January 25, 2021 by admin

Is Gen-Z Alright?

Ten feminists, ages 18 to 27 squint at the future imperfect through a coming-out journal, religious faith, long-distance love, an opera career on pause, working retail to survive, and more.

From top left: Chaya Holch, Tziporah Herzfeld, Ilana Starr, Rachel Fadem, Rena Yehuda Newman, Kira Yates, Makeda Zabot-Hall, Abigail Fisher, Noa Wollstein, Arielle Silver-Willner

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January 25, 2021 by admin

Covid Forced My Relationship Long-Distance

ARIELLE SILVER-WILLNER, 24

My girlfriend and I celebrated our one-year anniversary over FaceTime, each of us curled up in a blanket fort, 1,600 miles apart. We ate dinner “together,” opened gifts that we’d sent by mail, and played games. By the end of the evening I was in tears, overjoyed to have such a special person in my life, yet heartsick after nearly four months of our unplanned distance, which still has no end in sight.

In mid-March, my girlfriend got a late-night phone call from her parents, asking her to come home to Texas immediately, in anticipation of a New York City pandemic lockdown. Assuming she would be back within a few weeks, she agreed to go, and eight hours later she was in Houston. 

Less than a week later, my mom and I decided it was time to quarantine. As the Covid cases began to climb in the U.S., so did my anxiety. I worried about my health, which is already weakened by chronic illness and a compromised immune system. I gave up my babysitting job and my other work went remote. We began to have our groceries delivered and to sanitize them meticulously when they arrived. But still, I felt vulnerable.

For months, my girlfriend and I had little to do but miss each other. We sent letters and care packages. We watched movies together over FaceTime. We spent hours on the phone reassuring ourselves that this would all be over soon and discussing all the things we would do together over the summer—then, when summer came and went, what we’d do in the fall. It was a depressing game of pretend, compounded by the fact that just weeks before the pandemic took over everyone’s lives, we had decided to move in together.

Now, we complain about how unfair it all is, then check our privilege: we are safe, with technology that allows us to see each other’s faces and hear each other’s voices every day.

In a perfect world, my girlfriend would find a job she could do remotely, so that she could afford to return to the city. Until a safe and effective vaccine is widely available, that’s the only way we’ll be able to reunite—because the only jobs that seem to be hiring are positions for essential workers, which would pose a health risk for me.

My negativity and gratitude come in alternating waves. I want to hug the person I love, but I am grateful to have someone to miss, and that she is safe. I worry about my health, but I am fortunate to have a job that allows me to work remotely. Like everyone, I am impatient and afraid, but I know that this moment will end. And until then, I will remind myself to choose gratitude, and blanket forts and FaceTime.

Arielle Silver-Willner is Lilith’s Editorial Assistant (and former intern!) and a frequent contributor to the Lilith blog and magazine. She works part-time in childcare and spends her free time taking photos and trying to finish her first novel.

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January 25, 2021 by admin

A Faithful Young Jewish Woman Struggles to Understand Why…

There is nothing quite like being in shul on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. I never feel the impact of the phrase, “k’eesh echad b’lev echad,” that the Jewish people are like one person with one heart, as strongly as I do on the High Holy Days, when everyone is gathered together and wearing emotions openly. 

This year, however, because of the pandemic, the world I treasured so deeply was ripped from me.  I have a neuromuscular condition which makes me immunocompromised, and I need to be hyper-careful, knowing that even completely healthy people have suffered horribly from this disease. I can’t take any chances of potentially getting the mysterious COVID-19, so for months I knew that I would not be able to go to shul in person for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Even with all of the safety precautions my congregation was taking, I realized I could not risk sitting next to someone who did not wear a mask at all, or did not wear it properly covering her nose and mouth. 

Since I am a consistent shul-goer, it was difficult for me to reconcile myself to this. As a child, I sat with my mother rather than going to youth groups. My father took me to shul every Shabbos and Yom Tov. As I’ve gotten older, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are especially poignant and meaningful days for me, and I take the seriousness of the teshuva season extremely seriously. 

The months of Elul and Tishrei are times of self-reflection. Yet, the beginning of the pandemic was instead a time of fear, anger, sadness, confusion. Of course, I am just a human being. Often, I wondered why Hashem is making this pandemic last so long. I questioned the curveball thrown into our daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly religious traditions, laws, and obligations; making it difficult to accomplish doing the mitzvot. Now, a few months later, I feel I’ve gained  perspective.

Some people’s hardships are more evident, while other people have deep, secret hardships about which they do not speak. A human being is not defined by this. What defines a person is how he or she deals with, overcomes, or accepts hardship.

Sometimes we become too complacent, jaded, or ungrateful. When this happens I believe that Hashem sends us a message in order to shake us, wake us up, and show us that we need to do better, whether we need to be kinder and more understanding to ourselves, or to others. While it was painful for me to stay home on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, I came to realize that I was not meant to be in shul. I stayed home this year so that, hopefully, Im Yirtzah Hashem, if God wills it, I can be there safely next year, and the years to come.

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