Birthright Israel Made Me a Braver Jewish Artist

I almost didn't go on Birthright Israel. My best friend, who isn't Jewish, told me flat out: “I support you and I love you, but I don't want you to go. I’m scared. I would rather you be home for winter break.” Hearing her say that really made me second-guess myself. Am I doing something stupid? Am I going to a war zone? But ultimately, I thought, you know what? I feel like I need to do this. 

So, I signed up, paid the deposit, and got on the plane. I haven't done a lot of traveling in my life, but being in Israel was unlike anything I'd ever felt. I've been to London and the Caribbean, but this was different. I was part of it, among my people.

The most impactful moment came at the Nova site. The festival itself was, of course, devastating to think about — but really, it was the car monument. I saw the bullet holes through the cars with my own eyes, three feet away from me. I realized what kind of terrorists Israel is up against, and how absurd it is that somehow the media had turned so many people against Israel.

Then there was Mount Herzl. Seeing all those graves — I kept looking at how old the fallen soldiers were. That could be me, I thought. That could be my brother. That could be my cousin. I just couldn't stop thinking that.

And then something small, but it stayed with me: the road signs. They were in multiple languages, including Arabic. I couldn't understand how anyone could say that Israel was trying to eradicate another culture. I was like, it's everywhere. Arabic speakers are included in Israeli society.

Being a Jewish theater student right now is complicated. I didn't tell my theater community that I was going on the trip. I kept my mouth shut. I already don't have a great relationship with many of my classmates because of some of my political views, so I wasn't sure if it was worth saying anything. When people asked what I did for winter break, I edged around it for a while. Then one day in class I just said it. “I went to Israel. I went on Birthright.” Some people I was worried about were in that room. But nobody said anything. It just moved on, and I didn’t push it.

The theater world has not been a particularly welcoming space for openly pro-Israel Jews. You hear constantly about boycott movements in the entertainment industry. And so, you start asking yourself: What can I say while still being able to get a job? How do I navigate an industry built on connections without lying about who I am?

I've been thinking about this since freshman year, actually. We were required to see a show that my friend Margot and I both felt was antisemitic — they used a mask that looked like a Jewish caricature from World War II. We brought it up with our professors. My professor had a real conversation about it, while Margot's professor said, “I'm not equipped to handle this.” And we thought: then why did we see the play? That kind of thing doesn't go away. It just accumulates.

A few weeks ago, I did something I have never done in my life as an actress: I turned down a callback. There's a show in our upcoming season about a girl in an ultra-Orthodox community who feels it's holding her back and wants to live a secular life. I auditioned anyway, got a callback, I sat with it. I thought about who's going to be in the audience — people who know nothing about Judaism. And I thought: this show paints a really unflattering picture. Why are we telling this story right now, when there is already so much negative media surrounding Jews? 

I sent an email. I said, essentially: since October 7, we're dealing with audiences who are uninformed. I understand this isn't where you're coming from, but I don't want to be part of telling this story. It was a professional stage. A real opportunity. And I walked away from it.

I tell this story because I think it matters. There are young Jewish artists asking themselves these questions and making these choices quietly, with no one watching.

Being on that trip made me realize something I hadn't put into words before: I want to be active in telling Jewish stories. If the plays don't exist, then maybe I can be part of the group of artists who writes them — who tells our story from the Jewish perspective. Because there is so much being written against us, and not enough being written by us.

After Birthright Israel, I felt this renewed passion and confidence in my Judaism and in the State of Israel. I don't have a perfect understanding of the history of the region. But the trip made me want to learn, and it made me want to be able to speak well about it. 

So, I applied for the Maccabee Task Force and got in. Next semester I'll be doing antisemitism training and advocacy work — learning how to articulate what I believe and how to combat propaganda with facts. And in January, I'll go back to Israel with a group of non-Jewish students, campus leaders I'll help recruit. The goal is to give them the same experience I had, so they go back to their campuses and become, if not exclusively pro-Israel, then at least a voice of reason.

I've also been working with the rabbi at Hillel on something closer to home. There are a lot of Jews in the College of Fine Arts — it's just that many of them post anti-Israel content. I'm not going to engage in arguments that aren't productive. But I also see how staying silent is part of the problem. So, we're thinking: how do we start slowly? Maybe just — come to Shabbat. Come to a seder. Get connected to something. Some of them already attended a Passover seder a friend hosted. It's a start.

I don't know if mine is the most exciting Birthright Israel story out there. But it's mine. And it made a difference in my life. I came back more certain of who I am, more willing to say it out loud, and more determined to not hide one part of my life from the other. I'm still figuring it all out. But I'm figuring it out as myself — and that feels like enough for now.