When I was young, in the 1950s, I identified strongly as a Jew. The sting of the Holocaust was fresh in Jewish minds, and I was proud of Israel as it built a country where Jews could live safely.
At that time, Jewish girls didn’t celebrate their coming of age with a Bat Mitzvah as they do today, along with boys who celebrate their Bar Mitzvahs. My rabbi knew of my feelings about being Jewish, so on my 13th birthday he dedicated the Friday night service to the story of Esther, whose place in Jewish history is remembered in the month of March. It went a long way to assuage having been called a Jew bitch by a classmate around that time. My orthodox grandfather would have been proud.
When I was even younger, I refused to utter the Lord’s prayer every morning in school because it was not a Jewish prayer. I also resented having to stand around a Christmas tree every December singing carols, and not having an excused absence for observing the Jewish High Holy Days. I also didn’t speak the pledge of allegiance at the morning ritual, hand over my heart, because I didn’t want to support my country if it did something wrong (like Germany had done). Those acts of resistance foreshadowed my adult commitment to human rights, social justice, and equality under the law.
As I reflect on those early experiences and ideals now, I find myself in deep pain as both a Jew, and an American citizen. It pains me to bear witness to the inconceivable violence being perpetrated by the Israeli government, whose leadership has gone full fascist in its unrelenting attacks on the Palestinian people, who are suffering a siege of inhumane proportions.
It is painful for me that my president is unwilling to end American collaboration with what is clearly ethnic cleansing and yes, genocide in Gaza and the West Bank. Like many Jews and others I cannot fathom why he won’t end the massacres by withholding all funds for Israeli military equipment that keeps the carnage going.
If nothing else, the president and those who speak for him, should realize that this administration is bleeding votes in the most crucial election of our time, which feels like abandonment to me. The president, in particular should, in words and deeds, demonstrate compassion, reason, intelligent decision-making, and commitment to human rights, all of which Democrats love to claim in hollow rhetoric.
Americans deserve to expect that the ideals we espouse as the keystone of our democracy, are not just campaign talk, but well-considered and well-articulated promises and policies, followed by actions that benefit all Americans, and keeps them safe.
The idea of safety and security goes beyond reduced, if not eliminated, worries about war, here and around the globe. Safety and security in America is meant to mean having decent housing, fairly compensated work, food security, and equal rights under the law. It means having accessible, quality healthcare without state intervention, an education that isn’t dictated by state laws that decide what you can read, teach, talk about, and protest, all of which are deeply threatened in this time of budding autocracy and deep dive dictatorship.
For me, the common denominator between being Jewish and American at this difficult time is fear: Fear as a Jew, a woman, a liberal, a journalist, a teacher, a mother, a friend, a citizen of America, a country that now faces the distinct possibility of horrific violence for any one of those identities, and others. The truth is I wouldn’t want to be Black, Muslim, immigrant, poor, or seriously ill right now. I don’t even like being in large venues these days.
That’s a terrible way to feel about one’s country or religious affiliation, whether or not you have one. It’s a time when our individual and family histories, our ethnic backgrounds, our values, choices, sexual identities, race, and political views should not be threatened by anyone, whether in Congress, courtrooms, campaigns, or conversations.
The 1950s were not a Pollyana time. Racism, antisemitism, McCarthyism, misogyny, and other social justice issues loomed large. We had reasons to be afraid then too. But in the 21st century, the knowledge that we seem to be edging toward an abyss no matter how we identify is startling and terrifying. I think most of us sense, in some way and at some level, the anxiety that I am experiencing personally.
My hope is that we recognize, and actively defeat, the forces that threaten us in very real ways, in time for our progeny to live secure in the knowledge that we – today’s responsible adults – defied the evils that seem to surround us now.
That future belongs to all of us. Fear should find no space in our hearts, now or never.
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Elayne Clift writes from Brattleboro, VT