Many times, people associate Eastern Europe with the Holocaust, and they don’t know about the fun life we have here. I have been a camper since I was 7 meeting the same friends every summer. I even had a group Bat Mitzvah in Szarvas which was much more fun than having it in a synagogue.

I grew up going to synagogue most weeks and attended a Jewish primary school. Reflecting I see now that Judaism and tradition was always important in my family’s life. My parents and grandparents have taught me the value of community and how important it is to care for those around me.

I was born in Antakya and later moved to Istanbul where there is Jewish school, a larger community with members who were not my relatives, and Jewish youth clubs, summer camps, Israel trips and links with global Jewry. On reflection, the learning focused on religion and Hebrew but we also had strong bonds with global Jewry. Nevertheless, Antakya has a special place in my heart.

At first, I was cautious about being open about my Jewish identity, however, it became difficult not to talk about it. Eventually, I opened up to my classmates and was met with absolute respect – I even took some of them to a synagogue. When we studied Judaism in class, I became sort of a guarantee of the information’ correctness.

My mother always put emphasis on making Jewish experiences fun and digestible, rather than following strict rules. My concept of Shabbat is about having everyone around the table and my mom kissing my head, blessing me, and having peace around us. It is very far from the concept, that we aren’t allowed to do certain things, etc.

The holiday promised to be a great success and then disaster struck! In all the stress my family forgot to buy apples. And what is Rosh Hashana without apples and honey! There is no doubt that for the big holiday you need the best apples that only a connoisseur can choose!

I realise that 7 October was a massacre without a name. I bleed for those hostages and I mourn my brothers and sisters every day. I bleed for every single person who went because they were Jewish. Realising that 239 hostages is not just 239 but 1 plus 1 plus 1 plus 1.

Israel holds a special place in my heart as I visit frequently, missing it when I'm away. My grandparents gained Dutch nationality in the 90s, leading my father to study and stay in the Netherlands. I often wonder how living in Israel would have influenced my identity, as the Netherlands shaped who I am.

With a heavy heart, I returned to Paris to finish my studies. My mind was searching for ways to recapture the warmth of Israel. I went to synagogue to find that unique atmosphere that I missed so much. I only wanted to return to Israel, and I went on every opportunity.

Since the situation in Israel has kept on escalating after the attack on October 7th, 2023, I felt more conscious of my identity and started hiding my necklace under my shirt. The situation in general affected me a lot mentally, specially making me feel alone and out of place.

Occasionally, I would return to shul and the Rabbi would encourage me to get involved. This never quite gave me the lasting motivation I needed, though. My younger brother’s bar mitzvah came around, and went. And he too then stopped any Jewish observance. Something changed when I went on Birthright after finishing school.

For three months, I studied intensively with other women, looking for the keys to studying religious texts. I discovered a wonderful community of women, all different but united by their love of study and their desire to emancipate themselves from the dictates of traditional Jewish society. That's when the adventure really began.

Despite my country's limited acceptance of minorities, my parents celebrated Jewish traditions and values, preserving our heritage despite a small community and no Jewish school. Their efforts gave me a deep, unbreakable bond with Judaism and a profound appreciation for our religion's importance and magnificence.

During that summer in Paris, I met a friend who told me about a trip she was going on. This trip would propel me towards a new version of myself. The trip had a butterfly effect and that's how I joined the Union des étudiants Juifs de France.

The answer is: ‘Yes, Grand Maman, I feel Jewish. I am a Jewish atheist, a musical Christian and a cosmopolitan Brit. I am part of the diaspora and I am English. I am as my name dictates: a bit of this and a bit of that.

The possibility of expressing my Jewish voice is a privilege that my parents and grandparents did not have, and for that I am honoured to be able to do it for them. In a world where anti-Semitism has been at its height since the Second World War, what keeps me going and keeps me fighting is the support, unity and resilience of the Jewish people.

