Case Western Reserve University

"Boys brutalized and victimized by patriarchy more often than not become patriarchal, embodying the abusive patriarchal masculinity that they once clearly recognized as evil" (The Will to Change). I hope to break this cycle. Growing up a football player afraid of contact, I've heard the phrase "Be a man" more times than I've heard my Dad say "I love you." And that's no coincidence. Society taught him-taught us-to be that way. Trapped underneath my sweaty pads, I am coached to be strong when I'm weak, tough when I'm in pain, cocky when I'm insecure. But that's not me. I'm a boy who collects stuffed Polar Bears and cuddles with them when I'm feeling down. I'd rather wander through a grocery store than spend time perusing a Home Depot. And by no means am I a handyman.

I'm a softy who happens to throw a tight spiral. But sometime during my thirteen seasons of football, I realized that living in the weight room, hitting harder than your opponent, or leading a game-winning drive is not what makes you a good man. Rather, it's being human enough to stand up for those who can't walk, speak for those who don't have a voice, and admit the damages of a lifestyle that has enveloped you since you could walk. Being a good man is being comfortable with connecting with your feelings-loving, caring, being passionate for yourself and for others. It's the belief that doing so does not make you womanly or feminist and thinking "who cares?" if your peers view it as such anyway. However, for millions of youth, believing in this principle is not possible. It's as if strapping on a helmet causes boys and young men to become blind to the concept and inevitable destruction of patriarchal masculinity. I was once told by my head coach in a pregame motivational speech that "only dicks can play football", and somehow that summoned every one of my teammates to roar with pride as if being called a dick made them something special-something to be celebrated. The game changes the connotation of insults and masculinity and what it means to be a good man. It alters our perception of role models-no longer do we long to be Superman but rather to be the hardest hitter; it twists the way we view weak versus strong-strong is annihilating your opponent, weak is showing any sign of vulnerability; it shifts what a real man is. But as I battle for the starting quarterback position this year, it's my turn to redefine the culture that tried to define me, so that when the next generation of football players gets told to be a man, it means to use your heart, not just your helmet. Because, to me, changing the narrative of how boys view masculinity matters.

אֵיזֶהוּ חָכָם? הַלּוֹמֵד מִכָּל אָדָם Eizehu chachâm? Ha'lomed mi'kol adâm Who is wise? He who learns from all people. -Jewish Proverb It was the first nice day we'd had all winter, the wind just calm enough that we could convince our parents to allow our newly-licensed friends to drive us to the diner so long as we promised to be home before curfew. I was bundled up in a coat that was probably too light and sitting in the passenger seat of a bright red Jeep as we left my driveway, the three of us excited about our newfound freedom and discussing all the places we would go as soon as the temperature went above freezing. For now, though, we were going to Stateline Diner, home of the Best French Fries Known to Man. "How do you feel about the Yids?" I was caught off guard as the girl driving began with what had become a popular conversation topic after the lawsuit had ended. Whenever I heard someone mention it I felt my stomach drop, the provocation toward a debate I often did not feel like having. "Well," I started, pictures flashing through my mind of pennies thrown at me on public transportation and my brother coming home from school in tears because he had been bullied for being Jewish. Treading lightly, I flipped the question, asking instead, "How do you feel?" "Hate them," she replied, disgust evident by the eye roll I could barely see in the reflection of the streetlights. "I mean, you're a good one. But the ones with the big coats and hats? They don't belong here." For many of us, those whose voices would be listened to at courthouse meetings, there was little distinction between ourselves and our Orthodox brothers and sisters. For others, those who were with the opposition, we were worlds apart because our Judaism was quieter, less noticeable. To them, we were the tolerable version of a group that was ruining their community. The lawsuit had begun sometime the summer before, over zoning conflicts and the rights of people in nearby towns to enter our parks. Of course, no such arguments had arisen previously, when the visitors in Mahwah, New Jersey had been indistinguishable from local residents. The conflict soon escalated, people claiming that Jewish influence would lower property values and dissolve community structure. Even though the anti-semites lost and we helped the good guys win, the remnants of it all can be found in the attitudes of the people I grew up with who drive me to diners and remind me that even though I may be welcome, the rest of my people are not. Finally pulling up to Stateline Diner, I hopped out of the passenger seat, careful to note the #MahwahStrong bumper sticker I had previously missed. The battle call for anti-semites in the area, whether or not they'd agree to that label, was quick and catchy to hide the dark meaning. Printed in red, white, and blue, it was easy to draw connections between the nationalism that was being propagated by the Oval Office and the hatred burrowing deep below the neighborhoods where we were raised. Over french fries and milkshakes, I was reminded that children and adults are both constantly forming and reforming their views on the world, and that it is a scary thing to question what you have been taught. I forgive the driver of the red Jeep for her words, for her sticker, for her intolerance. No longer do I let words and actions and lawsuits become carved into my being. I know that they are merely stones formed of claims without basis. They are just ghosts, and they cannot hurt me if I do not let them. Maybe Mahwah is strong. But we, my family, the Jewish community, are stronger.

