Truth, Justice and the American Way

This afternoon I had the privilege of being an audience member at Nashville's Writers Resist: Voices for Social Justice, hosted by The Porch Writers' Collective, located at Scarritt Bennett. We were given a writing prompt during the intermission, and I was inspired. The poets and songwriters who performed their own and others' works were moving and got my creative juices flowing. At the end of the scheduled program, the event closed with an open mic for those who wished to share what they wrote during the intermission. After several people read their beautiful poems, my heart began to beat out of my chest and I lumbered down the steps to the front of the room and the podium. With tears in my eyes and flowing down my cheeks, I read the following poem.

Truth, Justice and the American Way

 

"Hey, Jew," said the 7th grader passing me in the hall between classes, 

a swastika on the back of his jacket in masking tape. 

Another that he tossed onto my lunch table, 

folded into a paper note, 

the black lines wrapping around themselves, 

taunting me,

making me feel smaller than my 13 year old body.

The adults didn't know, didn't see. 

I tell my brother, the scrawny older sibling who confronts my bully 

surrounded by his linebacker high school friends. 

"Don't look at my sister, 

don't talk to her. 

Stay away from her."

Not the last time I felt the burden of ignorance 

forcing shame upon me for my ancestry. 

Fear builds in my belly, 

my ire sparked, 

I want to lash out, 

share my people's strength, resilience and 

hold my head up high 

while crushing stereotypes and prejudice. 

I find solidarity in just pursuits.

Hillel's words lead me to righteous deeds 

and occasional righteous indignation. 

"If not now, when?"

Tzedek, tzedek tir dof. 

Justice, justice I shall pursue. 

These words of my ancestors are my truth.