I am 8 and my father made me act in front of the family after Shabbat dinner. I'm 12 and I do my Bat Mitzvah. I'm 14 and I'm wondering about the existence of God. I'm 16 and I fall in love with a boy who isn't Jewish.

At around 19, I began attending Jewish gatherings. The first questions were about whether I had attended Jewish summer camps or the Jewish school as a child. My "no" was met with surprise and disbelief; it seemed almost unthinkable to them that a Jew could live outside the community by "choice," like Spinoza.

I was born in a home where daily life was mostly centered around the small but beautiful Jewish community where my father was the rabbi. My siblings and I, the last young Jews born in Naples, were always active in that community, and we visit them from time to time with great excitement and nostalgia.

Whether I stay in the Netherlands or return to Israel, I will maintain my connection to Judaism. I want to start a Jewish family, pass on to my children the Hebrew language, the Jewish tradition and values. I will teach them how to keep themselves as Jews and deal with anti-Semitism, as the Jewish people have done throughout history.

My Jewish journey began in the small town of Szeged, where my father, a rabbi, profoundly shaped my early life. Growing up in a home where Jewish traditions were not just observed but cherished, I was immersed in religious customs from a young age. Celebrating holidays and living by the Jewish calendar felt as natural to me as the air I breathed.

While many people can recall a precise moment that profoundly defined or shaped their Jewishness, there was no such moment in my life. From the moment of my birth, with my first breath of air, I was immersed in the Hungarian Jewish atmosphere that has shaped my way of thinking and my system of values to this day.

I have experienced hundreds of adventures thanks to this work which was an incredibly positive experience. I met people from all social backgrounds and always with surprising stories. I love living random stories, discover new things and, above all, meet new fascinating people. It is precisely this curiosity and this passion for meeting people that led me to a unique experience: my invitation to the Vatican.

I recently found out that I have Jewish ancestry. How recently? About two years ago, and yet I am in a Jewish school and have been a part of Hashomer Hatzair for 5 years now. A bit strange, isn't it?

Meeting and connecting with other Jews has become not simply a joy but a purpose in my life, learning about others’ interpretations and having conversations is a delight and truly meaningful. This is a joy for me, making my life enriched as I keep meeting and befriending Jews of all stripes and walks of life.

For a long time, my Judaism was like the fairy lights in my room: comforting decorations. My understanding of being Jewish came not from rituals in everyday family life, but from the sight of the hamsa in my babushka’s entrance hall, and the little rabbi clay figurines on our living room sideboard.

My name is Bella and I live in the province of Utrecht, the Netherlands. I am 20 years old and come from a Jewish-Iraqi family. My family fled to the Netherlands because of the persecution of Jews and daily anti-Semitism in Iraq. Before fleeing, they faced daily humiliation and exclusion because of their Jewish identity.

But in 2022, when the war started in Ukraine, everything changed so much. It was not until then that we consciously understood if we were to keep on staying in Chernihiv, we would eventually lose everything. After much deliberation, worry, and poor sleep, the hard but needed decision was taken: to leave home behinf for the sake of our safety.

Jewish life can’t just be lived in these rare, isolated settings. At home, I can wear my tzitzit openly without fear of insults. I don’t have to hide my kippah and worry about suddenly having to answer for the conflicts in Israel. But that’s my reality: either I hide my identity, or I accept that I’ll face antisemitism. It’s always been this way.

I attended a non-Jewish high school, where I was the only orthodox Jew in my class. I distinctly remember people telling me in year 7 how I was the first Jew they had ever met. Then people started to question why I did certain things, keeping kosher and attending shul.

The first time I knew I was Jewish was when my brother and I were sat at a very Jewish table, full of our very Jewish family, in a very Jewish restaurant. Across from us was sat our very Jewish grandmother, and our very Jewish cousins.

When I light the Shabbat candles, I feel them with me - all the Esters, all the women who knew how to carry a world in silence. The flames dance, each one a quiet defiance, a reminder of a strength that endures across generations. These lights are not merely candles; they are voices, memories, and the unyielding power of survival.

