On the anniversary of October 7th, Zibby joins forces with Rebecca Minkoff to introduce ON BEING JEWISH NOW: Reflections from Authors and Advocates, an inspiring collection of 75 personal essays about what it means to be Jewish in the aftermath of October 7th. In this powerful and emotional episode, 40 contributors share lines from their essays. All profits from this project will be donated to Artists Against Antisemitism, a group founded by Jewish authors to fight the spread of antisemitism. You can now purchase the eBook and audiobook (already available!) and pre-order the paperback before its November 1st release.

Transcript:

Zibby: Today is October 7th, the anniversary of the most horrific day in recent history. Nothing could do this episode justice, but I do want to put forth my own special project that I've been working really hard on for the last several months. It's called On Being Jewish Now, Reflections from Authors and Advocates.

It's a collection of 75 personal essays about what it means to be Jewish and how it feels now in the aftermath of last October 7th. Profits are being donated to Artists Against Antisemitism, a 501c3 non profit I helped start up along with 30 other founding author members last fall. We fight against antisemitism with programming and more.

I hope that you'll take advantage of our audiobook and ebook, which are out now. Our trade paperback is coming out November 1st, but I'm hoping we get it out early. My heart breaks for everything that happened last year and everything that's happened in between. My heart grieves for all the families who are directly affected, and everyone, because we all have been affected.

The following is a podcast that Rebecca Minkoff did, with 40 of the contributors sharing just a line or two about their essay. It is so powerful that all of us on the Zoom found ourselves crying, just listening to each other talk. It is this type of connection, and powerful connection, that I hope deeply will help all of us heal.

Rebecca Minkoff: Do you ever see a successful woman on your feed or in a magazine and think, wow, it must be nice to have it so easy. Well, think again. Behind that glossy cover or smiling face is a ton of hard work, countless failures, and endless learning experiences. I'm Rebecca Minkoff, and I'm here to tell you that success is Isn't a walk in the park.

It takes grit, resilience, and a willingness to take risks. That's why I created super women, a podcast that peels back the varnish and gets into the nitty gritty of what it takes to make it as a woman in today's world from luminaries and game changers. To women, you've never heard of, but should this podcast is here to inspire you to take your next leap.

No matter how daunting it may seem, we'll explore the sacrifices. These women have made the highs and lows they've experienced and the lessons they've learned along the way. So if you're ready to be inspired and learn from some of the most successful women out there, join me on super women together.

We'll uncover the stories behind the successes and prove that with hard work determination and a little bit of luck, anything is possible. I received an email from an incredible woman that I had only known. tangentially through the author community who had really helped guide and give me support when I was publishing my book.

Her name is Zibby Owens and she emailed a number of Jewish people, authors, not authors, and asked us to share an essay about what the events of October 7th Meant to us what being Jewish meant to us, and I became a part of this incredible community where we have been cheering each other on and we have all come together to publish a work called on being Jewish.

Now, now, many of you as my listeners might be Jewish. Most of you, I'm assuming are not. Don't turn this podcast off. Confronting what is happening can be a lot and it can be overwhelming and some people deal with it by tuning out. But I'm inviting you to tune in to 36 incredible women sharing excerpts from these essays that are part of On Being Jewish Now, or simply sharing with us what it means to be Jewish.

It's a time when it can feel like an uphill battle. It's at a time when you feel helpless. And coming together for us was extremely cathartic, and I hope that you as my loyal listener will see us as human, as friends, as people that deserve your support, and people who make a difference in this world.

Being Jewish to me is an identity I've had since I was born, whether it was every Shabbat, Friday night, to my brother and my bar mitzvahs, to my husband stomping on a glass after we got married. It has been interwoven into my life as this rich, deep, beautiful culture that I am so proud to be a part of.

What is happening right now is something that when my mom used to talk about antisemitism, I always thought she was overreacting. And yet, I see it in my face, on my phone, every day. I urge you to support us. To help take action, to do what you can to make sure that history does not repeat itself. I hope that you love this podcast, it's an emotional one for many of us, and I urge you to read this incredible compilation of essays on being Jewish now that we've all put together.

The link is in the show notes. Please spread the word. Thank you so much for listening. All right. We ready? Great. So, whoever's first on the list, take it away. 

Zibby: I'm Zibby Owens and being Jewish to me means being a part of a community of the most vibrant, amazing people ever, many of whom are on this podcast with me today and being able to serve as a messenger for all of our voices.

