January 19, 2021 by admin
My freshman year of college probably looks quite different from yours. I have to wear a mask while I use the bathroom. I’ve never seen the mouths of the people who serve me lunch every day. And my friends and I yearn to see invitations to events in our inboxes, that—just this once—won’t include a Zoom link, but instead will have a physical address, like the flyers that used to hang on the light posts where I grew up.
We often get asked if we feel like we’re missing out on the true experience of our first year in college. How can you miss something you’ve never experienced before? We only know college with Covid, so we’ve adapted—and learned how to find joy even if we can’t see each other smile. We still gathered to watch the debates and comment on the white men who express stronger enthusiasm for limiting reproductive choice then they do about disavowing white supremacy. We still argue and form relationships, some intimate and some not. And although we can’t gather in large groups, we still find ways to laugh over Zoom.
I’m glad to be here. I never got my ending of high school, or the chance to hug my best friend before I left for college. I spent a lot of the summer in my room, alone and unable to understand why I wished for the days to end as soon as they started. It wasn’t just the pandemic. Each day brought with it a new reason for why my brother sat at the diner table, anxious, or why my throat swelled up every time my parents asked if I was okay, or if I wanted to unpack the violent death of another human being whose name I couldn’t remember. Activists say “say their names,” but my mind shut down because I didn’t want to fathom the idea that this list of Black people cut down by the police would keep growing.
In the blur of the summer, these are the parts I remember. And then August 20th came, and my grandmother waved goodbye as I sat in the back seat of our rented car, and I prayed that God would keep her safe from those things that made my throat swell.
As my first few weeks on campus flew by, I finally understood what my mom had been telling me, and what her father had told her before she left for college: when children leave their home, they no longer see their parents as superheroes, but instead as people who make mistakes. I didn’t talk to my parents a lot my first few weeks on campus. I was bathing in the freedom, and I knew as soon as I picked up that phone I would be flipping the pages back to the previous chapter of my life. I missed my parents terribly, but I was determined to thrive in this new environment, and learn how to navigate this next chapter of my life that existed within a world that was falling apart.
The night of Yom Kippur, instead of attending the Kol Nidre service, I joined the circle on campus gathered together for a vigil that mourned the loss of Breonna Taylor. I listened as many young Black women spoke out about injustices they’ve faced and still face on campus. I watched tears stream down the faces of the very Black women that get up every day and fight for themselves, for their right to live and breathe.
Now, I keep replaying the vigil in my head. This Yom Kippur was different. I didn’t rid myself of my sins, because I still carry the guilt and pain of having not been able to fight hard enough for the names of the Black and brown beings who deserved so much more. But that’s okay. Because I also carry the names that shouldn’t and won’t be forgotten.
Makeda Zabot-Hall is a former JGirls editor, now a freshman at Brandeis and a Lilith blogger.
September 17, 2020 by admin
Art–whether it be dancing, painting, drawing, film–creates a space for self-examination, helping us to envision possible futures, and better versions of ourselves. And the Jewish month of Elul is traditionally an opportunity for introspection before the High Holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
Recognizing the power of art to be transformative, Lilith is highlighting Black Jewish women artists in this time leading up to and through Elul. On Lilith’s platforms you’ll have a chance to experience, share, and celebrate their work.
You can also participate by letting us know (at info@Lilith.org) Black Jewish women creators we should include!
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(more…)September 8, 2020 by admin
Art–whether it be dancing, painting, drawing, film–creates a space for self-examination, helping us to envision possible futures, and better versions of ourselves. And the Jewish month of Elul is traditionally an opportunity for introspection before the High Holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
Recognizing the power of art to be transformative, Lilith is highlighting Black Jewish women artists in this time leading up to and through Elul. On Lilith’s platforms you’ll have a chance to experience, share, and celebrate their work.
You can also participate by letting us know (at info@Lilith.org) Black Jewish women creators we should include!
