Response to the Stanford Rape Case

OK, so, the Stanford rape case ... (long, but bear with me)

I am a university woman. I have consumed alcohol. I have danced with men. And there are millions more like ME. We are smart. We are capable. We are powerful. We respect ourselves. The only thing standing in our way? The attitude toward our vaginas.

When I was an undergrad, there was a poster in the campus library. It showed a female student, with books in her hands, looking uncertain. The caption told her (ME) to "not walk home alone," to "be careful," to "have a buddy." I'm sure many female students walked right by that poster and, without realizing it, ingested the subliminal messages - "you are not safe," "it could happen to you," "be responsible."

I remember being perplexed ... and infuriated. Why are messages only being sent to those most likely to be victimized? Why are we not directly addressing those most likely to perpetrate?

About a year ago I read this excerpt:
"We’ve been conditioned our whole lives to not get raped. My dad put me in martial arts. My mom gives me knives and pepper spray. And despite the fact that I like that stuff, it’s mostly for anti-rape. We’re told by society never to walk alone at night, never walk down an alley way. If you think you’re being followed, make three right turns cause that means they just went in a circle. Never run upstairs if you’re being chased cause then you can get trapped. Don’t stop if you see a car seat on the side of the road. Hey, here’s some nail polish that will help you identify date rape drugs. Sport this adorable yet fierce keychain so you can gouge someone’s eyes out. And on and on and on. You know what would be better? If we just taught young boys that rape isn’t even an option. If we would stop victim shaming and slut shaming and excusing a rapist because of the clothes his victim wore or because they were on a date. Cause I am seriously so f*cking tired of being responsible for not getting raped." (Anna Akana)

YES, YES, YES.

Now I look at my life. At 5 years old, my parents put me in martial arts (yes, I am a trained black belt in Tae Kwon Do). And not even two weeks ago, as I prepared for a hike, my father said "do you have pepper spray?" So at 5 and still at 33, I must take my own measures to ensure that some jerk doesn't invade my personal space and take it for his own.

I don't know about the rest of you, but to me, that is some BS. I should NOT be responsible for someone else's actions. I should NOT be responsible for preventing someone else's heinous crime. I should not have to cover up ... or drink only a certain amount ... or assume the worst.

My body, my choice. No excuses.

Why I Love Passover

Today someone asked me why I love Passover.

It's not the mass quantity of matzah ball soup (drool) or the four cups of wine we "must" consume during the Seder (gulp). Although both are compelling reasons to at least show up.

The Passover story has all the elements of an exciting tale – slavery and oppression followed by freedom and redemption – with hope for the future. Passover educates us about our past, helps us appreciate what we have today and encourages us to continue asking questions, continue telling stories.

Some of my favorite conversations with some of my favorite people happen around the Seder table. We talk religion, politics, current events. We share stories of professional gain, personal milestones, Seders of the past.

Most importantly, we create memories. Every Jew and Gentile alike who joins our Seder table, whether it be only one year or every year since the first, leaves an imprint on my heart.

In just 4 nights we will begin the Passover holiday which coincides with the beginning of spring - a time for renewal, rethinking and rebirth. As we face new and exciting opportunities in our personal and professional lives, may this Passover give us the insight and courage to create ourselves anew.

42 Days After AmeriCorps

I consider myself so fortunate. I was an AmeriCorps VISTA for 365 days. And without a doubt, they were the most inspirational, motivating and poignant days of my life.

Now I've been home for 42 days. Actually, I've been in transition for 42 days. And I cannot find it in me, mentally or emotionally, to say goodbye to my year of AmeriCorps service. Each day I feel myself struggling. Struggling to fill the void that has been left by such an incredible experience coming to a close. I realize now that I simply wasn't prepared ...

I wasn't prepared for the year to go by so fast.
I wasn't prepared to so deeply miss a community that I knew for so short a time.
I wasn't prepared to mourn. The loss of a period of intense purpose, turning my passion into action every single day, beside others doing the same - the emptiness is gripping.

No one told me that ending my year of service would be harder than beginning it. I simply wasn't prepared ...

42 days. 42. Jackie Robinson. A man who showed great courage and unwavering determination to change the status quo. He said, "A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives."

I couldn't agree more. And that's where I struggle. How will I take everything I learned, everything I felt, everything I became ... and turn it into not just a year of service, but a life of service? How will I continue to make an impact?

Why Vote?

Because white men who owned property gained that right in 1789 after fighting for our country's independence ... Because African-American men gained that right in 1865 after the Civil War abolished slavery, and then continued to fight literacy tests, poll taxes and violence until the Voting Rights Act was passed in 1965 ... Because women were left out of the conversation entirely and had to fight for their own rights state by state until finally going to Washington and gaining the right to vote in 1920 ... Because young people who were being drafted to fight in Vietnam said "old enough to die, old enough to vote" and the age requirement was dropped to 18 in 1971.

It is not only your right, it is your responsibility. GO VOTE.