Don't Let Silence Be Affirmation

I could have stayed silent. I could have just gone about my day – my weekend – just as so many others have. We all heard the news, we know what happened. Perhaps we’re just processing this in our own way. Perhaps, some are operating in the “well that’s awful but it doesn’t affect me” mentality that has become so pervasive of late.

Then I got messages. A few texts from dear friends checking to see how Jillian and I were managing the news. The first one came before I had even read the news. Jillian was riding and I didn’t tell her until she was done. They were kind words from kind people – people that fully understand systemic discrimination and intolerance - that suffocating and panicky feeling that comes from oppression. The quiet fear with the knowledge that you have to keep doing what needs to be done – the laundry, the carpool, work, the activism – with the underlying despair of “what is next” in the back of your head. I even got an email from a friend who voted quite differently than me - horrified by what has happened and wanted to assure me that he likes the Jewish people [insert eye roll here.]

The current political environment has been a real struggle for me – and understanding my friends who sit in support of an administration that is fanning the flames of hatred. Historically, this has not been a problem for me. I’ve always prided myself on believing that friends do not all have to think alike. I’ve friends of different religions and sharing those traditions has enriched my life. I have friends of different races and ethnicity –those differences have made me a better person. I have friends with different political beliefs and we’ve had great discussions, lively debates and healthy dialogue. We may have even learned something from one another.

But things have changed. They have gotten ugly and mean and deeply personal. I have spent two years educating myself. How can I learn – how can I understand what it means to be part of a marginalized group for whom systemic discrimination is a way of life? Could I truly understand? I can empathize, I can march, I can donate, I can support – but can I truly understand? I have read countless testimonies of people – children and young people - abandoned by their families because of who they love or who they are. I have talked to senior citizens fearful of cuts to their well-earned benefits and at risk of becoming homeless. I have read of countless Veterans who struggle to get the help they need and make ends meet. I have attended meetings at a local mosque listening and learning only to find that as Jew, we had so much more in common than I had ever known – and I heard their fear. I have watched the faithful recoil in shock as religion is used as as rationale for horrible behavior. I have watched in abject horror at the police brutality towards people of color. The difference in the way suspects are treated – based on their skin color. It is worth a side note to say that the pipe bomb suspect and the Pittsburgh shooter were both taken alive. It’s not hard to imagine the very different outcome had their skin been a different color.

In the midst of the rampant racism – the appalling tirades filmed by victims and witnesses of racist vitriol being shouted; the destruction of places of worship while spewing hateful lies filmed by the perpetrators themselves. In the midst of the irrational xenophobic behavior directed at anyone who is not white or speaks another language. In the midst of the attacks on women that finally had the courage to say, “me, too.” In the midst of the name-calling, the mocking of people with disabilities. In the midst of the cries of fake news when the facts are not favorable towards an elected official. In the midst of the overwhelming silence from those who may sit on that side, who may have voted that way – the attacks on Jews continued.

There has been a 60% increase in anti-Semitic incidents from 2016-2017 – the largest increase recorded by the ADL. This includes hate speech, which is protected by first amendment rights. There has been a 250% increase in white supremacist activity on college campuses during this time as well. Bomb threats at multiple Jewish Community Centers. Vandalism in Jewish cemeteries and on Jewish homes. I have friends who have had their Hanukkah decorations vandalized – repeatedly. I have been called names. My own synagogue put up metal barriers to prevent a vehicle from driving through our entry. This is in addition to the armed police that stand guard. And now Pittsburgh. Eleven people gunned down while praying. Gunned down while praying.

Thoughts and prayers are not enough. Not nearly enough.

How do I reconcile the friends (and family) that I know so well with their support of someone that is so hurtful to so many? I know these people – I see how they treat me and my family. Their kindness and genuine friendship is not lost on me. We have traveled together. They have taken my daughter on trips and I have taken theirs. We have eaten in one another’s home, shared celebrations and loss. These are good people who love their families and want the world to be a better place for their children. I know they do not agree with the hateful rhetoric – yet they remain silent. Perhaps they talk more among those that share their political beliefs but from where I sit, the silence is deafening.

