As a progressive Democrat who serves as a state senator in Colorado’s General Assembly, I’ve connected with others by sharing my story. I’ve shared about being a cancer survivor, parenting a child through his mental illness and being a survivor of sexual assault.

I’m also a Jewish woman and a 13th-generation Israeli who was born in Tel Aviv and moved to the United States when I was 6 months old. This part of my identity has often been the hardest to share, even before the 2023 war with Hamas.

My Torah values are deeply rooted in Rabbi Tarfon’s words in Pirkei Avot 2:16: “It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you at liberty to neglect it.” I sum this up as: I will not complain about a problem without being willing to work on the solution.

I’ve kept this promise in my work as a legislator. As one of only six Jews currently serving in the Assembly, I remain committed to sharing my Jewish connections and speaking up for Israel, even when it has been difficult. And I have made a point of engaging with other people of faith.

Two incidents among many during my time in the Assembly have underscored the need for me to fight for my own Jewish community even as I represent a broader swath of Colorado residents. One incident involved a revival- style memorial for a fellow legislator and the other, being denied the opportunity to recognize Yom Ha’atzmaut in the House of Representatives.

Last November, I was elected to the state Senate after seven years in the Colorado House, where I represented Commerce City. In 2017, my first year in the Democratic-led House, I joined a Christian Bible study group to forge relationships with fellow lawmakers who were mostly Republicans. I felt certain I could connect my Torah values with their Christian values to create a foundation for building powerful legislation together. When I met the pastor, Dan File, who was leading the group, he wore both American and Israeli flag pins on his lapel, which he explained showed his commitment to the people of Israel. I was blown away.

At first, the almost weekly meetings seemed to be bearing fruit as we formed warm relationships. But one day, near the end of my first legislative session, I had an unsettling experience at a memorial in the chamber for a member of the House. One of the speakers expressed her hopes for a “third Great Awakening,” which she described as “the most important work we will have ever done together in this chamber.” She raised her arm and pounded on the lectern, crying out, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.” Others joined her. Suddenly, baskets appeared and were passed around the chamber, containing pins that read “Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!”

I didn’t know how to respond. I was torn: Was I a Jewish legislator being erased by this chanting who bore responsibility to stand up for the diversity of religions? Or was I a legislator whose Judaism was secondary and therefore could just shake off this experience? As the chamber emptied, I remained frozen in my seat.

Immediately after the memorial, I contacted my mentors at the Anti-Defamation League, who counseled me to let it pass. But I couldn’t do it. I requested a moment of personal privilege on the House floor to express my thoughts.

I stood before the chamber later that day and explained to my colleagues how my ancestors, Orthodox Jews, had been chased out of their homes in Poland and Hungary, that they had faced not only murder but forced conversion to Christianity.

I told them I had always respected and sought to connect with other individuals of faith, even when that faith differed from my own. I expressed my discomfort with the “Jesus” chanting, asking my colleagues to consider the experiences of others.

Within 20 minutes, the first attack against me hit Facebook, in a post asking: “Did Representative Dafna Michaelson Jenet allude that Christians are to blame for crimes against Jewish people?”

For the rest of that legislative session, I decided not to attend the Bible study group. In later sessions, I returned, but it took time to feel welcome again.

Today, I still participate in the group, gathering with my Assembly colleagues at the Colorado State Capitol around a box of breakfast treats and a carafe of coffee. The pastor desperately wants me to accept Jesus as my lord and savior.  But my Judaism has never been in question. My ancestors were Jews and my children are Jews. And despite my efforts to communicate this reality to my colleagues, I continue to face challenges.

Another such challenge occurred in 2021. I was preparing to announce Israel’s Independence Day on the floor of the House—something I had done every year since joining the legislature. Aware that we had a new Palestinian member in the chamber, I approached her in advance and asked if she would like to join me at the podium to share anything.

She declined. Instead, she went to the House leadership. On the day of the holiday, I received an early morning call from the speaker, who told me I would not be allowed to make my announcement.

I was stunned. I met with both the speaker and the majority leader, as well as the Palestinian member and a member of the Jewish caucus. The Palestinian member made the case that it would have made her uncomfortable, and everyone would be staring at her.

I broke down, sobbing onto the shoulder of a colleague who tried to calm me. Why was my identity so easily dismissed because one member felt uncomfortable? I felt uncomfortable every morning when the person leading the prayer said, “In Jesus’ name we pray.” But that wasn’t going to change.

In the ensuing years, I pushed back against being silenced. In 2022, members of the Jewish and Israeli communities came to the chamber on Israel’s Independence Day. I made my announcement without asking permission first. Members clapped, and it was done. The community felt seen and welcomed.

In 2023, I had to adjust my plan. Announcements and introductions had been put on hold due to procedural issues, so instead I prepared to distribute bags filled with Israeli flags, pins, candy and a note from the local Jewish community. Once again, I spoke with my Palestinian colleague.

And once again, she insisted my actions would be too distressing for her and should not be allowed. The leadership again acceded to her demand, so I requested a meeting with the speaker and key members of the Jewish community to discuss the matter. The meeting was scheduled, and rescheduled—and only held after I had left the House to take my seat in the Senate.

After the October 7, 2023, massacre against Israel, the House chamber was disrupted repeatedly. Loud protests in the House gallery often included slurs about Israelis and Jews. Protests outside the Capitol occurred almost daily, then weekly, and then they ran out of steam. Even as I mourned the lives of innocent Palestinian civilians being swept up in the terror that Hamas brought, I spent months afraid to wear my Star of David necklace and hostage dog tag necklace in public.

Recently, I was buoyed by a trip to Israel for state legislators, Jewish and non-Jewish, sponsored by Israel’s Foreign Ministry. For five days, we met with top government officials and traveled around the country, including to the Gaza envelope communities and the ravished kibbutzim. The trip was not without controversy. Several of the legislators were swamped with hate mail and threats from their constituents over their participation.

Yet, there was something comforting about being surrounded by legislators from all over the country, some of whom have questions about how the Israel war in Gaza has been carried out but at the end of the day believe that Israel has a right to exist.

As I continue to serve as a legislator and as an Israeli and a Zionist, I constantly ask myself: How do I better stand for my community? How do I make sure that we have a seat at the table and that our identities are celebrated in the same way we celebrate the identities of others?

I have no answer yet, and I’m far from the end of my journey. I simply work on it every day and hope to change people’s perceptions, and acceptance, of Jews and Israelis.

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Dafna Michaelson Jenet is the Colorado state senator for District 21 and currently serves as the body’s president pro tempore.