Ori Ajmi: Hi, I'm Ori Ajmi and I've been thinking a lot about Jewish representation in books and film. And this is a line from my essay, um, in the anthology. Jewish people are not one thing. We are Ashkenazi and Sephardic. We have blonde hair and black. We are orthodox, conservative, and reform. We are entrepreneurs and artists and doctors and lawyers and stay at home moms. We are from all over the globe. We are not all wealthy, and we are not all white. 

Lisa Barr: Hi, I'm Lisa Barr, and my essay is called Loud and Proud, The Voice in My Head, and it's about my grandmother, who is the reason I write what I write, and the reason that I fight for the things that I fight for. Uh, she's a Holocaust survivor, and I'm the daughter of a Holocaust survivor.

Um, so, This line really sums it up for me, uh, in my essay. On October 6th, I knew what I wanted from life. But after October 7th, I knew what life wanted from me. 

Rochelle Unreich: This is Rochelle Unreich. I wrote my book so that my mother's legacy would not be lost. Not just the lessons of history and the dangers of it repeating, but her template for how to live.

With hope, resilience, and perhaps most important, faith. Being Jewish to me is following a path laid out by my ancestors and honoring everything I hold dear about my religion, my faith in God, my faith in humanity, and knowing there is a guide for living a life of purpose. 

Karen Blankfeld: Hi, my name is Karen Blankfeld, and I'm just going to read a small piece of my essay. I wear a golden chain with a butterfly around my neck. The necklace belonged to my grandmother, who gave it to me decades ago. My grandmother, blonde haired, blue eyed Polish Jew, was sent on a ship of orphans when she was seven years old.

Already at seven, she knew who she was. I am a Jew, she insisted. 

Jeannie Blasberg: Hi, I'm Jeannie Blasberg, and this is from my essay, Conversion Lessons. As a convert, my mindset has always felt akin to a Passover lesson. Every day, every hour, every minute, we can make the choice to pursue freedom. I wake up every morning and choose my Jewish life.

I choose to observe Shabbat. To study Torah, to help those in need, to welcome the stranger, to love my neighbor, and to read and write inspired by great minds, including Jewish ones. 

Amy Blumenfeld: I'm Amy Blumenfeld, um, and I'm gonna read a passage from my essay. I was raised in a very traditional Jewish home. I went to Jewish day school.

I kept kosher my whole life. But what I wrote about was the moment I sort of had this realization of how much it was become part of my fabric and ingrained in me. And I was young at the time. A makeshift stage in the basement of a Brooklyn church is not typically where you'd expect to hear a 10 year old girl belt out cantorial liturgy from a Sabbath morning service.

And yet there I was, at my first and last audition, reciting the Hebrew prayer, Mim komo hu yif ben barakhamim, in front of 200 aspiring slack jawed thespians. Needless to say, I was not cast in that production of Gypsy, but the audition became one of the more formative and meaningful experiences of my childhood.

It was the first time I was cognizant of instinctively turning to religion as a source of comfort in a time of need. something I would continue to do for the rest of my life. 

Jennifer S. Brown: I'm Jennifer S. Brown, and my essay is about actually writing bereavement letters. Growing up, I was a very secular Jew, meaning we didn't keep kosher, we didn't go to synagogue, but I always felt the tide of my community.

And as I've gotten older and I've joined a synagogue, I find the Less religious, but more helpful ways helps me. So my piece on mourning, uh, here's a quote. Writing bereavement letters can be depressing, especially when the deceased or the bereaved is a friend. Yet I never feel as much a part of my Jewish community as I do when sending those letters.

Each calculation of dates ties me closer to my people. Helping others through difficult times is one of the most Jewish acts a person can perform. 

Talia Carner: I'm Talia Carner. And being Jewish today, for me, is doing what's most scary for me, and that speak up against anti Semitism. And this is a paragraph from my essay, Flaunting Jewishness.

My Jewish star, I penned a letter to the Authors Guild board and staff demanding that they take a public stand for us, Jewish authors, the way they had for Black authors and authors of color. It took the Authors Guild 10 more days before they issued a watered down statement, wrapping anti Semitism with Islamophobia, except that there is no known campaign to blacklist Muslims or Jews.

Julia DeVillers: I'm Julia DeVillers. I'm the daughter of a Holocaust survivor and a children's book author, including the books for the first Interfaith American Girl Dolls I wrote with my twin sister. Isabelle and Nikki are fictional characters, but we hope that readers of all faiths appreciate The specialness of celebrating Hanukkah with them.