Spending my gap year living in Israel has strengthened my sense of Jewish identity in ways I hadn’t expected. In England, wearing a Magen David or a hostage pin can often attract unwelcome attention. Here, it feels empowering to be part of a community where being Jewish is normalized and celebrated, rather than something to hide or explain.

My name is Tali, and I am proud. I am Jewish and proud to be. I am a Zionist and proud to be. I wear my Haï and I am proud to wear it and show it. I love Israel and I am proud to love this country. And if I wear the flag of Israel, I am very proud to show that it is on my shoulders.

That year, when I was twelve, I took over frying the latkes for our Chanukah celebration while my mother was in the hospital, a responsibility that marked the beginning of my deeper connection to Jewish traditions. Even as I increasingly distanced myself from active religious participation, the latkes remain a symbol of my enduring bond to my heritage and the challenges we face together as a family.

As a child, I thought everyone loved my culture, my people, my religion until I learned about antisemitism and the Holocaust. I stopped observing tzniut, stopped telling people who I really was, and stopped going to synagogue. I was scared. I was a child who had just learned that millions of people around the world didn’t love them.

In Israel, I found the craziest mixture of countries, cultures, skin and hair colors, and languages—and yet we are all connected, all part of one nation. For the first time, I felt complete belonging, and the struggle of defining my identity could rest.

Home could be at multiple places at a time. A piece of creation by a group of people or myself, knowing that we are connected by blood and faith/fate.

Even in Serbia, antisemitism lingers. A simple moment at the post office—where a Jewish girl hesitated before revealing her identity—reminded me how many of us still live in fear. Yet, I refuse to let fear define me. Love and unity must prevail.

My experiences have shown me that my Jewish identity is a strength, not a weakness. Love is nothing without respect and understanding for the other. My Jewish identity will never again be negotiable. That, I know for sure.

Judaism gives me context, something that reminds me that I belong to something greater than myself, to a family, a culture, and a history

The connection I made there, between flesh and stone and God, is unbreakable, I know that; it has given me strength through difficult times, brought me gratitude for the things and people around me, and showed me joy in the places where it had once been absent.

Hayati, like many other young Palestinians in Denmark, understands the feeling of not fully fitting in – therefore she doesn’t expect me to.

I will not resign myself to accepting that the only lessons of this dark year are reduced to the disbelief, horror, and shock of the first day. I want to believe that something exists that surpasses these initial emotions, and that it is incumbent upon me to discover.

Judaism runs through my veins, and Music keeps my heart beating. Now I’ve found my path, it feels inevitable. I’m excited to see what Jewish communities I will help build through music, wherever this journey takes me.

We were never raised to be religious. It never mattered what or how much someone believed – what mattered was the sense of community. We shared these moments, we experienced them together, not alone. That’s why I see Judaism as a community experience rather than a religion.

As I grew older, I remember being surprised that a religious family would choose to live in a country like China, a place that seemed so unlike the environments I imagined for Jewish life. It was a stark contrast to the communities I had read about or envisioned, but it taught me an important lesson: Jewish life and community can thrive anywhere in the world.

I am not proud of belonging to one identity, but of the bonds that identity creates. I am proud when my traditions become a language of sharing, curiosity, and encounter. It is there, in connection, that my Judaism feels most alive.

During a trip to Boston, I completed an Affirmation Immersion, received my Jewish name, Liora, and stepped into a moment of deep personal clarity. After a lifetime of being questioned and rejected as a patrilineal Jew, I didn’t become “someone else” — I finally became fully myself. This journey was about claiming belonging without fear and turning my own light on.

I am a 15-year-old Lauder student, and I believe that my Jewish identity is shaped primarily by my mother’s Jewishness, which comes from a Hungarian Jewish family background where religious practice was interrupted after the trauma of World War II, yet Jewish identity was passed on culturally.

My life has been a series of packed suitcases: from Kharkiv to Germany, from city to city, each move reshaping who I am and where I belong.