Meet the Honorees: Sarah Levin - Recipient of the Sephardic Young Leadership Award

Sarah is the Executive Director of JIMENA: Jews Indigenous to the Middle East and North Africa, a public advocacy and education organization. Since 2010, Sarah has played a lead role in organizational development and in the larger movement towards international Mizrahi and Sephardic rights and redress. At JIMENA, Sarah has conceptualized and developed a number of campaigns and projects for Mizrahi and Sephardic Jews to explore, preserve, protect and share their heritage, identities, and experiences. Prior to joining JIMENA, Sarah spent six years in Israel where she contributed to social service programs in a variety of capacities through her work at different non-profit organizations, mainly NATAL: Israel Trauma Center for Victims of Terror and War. Sarah is passionate about ecology, human rights, and is an avid organic gardener. A proud mixed Turkish-Sephardic and Ashkenazi Jew, Sarah lives in Northern California with her husband and two sons.

Ethan Marcus: We’re excited to be honoring you on December 7th. Let’s start with your background—where did you grow up, and what’s your family’s Sephardic heritage?

Sarah Levin: I grew up in the northwest suburbs of Chicago. My dad’s grandparents immigrated from Çanakkale, Turkey, in the early 20th century. My great-grandfather, Moshe Levin, was instrumental in building the Sephardic Congregation—hiring rabbis, supporting the community. I was raised mostly in an Ashkenazi environment, but trips to Israel or time with family were my windows into my heritage. I even traveled to Çanakkale with my dad and visited the synagogue there—it was emotional and fascinating.

Ethan: Growing up in an Ashkenazi community, how did you develop your passion for Sephardic identity?

Sarah: I always knew my dad’s family was different. My mom’s best friend was Egyptian Jewish, so I wasn’t disconnected, but I didn’t think of it as distinct until college, during the Second Intifada. I realized how little even Jews knew about Jewish life in the Middle East and North Africa. People saw Mizrahi or Sephardic Jews in Israel and assumed they were from Eastern Europe. That gap in knowledge—especially about thousands of years of Jewish life in the region—pushed me to explore my identity intellectually.

Ethan: What customs or traditions did you grow up with?

Sarah: Food was central. At Rosh Hashanah, we’d eat all the simanim—pumpkin, leek, spinach, fish—without a formal seder but with intention. I loved being in my great-grandmother’s kitchen, watching her make borekas. At synagogue, I remember Ladino being spoken and hearing my great-grandparents converse in it. My dad once recorded relatives in Israel speaking Ladino, and I remember my grandparents listening to it like it was treasure. For many multi-generation families like mine, preserving these “puzzle pieces” takes effort because assimilation took its toll.

Ethan: Tell us about your great-grandparents’ journey from Çanakkale to Chicago.

Sarah: Each came differently. My earliest ancestor here was named Levy Levy—same first and last name. He added an “n” to make “Levin” because having the same name twice felt impractical in America. They first went to New York, then Cincinnati, which had a budding Sephardic community, before settling in Chicago. Back then, Chicago was calmer than the East Coast, and my family lived alongside Italian neighbors while remaining active in the Sephardic community. Interestingly, my great-grandfather’s Ladino was laced with Italian—possibly from heritage, possibly from Chicago.

Ethan: Any Ladino words or superstitions from your family?

Sarah: Compliments were avoided—my grandmother feared the evil eye. I remember “basta” or “yasta” for “stop.” My last conversation with my papu, right before he died, I asked him to speak Ladino. I don’t understand it, but hearing it stirs something deep in me. It’s a beautiful, romantic language, like Spanish, which I also love.

Ethan: You’ve devoted much of your professional life to Mizrahi and Sephardic work. How did that start?

Sarah: In college, I was forming my identity amid intense Israel debates. After graduating, I moved to Israel for nearly a decade. I wasn’t seeking out Sephardic work, but I was quickly embraced by Yemenite communities. My work often focused on equity in peripheral areas—communities that were overwhelmingly Mizrahi. Through that, I got involved with JIMENA, eventually leading and growing it. Ironically, Turkey and Greece haven’t been part of my professional work—it’s been mostly Arab-country Jewish history and advocacy.

Ethan: Does your Turkish Sephardic heritage influence your advocacy?

Sarah: Yes. I believe in justice, recognition, and inclusion. For decades, Jews from Turkey, Greece, and across the region haven’t been centered in Jewish narratives. Education is essential—not just for justice, but for awareness. We’re not just the Woody Allen-type stereotype of American Jewry; that’s not even the majority.

Ethan: What’s your vision for JIMENA and the broader Sephardic community in the U.S.?

Sarah: Inside our communities, I want us to keep passing down traditions—tolerance, adaptability, hospitality, ritual—without adopting the rigid denominational divides common in the West. I don’t want enclaves to assimilate so much that we lose what makes us unique. We should model our traditions for the wider Jewish world, not dilute them to fit in.

For the larger Jewish world, I want recognition of our contributions—not from guilt, but because we’re an asset. I want children of Jewish refugees to tell their family stories loudly, holding both liberal values and advocacy for our own people. I believe Sephardic traditions can be a model for unity in a divided Jewish community.

Ethan: Favorite Sephardic food?

Sarah: My grandmother’s pumpkin borekas—triangular “fellas”—from the Rosh Hashanah meal. I make them now, though begrudgingly, because they’re so much work. I also love my Iraqi mother-in-law’s dishes, like t’beet and kube, but nothing compares to my grandparents’ cooking. As a kid, I found some flavors too strong—salty, lemony—but now I appreciate them, especially the grape leaves so lemony they make you pucker.

Ethan: Any last Ladino words or phrases?

Sarah: My great-grandmother called me “Sarika - little Sarah,” a term of endearment. It wasn’t spoken to me often, so I’m not fluent, but I value preservation efforts, even if language work isn’t my focus.