I Was So Busy Protecting I Forgot To Feel
Part 2 of My Instagram Monologue
Have you ever experienced such a jumble of emotions that you get in your head, hovering above it all, only to find yourself speechless when someone asks how you feel?
I wrote an essay a few days ago, continuing the monologue I posted on Instagram about the incident with Menny, planning to share it here, on Substack.
For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, first, let me say: I’m impressed—teach me your ways. Here’s what happened: My son Menny experienced a significant racial incident while he was at a weekend overnight camp for the sons of Chabad rabbis living a life of outreach. This was supposed to be a place where he felt safe and celebrated, but the opposite happened. He was made to feel “other,” “less than,” and very much isolated.
For a detailed play-by-play of what happened, I told the whole story on Instagram here:
Elie, who proofreads my essays, shared that I wrote wasn’t what he expected. He said it didn’t reflect my vulnerable style that invites people into my emotional process. Instead, he said I sounded like a lawyer litigating a case.
Um, ouch… Do you think I should fire him? I was seriously considering it… In all seriousness, he was right. Man, I’m not sure how I feel about this growth thing, ya know? Rewriting something I spent hours on is not my idea of fun, especially on this topic.
He asked me how I was feeling about what happened to Menny, and you know what? I couldn’t answer the question. I didn’t know. I was in problem-solving mode, advocating mode, which didn’t leave much room to notice how I was feeling.
All I knew was that I wanted everyone to understand me and the choices I made. Sharing what happened publicly was a choice I made, fully aware of the consequences. It opened us up to so much support, which we received in droves, and I can’t tell you how much that meant to my family. It also invited a lot of opinions, judgment, and advice. I felt so raw and vulnerable knowing my video was being forwarded in WhatsApp groups. It’s a unique (not recommended) feeling, knowing you’re the topic of conversation—analyzed, picked apart, and dissected by people who don’t have the courage or respect to talk to me directly. It left me wanting to set the record straight, showing you how much is misunderstood. I guess it was me crying out to be seen.
In the first draft of the essay, I was in a very cerebral headspace. I listed all the points I wanted you to know, proving to you that my choices were sound. But it left me sounding like a lawyer defending my position. I’m glad I was encouraged to take a breath and sit with it all for a minute.
I am so grateful that my husband and I had an opportunity to speak to our therapist on Friday. It was invaluable—having an objective space to peel back those layers and expose the truth of it all. I felt raw and sensitive from exposing our story, vulnerable about not having control over how people would interpret or share it.
I’m scared, I’m frustrated, I’m tired.
I’m scared that I won’t be able to keep my son safe. I’m scared that I’m not equipped. I’m scared that there are no solutions. I’m scared that you don’t understand how high the stakes are for my Black son—how he doesn’t get to react and defend himself because he’s Black. It’s unfair. I have the job of teaching him that, but what if I can’t?
I’m frustrated that I put myself in a position to be the topic of conversation again. I’m frustrated that doing something right is so hard. I’m frustrated that life is hard. I’m frustrated and saddened by how many stories of pain and isolation my husband and I received this past week. There is clearly a problem, and most are scared to speak out due to fear of further bashing and isolation. I’m frustrated that some people see this as airing dirty laundry instead of a growth opportunity for our community, which is so desperately needed.
I’m tired of having to be so resilient all the time. I’m tired of parenting kicking my butt every day. I’m tired of being an advocate for so many things—I just don’t know how not to be. I’m tired of judging myself.
How’s that for baring my soul? Might be overrated. The jury’s still out.
But here’s what I do know:
I wish this didn’t fall on my plate. My plate is already pretty full these days, and I wasn’t on the lookout for a new passion project. But here we are. I’m understanding more and more that it’s imperative to use the strengths Hashem has given us and not run away or hide from them, even when it’s scary. I was put in a position to have a voice for many challenges and people who don’t have a voice. I also need to embrace that my voice isn’t as strong or fiery as others’. My voice is softer, nuanced, maybe more subtle. There is value and strength in that, too.
Sometimes I worry it looks like I need attention, that I always need to be in the spotlight. But I have to be okay with knowing that those who really know me understand that’s not true. I must remember that if I don’t judge myself, then when others judge me it doesn't really matter.
I also know that the Torah is full of unflattering stories. Why? Most of the stories we read are literally Hashem airing our dirty laundry. Why is that? Perhaps it’s a lesson. The Torah is an account full of raw human moments that we analyze, dissect, and pull apart so we can learn from them. It’s not the Torah way to be too proud to recognize where we can improve. It’s not the Torah way to sweep things under the rug because it’s uncomfortable or embarrassing.
I truly am sorry if this story or post causes you any discomfort or pain. I hate that.
And...
If a conversation brings up stuff for you, I really encourage you to sit with it and be curious about it, rather than convince yourself it’s not a big deal because it’s easier that way. Like our therapist said to us, “It looks like you’ve experienced another ‘AFGO’—another (beep) growth opportunity.” Don’t think for a second we aren’t going through our own self-reflection, thinking about how we can be more sensitive and gracious, how maybe in the past we were also part of the problem.
After all is said and done, the world is a beautiful place filled with beautiful people who want to do the right thing. Let yourself be part of it! Do it even if you’re scared. I am right there with you. Don’t back away.
I am so humbled to be on the receiving end of so much love and support. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Each and every message has meant the world to me.
The future is bright. I believe it.
Chavie
Perhaps if you think about the impact you have on our community and the world because you had the courage to speak up, you may feel proud, strong, valiant.