And when girls receive an Isabel or Nikki American Girl doll, they'll be sharing a piece of my twin sisters in my childhood that these days feels extra precious. 

Debbie Reed Fisher: I'm Debbie Reed Fisher. And first of all, thank you so much, Rebecca. And thank you, Zibby and all of you. I'm so inspired by all of you. Like Julia, who just said, I'm an author of young adult novels and middle grade novels, which are very heavy on humor.

And I think it's because of all the anti Semitism that I grew up with, where I was the only Jew, humor saved me. And so my essay is called What Stays With Me? And it's about the power of Jewish humor and friendship. And here's an excerpt. Oh, hang on. Since October 7th, with the worst antisemitism seen in my lifetime, I feel our collective pain.

And I also delight in our ability as a people to find joy in laughter. Humor turns insults into punchlines and adversity into strength. It helps take our fear away. It is a tool not to survive, but to thrive. If we can laugh, hate won't win. 

Alyssa Friedland: Hi, I'm Alyssa Friedland, and I wrote about the changes I made to my manuscript for my novel Jackpot Summer after October 7th.

The fictional potters became the Jacobsons. I changed the opening scene to a gathering after a Jewish burial ceremony. I added mezuzahs, pastrami, a synagogue, and a bar mitzvah. I needed to remind my readers that Jews have humanity. We aren't violent perpetrators, and we aren't only victims. We are a people with a rich cultural history spanning thousands of years, beautiful traditions, and a values and morals based religious code.

After years wishing I could color outside the lines, I now find comfort and purpose writing about my religious and cultural identity. Not because the publishing industry says I should, but because it is imperative to show the world what seems like a basic fact. Jews are people, too. 

Jacqueline Friedland: Hi. I'm Jacqueline Friedland.

Um, I wrote about my daughter's bat mitzvah and how we were planning to throw a very large boisterous party shortly after October 7th and how we struggled with that decision post October 7th and members of the community convinced us to go forward with our celebration. I began to feel comfortable with the idea of celebrating a bat mitzvah after October 7th, to let our joy at our daughter's milestone exist alongside our pain from the atrocities, the war Israel was being forced to fight, and the alarming antisemitism surrounding us in the U. S. I also began to realize that it was not only a privilege to celebrate our child's bat mitzvah, but also our duty. With Jews still being actively persecuted, how could we forsake an opportunity to elevate this moment of Jewish joy? 

Barryliner Grant: Hi, I'm Barryliner Grant. I wrote about one of the most important Jews in my life, my father, who taught me about loss.

I realize too late I'm experiencing our lasts. We listen to music known and loved, like Ray Charles. You used to sing along and tap a foot, but no more. I recite Kaddish in search for a glimmer. Gosh, I long for a glimmer. A friend shared this week that the whole of her congregation is rising for Kaddish, so that no one is left to stand alone.

I know how much you might like this and tell you, Dad, may the whole wide world stand for all who grieve and know the deep loss of dementia. And may I keep your memories alive for always. Amen. 

Stacy Morgenstern Igel: Okay, that's hard to follow. Yes. Very. Amen. Amen. Um, thank you so much, Zibby, for putting this all together, and Rebecca, it's so great to see you.

Um, so, I am the founder of the Brand Boy Meets Girl. I've spent my past 20 plus years standing up for all communities and bringing people together. And, I'm going to read the beginning of my essay. I remember the call and the questioning whether I wanted to be part of a commercial produced by Robert Kraft standing up to Jewish hate.

A decision that would mean giving up perpetual rights to my own image. Should I do it? I thought back to the time when I wasn't allowed to participate in ballroom dancing with my friends at their club because I was Jewish. My father called the club and firmly declared, You will allow my daughter in with her friends.

He stood up for me and got me in. How could I not stand up for this commercial? I said yes.

Brenda Janowicz: Hi, I'm Brenda Janowicz. I wrote an essay about baking challah and I'd like to read the first paragraph of that for you. I did it every Friday. I would go to the charming little French bakery one town over and buy a big delicious challah for Shabbat dinner. That night we'd light candles, say prayers, and enjoy a family meal together.

We did it because it was tradition. We did it because my son came home from elementary school one day and told me he was embarrassed to be Jewish. I wanted my children to understand where we came from. 