The sound of Parais (a loud Tamil folk drum) drilled into my heart as I walked behind the truck holding my grandfather's dead body. My distant relatives and I stepped barefoot on the path of flowers left behind on the scorching road to the crematorium. Many factors contributed to his death, but the healthcare system in India was the primary one. "What doctor makes his patient, recovering from two minor heart attacks within 48 hours, take a blood test for another three hours?" It seemed doubtful that a city with four major hospitals would require my grandfather to travel for two hours to receive an emergency angioplasty. From this experience, I felt the tragic impact that delays in the medical process could have. As a future physician, I want to make sure that patients, like my grandfather, no matter what their circumstances have the opportunity to extend their lives through efficient health services. One opportunity that moved me closer to this goal was my internship at the Medical College of Wisconsin, which enabled me to submit a research paper to the Columbia Junior Science Journal. I observed Near-Infrared (NIR) Imaging used in nanoparticle testing experiments and learned its therapeutic effects on rats with similar tumors whose gene expression varied. Nights were spent scrolling through research papers regarding Phantoms (a tissue-simulating device). My mentor and I spent months meticulously fine-tuning and "over-engineering" our Phantom prototype to ensure upgradability in the future. My first-hand view of how researchers partner with technology companies demonstrated the collaborative nature of developing a useful medical device. With our Phantom prototype, we worked with IBM and implemented their algorithm which converted 2-D data into 3-D data allowing me to see a 3-D image of a tumor with high accuracy. The internship taught me about NIR imaging, but, more importantly, I recognized the sacrifices, dedication, and sheer work required to undertake research well and achieve my goals. In addition to research, I recognize that any healthcare career requires a level of human connectivity and compassion. This led me to the Midwest Orthopedic Specialty Hospital as their only volunteer. I accepted more responsibility and long four-hour shifts instead of the regular two. I replaced the oxygen tank for the lady in room 2006 while we talked about our favorite cross-country workouts, and I laid a blanket over the grandpa in room 2014 while we talked about football. Some day, someone will do the same for me. Ultimately, it is both intellectual engagement and human empathy that makes me well-suited for the field of medicine.

In my work in science, I actively engaged in multicultural conversations and heard diverse perspectives. During my UCI research internship, I contributed to published research exploring the use of an AI neural network model for detecting dementia through speech patterns. Spending countless hours processing and analyzing patient audio files, I learned firsthand the challenges elderly individuals face. I heard the impact of aging and cognitive impairments on their daily lives and mental health, from feeling like a burden to their families to concerns about financial and emotional investments in their health. Translating in the ICU for my grandfather offered me a valuable perspective of healthcare inequalities, notably the contrast between Iran and the U.S. I witnessed American medical professionals' compassionate, thorough approaches, involving trust and transparent communication, in contrast to Iran's healthcare system, where upfront payments and profit-driven, unnecessary procedures are abundant. While shadowing ICU doctors, I listened to discussions regarding a family's challenging decision to prolong the life of a comatose patient. I observed healthcare teams' dedication during rounds, including the thorough process of intubating an exhausted 80-year-old patient who could barely breathe on her own. These experiences reinforced my commitment to become a compassionate and empathetic physician who respects the cultural diversity of patients. I'll enhance patients' experiences through active listening and by addressing not only the illness but the individual behind it. I will help reform the healthcare system, moving away from price tags and insurance policies and toward patient-centered care. At the Aquarium of the Pacific, I received training to better understand the challenges individuals with disabilities and processing disorders face. Through simulations comparing how those with and without processing disorders experience public settings, like a subway, I learned their experiences and explored ways to enhance their public interactions. I'm dedicated to promoting inclusivity and awareness within healthcare settings, and I'll use this understanding of differing experiences to do that. I'll offer compassionate and patient-centered care, tailoring my communication style to meet each patient's needs and preferences. I'll advocate for creating more accessible and accommodating healthcare environments and develop adaptive technologies to support patients with disabilities. One of my ideas is to develop a predictive machine learning model that helps individuals with motor or visual disabilities communicate faster and more accurately to empower them to express themselves effectively in many contexts. Or I can create a model designed to help those with visual or sensory impairments navigate unfamiliar environments independently. This technology will utilize a camera and give audio guidance and descriptions, therefore improving their mobility and safety. My goal is to provide more opportunities for a safe, happy, and healthy life for individuals with disabilities. By improving technology and enhancing everyday functions, I aim to increase autonomy and self-confidence. As the population of individuals with disabilities continues to grow, these advancements will help enhance their quality of life.