited.

from a young age, my maturity has been praised as a character trait, but it stems from my early uprooting from childhood. At 4 years old when my father passed away, a fork in my life emerged where I could either be consumed by death or learn to live the rest of my life with his memory on my shoulders. While learning what it meant to be alive, I was conflicted with learning how to deal with such tremendous loss. I was often too busy being a teammate in my two-person family to be a daughter, and I related more to mothers than kids my own age. As an only child, I became a pillar of support for my mother as she took on the role of the sole provider for our family. It became ingrained in my being that I needed to be one less thing for her to worry about, and rather than giving her more grief; we became a united front. My young exposure to injustice made me patient and empathetic--approaching every person and situation with grace and mercy. Dealing with loss didn't lock my heart, it opened up my soul to take in and give compassion to the world around me. It felt like adulthood came knocking on my door and disregarded the dolls on the floor and my pink bedroom walls. Maturity saw me as a ripened fruit, but all I was, was stuck in the body of a seed. By trusting my own internal source of light, I've grown up having a profound understanding of who I am and what I want to accomplish in life. At seven years old I began singing at synagogue. What I didn't understand at the time was that being on the Bimah was my introduction to my passion for human rights and public policy. In traditional settings, women are prohibited from chanting the Torah or singing on the Bimah, and despite those traditional constraints, my reformed synagogue became my foundation for feminism, and ultimately my outlet for addressing social justice issues. On the Bimah, my hardships went unnoticed, and I was free from the shackles of being an open wound. Being in the spotlight --singing like an uncaged bird-- I learned how to let go of my worries and embrace my identity, without a need to justify who I am. As a Latina woman, I find myself resonating with historic Jewish immigration and my mother’s own story of immigrating from Mexico to the United States. My mother, after immigrating to the U.S by herself at 16, put herself through college, and bridged a gap so that I could have better opportunities. My perseverance, my drive, and my commitment to pursuing a career in human rights stem from my deep love and gratitude for the communities I belong to, and my desire to give back. Even though the sea I navigate is vast and lonely, I have learned how to build a community that helps me rise against the storms that meant to drown my spirit. Stepping up to the bimah, I feel my father’s spirit and sing for all Jews who face discrimination. Once a shy girl in the choir, I have transformed into a woman of courage. Life has called on me to lead, and now I answer that call to represent and support my communities.

As my mom immigrated to the United States from Mexico, she instilled in me the profound value of education and its transformative power. Growing up, I witnessed her navigate numerous challenges to provide for our family, and her sacrifices have motivated me to pursue higher education with tenacity and purpose. Attending university will not solely be a personal accomplishment for me; it will symbolize hope and possibility for my family in Mexico, who often lack access to the same educational resources and opportunities that I have. I want them to see that success is attainable, even across borders, and that hard work and determination can lead to new possibilities. For me, success transcends material wealth. It embodies the ideals of educational equity and the implementation of public policies that uphold civil rights. My vision of success involves not just graduating from university, but using my degree to catalyze positive change in society, particularly in the realm of education. I aspire to be a human rights lawyer, dedicated to advocating for those whose voices often go unheard and fighting to dismantle the barriers that perpetuate systemic discrimination and inequality. In my journey toward this goal, I recognize the importance of being a student leader both on and off campus. I aim to serve as a stepping stone for others who share my background, so they, too, can access the same opportunities I’ve been fortunate to encounter. My mission in school revolves around advocating for women's rights and facilitating discussions about critical issues such as bigotry, hatred, and discrimination. I believe that fostering these conversations is essential for creating a more inclusive and equitable educational environment. Securing this scholarship would serve as essential support in my academic journey. It would alleviate some of the financial burdens my single mother faces as she navigates my educational expenses. The assistance would help cover my room and board, enabling me to stay focused on my studies and stay on track to fulfill my ambitions. I firmly believe that an expertise in law and public policy will empower me to become a bridge builder in my quest to reshape educational access for all. My drive to achieve higher education is not just for my benefit; it stems from a deeper desire to empower my community to rise and thrive. It is my hope that by pursuing my education, I will pave the way for greater opportunities for equitable education, inspiring future generations to strive for their own success. In essence, education is not merely a personal journey; it is a collective mission to uplift those around us. I intend to channel the values instilled in me by my mother into meaningful actions that foster a brighter future for all, especially for those who have historically been marginalized. With the support of this scholarship, I will continue toward my goal of becoming an advocate for justice and an agent for positive change, ensuring that the doors of opportunity remain open for everyone.

My maturity has often been praised as a reflection of my character-- however in reality-- it has been a mask for all the challenges life has thrown at me from a young age. I experienced loss when I was just four years old and I struggled to comprehend the complexities of death even as I was still learning what it meant to be alive. Though my father's death didn't mark the end of my childhood, his absence became a gaping hole that woke up my inner survivor. From the day he passed- forward, every milestone, birthday, and father-daughter dance would forever lack the presence of my dad. I began resenting weddings-- in fear that one day I would walk down the aisle alone. I became fearful of my mother's age-- thinking I could lose her too. My life became consumed by worry; at four, and every age that comes afterward I would have become an open wound if it weren't for my Mother's unconditional strength. If I had gotten the chance to know my father, my early memories would not be crowded with images of his funeral and my mom's instinct to step into his father figure position. Her ability to perform the task of not just a mother, but a provider, a leader, and the dad I never got the luxury to know has transformed my grasp on life. I've gotten to know my father from the pictures of him on the walls, the humor that resides in all of his friends, and the stories of life I never bore witness to. I've gotten to see glimpses of him within myself while connecting to my Jewish culture, and every time I look in the mirror I'm reminded that I can never truly be separated from him. My grief has never manifested in anger on Father's Day, or birthdays because I've never gone without the love of two parents. When you lose someone, it's easy to lose track of all the life you have left to live-- instead of getting stuck on the person whose time has ended. My Mother has always been my center of gravity, my road map, and a resource to learn how to tackle every obstacle in my path. Rather than letting death define my academic and social abilities, I have worked every day to redefine my capabilities so I may be defined by what I have done for myself, and not what life has taken away from me. My mother is a tower of light buried six feet below grief-- coming to the United States with hope the clothes on her back and a desire to get ahead; I too now carry the weight of migrants' aspirations and the hope of making my father proud.