Who gets to tell our story? Who decides which histories are remembered and which are erased? My work confronts race, displacement, and the myths imposed on immigrants, particularly the Jewish people. As a Jewish artist in the diaspora, I challenge the narratives forced upon us—tropes that reduce our identity to a distortion of someone else’s design. While colonizers eventually left the lands they seized, Jews not only endured the trauma of colonization but also the added violence of exile and erasure.

Art has always been a battleground for truth. I create to disrupt the absurdities we have come to accept, questioning why certain injustices are acknowledged while others remain invisible. My work is a call to action, provoking dialogue and forcing engagement with uncomfortable truths. As both historian and witness, I document the present while challenging the systemic indifference that allows antisemitism to persist unchecked.

I am developing a new visual language, one that speaks from my own lived experience rather than the imposed stereotypes that have long defined Jewish representation. For too long, we have been accused of the very injustices we have suffered. My art reclaims our narrative, stripping away external projections and reflecting the resilience and complexity of Jewish identity.

One of my latest series responds to the sharp rise of antisemitism and anti-Zionism following the October 7th massacre. How did the world allow the perpetrators to assume victimhood while forcing the real victims to justify their survival? Why are Jewish lives constantly weighed against impossible standards of suffering? The keffiyeh, once a political emblem, has been weaponized to disguise acts of terror, further fueling hostility against Jews. The alarming rise in public antisemitism demands an urgent reckoning, yet the institutions that shape culture and public discourse remain silent or complicit.

Museums, the supposed gatekeepers of history, claim to champion difficult conversations—so why do they avoid Jewish suffering unless it is framed within the Holocaust? Why does the bar for Jewish injury remain impossibly high? Just as the AIDS Memorial Quilt helped shift public perception by making the epidemic visible beyond the gay community, we must create a body of work that compels the broader public to acknowledge antisemitism in all its forms. We cannot wait for institutions to grant us space; we must build our own.

My art is not only a statement but a challenge—to question the hypocrisies of moral indifference, to dismantle the comfortable narratives that exclude us, and to force engagement where silence has prevailed. Through this work, I aim to spark critical inquiry and shift the conversation, ensuring Jewish history is no longer rewritten or ignored but reclaimed, reexamined, and undeniably seen.