The other day, you asked me what I did when Trump took office. With a swell of pride, I told you that I stood up and fought back. I joined marches and protests, sent letters, made calls, and poured my heart into writing — all alongside countless others who were determined to defend the values that shape our nation. You giggled when I mentioned how your mom, aunt, and uncle were in those marches too, leading chants like “hate won’t make us great.” You were curious to see their signs from when they were just little ones, but I couldn’t show you pictures from that day since it fell on Shabbat. Still, you adored the signs I had saved.
We reminisced about those times, but then the conversation turned to the darker days that followed. You were puzzled by how things escalated so quickly. How could a refugee ban be enacted on Holocaust Remembrance Day? How could a person with racist views begin their confirmation as attorney general on the first day of Black History Month? I admitted to you that I was just as baffled. I still struggle to understand those events, and I remain grateful to have come through a storm that many didn’t.
You asked me if I was scared during that time. I told you, “Absolutely.” I was terrified for the future of our country and for those whose lives were in jeopardy. I felt overwhelmed by the surge of anti-semitism, Islamophobia, racism, sexism, and homophobia. The threats to a free press and the all-too-casual acceptance of “alternative facts” were frightening. You chuckled at the term until I explained that those so-called “alternative facts” were really just lies. I was also worried about our planet. When you asked what snow was like, I laughed but felt a pang of sadness inside.
However, here’s the crucial part, and I’m glad you listened intently: while I was scared, I wasn’t afraid for my life. I was thankful for the freedom that allowed me to march, call, and write without fear of direct harm. I fought for that freedom and for those who faced threats every single day because of their skin color, religion, or sexual orientation. I wanted them to find safety here, so they wouldn’t have to pay with their lives for being who they are, and I still want that for our country.
I hoped that helped explain why I fought so hard, even when others called me crazy, a conspiracy theorist, or a party pooper. But there was another reason that fueled my determination, even when I wanted to scream or escape into my books and research: one day, you would come along and ask me, “What did you do?” And I wanted to be able to look you in the eye and say, with all honesty: “I fought. I fought for you.”
Love,
Savta