Rabbi Rebecca Karen Jablonski: Hi, my name is Rabbi Rebecca Karen Jablonski. I wrote an essay that I hope will be a snapshot in time of what it means to be Jewish for when you read.

the anthology, which is incredible. Thank you, Zibby, for collecting the essays. But now, as I am sitting in all of my holiday preparation, I'm thinking about how what it means to be Jewish is that we're a people of holy days and holy times. And the Jewish calendar demands of us now a time of celebration.

reset, repair, and hopefully we can get back to a place in our world where there is peace, where there is peace of mind. And as we reflect on the upcoming anniversary of October 7th, hopefully all of our families can have a very meaningful time in this Jewish community. a calendar, and hopefully we can restore our days like they used to be, full of peace and joy.

Harper Kincaid: Hi, I am Harper Kincaid. I am an author of, well, I used to write really dirty rom coms and, uh, and books. With that, I now write, well, I did write mysteries, and now I'm sort of going into new directions and non fiction. So, um, it is just kick ass to be a Jew. I just really, uh, I, I have this gift. I didn't realize it was a gift at the time of growing up in South Florida, which has a huge population.

So like everyone was Jewish. So I just, it was just part of everything that we did. We were, you know, and I looked back as I was learning more about, um, Our people, not just through the religious lens, but through a social justice lens, like we were part of the founders of the NAACP. We are part of the gay rights movement.

We are part of, of, you know, labor unions and, and, you know, equal rights and, and all of this stuff. Um, so I'm at this point where, and you know, we cure diseases, like we're just, it's, and it's all back to. are to the Torah, to, to religion, about to Kun Olam, about healing this world, about making it better.

It's not about the next world over. It's about where we are now. And I love that about us. And we're a tribe and you can bump into somebody in the middle of wherever. And if you find out they're a Jew, it's a, it's, it's a comrade. It's a, it's, it's your people. Uh, it is also a heartbreak. And I struggle with that, but I feel like this is what it is to be alive.

You get this great love and you're gonna also have to grieve and you're also gonna have to have this pain and you're gonna have to hold both in your hands like water sometimes going through your fingers but it's regenerative and then it comes back again and I hope it makes us The change makers of the world, because we have this lens, it's sometimes it does feel like a big too big of a price to pay.

And I'm angry, and I'm sad, and I'm gobsmacked. But I'm here, and we're here. Right. 

Amy Klein: I'm Amy Klein I'm a journalist, and a writer, and I'm reading a little part from my essay called the Jewish star is worn about wearing my Jewish star in New York City in public. Right. I get looks, microaggressions as the kids call them, leaving me to wonder if every interaction, the traffic ticket, the refused entry to the pool, the sneering waitress, are arbitrary or anti Semitic.

I find myself twisting my necklace in public spaces, assessing the people around me. Are they Jewish? Do they hate Jews? Just like my Krav Maga instructor would like. But I don't like this feeling, this feeling of being unsafe in America, a Jew in New York. 

Dara Kurtz: Hi, I'm Dara Kurtz, and my essay is called I'm Proud to be Jewish Now More Than Ever.

It's about a conversation that I had with my daughter about who we could count on to hide us if history repeated itself. My grandparents were forced to flee Germany at the hands of the Nazis, and it's a conversation I never thought that I would have with her. But it also Gave us a lot of hope. And I'm going to share just a little bit about my, about that with you.

I don't know what the future holds for Israel, for Jewish Americans, for my family, what I do recognize is that since the horrific events of October 7th, I have never before been prouder to be Jewish. I bear the responsibility to raise my voice, to stand up for my convictions, and instead of fear, to choose hope, not only for my family and me, but also for the future of the Jewish people.

I know there are no guarantees for any of us. While it isn't always easy, I wouldn't change who I am for anything. 

Rachel Levy Lesser: I'm Rachel Levy Lesser. Thank you, Zibby and Rebecca for doing this. My essay is called Proud to be a Jewish Little Girl, and it's about how I turned to Judaism last year after experiencing personal loss.

So I'm just going to read from that. I started going to temple more this past year, and not just for the high holidays. I found myself there the morning of October 7th, 2023. My brother came with me to a small Yizkor service of remembrance, commemorating the end of the holiday of Sukkot. I sat with members of my Jewish community and shared memories of lost loved ones as information came in about the atrocities of the Hamas attacks on Israel.

The small temple gathering Surprisingly comforted me more than anything else. 

