A Jewish Journey of Identity and Courage

six fingers on one hand. Suddenly, I had a perfect answer to Shelly’s question about what Israel meant to me: one big headache. Every time something happens in Israel, my entire Instagram feed fills with lies and fabrications. Then, during breaks, kids come up to me with all these ridiculous questions about reels they’ve seen, as if I’m somehow responsible for everything happening there just because I’m Jewish. I don’t get it. Am I the Prime Minister of Israel? Do I set its policies? What does any of this have to do with me? I never go up to other kids blaming them for something someone completely unrelated did. It’s just infuriating. I quickly gathered my things, yelled goodbye, and hurried out of the locker room. I didn’t want to be there when everyone opened their phones and saw Marcus’s story. Dad dropped me off outside the JCC for the second meeting of the Bar Mitzvah workshop. I’d stayed up late the night before playing PlayStation with Chen until Mom yelled at me to go to bed. This morning, I could barely get up, and I couldn’t stop yawning. The session started late this time because everyone was chatting, and Shelly took her time getting us settled in the awkward circle she loved so much. Emma sat beside me, her face bright with energy. “What’s up?” she asked, grinning. “The usual,” I replied, trying to return her smile, but mine felt as tired as I was. “Someone partied last night,” Emma joked. “I hope you did your assignment.” ★ ★ ★

28