I am the little girl lighting the menorah, watching the flames burn, careful not to get the hot, colourful wax on her finger.

I am the teenage boy who chooses to paint his body with the Star of David despite his mother’s wishes of him being buried in a Jewish cemetery.

I am mashugana, an alta cockta, a bubbala, fercockta, a klutz, a yenta.

I am oy-yoy-yoy.

I am the complicated reason why I have to take the cheese off my burger on Saturday night and why I can’t have bacon with my eggs on Sunday morning.

I am, in fact, studying to be a lawyer.

I am the 18 year old going to defend our Jewish country,

I am the boy who’d rather wear a baseball cap as opposed to a kippa on Saturday morning service,

I am the girl who doesn’t understand what’s so disrespectful about showing her shoulders, but I cover them anyways because that’s just what we do.

I am the Israeli Bat Mitzvah tutor who talks too fast,

I am the cantor who belts each prayer loud and proud for the entire congregation to hear.

I am the little kids playing tag in the lobby of the shul,

I am the Israeli flag hanging on your wall.

I am the Maccabeats album you play on repeat during the holidays,

I am J-Date, I am Borat, I am Schindler’s List,

I am your grandmother who lives in Florida.

I am disappointed when I come to the harsh realization that the holy land is not the land of milk and honey I envisioned, but I know it can be.

Todah al ha tesumat lev

I am Jewish.