Dara Levan: Hi everyone, I am Dara Levan. I'm an author and podcaster, and I'm very, very rarely at a loss for words. Anyone that knows me well, many of you do. I am so moved by what everyone is sharing. To hear you all speak from your heart.

It's, it's different than just reading it and putting a face and a voice. So thank you so, so much. And Rebecca and everyone, I am, I'm running out of words for grateful. Um, my essay is called We Show Up, and it happens to be one of my core values as a human being. And of course, also as a Jewish woman, this essay came to me because my little cousin, 22 years old, was killed in the fourth week of the war same age as my son. And when my husband told a friend of his in Israel about it, someone who I've never met, who I still don't know someone he knows from a professional organization, not a close friend. He said, Tell me Dara's family's name, where they live. He said he'd pay Shiva call. I didn't believe him, and I just thought that was so kind.

I'm trying to get through this without crying. Um, and he did. He showed up. A week later, he went there in uniform. His name is Haggai. He sent photos of my cousin's artwork. My first cousins that I can't get to right now. My uncle, my aunt. Um, and so I'll read you a few lines from my essay and he doesn't know I wrote this.

I can't wait to send this next week to him. He asked when it happened, where did the parents live? What unit did he serve in? And then he said something to my husband. I honestly didn't believe I'm going to the Shiva. His caring gesture made me cry again, but I didn't think he'd actually go. He went, a guy didn't know me.

I'd never spoken to him in my entire life. He'd only met my husband at a professional organization and yet. He helped me mourn. That's what Jews do. We move forward, we support each other, we show up. And I didn't know how to thank him. There are no strangers in Judaism. The world will never be the same for my family and for our community.

May my young cousin's memory be a blessing. May his legacy inspire us all to live with joy. And may one acquaintance's act of kindness inspire us all. It's weird not to talk after every one of you share something so beautiful. Um, but everything you're sharing so far is so incredible, so powerful. And I can't wait for Jewish people to listen to this, but Non Jewish people is who I'm hoping this reaches more.

Toby Rose: Hi, my name is Toby Rose and I'm a writer based in Nashville. My essay is about growing up in Nashville and being everyone's token Jewish. Moving away for 20 years to live in coastal cities and coming back to Nashville to raise my own kids. So I'm just gonna read a couple lines from it. Whereas I used to shy away from being everyone's token Jewish friend, recent events make me want to double down on my Jewish identity.

The kids are proud of being Jewish and so am I.

Joanna Rakoff: Hi, I'm Joanna Rakoff, um, rather than explain the subject of my essay, I will just read a little bit from it and just say it's called the weight of history. And that will tell you a lot about the subject matter in Barcelona. We could not find the synagogue. We checked the address. Once, twice, three times, as we navigated the narrow, narrow medieval alleys of the Jewish Quarter.

But when we got there, we found nothing but a wood framed door that appeared to lead to some sort of cellar. On our third go round, I peered into the small, dusty window at level with my feet. I could barely make out a large stone wall. Just then, the singing started. A Hebrew prayer unfamiliar to me in a tune equally foreign emanated faintly from that foot level window.

Of course, the synagogue was underground behind an unmarked door. We were in Inquisition territory. My son, my oldest child, was in Israel on October 7th, 18 kilometers from the Gaza border. I woke up that Saturday morning, earlier than usual, and padded downstairs for coffee, fueled by a strange sense of unease.

As I ground the beans, I noticed that my phone was flashing with text after text. Thinking of you, they said. Is Coleman okay, they asked. Please tell me Coleman wasn't at that music festival, they pleaded. Before I could make sense of these missives, another came in, from Coleman himself. I'm in a shelter. I'm completely fine. 

Rebecca Raphael: Thank you, Rebecca, uh, and thank you to all of you for sharing these powerful stories. Um, my name's Rebecca Raphael, and I will be reading an excerpt from my essay. Um, I don't think it requires much context. As a child, time stood still when my father walked in our front door early on Friday nights, Shabbat flowers in hand, marking the beginning of our family's cherished time together.

From building a sukkah out of threadbare sheets in our backyard every fall, to gleefully dancing on Simchat Torah accompanied by Bracha, our shul's accordion player. From waving Israeli flags on Independence Day parades, To a decade of summers at Jewish sleepaway camp, there were so many foundational memories I wanted to recreate.

