It started in political science class. We were supposed to be learning about human rights – a subject meant to open hearts and minds, to teach us empathy and fairness. Instead, my teacher handed out an article that was not just critical of Israel but openly antisemitic. We were instructed to analyze human rights violations, yet only from one side. My side, my people, my family’s story was erased.
In that moment, I felt invisible. My pain didn’t count. My identity didn’t exist. I didn’t argue or shout. I simply stood up and walked out.
It wasn’t easy. I was surrounded by classmates I had known for years, and yet I had never felt so alone. Afterward, a few friends came up to me. They didn’t necessarily agree with me, but they saw me. They saw I was hurt. And that small recognition meant everything.
Standing tall in moments of pain
As I walked out that day, I thought about HaGal Sheli (My Wave), the organization that has shaped so much of my past year in San Diego. It wasn’t what made me leave class – that was my own decision – but it had taught me to recognize my worth, to stand tall, and to remember that even in moments of pain, I am never truly alone.
HaGal Sheli isn’t just about surfing. It’s a nonprofit that uses the ocean as a space for healing and growth. With Jewish teens from across San Diego, we meet weekly to surf, to talk, to process. Out there in the water, I’ve faced more than waves – I’ve faced fear, frustration, and the heavy feeling of not belonging. In a time when antisemitism is rising, those feelings are sharper than ever.
This summer was supposed to be our chance to connect with teens from HaGal Sheli in Ashkelon from Sha’ar Hanegev, Israel – some of whom had lived through the horrors of October 7 firsthand. I was eager to stand beside them, to say: You are not alone. Even across the ocean, we are with you.
However, the security situation with Iran worsened, and we got the message that our trip was postponed.
It felt like a hole in my heart. A dream we had carried for months disappeared in a moment. And yet, I realized something important: I could handle the disappointment. Not because it didn’t hurt but because I had the tools to cope.
Healing and connecting
That is the greatest gift HaGal Sheli has given me: the strength to understand that when life crashes down like a wave, I don’t have to go under with it.
Even without setting foot in Israel, I feel more connected to it than ever. The teens in Ashkelon may not know me yet, but they live in my thoughts. Their struggle is my struggle. Their hope is my hope.
Belonging doesn’t depend on a plane ticket or a photograph on the beach. It runs deeper. It is carried in who we are, in our people, in our shared waves of hope.
One day, I believe, we’ll stand together on the same shore. We’ll paddle out into the sea – not just to surf waves but to rise above them, together.
The writer, an 18-year-old 12th-grade student from San Diego, California, has been participating for a year in the youth development program at the My Wave center in San Diego. Through the program, young participants gain skills from the sea, as well as personal and community resilience.