Admissions essay: Ariella Pultman

The Skeleton in my Closet

I had been waiting for it all week. I could practically feel the balloons of joy expanding inside me as my friends and I filed off the bus. Finally, we were at the rally.

For many teenagers, the idea of rallying against Ahmadinejad’s appearance before the United Nations translated to “social scene.” It was the perfect opportunity to see our friends from schools all around the New York area. I relished weaving through the mobs of people, trapped in the labyrinth of shrieking, reuniting friends. Suddenly, all of my hopes for the day were shot, as I felt my arm being jerked sharply to the right. I begrudgingly lifted my face toward my abductor, surprised to discover my own father. He led me to the far side of the rally where I could see a group of about 20 Hassidic Jews protesting our protest: Neturei Karta. Neturei Karta is a Hassidic group that opposes Zionism and calls for the dismantling of the State of Israel. I stared at these people, wondering how they could bear to look at themselves in the mirror, how they could sleep at night. One sign read, “Authentic Rabbis have always opposed Zionism.” I was disgusted. “Right there,” my father pointed, “That’s your cousin.”

This was not news to me. I had always known that my cousin, Yisroel Dovid Weiss, was one of the heads of Neturei Karta. I found it embarrassing; I had already tried and failed to wipe my memory clean of this shameful truth. I had seen my cousin in “The New York Times”; the vivid image of him shaking hands with the Iranian Holocaust-denier haunted me. As a devoted Zionist, I bristled at the thought that a member of my own flesh and blood wanted my homeland destroyed. And yet, whenever a student or teacher in school would decry the Neturei Karta, a small part of me would feel oddly defensive. Repeatedly, I was speechless, utterly bewildered at the connection that I felt with Yisroel Dovid. I was an ardent lover of Israel. My own cousin was the opposite. How could I possibly feel any bond, no matter how tenuous, linking an anti-Zionist to me?

I was torn. It was almost as if someone was asking me to pick my poison. Loyalty to family ties was synonymous with disloyalty to my own principles. Trapped in a moral stalemate, I naturally turned for guidance to my literary heroes. I looked to Ethan Frome, Antigone, and Ibsen’s Dr. Stockmann for strength. Unwavering when it came to their beliefs and desires, these determined and courageous characters relentlessly fought for their principles regardless of their families’ positions. They gave me a fresh sense of hope. They were my role models.

My Zionist heart had always been distraught over the Neturei Karta, even before I knew that my cousin was affiliated with them. However, actually seeing Yisroel Dovid Weiss in action showed me where my loyalties truly lie. I was not the same high school girl I had been at 8:30 in the morning. Although the rally did not turn out the way I had expected, it had indelible effects on me. Blood is thicker than water, but my heart controls that blood.

The author is a Barnard College first-year.