I also spent my formative years watching my grandparents mourn the loss of their parents and siblings among the 6 million Jews who were murdered in the Holocaust. For many in my generation, the Shoah was a catalyst for Jewish identity. A responsibility to be vigilant about ensuring the survival of our heritage and our people.

It was ingrained in me by the Jewish philosopher Emil Fackenheim and by those of my great aunts and uncles who miraculously survived Auschwitz. That in addition to the 613 mitzvot in the Torah, there is a 614th commandment we must follow. We must not grant Hitler a posthumous victory. Since becoming a parent, there is no mitzvah I have taken more to heart.

Certainly because I am passionate about Jewish continuity and feel the weight of our history. But above all, because I believe Judaism offers a roadmap For a purpose driven life of goodness and joy in the aftermath of October 7th, I am doubling down on Judaism as a personal and communal toolbox for a life well lived.

Beth Ricanotti: Hi, I'm Beth Ricanotti. Thank you, Rebecca. Thank you, Zibby. And thank you to all of you who are here. I'm finding so much solace in this morning. I'm a physician and I scaled back my practice as I have been making challah with people around the country since I wrote a book, a memoir about this six years ago.

I'm going to read a short sentence or two from my essay called braiding ourselves together, one challah at a time. After October 7, I have purposely chosen, even more than usual, to make challah across boundaries. With as many different people as possible, both Jewish and especially non Jewish. While we stand side by side at tables, substituting for a kitchen counter, our hands in bowls of dough, we come together and forge a common ground, regardless of our different backgrounds and our different experiences.

We need that now more than ever. I need that now more than ever. Thank you. 

Author and romance author. And I never thought I would need to be a Jewish essay writer, but, uh, here we are. So, uh, this is an excerpt from my essay, We Can Do It With a Broken Heart, my story of losing my best friend. The idea that someone you know so intimately could dismiss you based on origin is almost unfathomable.

It's terrifying and sad. I thought about a conversation I'd had with my sister a few weeks earlier. I feel like my heart is broken, I'd said. It is, she breathed, and that's okay. It's okay. The world might be confused about what it means to be Jewish, but we aren't. We've always found a way to protect and support each other, even when we disagree, and we often disagree, especially when we disagree.

We've always survived our hearts breaking together. 

Jane L. Rosen: Uh, I'm Jane L. Rosen, and my essay, Shopping While Jewish, celebrates childhood memories of visits to Lowman's on the Lower East Side with my mom. It's mostly humorous until I reach My time in the Garment Center, where I met the Buttonhole Man. I'll read a little bit about him.

Finally, one day, the Buttonhole Man caught me staring and held out his forearm for me to see. You can touch it, he said, in his strong Polish accent. I ran my finger over the six digits etched into the creases and sunspots of the old man's arm as tears burned my eyes. 

Alyssa Rosenheck: Hi, my name's Alyssa Rosenheck, and I'm going to be reading from my essay, Rest and responsibility.

Where I found myself in one of the holiest of cities on the holiest of days, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, Jerusalem on Shabbat, I seek peace, but I too have a war within I desire freedom yet fight the oppression of my own fears. I seek alignment in the present, shedding limiting narratives from my past, I strive for justice while I long for mercy.

I aim to reconcile who I was on October 6th with who I am now in a post October 7th world where each day still feels like the 8th. I've been to Israel twice since the war began. Initially, I traveled to a war zone to make sense of the conflict in the states. What I found was not what I expected. I found love and I found home.

This land represents more than just a conflict. It embodies resilience and a profound sense of belonging. Oh, geez, that was beautiful. I am trying not to cry, everybody. 

Heidi Shertock: My name is Heidi Shertock, and I'm an Orthodox Jew who writes Orthodox Jewish rom coms. We can be interesting, funny too.

Okay. And my essay, I'm just going to read a little bit, is about my namesake who escaped pogroms from Lithuania. And she actually took all of that trauma and she made it into something really positive. And she was just like a really awesome, cool person. Um, okay. Haika, like generations of Jews before her and since, took the dirt and grime of her past and transformed it into magnificent seeds of humanity because that is the Jewish way.

Elizabeth Silver: Hi, everyone my name is Elizabeth Silver, and I am a novelist and the daughter and granddaughter of Holocaust survivors. I wrote an essay called The First Peng, an incident that happened to me in middle school during my childhood in the South, in New Orleans and Dallas, where I was one of the only Jews in my school, and how it related to something that 10 year old daughter at school this past year.

