Six Bar Mitzvahs in Jerusalem on Birthright Israel

I grew up in upstate New York, where there weren't that many Jews around. I graduated from Tulane in New Orleans and am now in medical school. My parents are Reform, and my family came over from Europe in the 1920s and 1930s. We've kept up Jewish traditions ever since.

Growing up without much of a Jewish community, we always talked about how important it was to have one around you. We also always talked about Israel — about wanting to see how our ancestors had lived.

At Tulane, the Jewish community is massive — 43% of the school. My freshman and sophomore years, I went to Chabad often on Shabbat. Honestly, part of it was the food — the dining halls weren't great, but Chabad always was — and it was fun to sit around the table, eat, and do the blessings together.

I was on campus for October 7th. We were devastated. There were memorial events at Hillel, at Chabad, everywhere. Jewish students put up hundreds of Israeli flags up on one of the quads — one for every person killed. Then, five or six months later, we had an encampment on campus, which was awful. If anything, it pushed us closer together — it felt like people were trying to pull us apart, so we leaned in instead.

I finally decided to go on Birthright Israel this year. It was my last shot. If I waited until I was in medical school, I’d never find the time. Two of my friends were supposed to come with me, but their parents wouldn't let them go because of the war. I thought about backing out too, more than once — nervous about meeting a whole new group of people on my own — but I knew I'd never get another chance like this. So, I went alone, and it worked out. I met some really great people.

We landed around 10:30 at night and as we left the airport, I remember thinking, wow, it's really beautiful here. We got into Tiberias around midnight and crashed. The next day we went up to the Kinneret, and I couldn't get over the views — I love nature, and the landscape up there, the vegetation, all of it felt like nothing I'd seen before.

Our group was 40 people plus seven IDF soldiers, a mix of kids from New York, San Diego, and LA. The soldiers had life experience we could never fully understand, but they ate with us, joked with us, answered anything we asked. At Har Herzl in Jerusalem, a few of them shared their own stories, and it was hard to process that people my age had already been through so much.

One story in particular stayed with me. Our medic told us about a friend whose entire transport was hit — he didn't make it. That one hit hard, because I'd worked as an EMT myself. Here was someone even younger than me, doing exactly what I'd done, except in a war zone. It made me think it easily could have been me.

Going to the Western Wall was one of the highlights. Wrapping tefillin at the Wall, I happened to be wearing a Tulane polo, and a man nearby said, "Oh, you go to Tulane — I know the Chabad rabbi there." Of course he did. Then the stranger I was actually wrapping tefillin with asked where I was from. New York. Where in New York? The Catskills. Where in the Catskills? Sullivan County. Where in Sullivan County? Rock Hill. Turns out he lives about fifteen minutes from me. Small world.

I read a blessing, put a note in the Wall, and just stood there for fifteen or twenty minutes. Afterward I went up to a balcony overlooking it all and stayed a while longer — feeling awe and amazement. I kept thinking about how much history was packed into that spot, how my ancestors might have stood there thousands of years ago, and how it's all still standing after 2,000 years.

The Dead Sea was another favorite — floating on the water was surreal. So was climbing Masada. I love hiking, and getting to the top, learning the history along the way, and then looking out over what felt like a hundred miles of desert was unforgettable. Hearing about the last stand there against the Romans, and how that story helped shape the idea of Israel itself — a people protecting themselves against a foreign invader — made the whole climb even more meaningful.

The Nova memorial site was one of the hardest parts of the trip. I walked through it alone, reading the signs and the names, and just felt sick — all these people who'd gone to a music festival and never came home. It was awful. But reading the stories, you could see real heroism too. I don't think I'll ever forget that site.

Another memorable highlight was our visit to Desert Stars Academy, a school for Bedouin children in Southern Israel. The buildings were beautiful and brand-new. We met with Khitam Abu Bader, a Bedouin woman who is the resource development manager at the school. Khitam told us about her life in Israel. She talked about what it's like being Bedouin, noting that Bedouins tend to have more freedom than some other Arab communities in Israel. She also explained one of the missions of the school: making sure more Bedouin girls get an education, since many are kept home to help the family instead of attending school.

Since I played soccer in high school, I asked whether there were separate sports leagues — Israeli versus Arab. She said it's a mix: some teams play against each other, but others only compete within their own district, Jewish or Arab. I found that really interesting.

We then heard from Ruth Stevens from the Task Force on Arab Citizens of Israel, and her story really stuck with me. She described a trip to Italy where a waitress saw her Israeli passport and told her, "I'm not serving you because you're Israeli." She responded, "I'm Muslim, not Jewish." The waitress said, "I don't care — you have an Israeli passport." That moment reframed something for me. I'd always assumed Jewish people were the ones affected by this kind of prejudice, but hearing her story, I realized it reaches people across the whole country, regardless of religion.

If I'm being honest, my biggest takeaway is simple: I want to go back to Israel. We were only on the ground about eight days, and there was so much I didn't get to — Haifa, the south. It might take a while, between med school and residency, but I know I'll return. It's one of the coolest places I've ever been.

The other takeaway is the same thing my parents and I always talked about growing up — community. Being surrounded by so many people who are like you, who get it, is something I don't think you can find the same way anywhere else, including here in the States.

Birthright Israel didn’t change my plans for the future as much as it confirmed them. I already knew I wanted to raise a Jewish family, live somewhere I could walk to synagogue, stay close to a Jewish community. My med school happens to be twenty minutes from home, so I'll keep going to the same synagogue, keep showing up for the holidays. I'm not going anywhere.

If I could sit down with the donor who made this trip possible, here's what I'd say: thank you. Thank you so much. Without that gift, I wouldn't have been able to do this until I was much older — maybe not until after residency. Instead, I got to go now, at exactly the right moment, and it was unforgettable. I enjoyed every single second of it.

And I'd tell them why it matters, too. Even though I grew up Jewish, some people on my trip had never had a bar mitzvah — and in Jerusalem, they finally did. Six people became bar mitzvah on my trip. Getting people that experience, getting them closer to their own Judaism, is an incredible thing to be part of making possible.