August 25, 2020 by admin
Art–whether it be dancing, painting, drawing, film–creates a space for self-examination, helping us to envision possible futures, and better versions of ourselves. And the Jewish month of Elul is traditionally an opportunity for introspection before the High Holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
Recognizing the power of art to be transformative, Lilith is highlighting Black Jewish women artists in this time leading up to and through Elul. On Lilith’s platforms you’ll have a chance to experience, share, and celebrate their work.
You can also participate by letting us know (at info@Lilith.org) Black Jewish women creators we should include!
August 19, 2020 by admin
Art–whether it be dancing, painting, drawing, film–creates a space for self-examination, helping us to envision possible futures, and better versions of ourselves. And the Jewish month of Elul is traditionally an opportunity for introspection before the High Holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
Recognizing the power of art to be transformative, Lilith is highlighting Black Jewish women artists in this time leading up to and through Elul. On Lilith’s platforms you’ll have a chance to experience, share, buy and celebrate their work.
You can also participate by letting us know (at info@Lilith.org) Black Jewish women creators we should include!
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Rachel Harrison-Gordon is an MFA/MBA candidate at NYU Tisch/Stern and a Sundance 2020 Blackhouse Fellow. Rachel’s interest in storytelling evolved through pursuits of perspectives in journalism and in government. She has studied people through quantitative behavioral data and through their stories, and hopes to create films, commercials and music videos that highlight the different ways people come of age. Her work challenges expectations of race, family and addiction.
Prior to NYU, she served as a Presidential Innovation Fellow for the Obama Administration, learning about Veterans and their experience returning home. She worked as a data analyst within a consumer insights group at The New York Times. Rachel graduated from the University of Pennsylvania School of Engineering, where she studied Mechanical Engineering. Broken Bird is Rachel’s first film.
Instagram: @raawwwwrrrrrrrrr
Website:rachelhg.com // brokenbirdfilm.com/
What’s the best gift you’ve ever given––or received?
Before I thought I could or would be a filmmaker, my partner and in-laws gifted me a beautiful photography camera. It changed the course of my life. When I would listen to music, I would always imagine the images that corresponded to those moments in my mind. Now I was able to create those images, and work the other way around. There’s something so empowering about learning something technical to create something new.
When was the last time you said no?
I was offered to produce a music video with a team who helped give me my start in filmmaking, and with an artist I love and would be eternally grateful to create with. Unfortunately due to COVID and some health circumstances, I had to turn down the opportunity. At least this time, I feel like I’m saying no because of something that matters, and not saying no because I don’t think I’m qualified, which is definitely something that has held me back.
What is one question that you found yourself asking over and over again this year? What version of an answer are you living your way into?
I used to ask “why does no one hear me? Listen to me?” I’ve found a way to be seen and heard, and to not place so much emphasis on the people who choose not to. I am no longer expending energy on people who refuse to look inside themselves and admit the pain they cause with their limited view of the world.
What is something you need to say? To whom?
To the Black girls everywhere, to the mixed girls, to the Black-Jewish girls – your life is special and valid. People will try to put you into a box so their world-view isn’t shook. Don’t let them do that, don’t let that effort subdue or censor who you are. We are all here and have something to offer. Believe in yourself, especially when you’re getting constant signals and discouragements not to.
August 11, 2020 by admin
Art–whether it be dancing, painting, drawing, film–creates a space for self-examination, helping us to envision possible futures, and better versions of ourselves. And the Jewish month of Elul is traditionally an opportunity for introspection before the High Holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
Recognizing the power of art to be transformative, Lilith is highlighting Black Jewish women artists in this time leading up to and through Elul. On Lilith’s platforms you’ll have a chance to experience, share, buy and celebrate their work.
You can also participate by letting us know (at info@Lilith.org) Black Jewish women creators we should include!
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Jessica Valoris is a multidisciplinary installation artist who weaves together sound, collage, painting, sculpture, and facilitated ritual to build installations and experiences that have been described as sacred, intentional, and activated. She’s inspired by Afrofuturism, metaphysics, and historical memory.