Today is a hard day for many reasons.
As an American woman and as a human being, I have less rights today than I did last Monday. This country sees me as less valuable, less of a citizen and less capable – along with more than 50% of our population. As a Jewish woman, this country has determined that my religious beliefs should be secondary to theirs and that my life – along with the lives of all other women – should be governed by their theocratic beliefs despite this country being founded on the separation of church and state.
An American wielding a gun – a weapon of death – has more rights than I do as a female human being. This was deemed so important that states should not be permitted to make their own laws. A corpse, from whom you cannot remove an organ to save a life without permission – has more rights than an American woman. But a rape survivor will be forced to carry and birth a child and possibly (depending on state), co-parent with her rapist, or God forbid, pay him child support. A victim of molestation will be forced to birth the child of their molester – be it a stranger or family member. A woman, facing an unwanted, unplanned or dangerous pregnancy is forced to birth a child as nothing more than an incubator for the state. There are more than 400K children in foster care in the US; of those, more than 115,000 are available for adoption. This does not include those that may be available for adoption but not in the system. Adoption is not the answer.
The maternal mortality rate in the US is among the highest among developed countries. In 2020, it was determined that the US material mortality rate was more than double the recent rates of most other developed counties. The numbers go up significantly for women of color; their death rate is three time higher than white woman and three times higher than Hispanic woman. However, Hispanic woman are seeing the largest increase in maternal death.[1] Racial inequities play a huge role in pregnancy care – Black women are three to four times more likely to die of pregnancy-related death than non-Hispanic white women. [2]
So, today is a sad day. I, along with every other American woman, have far fewer rights than we did 23 years ago. Twenty-three years ago, Rona died. A horrible and debilitating illness killed her – despite her access to excellent healthcare. And let’s be clear, despite her access to care – she had to fight tooth and nail for every treatment and every procedure. This includes one procedure that required the board approval from the local Catholic hospital because it was considered birth control – even though the hemorrhaging was killing her. Religious ideology was more important and took precedence over her physical well-being. I think of how many others could not – cannot – even access what she fought for on a daily basis.
Twenty-three years ago, she lived in a world where she had more control over her body than her friends, her family have today. She wasn’t overly political – she was deeply rooted in her Judaism and the idea that we are becoming a theocracy would have hurt her to the bone. It would have scared her. It scares the shit out of me.
So, today – on the 23rd anniversary of her death - 23 years of remembering her whenever I come across our inside jokes, a rerun of I Love Lucy, see hard shell crabs or think of the beach. 23 years of finding myself a bit sadder on one day at the end of June and early November. 17 years of wondering what she would think of Jillian, who bears her Hebrew name. Today, though I miss her – I am grateful she isn’t here to see this. As I am grateful my mother and my grandmother are not here to see this. Intelligent, strong and resilient women who believed strongly in a woman’s right to choose.
Years ago, when the HPV vaccine first came out, I found my mother crying as she was watching the news coverage about the vaccine. When I asked her why, she said, “In my lifetime, I never thought there would be a way to prevent cancer.” She would have readily taken that vaccine and had her daughters do the same. Because healthcare for woman is never a priority.
Even further back, I was talking with my grandmother about her days as a dancer and I remember her telling me how the dance troupes were like a family and for many in the troupe, their own families no longer wanted them. She was a staunch believer in choice and gay rights long before it was a more common topic of conversation. She saw first-hand what happens when people don’t have freedoms.
Just over 50 years ago, my parents divorced. It was not an amicable situation. Despite this, my father had to go with my mother to the bank and give consent for her to get her own credit card and help her get an apartment. Because a divorced woman was not trustworthy enough.
40 years ago this month, I was sexually assaulted. I told almost no one. I wouldn’t have been believed because a woman’s truth weighs less than a man’s actions.
27 years ago, I was part of the leadership of a large nonprofit. While working on the annual budget, a male director had the balls to suggest one of his male employees get a bigger raise than the single woman on his team because said employee and his wife were expecting their third child. Historically, I was quiet during these meetings but quite an array of words flew out of my mouth. To the credit of our female executive director, his idea was quickly shut down, but he continued to believe it was a valid request. Because our society gives men greater value than a woman in the workplace.
18 years ago, I found myself pregnant and unmarried. I was told by more than one person that having the baby would be a mistake, she would be “screwed up” with no father, that I should abort. And, I thought about it – for how long doesn’t matter. I had a choice I am forever grateful for – I chose to continue the pregnancy and become a mother on my own terms. I was damned for choosing to continue the pregnancy and damned for not. Because in our society, a woman choosing single motherhood must not know her own mind and could not do this on her own.
10 years ago, I sought out the advice of my Rabbi after the death of my daughter’s friend. After repeatedly declining his offer to speak with my daughter (she didn’t want to talk to him,) he told me that he felt my child needed a male role model in her life to talk to and guide her. His repugnant behavior drove me away from that synagogue and almost away from Judaism. Because society believes a woman alone cannot adequately provide guidance and support for her child.
9 years ago, my daughter was threatened at school. A boy threatened to, “shoot her in the face with a rifle.” Many phone calls, visits from the police and meetings at school later – someone actually said, “Oh, he wasn’t serious. Maybe he likes her.” Because assuring me that my daughter would be safe in school was less important than protecting a boy who they felt made an idle threat. (Note: bullying and repeated retaliatory threats continued and we left the school.)
This is not the world Rona and I talked about when we were young. This is not the world my mother and grandmother fought for or wanted for their children and grandchildren.
I’m afraid for my friends. I’m afraid for their children. For their spouses. For their partners. Stripping away human rights should not be so easy. In a democratic society, we should not be allowed to use religious ideology as the basis for legislation. What rights are next? Which of my friends is most vulnerable right now? Which members of my community will I next stand with and stand up for? Because even as a woman with fewer rights, there are others that are even more vulnerable.
Two weeks ago, I completed an interview and will begin volunteering with the escort program at Planned Parenthood.
Three days ago, I watched my daughter sign three petitions and sign up to volunteer with campus group that advocates for reproductive freedom and another that supports survivors of sexual assault.
In just over four months, I will watch my daughter cast her first vote. She turns 18 on election day. She has educated herself on issues. She is not afraid to speak up or speak out. She is strong. She is smart.
But, we cannot leave this fight to our daughters and granddaughters. To our sons and grandsons. Friends, we must leave this world with more rights for more people – not less. With greater freedoms and more safety. With more hope and less despair.