So I'll just read a little bit from the end of the essay. As I drove her to school, the pang that hit me when I was 13 reignited. I didn't know how they would greet her request in presentation, and I was simultaneously nervous and overflowing with pride. But when she came home later that day, proud and joyful, she told us that her teacher was so happy to have her give the presentation, she just couldn't believe it didn't know about the month, Jewish American History Month. It reminded me not just of the moment in middle school when the boy defaced my notebook out of hate, but also of every other moment where I too was mostly that anomaly. And people would just frequently say to me, you're the first Jew I've met without negativity or hatred, but rather just curiosity.

We forget how small of people we really are at 0. 2 percent of the world's population, and when we are such a small group, despite our disproportionate output, we all in turn sort of become mini ambassadors to our very existence, to our history, and to our culture. And when we don't individually represent an entire religion, culture, or people who look largely like every race, many of whom don't practice religion at all.

We do represent one tiny part of it, and talking about that can also in turn become one of our superpowers of spreading understanding, love, and acceptance across the globe. Hi, I'm Abby Stern. I am a novelist and journalist, and my essay is about People being surprised that I'm Jewish because I don't look stereotypically Jewish and how I never really offered up that information or wore a Star of David or anything like that.

And kind of trying to figure out why I was sort of hiding my Jewish identity. And that's the little excerpt I'm going to read from my essay. So I wondered if generational trauma is real, perhaps survival instincts are also ingrained in us. My blonde hair and blue eyes genetically came from my grandma, Jean.

This aesthetic carried an enormous amount of favor and a small yet penetrable layer of protection for her as a girl in Poland. She worked at a shop owned by fellow Jews. When the tides began turning in Eastern Europe, she was tasked with working at the front of the store because of her non Jewish looking features.

Rochelle Weinstein: I'm Rochelle Weinstein, and I co authored my essay with Alison Greenberg. Alice and I were strangers before October 7th, but we happened to release our novels around that day. And we wrote it in conversation about our struggles that we faced, the simultaneous joy and pain that we were experiencing. I'm going to read you a small excerpt.

The world needed joy and music and a good read, so our author community did what it always does. They rallied, they lifted, they supported. And that is the essence of all of this. The essence of being Jewish women writers. This is what we do. We may write alone, but we share in each other's triumphs and challenges.

What did we glean from October 7th? We managed to find the light through the darkness.

Samantha Green Woodruff: I'm Samantha Green Woodruff and I am an author of historical fiction. My next novel comes out on October 8th and is about a young Jewish woman in the 1920s. So, this all feels very close. I'm going to read an excerpt from my essay called Jew ish.

And the I S H is in quotes. About my complex relationship with my own Judaism. I never hid my Judaism, but I also didn't advertise it. After October 7th, I convinced myself that if I was speaking out generally, it was enough. That was who I'd always been. Privately, there was more to it. I was growing afraid.

I didn't mind leaving some ambiguity around my Jewish identity, especially if it would protect my family. Thank you, Zibbya and Rebecca, for this amazing group and opportunity and all of it. Wonderful. 

Zibby: You're welcome. 

Aliza Licht: Hi, everyone. So, my essay is called Being a Jewish Activist Wasn't On Brand for Me. My brand guardrails were very clear up until October 7th, 2023.

On this day, I needed to penetrate the well defined exterior of my personal brand and probe into who I was at the core. Deep inside, my belief system was loud and clear. I'm a proud Jew, the granddaughter of not one but four Holocaust survivors, initially born in Poland and Austria. Sure, I had spoken up against anti Semitism here and there before.

I'm looking at you, Kanye. But those were light raindrops of advocacy, nowhere near the ocean waves of activism a few of my peers displayed. Me an activist? Never. But then it all changed. 

Rebecca Minkoff: This is incredible. Thank you. Thank you. This was so cathartic and emotional, and I'm just proud to be Jewish with you all.

A good rest of your week, everybody. Thanks, everybody. Thank you so, so much. I thank you. I just wanted to thank you guys for listening to today's episode. I also want to ask you to rate and review the show wherever you listen to podcasts. I know it's a pain in the butt, but it actually helps with search and algorithms.

So if you love this podcast, it is an easy. Way to get it more visible and out there I also want you to follow me on instagram at rebecca minkoff At rm superwomen and be sure to check out my book fearless the new rules for unlocking creativity courage and success Thank you again, and you will hear from me next week