America is a country full of choices. Everything from the trivial to the consequential is up for selection. Among those decisions, we have the freedom to choose our answer to the question “What do I believe?”

This isn’t an easy question to answer. It takes courage to be a Jew in our society. We have to face the challenges of being “different.” Once we’ve committed to this, though, how do we go about taking action? This is a question I’ve been struggling with for many years. For as long as I’ve known that I’m a Jew, I’ve felt the pull of tikkun olam, a drive to repair the world, but I don’t always know where to start. I know I’m not the only person who wonders about this, so I asked three young adult Jews from across the country how Judaism affects their lives and their commitments to tikkun olam, and how they feel about reconciling their Jewish and American identities.

Noah Zaves is a student at Willamette University in Oregon. He’s spent the past four summers working at Camp Tawonga, a Jewish camp near Yosemite National Park. I ask Noah if he considers his Judaism to be important. He says he considers it to be “vitally important.” He continues: “Judaism prioritizes being a good person. My summer [campers] tell me, in all their 13-year-old rebelliousness, ‘I don’t want to go to services. I don’t believe in God.’ I tell them, ‘That’s fine, and that’s a choice you have to make, but you can still be a good Jew even if you don’t believe in God.’”

Tiffany Katz is an emergency medical technician (EMT). When she was 12, she learned she was half Jewish and made the decision to become a practicing Jew. She tells me: “My decision to go into medicine is partially because of my religion. My religion helps me realize there’s more than just living a life; you have to live it well.”

Adam Zollman is a senior at Case Western Reserve University in Ohio and was president of its AEPi (a Jewish fraternity) chapter last year. When I ask him how his Judaism affects him, he says, “Judaism’s encouraged me to improve myself and be a good person.”

It seems that regardless of their levels of Jewish practice, these three all feel a call to action to be a good person and to perform tikkun olam. I started wondering why this drive is so strong that it persists in mainstream culture, even with Jewish assimilation. Tiffany throws in her two cents: “A lot of cultures don’t have as rich of a history as we do. We can see where our people started from the very beginning, whereas other cultures can’t really do that.”

I think this sense of continuity and connection to the bigger picture makes Jews work harder at fixing the world. Our people have seen enough violence, hatred and persecution to realize it’s imperative not to allow this trend to continue against anyone. Jews, historically, have been social activists.

Noah adds: “In the 1960s, when the white Freedom Riders went south to fight segregation, according to different estimates, between 40 percent and 75 percent were Jewish, at a time when Jews comprised 2 percent of the population. Almost none of these Jews were religious. Judaism’s social imperative is so strong that it means enough for a young white Jew to risk his or her life to fight for someone else’s civil rights.”

“Being a member of the Tribe,” says Adam, “means I can go to any shul in the world and be with people I feel comfortable with. It makes Judaism much more meaningful because it provides a [community] in addition to a moral framework.”

I’ve discovered there are as many reasons to perform tikkun olam as there are actions that need to be taken. There are also just as many aspects to Judaism that can help guide someone toward making good choices. I’ve learned that Judaism can guide me regardless of the path I choose to take, and there’s more than one “right” way to lead a spiritual and fulfilled life. What path will you choose?

Jenessa Lanes graduated from the University of Central Florida with a minor in Judaic Studies. She loves reading, cooking, stand-up comedy and learning new things.