A Jewish Journey of Identity and Courage

what I was facing. Maybe Emma was right; perhaps there was something I could do to make it stop. “If you don’t try, you never know,” I recalled Emma’s words. “Sometimes,” I replied quietly after a long pause. “What… what have they said to you?” I could see Mom was trying to stay calm, but the worry was clear on her face. “Nothing too serious. You remember Marcus from basketball practice? He shares these reels on his story, some of which are really antisemitic. Some are just plain disgusting.” “Okay,” Mom said as she turned right onto our street. “I understand that it’s upsetting for you, but what does that have to do with you personally?” “Sometimes he tags me on purpose, so I have to see it. He also makes nasty comments now and then. And when everyone gets all excited about his reels, it’s really frustrating. It feels like he’s turning everyone against me.” With each word, I felt a weight lift from my heart, but my throat burned as I fought back tears. Mom parked the car in the driveway and turned to face me. She took my hands in hers, looking me straight in the eye. Her gaze was both warm and resolute. “I’m really sorry to hear what you’re going through, and I appreciate you sharing this with me. No one should ever hurt you, do you understand? I promise we won’t take any action without your permission, but we need to do something about this. It has to stop, okay?” I nodded, and Mom pulled me into a tight embrace. In that moment, I couldn’t hold back any longer, and tears began to flow, soaking her shirt.

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I sent Mom screenshots of some of the reels and photos Marcus shared. She promised to handle it. Two days later, we had a meeting

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