While I waited on the lunch line after Shabbat services a couple of weeks ago, I found myself disturbed by an enormous purse as the woman ahead of me fidgeted and turned around every minute or so. By the third knock, I gently tapped her on the shoulder, requesting that she please be aware of her errant bag. She glared and growled, “I am not trying to bang into you.”

Wow. The old debate of intent vs. impact, a topic in the anti-racist and other social justice movements in which I have participated, was right there, in the personal realm, on the lunch line.

Of course she was not trying to bang into me. That is why I spoke to her politely and with a smile. I was hoping to hear, simply, “I’m sorry,” or even, “I will be more careful.” Something to let me know it wasn’t going to happen again.

Instead, she answered defensively, dismissing responsibility for her wayward purse because she hadn’t intended to hit me with it.

I recognize that the woman, her purse, and her weak excuse are actually long gone. I’ve already joined with friends and family for another Shabbat, am currently menu planning for this week’s Erev Shabbat, and I should have let go of the entire unpleasant experience already.

So why am I still thinking and writing about this?

I recognize that at times I too have quickly become defensive when someone lets me know I’ve done something wrong. Sometimes I am too quick to proclaim, “I didn’t mean it,” instead of fully hearing the other’s words. Sometimes I apologize for my actions, and then rush to explain what was going on with me, instead of listening attentively. These are behaviors I would like to change.

Good intentions are important, but not enough. The wayward, offending purse reminded me of this.

 

 

 

 

The release of Orange is the New Black’s Season 4 is still more than 4 weeks away, and like a kid approaching the end of the school year, I am already counting down the days (32, to be precise).

A window into a world that I have never personally experienced, Orange is the New Black grabs every bit of my attention like nothing else on the screen has. Ever.

Given the number of characters whose stories we get to know, there are actually multiple microcosms that invite us to dive into and grapple with issues of gender, race, class, and the various ways in which they intersect.

Some viewers describe Orange’s characters as old friends with whom they visit annually for a long, intense weekend. With Netflix releasing the entire season in one swoop, binge watching is not only possible, but is tempting. Last season, I watched the 13 episodes over the course of several weeks, pacing myself so that I could savor each storyline without forgetting important details or losing the deep emotions aroused in me.

I had also revisited Seasons 1 and 2 before launching into the third one, which appropriately felt like a “let’s become reacquainted” phone call before the blind date. Now that almost a full year has passed since our last get together, I look forward to another viewing of the three previous seasons to help me prepare. I am especially curious about Season 3, about which I recall very little. Until I do watch it again, I am going to assume that my poor recollection of it says more about my grief-stricken state of mind at the time, and less about the quality of the episodes. I’ll let you all know if I feel differently after viewing.

If you are reading this blog and have watched the show, I would love your thoughts about the show, the characters, and related issues.

 

 

 

 

 

My labor roots run deep, and have been very much on my mind since I prepared for and celebrated Passover last month. The granddaughter of a founding member of the ILGWU, I was raised to always respect a picket line, and to look for clothing with a union label. I experience deep feelings of solidarity when I support people struggling for justice. When I give my time, my energy, and/or my money to further the cause of justice, I do so knowing that my own liberation is bound up with everyone else’s.

I am reminded of, and inspired by, a quotation I read when I first engaged in solidarity work with Latin America in the 1970s:

“Solidarity is not charity. It is the mutual aid between two peoples engaged in the same struggle.”

I am frequently uncomfortable when I hear the phrase, “I want to give back to the community,” especially when it comes from people who experience unearned privilege on a daily basis. For years, maybe decades, certainly since I have lived in Silicon Valley, I have listened to people first express gratitude for all of the riches they are “blessed with,” and then follow up with statements about how they are involved with one charity or another in order to give back. Upon hearing this talk, I find myself pondering that if they didn’t take so much in the first place, then maybe they wouldn’t feel compelled to give back. If this simply sounds like clever semantics to you, then I invite you to think about it more.