Passover has always held deep, personal meaning for me—not only as a celebration of our collective liberation from slavery in Egypt but as a symbol of personal freedom, transformation, and my continuous journey to finding identity and purpose.
I was born in Odessa, Ukraine, and for the first nine years of my life, I lived in the Soviet Union, where Judaism was repressed, and Jewish education was virtually nonexistent. Our only observance was eating matzah on Passover—one of the few traditions that managed to survive under Communist rule. Despite not knowing the full story, my father did his best to explain the Exodus from Egypt—a tale of slavery, courage and redemption. That seed, planted in childhood, would later grow into a powerful force that shaped my life.
We made our own exodus in 1991, not through the desert but across the Atlantic Ocean—arriving in Brooklyn, N.Y. Like many immigrants, we faced difficult beginnings. We relied on people’s kindness and the support of public programs—HIAS (Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society), welfare and food stamps—to survive. I remember walking through our new neighborhood and seeing something I had never seen before: Jewish men proudly wearing kippahs, walking to synagogue and refraining from driving on Saturdays. It was a culture shock but also an awakening.
At first, I felt like an outsider. I didn’t know the difference between Kaddish and Kiddush (the former a prayer and the latter a blessing on wine), and stepping into a synagogue made me feel like I didn’t belong. But then, at the age of 14, I found Chabad and began a slow, steady embrace of Judaism. Around the same time, I started boxing at the Starrett City Boxing Club. That gym became my sanctuary. It gave me identity, discipline and a way to rise above the economic and social struggles that came with being a young immigrant.
Boxing and Judaism shaped me. They each brought challenges, but also strength, purpose and redemption. I kept Shabbat and refused to fight on Saturdays, even as I chased dreams of becoming a world champion.
I carried my beliefs into the ring, using faith as fuel to fight not only opponents but the personal “pharaohs” that tried to hold me back—poverty, doubt, ignorance and the fear of not fitting in.
The journey continues. In times of uncertainty—and especially now, in the face of rising antisemitism and the painful events of Oct. 7, 2023—my connection to Israel and my Jewish identity only deepens. The Land of Israel is not just a homeland for the Jewish people; it’s a spiritual compass that has helped me stay rooted through life’s many trials.
My story is a reminder—to myself most of all—that faith, identity and resilience can carry you through the hardest of times.
