I’ve lived in Rockland County almost my entire life. My Jewish identity really began to form at Temple Beth Sholom in New City, where I started nursery school at the age of two. From youth group president to social action volunteer, from Chabad during my undergraduate studies at SUNY New Paltz to serving on the board of my Jewish Law Students’ Association at Pace Law, and now having the honor of serving on the Federation board, Jewish life has been the heartbeat of my identity. Being Jewish is my favorite thing about myself.

That is why this moment hurts so much.

When Zohran Mamdani was officially elected the next mayor of New York City, a man who has aligned himself with movements that spread antisemitism and who refuses to denounce the phrase “globalize the intifada,” my heart broke. I am only 24, but I feel an ache that echoes across generations. How could a city with such deep Jewish roots, such proud Jewish history, decide that Jew-hatred is not a dealbreaker?

In recent years, I’ve found myself in left-leaning spaces that once felt like home, but where being openly Jewish and Zionist can feel like crossing an invisible line and no longer passing the test of what it means to be progressive. There is a loneliness in realizing that people who speak of justice and liberation do not see your pain as part of that story. And yet, even in that heartbreak, I know who I am. I know what I believe in. I wear my Magen David proudly. I wear a dog tag that reads “Bring Them Home,” one that remains on until the last hostage is returned home to be laid to rest. I speak out, volunteer, post tirelessly, and advocate because silence is not an option. I would rather be disliked for being proud than liked for hiding.

Still, the fear is real. I wonder what conversations my ancestors had as the world around them darkened. Were they, too, asking if their neighbors would care? If the city they loved would stand by them? The silence is so loud, it’s deafening.

But I refuse to let fear be the last word. Now is the time to turn toward one another, as Am Israel, to strengthen the bonds of Jewish life in Rockland and across New York. Our courage is not in pretending everything is fine. It’s in facing reality together. It’s in showing up to synagogue, joining community events, speaking up at school, online, and in the workplace. It’s in staying proudly visible when others wish we would disappear.

I’m proud. I’m scared. But I am unbowed. And I believe that if we hold each other close, if we keep faith with our values, our people, and our history, then no election, no rhetoric, and no hatred will ever truly define us.