I want to remind those friends – I am those people who are being mocked, accused of being a liar, called names, threatened and harassed. When you say nothing, when you continue to support an administration that finds it acceptable – hell, admirable - to discriminate against others, incites violence, instills fear instead of facts, calls women liars and refuses to be held accountable to the same standards to which they hold others – do I assume you agree? On my business calls, we say that silence is affirmation.

As we enter the holiday season, Jillian and I have talked about all the ways we will decorate our new house for the holidays. Where will we put our collection of nutcrackers? What about our winter village (the closest thing we get to snow!) Will we host our annual Hanukkah open house and share latkes and brisket sliders with friends? The one thing we were certain of is that our large bay window would be the perfect spot for our Menorah collection. We’ve talked about how beautiful they will look each night – candles burning in the window. But today, in the back of my mind, I wonder if it is safe for me to do that. Will my house be targeted? Will Jillian be harassed as she’s seen leaving the house on a nightly walk with the dogs? Will we be the ones scrubbing hate-filled graffiti from the garage door? Where will those friends be then?

In the wake of Charlottesville, it was said that “there were fine people on both sides.” Let me be clear - there are no good Nazis or white supremacists - they are not "fine people." There was a whole war about this and the entire world agreed – you cannot be a white supremacist and truly love your country and all that it stands for. Patriotism does not belong to any one political party – pride in one’s country crosses the aisle. It is seen in the courage of our soldiers, the love of their families. It is in the commitment of our teachers, who use their own money to pay for supplies when their states won’t provide funding. It is in the freedom of those who are able to live – and love – as their true selves. It is the dignity in which those that are oppressed continue to hold their head high and keep moving forward. It is in the prayers of the faithful in their many houses of worship. It is in the determination of someone seeking a better life for themselves and their family. It is in the joy and laughter of our children thriving in a healthy environment. It is in the resolution of those who continue to fight for the rights of others – even when they themselves are not affected.

If I have learned nothing else during these last two years, it is that people feel empowered by the words and actions of others. Words matter. How they are used matters. We cannot dismiss distasteful language, hateful rhetoric and soundbites with a “He was kidding,” or “It’s only a joke.” And, to be clear – it’s not that folks don’t have a sense of humor, it’s that so much of the mocking is based on hurtful stereotypes, flat out lies and simple mean-spiritedness that is taken by many to be a guidebook on how to treat people. Standing up for something is the most American thing that I can do. Standing up for myself, my daughter, my friends, for those that live, love and worship differently. I do not have to agree with you but certainly respect your right to believe differently.

But, there is a difference in respecting different beliefs and using those beliefs to incite hatred and violence.  There is a difference in using freedom of speech to share opinions that differ – even when they differ from that of your government – and spewing forth hateful rhetoric that encourages violence against groups of people. There is a difference in saying you have a “live and let live” philosophy to life and supporting officials – and therefore legislation – that restricts others to do the same. There is a difference between saying you believe in a separation of Church and State yet support candidates who want to erase that line and use religion to legislate. (And, for one moment – let’s imagine a Jewish legislator did just that – can you imagine the outrage?!)

If you are not denouncing that hateful rhetoric, do I assume you are for it? If you continue to vote and support candidates who perpetuate that hatred and discrimination, do I assume you agree with those policies? If you continue to mock those that have been brave enough to stand up and make their voice heard, I must assume you mock me behind my back as well, after all, why would I be exempt? If you don’t support those things, I ask how you can support – endorse and continue to vote for someone who does. My daughter once asked me if I would have protected Jews during the Holocaust, had I had that opportunity. “Of course,” I replied. I would try to protect anyone in danger – Jewish or not. I stand by that statement. But, would you protect me? Or my daughter? This isn’t hyperbole anymore.

In these last two years, the learning curve has been steep but great.

I have learned that as a Jew, I must stand up against any religious discrimination. I may not always fully understand another religion but support others’ abilities to worship in their own way.

I have learned that as a mother, I am the voice of my child. That includes teaching her to stand up for what is right, respecting others, to be kind, practice tolerance and to love (and the appropriate use of swear words.)

I’ve learned that as a white woman, I have a responsibility to use my voice in a way that makes others be heard. And, that it is my responsibility to learn how to be a better ally to people of color, the LGBTQ+ community and other marginalized groups – it is not their job to teach me.

