Students

I remember playing teacher as a little girl. It was something all the girls my age did. We begged our parents to buy us white boards and colorful expo markers so we could role play the people we looked up to most.

There was something in that youthful activity that spoke to me; it wasn’t only the thrill of writing freely on the whiteboard or pretending to be an adult, but the chance to formulate new ideas, give them over, and teach someone something, even if that someone was an imaginary person in my room.

I never thought that’s what I would do with my life. Honestly, I thought I wanted to do something that got me a fancy credential, a title with some letters after my name.

I’ve always loved the humanities. I feel the word “humanities” in all its glory. There is this touch with humanity I feel when I learn history or write or read a really great poem — this intangible connection with people before me that puts me in touch with the people in front of me.

I thought about being a lawyer, maybe a writer or a politician. I did tons of extracurriculars in high school, finding my way and preparing for what I hoped would be an impressive future. I became interested in journalism through my high school newspaper, and I decided the field would be a great way for me to combine my love of writing and humanity.

I committed to Barnard College of Columbia University in my senior year of high school, a longtime dream of mine. After graduating high school, I spent a year in a seminary in Israel, where I learned Torah with 120 other incredible girls my age. We lived ten minutes from the Western Wall and paced the stone streets every day on our way to class.

Everything about that year was life changing. Jewish texts suddenly came alive. I began to see my role in the Jewish nation as a responsibility and an honor. Everything was inspirational. I delighted even in the crammed bus rides on late nights, filled with soldiers and ultra-Orthodox side-by-side, young children helping the elderly into a seat, a hodgepodge of a nation that lives with conviction every day.

My senior year of high school, after I committed to Barnard, and the following year when I was in Israel, saw incredible antisemitism overtaking universities, most notably Columbia University. That, coupled with my newfound inspiration and connection to my Judaism got me questioning my decision to attend Barnard.

In April of last year, when I was in my gap year in Israel, I officially withdrew my enrollment to Barnard and committed to Stern College, the all-female Jewish college of Yeshiva University. It was a difficult decision, not because I wasn’t clarified in where I wanted to be, but because it took me admitting that something had changed, that this plan I always had for myself would not come to be.

In high school, I could’ve sworn I would never attend Stern. Why would I elect to live in muddy Midtown Manhattan (no offense to any Midtown natives, it’s not that bad after all), go to school with a bunch of girls who were so similar to me in upbringing, be confined to a bubble seeming to lack the worldliness and culture of a famous university?

And then there I was, hitting “submit” on my commitment agreement to Stern. Spoiler alert: I was wrong about most of the reasons I denounced Stern, and even if they were true, they don’t matter all that much to me anymore.

Change is a fascinating thing. I was so uncomfortable with the notion of change that it took me until April to make the switch, even though I had contemplated it for months before.

In the past, I sometimes saw decisions of change as a reflection of a changed identity. The very fact that I switched a decision I thought was unchangeable allowed me to accept the notion of change in my life. It reminded me that my core identity is internal, and the decisions I make, the career I choose, the institutions I attend are expressions of this identity, but they aren’t my identity. My irreversible identity is as a Jew. The rest is how I decide to express that.

So here I am now, a student at Stern College, given this great opportunity to intern with the Wisconsin Jewish Chronicle. I love journalism and this internship. I’ve been able to speak to real people, take their stories seriously, and hopefully inspire others with their voices. I believe this is humanities at its peak.

But truthfully, what I love most about this role is that it’s Jewish, that these are Jewish voices, stories from Wisconsin that echo the stories of Jews around the globe. That this is a chance to connect Jews together.

I still have this voice inside of me that wants to play teacher, but this time I’m 19, not 9 years old. I have much more than a whiteboard and some dried out expo markers at my fingertips. I have not only a thrill, but a sense of responsibility for educating the next generation. And this time, I have a renewed love and desire to uplift and connect the Jewish people.

My new dream, which really isn’t that new, only newly realized, is to become a Jewish educator. I don’t know exactly how I’ll do it, but I know it’s what I believe in. It’s always been inside of me. I just needed to let myself embrace it, to accept that I’m still me even when I find a new side of myself.

I better get some new expo markers!

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Rebecca, 19, served as a fall 2025 journalism intern with the Wisconsin Jewish Chronicle. She is from San Diego and is a first-year college student at Yeshiva University in New York City.