The Bubble.

Who was I? Who am I? Who will I be?
 
Those aren’t easy questions for anybody to answer. Especially for a guy like me, but I’ll try:
 
Who was I?
 
Let's start where I grew up, always in a Jewish community. In my early years, we lived in Riverdale, NY and since about first grade Englewood, NJ. The lifestyles were similar despite different layouts. Riverdale, while an urban neighborhood on the outskirts of Manhattan, was loaded with Jewish infrastructure and had a strong community presence felt. Englewood, a suburban town across the bridge in New Jersey, offered the same benefits but in a more tucked-away town. Nonetheless, both of childhood homes were embedded in a place that supported, embraced, and flourished Judaism.
 
Never did I consider removing my Kippah or feeling the need to hide anything. For all I knew, that was the only way of life.
 
I was a work-in progress as a child in The Bubble, feasting on the private school educations, kosher supermarkets, and tight-knit community. Everyone in my environment, so I thought, practiced Judaism to the same extent as me. My friends and their families all followed a Kosher lifestyle, so traveling from my house to theirs never posed a question of my identity or challenge my values. I lived right down the block from the synagogue, where I observed all the adults on a weekly basis to learn what my future could entail.
 
As kid being carried through this lifestyle, I didn’t really have an opportunity to oppose because it was my whole life. However, there was a point in high school when I felt myself drifting away a bit.
 
From kindergarten through high school, dual curriculum injected Judaism into our veins. We spent just as much time learning about the American Revolution or how to multiply as the Israelites biblical, forty-year journey through the desert. Our founding fathers really felt like distant family and ancient morals were twisted to apply to us today.
 
It was overwhelming, but you became numb being entrained from birth to handle the dualities of secular and Jewish life. In the end, that’s what Modern Orthodoxy is all about anyways. So, while it became a lot to handle, my faith never wavered.
 
High school offered a shift with the expanded freedom of thought and action. It was the earliest opportunity to begin shaping who I was followed by what I valued, despite the constraining walls still suffocating. Leadership positions played an important role in this identity shaping. In my synagogue, I served as a youth group leader for many years. While I first signed up for a few extra bucks and an excuse to ditch the main Shabbat prayers, the experience became much more meaningful. It was the first time I was given the responsibility to pass on our Jewish heritage and be a role model. For most of the groups, we spent time playing games and eating snacks. However, we always set aside time to pray. It was a rudimentary version with only the most well-known songs, but it was important. It was another reminder that you can have fun, you can eat, but in the end the religion must always come first.
 
As I progressed toward high school graduation, I started to gain a little bit of clarity of who I thought I want to be. But I never left The Bubble, so that was a foolish thought.
 
My gap year in Israel really marked the transition into who I am today. Deferring from college to spend time abroad in our nation’s country was routine for recent high school graduates of The Bubble. As explain in Wedding, it was a time of personal growth and connection to the religion. My program was on the outskirts of this ideal, emphasizing the opportunity to find your own path as opposed to force-feeding it to you. The programmed was very much Jewish but included a secular component too. In the mornings, we’d have Judaic studies, while in the afternoon regular classes at Bar Ilan University outside Tel Aviv. It was the perfect blend of Judaism and secularism.
 
The program was also ideal because Torah learning was always available, but never forced – unlike elementary and high school. I initially chose to opt out, however later found my way back voluntarily. It was under this philosophy that my program thrived. Force it upon someone and they will be repulsed; let them choose the path and the connection will be that much stronger.
 
I spent the year finding my own identity, learning with the Rabbi. I was amazed at how much these ancient scrolls applied to everyday life. For the first time a felt a real strong connection.
 
Although I was surrounded by modern orthodox kids my age, the spectrum was the widest I’d every experienced. People hailed from across the United States, including Florida, New York, and California and came from families holding different levels of religious observance.
 
For this reason, it was an important steppingstone outside of the Bubble. I remember entering the year of Israel perplexed that not every Jew followed my same ways. It taught me that religion was more than just a cult with specific rules of living. Rather, it was the traditions that made it special and brought us all together.
 
It helped shape who I am today.
 
Arriving at the University of Michigan has propelled my religion in ways I could never have imagined. Heading outside The Bubble without the proper resources to be Jewish was scary. What was I going to eat? Who was I going to hang out with? Would I lose my sense of Judaism?
 
Immediately upon matriculation, I went from among a majority community to minority. Initially, it was hard to find my place, especially as Covid-19 destroyed social life. The university is massive, and it could be easy to feel alone and foreign. I had to find my community.
 
Luckily, I did not have to look far.
 
The Jewish Resource Center has become my oxygen outside The Bubble. Over the last four years, I became very close with the rabbi, who devotes all his time guiding Jewish students during this crucial juncture in their lives, when they’re forming their own identity away from parents, and deciding where they will get a job or who they will date, etc.  
 
His presence has been so important for the maintenance of my Judaism in this somewhat unhospitable environment. As he put it, “It is a lot harder here to practice Judaism because you are in such a massive school, where most of the people around you are not practicing anything. You are not in your bubble. You are not surround by your home, by your environment, by your culture -- with synagogues or kosher food. It is much harder to be connected in this environment than it is at home. That is for sure.”
 
As a member of the minority, I have felt a larger responsibility to go the extra mile to enhance the community and the religion. It is harder to operate, but it has been so rewarding.
 
Rabbi explained this very well: “When you do stuff here, you stand out much more. By practicing and doing certain good deeds here in this environment, people look at you all the time and you become a role model for your friends and peers around you because they see you doing things than majority of people around you.”
 
He finished by admitting, “you become like the mentor or mini rabbi for them.”
 
If I had to term my position as a Jew in Michigan, mini Rabbi would be perfect. A rabbi is a certified spiritual and religious leader that typically knows all the ins and outs of the religion. In no way am I that. However, with my stronger background coming from a modern orthodox community, I am equipped to be a role model for fellow students who may not have come from such a strong background.
 
My roommate, for example, held onto a smidge of Judaism when he moved in with me last year. I’ve never once pushed the religion onto him, but slowly it has found his heart. Every day, he observes my actions and is drawn closer. He joins me at the Jewish Resource Center for Friday night dinners and enjoys the company of his larger family. It has become more than just practice for us, but a community.
 
In my time here, I have served as president of JHealth, a Jewish pre-health society that is blossoming into an important another community. We combine the values of Judaism and medicine to understand and make the world a better place. Despite different levels of observance, we all have common ground in our communities, traditions, and families.
 
Since leaving the Bubble, it is clear all I’ve done is attempt to recreate it.
 
And I guess that answers Who Will I be.
 
I will not be a rabbi.
I will not be a Torah scholar.
 
But I will be Jewish.
 
And the Bubble will always find me.