Dear Emily,
The other day, you inquired about my actions when the Trump administration began. With a sense of pride, I recounted my commitment to activism. I devoted countless hours to protests and marches, engaged in writing letters and making phone calls, all while standing shoulder to shoulder with others who sought to uphold the core values of our nation. You chuckled when I mentioned that your mother, uncle, and aunt joined me, leading chants like “hate won’t make us great.” You expressed curiosity about their participation at such young ages, specifically at 7, 5, and 3, but I couldn’t show you photographs due to the march occurring on Shabbat. Luckily, I still had their signs, which you adored.
While that brought a smile to your face, we then shifted our conversation to the subsequent events that unfolded, which only seemed to worsen. You struggled to comprehend how a refugee ban could be enacted on Holocaust Remembrance Day, or how a known racist could be confirmed as attorney general at the start of Black History Month. I shared that I, too, was baffled by it all and remain so to this day. I expressed my gratitude for having survived those tumultuous times while honoring those who didn’t.
You asked me if fear accompanied those days. “Absolutely,” I replied. I was terrified for our nation’s future, for individuals whose lives were in jeopardy, and for the surge of anti-Semitism, Islamophobia, racism, sexism, and homophobia. The threats against press freedom and the casual acceptance of “alternative facts” were alarming. (You giggled but fell silent when I clarified that “alternative facts” were essentially lies.) My concern for the planet also weighed heavily on me. (When you asked about the sensation of snow, I laughed, masking the tears that threatened to spill.)
However, and this is crucial, I reassured you that I was not frightened for my personal safety, at least not in an immediate sense. I felt fortunate to have the ability to march, advocate, and write without direct threats against me. I fought for that very freedom, for those who faced daily dangers due to their skin color, beliefs, sexuality, or lifestyles. I desired for individuals worldwide to find refuge here, where they would not be persecuted for who they are. This, I insisted, must remain true for the United States.
I hoped my explanation clarified why I resisted so fervently, even when labeled as irrational or a nuisance at social gatherings. Yet, my motivation stemmed from another profound reason—an unwavering hope that one day you would ask me, “What did you do?” And I wanted to gaze into your eyes and respond, truthfully: “I fought. I fought for you.”
With love,
Savta