Growing up in rural Massachusetts, Judaism held a much different context in my life than it does now. Until college, I did Judaism, mimicking the motions of being a "good Jew." I didn't combine milk and meat in my house because my father told me not to.
When we arrived in Israel, I removed it my kippah. I’d become comfortable wearing it in Toronto, but in Israel, I feared being questioned about my Jewish choice.
Weeks after I prayed at the Western Wall at the start of the new Hebrew month of Adar II, I still struggle to find meaning in the concept of Jewish peoplehood.