I have learned that as a woman, I must support the rights of all woman even if I would not exercise that right.

I have learned that as a sexual assault survivor, I had to tell my story not for a personal cleansing but for the validity it may provide to someone else and a message to my daughter.

I have learned that as friend, I can respect our differences and hope that I am open enough to learn and listen but also acknowledge that there are times when those differences are painful and almost impossible to understand. And I understand that this post may cost me some friendships.

I have learned that I cannot determine what someone else may find offensive but I can choose to be mindful of the differences of others and move through the world with kindness.

I have learned that despite my liberal-ness, I still exist in the bubble of white privilege and it is my responsibility to learn to sit in my own discomfort and use my privilege for the good of all people.

History will not be kind to this time in our country. I want to be certain that I am setting the example I want my child to see. I want there to be no doubt to my child, my family and friends – that I was – that I am – willing to stand up for what is good and decent and right. I don’t want my child to think I was silent in the face of the hatred or discrimination. I don’t want to answer, “Why didn’t you do anything?”

In memory of:

Rose Mallinger, age 97

Jerry Rabinowitz, age 66

Cecil Rosenthal, age 59 and his brother, David Rosenthal, age 54

Daniel Stein, age 71

Richard Gottfried, age 65

Joyce Fienberg, age 75

Melvin Wax, age 88

Sylvan Simon, age 86 and his wife, Bernice Simon, age 84

Irving Younger, age 65

To all others who have lost their lives in the face of irrational hatred and discrimination.

May your memories always be for a blessing.

Do You Believe Me?

I am shaking as I type this. I’ve very rarely talked about it. And, before I post this, I will have the most difficult conversation – I will tell this story to my almost 14-year old daughter. 

I often misplace my keys. I cannot always remember where I parked my car. I’ve even called my daughter by my sister’s name and called my dog my daughter’s name. But I remember this clearly. I remember what I was wearing and what I was doing. I remember the month and year and week, if not the exact date. I remember the friends who kind of laughed and blew it off and those who took it seriously and checked on me. I remember the police officer (male because at that time, it was not the norm to have a female officer handle this type of report) shaking his head and saying there wasn’t much he could do.

Beach Week, June 1982. I was 17-years old and like many in my area, I headed to the beach for a week of completely unsupervised fun. I knew of no parents going. In fact, I rented an apartment for the week (through someone in my neighborhood) and several friends chipped in to pay for it. We all drove down in our own cars. Hoards of us – rejoicing from our recent high school graduation and ready to celebrate with unbridled behavior.

I had partied and played most of the week but on this particular night, I was staying home. We were preparing to host a party the next night and I wanted a quiet – and sober – night in. I vaguely remember making mac and cheese for dinner. My purse on the counter of the small kitchen. A couple that was staying there was out for the evening, two others went out for a reason I don’t remember but they brought home more than food and drink. They had met a couple of boys and brought them back.

I was in the smaller bedroom. You had to walk through this room to get to the master bedroom and bath. I was lying on my side, facing the wall. The lights were out as I was trying to sleep but there was ample light from the kitchen on one end and the master bed and bath on the other. I was not wearing regular pajamas but a tan velour romper I had made in Home Economics. It was shorts but strapless. I was lying under a light blanket, my long hair loose and my eyes closed. Someone walked through the room to the bath and left again. Shortly after, another person came through. On his way back out, he stopped by my bed and said something. I remember saying something to the effect that I was trying to sleep. He flips me on my back and sits on top of me, straddling my body. My long hair is caught and pulling – it’s hard to turn my head. He is laughing and encouraging me to play. I say no and he pulls the top of my romper down. My breasts are exposed and he grabs at me. I am now fully awake, saying no and scared. There are people just outside but they are laughing and drinking and likely don’t know the gravity of what is happening. He is leaning forward, his face in mine and grabbing my breasts. He leans back a bit and laughs. I reach out and grab his crotch and twist. Not sure how much of him versus his clothes that I got but I just did it. He cursed and pushed off me. He ran out of the room, grabbed his friend and they left.

