Nicole Leus reflects on her recent visit to Minneapolis as part of the Partnership2Gether (P2G) Steering Committee Delegation Visit
The last time I visited the Jewish community in Minneapolis, I was a 17-year-old teenager, participating in the P2G youth exchange program. This May, nearly a decade later, I returned – no longer a high school student, but a young professional, representing my community in Israel as a member of the P2G Steering Committee.
The experience this time was profoundly different. Perhaps it was my age, or the way my perspective has changed over the years. But one thing remained exactly the same: the boundless warmth, generosity, and spirit of action that characterizes the Jewish community of Minneapolis.
My name is Nicole Leus, and I’ve lived in Rehovot, Israel my whole life. I work at Shalva, Israel’s largest center for people with disabilities, where I manage international relations and partnerships. For two weeks this spring, I took time off work to reconnect with my Minneapolis family – a community I hadn’t seen in almost ten years.
What I encountered was both inspiring and heartbreaking. Conversations that once felt light now carried new weight. At the Hillel at the University of Minnesota, I met remarkable Jewish students who shared deeply troubling stories of antisemitism – from classmates, professors, and even friends. Their courage left a strong impression on me, but their pain was unmistakable.
It made me reflect on our shared journey as a Jewish people. Whether we’re living in Israel under the constant threat of war, or in the diaspora facing daily discrimination and suspicion, there is a common thread: we feel we must constantly prove ourselves. To be “good Jewish people.” To show the world we belong. To fight, quietly and tirelessly, for our right to be.
During my time in Minneapolis, I spoke with rabbis from different denominations. I was stunned to learn that conversion to Judaism has increased since the war began in Israel. How is it that people choose to join such a small, often embattled community? Their choices gave me hope – that something about our resilience, values, and history still calls to others.
Like many Israelis, I’ve tried to maintain “normal” life since the war began – finishing my master’s degree, launching new projects at work. But everything was constantly interrupted by sirens. A siren before a final paper, another during a strategic meeting. A siren before sleep, before meals. Always in the background, always a reminder. And even when the missile is gone, the shrapnel remains. Shards that wound in a thousand tiny ways – trauma, fear, fatigue – just as dangerous as the missile itself.
For the first time since the war, I sat in front of a room of 60 strangers and told my story. I shared the fear of leaving my house, the nightmares, the grief. And to my surprise, that moment became a turning point. Their presence, their attention, their willingness to listen – it was the greatest gift I could receive. It began a healing process I didn’t even know I needed. I came to Minneapolis to give – to teach, to connect, to represent. And yet, I received so much more in return. Thank you, Minneapolis Jewish community, for reminding me that even across oceans, we are one people. Thank you for reminding me that healing can begin with something as simple – and as powerful – as being seen.
