Growing up on the north side of Chicago, no one was quite like me. Sure, plenty of people looked like me, dressed like me, and acted like me. But something has always set me apart: My Judaism. As I grew older, this difference only became more apparent. What began as questions like “Why don’t you celebrate Christmas like the rest of us?” spiraled into harmful stereotypes, threats, and “jokes” at no one’s expense but mine. The hurtful anti-semitism I had begun to face truly came to a head in the beginning of 8th grade. Coming to work on school days became a challenge. It seemed like everywhere I went, someone had drawn swastikas at my seat, hurled insults at me, or proudly recited Hitler’s infamous speeches. No longer were my classmates curious children, eager to embrace diversity. They were teens, ready to spew hate. Isolated and ashamed, I had my identity. I refused to speak about G-d or my culture. Even holidays became a sore subject, as I feared a classmate would point out the difference between us.

After months of this secretive routine, I longed for a change. For a community. For somewhere I could truly be myself. And on a bright, warm morning in September 2024, the change appeared. A loud buzz, louder than my hopes for the future, sounded. I looked down at my phone and saw a text from an unknown number. Reading it, I realized it was Oralie Josephson, whom I would come to know not only as the Great Midwest Region’s honorable N'siah but also as a mentor and incredible source of inspiration. “Hey Addison! GMR is having its annual yacht party, and I would LOVE to see you there! It will be a great way to meet Jewish teens and just have fun!” As I stared at my screen, the message seemed to glow. Although the generic text may have seemed small to some, it was exactly what I needed. 

Filled with a combination of nerves and excitement, I quickly contacted my friends and registered for the event. In the days leading up to GMR’s yacht party, a sense of calm truly washed over me. I was a freshman at Taft High School now, and although I was still battling anti-semitism, I had found my crutch: my people to rely on.

Finally, that faithful day came. I got dressed in my cutest outfit and drove down to Lake Michigan. I found a group of girls from my summer camp, and together, we rushed onto the yacht, eager to start our night. As we reached the entrance, I paused. The boat was huge: multiple levels, filled with food and drinks, and blinding lights. But while I was in awe of my surroundings, what made the night truly magical was the people. As I started into the crowd, hundreds of people gathered together, I realized something: It didn’t matter what I was facing or what people said about me. I had G-d and my newfound sisterhood behind me.

From that moment on, I threw myself into BBYO. I attended every program, convention, and event. Each week, I waited for that familiar buzz of my phone. I rose from general member to Mini Board, to Chapter Board member. But above all of the positions/titles, the opportunities, and the experiences, through BBYO, I learned that I am never alone. I learned to take pride in my identity and embrace my faith. Jewish has always been the first word used to describe me, but thanks to BBYO, I will never be ashamed of that again.