‘A nation that dwells alone’

At the European Jewish Teen Congress, held in Budapest at the end of November and organized by CTeen, I shared my story about finding strength in being different and what it means to walk your own path as a Jew. At a time when many Jewish teens are wondering whether to step forward or blend in, I wanted to say one thing: Don’t hide, be proud.

I still remember the first time I walked into a synagogue. I was about 7, so small that I could hardly see over the chairs. When I stepped inside, the first thing I noticed was the warm wave of sound: people laughing, talking softly and greeting one another.

But then I noticed something else. On the other side, a group of people was praying quietly. One man was leading them, saying the words a bit louder, and the others followed. As a little kid, I didn’t understand any of this. But then the prayer changed, and suddenly, it wasn’t all quiet anymore. People started singing and dancing. Even though I still didn’t understand any of it, the atmosphere felt so happy and welcoming. I said to my father, “We should really come here more often!”

And from that day on, we did. My story didn’t begin with fear or hate. It began with joy and love of Judaism, something people often forget when they talk about Jews today.

Going into the synagogue became a regular part of my life. With the help of the late Chabad Rabbi Benjamin Wolf in Hanover, Germany, I began learning the prayers, commandments and history of our nation. With all that new knowledge and learning, when I turned 9, I was ready for my big step. Since then, I wear my kippah every day and started practicing my Judaism not only inside at home but also outside, becoming a regular part of my life.

The next day, I went to school wearing my kippah for the first time. As soon as I walked into the classroom, I felt everyone looking at me.

Some kids whispered to each other, and a few stared. Then one boy asked me quietly, “Why are you wearing that hat?” I tried to explain, but I could see most of them didn’t really understand. They didn’t know what it meant to wear it or why it was important to me, and I could tell that it was all a little strange for them. That moment in the classroom is happening in schools all over Europe, every time a Jewish kid decides to stop hiding who they are.

I recall sitting at my desk, being nervous and feeling quite small. I felt … alone, like no one in the room shared my experiences or understood what it was like to be Jewish in a mostly non-Jewish school. I didn’t know if anyone could understand me, and for a moment, it felt like being different was something bad.

Little by little, however, small things that happened changed my feelings. One classmate gave me a smile when I answered a question about a holiday. Another one politely asked me what Shabbat was, and when I explained, he was very attentive. Though still the only Jewish kid in the class, it was clear to me that some people were making an effort to understand. It gave me a little bit of strength, as I could still be independent and also be part of something greater.

Being different did not have to be a bad thing. I realized that I could be myself, even if not everyone understood that. I started to understand that my kippah wasn’t just a piece of cultural clothing; it was a small protest against disappearing, and more than that, a connection to my faith that can inspire those around me.

It is just the same thing that the Middle Ages Jewish philosopher and commentator Ibn Ezra is saying in the Torah. In Bamidbar, the book of Numbers, it says: Am levadad yishkon: “A nation that dwells alone.”

On the face of it, that seems like a lonely thing to be, but Ibn Ezra says it doesn’t mean that you are left or forgotten. It speaks of having one’s own way—a way not determined by others. The people of Israel are one, with a mission of their own. Quite often, their power is the result of being faithful to their path, while others go completely different ways.

I found out that this also holds true for me. Being the only Jewish kid in my class didn’t make me weak or wrong. It was a sign that I followed my own path—a path that was mine and allowed me to be strong. I could carry out my traditions, wear my kippah and be proud of my identity, even if no one else fully understood it. My little classroom was a picture of Jewish history: standing out, staying in and not giving up who we are.

That is a lesson for all Jewish teens across the globe, and for all Jews, especially as we come to Chanukah. The tradition is to light the candles at night in the coldest and darkest time of the year. In the public eye, we are reminded that the purpose of the darkness is to bring out the light inside us, and the way we combat that darkness is by discovering our authentic selves and shining as brightly as we can.

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