I told the girls in the other room what happened. They were not overly sympathetic but asked how I was. They were laughing about it – not at me, but at the whole situation. I’m not entirely sure they were completely sober - I was. We then realized he had also robbed me. He took my tan leather wallet that had my money, my dad’s Exxon card, my license. If memory serves, he may have also taken my friends’ wallets. We knew his name.

We went to the police. At the time, the Maryland beaches were small towns and the police station we went to was in a trailer. We reported the theft and I remember him rolling his eyes at girls that had allowed strange boys into their apartment. I didn’t tell him about the assault. I could tell by the look on his face that I would be blamed. I was ashamed. It was a “he said – she said” situation. I told my parents that I had lost my wallet. I’m certain I wove some story around it.

Word spread what had happened and we cancelled our party for the next night. I was mostly left alone but I do remember one friend and her boyfriend at the time – they called, they came by. Was I okay? Did I need anything? I remember her anger at the situation – at our other friends bringing strangers in, at what had happened. That type of stuff pissed her off – still does. I’m proud to say that this person is still one of my closest friends. I don’t know if she remembers this – we’ve not talked about it since. I don’t know if she realizes how much her reaching out meant to me.

We went home a day or so later. The Baltimore Police Dept called to tell me they had found my wallet and my stepfather picked it up for me. It was a good leather wallet – I remember saving to buy at Georgetown Leather. I threw it out.

The following week I started my summer job as a camp counselor at a local day camp. I drank a lot on the weekends. One weekend, some fellow counselors and I were drinking at camp well after camp hours. We were playing drinking games. The camp director was with us. I remember he kept moving closer to me, touching me. One of the other counselors noticed this and asked if I was okay. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, the director followed me. I know I was more than tipsy. I remember when I came out of the bathroom, he was right there. He backed me up against the wall, he kissed me. I was not fully coherent but I remember turning my head. I then remember that other counselor was there – looking for me. He brought me back to the table and stayed by my side. This was shortly before my 18^th birthday. The camp director was likely in his 30’s. I knew I was really lucky "nothing" had happened....until I got fired a few weeks later as rumors swirled.

Shortly thereafter, I went away to college. Just a short distance away near Baltimore. That friend that checked up on me at the beach was there, too. We further cemented our friendship. I made other friends, important ones. The kind where we would have deep and meaningful conversations. I never told them. I was in a campus building one day, there were pictures of faculty members on the wall. A lot of pictures. But one caught my eye so quickly there may as well been a light shining on it. The face was so familiar but more importantly, the name. The name was the same as that boy from the beach. His father was on the faculty. I remember that name to this day.

I changed schools after my freshman year and moved across country. I told myself and everyone else that I just really wanted to go to California. It was far from my parents, my brother was there and that was where I wanted to be. I did not have enough self-awareness at the time to link my experiences with my move. I'm sure it contributed to it my rash decision to re-locate. I don’t regret that move.

Some say that we are the sum of our experiences. I like to believe that the negative experiences are lessons and while I’m not a better person for having had those things happen, I've tried to grow as a person and learn about myself.

I share this not to seek sympathy. I share this because I know many people – friends, colleagues, friends of friends – who think they do not know anyone who had experiences like the ones we’re reading so much about. I want to tell them that they are wrong – they know me.

I share this because I am more than that experience.

I share this because it’s important that my daughter know that there is no shame in telling about this. I will always believe her.

I share this because I know others are afraid to share their experiences.

I share this because I believe the other victims.

 

Yes, I know times have changed – perspective has changed, the crime has not.

Yes, I’ve heard boys will be boys – but those boys grow into men and perpetuate the behavior and belief. It’s an ugly cycle.

Yes, I have moved on – and he likely has, too. In fact, he’s probably never thought twice about what happened. I think about it every single time I hear a story about violence against women. Every. Single.Time.

While typing this, I was shaking, short of breath and crying – afraid to blink because I see it happening again. So, while I may not remember where my phone is or what I needed in the kitchen, I will always remember this. Some things you simply don’t forget.

 

If you have been a victim of sexual assault – you are not alone. Talk to your friends, family and reach out to the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 1-800-656-4673. We believe you.

Update: Lucky is not the right word but best describes how I feel about my experiences compared to others. That said, this is not a contest. Each person that experiences this is - hopefully - a survivor. We cannot diminish the experience that others may have, we can only validate, offer support and believe.