Have you ever had a moment of pure clarity? A moment of real and honest positivity? That’s what BBYO brought me in terms of my Judaism.

My years at Hebrew school were nothing short of miserable. Every Wednesday and Sunday I would beg not to have to go, and had to come up with every excuse in the book. A part of this came from the environment that I grew up in. Most of my friends all went to the same Catholic Religious Program for only one hour each week, where they were all in classes together. I spent upwards of 5 hours at my own religious program, and by the time I graduated, there were only 3 other people in my class, all of whom went to different school districts. However, this is not to say I didn’t love them, because I absolutely did. The curriculum was mainly focused on the same 4 prayers, and eventually Bat Mitzvah lessons too. Truly, the only things I can really remember learning are the Ashrei and the V’ahavta. This clearly didn’t stimulate my Judaism, and every week I left questioning if any of it meant anything. What was I really doing there? What values were they even trying to instill in me? By the time I graduated, I was dead set on not pursuing any sort of Jewish life.

In between graduating from Hebrew School and joining BBYO, I spent one year, if you could even call it that, at my temple’s Hebrew High. I was told to join by my grandmother who basically guilt-tripped me into it. My father had gone through 1 year, and my aunt had done all 5 years. I had been adamantly against it for a very long time, but no one listens to eighth-graders. So, I signed up for two free sessions, as long as my parents promised me they would pick me up at 9. The program ran every Monday from 7 pm to 9:45 pm, although my parents didn’t know this, so I showed up at 8 every week, after the USY portion. This first hour was also run by my English substitute teacher, who was a bit strange, to say the least. USY was made out to be the fun part of it, but I had no desire to socialize with my peers. At 8:15 pm, I’d walk in after spending 15 minutes aimlessly wandering around the temple - I knew where I was going, I just needed to be very fashionably late. Everyone would be eating, and because of a multitude of reasons, I refused to eat or drink anything but Sprite.

I had friends in Hebrew High School; the girls I had graduated Hebrew School with, and the girl who is now N’siah of my chapter. So, I would pull over a folding chair and sit with them, politely listening to their conversation, but not really interacting with either of them. Next thing you know, my (ex) Rabbi would pull over a chair, and start our weekly discussion. It ranged from the week’s Torah portion to challah, to gun violence. The gun violence conversation was the one that ended my Hebrew High School career permanently.

By this time in October 2018, my parents had paid the fee, even if just to support the temple, and I was beginning to go more regularly. Still the same routine of showing up late and leaving early, but I was present and engaged with the discussion as well as I could be. Then the Tree of Life shooting happened. The conversation started off somber, with ideas floating around for memorials and ways we could help the synagogue. As most conversations around these events do, suddenly we were talking about gun violence and gun control, and of course, the politics that come with them. Most teens around the table felt the same way; that we need stronger gun control. We discussed this for a while. Suddenly, my Rabbi was saying that no matter what, he would always vote Republican. Now don’t get me wrong, you can vote whichever way you want. My problem was with what he said after. He recounted the story of his father, who on his deathbed made my Rabbi promise to always vote Republican, no matter the circumstance. And then some brave soul asked the question that was on my mind, “If Adolph Hilter was running on the Republican ticket, would you still vote Republican? Even knowing what he would go on to do?” If you haven’t already guessed it, my Rabbi said yes. I collectively gasped with everyone else around the circle, got up, and walked out.

It was after leaving the basement of my synagogue that day that I thought I might never come back to Judaism. Ever.
The next September, when I had been out of Jewish Life for almost a year, I got a text from one of my old Hebrew school friends telling me about this Jewish organization that she is a part of. She told me about their first event and offered me a ride. I was added to the GroupMe, which was pretty much just a group of girls I already knew. That Friday night, she picked me up, and another girl was in the car. I knew her too.

I’d heard all about BBYO because I went to a Jewish sleepaway camp of course. One of my friends raved about BBYO. In fact, we had a bunkhouse cult modeled after her BBYO rituals. Remembering her love for her chapter was the final push I needed to go to my first event. I wanted that kind of experience for myself.

The event that night was nothing too special, only a regional Friday night service. But something hit me. It was the feeling I got every summer at sleepaway camp. It was a feeling that can only be described as home. I knew only 5 people there, and none of the songs, but it gave me back what I lose every August. I came home that night and told my parents that I loved it, and they didn’t believe me. My father literally said, “Are you messing with us? You enjoyed it? Is this the Sydney I know?”, and they really only believed me when I brought up the chapter’s next event.

It’s been a year, and I’ve been to countless chapter and regional events, joined ILN, ran for board and won, and went on CLTC connect. I’ve met my best friends, and have become close with every girl in my chapter. I’ve had the opportunity to listen to famous speakers, and participate in open discussions. If you had told me that this is where my Judaism would be when I was sitting in that temple basement, I wouldn’t have believed you.

Last spring convention, I had become well-established in my chapter and was very active in the region. I attended almost all of the programs in the roster for the virtual possibilities. That Saturday night, something shifted. I joined Oneg with my chapter friends, and the next thing I know I’m on a Zoom with my friends and some boys from Oneg. I don’t remember why this is important, except for the fact that I met a boy  - this is not some great Jewish love story though. The next day, I joined an open discussion, and the conversation turned to our beliefs. The same boy chimed in, saying something along the lines of “I might not believe in G-d, but that doesn’t make me any less Jewish.” And that is how I would describe my relationship to Judaism and BBYO; I might not believe the whole story, but the culture is a part of me. BBYO gave me the culture that Hebrew School didn’t.

Over my years, I learned that Judaism isn’t a straight line, and there are so many ways to be Jewish. It isn’t defined by how you practice, how much you know, or what you eat. It’s defined however you choose to define it. My Judaism might not look the same as the person next to me, but it is still entirely valid.