Opinion JENNIFER CALFAS EDITOR IN CHIEF AARICA MARSH and DEREK WOLFE EDITORIAL PAGE EDITORS LEV FACHER MANAGING EDITOR 420 Maynard St. Ann Arbor, MI 48109 tothedaily@michigandaily.com Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan since 1890. Unsigned editorials reflect the official position of the Daily’s editorial board. All other signed articles and illustrations represent solely the views of their authors. The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com 4A — Friday, September 25, 2015 W ednesday evening, when I grabbed my tallit and walked down Hill street toward Hillel for Yom Kippur services, nobody asked if I was Jewish. I fit right in — I knew when to bow during the Shema (a prayer calling out to God) and the inflections of the v’ahavta (a prayer reminding us of certain Jewish practices). I knew how to be humble when asking God for forgiveness and the strength to be a better person, a better Jew. The vulnerability that crept into my chest as I acknowledged my flaws and screw-ups throughout the past year was heart wrenching, but familiar. This Yom Kippur, nobody doubted my faith. Although I don’t go to Hillel near- ly as often as I should, I identify as a Jewish American. I grew up very much in the faith — my sisters and I kept kosher, went to services regu- larly, became B’not Mitzvah — and I’m increasingly embracing my Jew- ishness. I love belonging to a minor- ity with a success story — one that overcame prejudice and persecution to settle as respected middle- and upper-class citizens. I’m proud of our historical narrative and how we used our position as societal “others” to advocate for the oppressed, espe- cially during the Civil Rights Move- ment. We remember that we were once slaves in the land of Egypt. This is the element of Judaism that I most identify with. The Jew- ish notion of tikkun olam, or heal- ing the world, comprises my core. It shapes my passions and pursuits and is part of the reason I love public policy so much. Maybe it’s idealistic, but I see policy as a tool to repair poverty and inequality to make our country more just. The summer after my sophomore year, I interned at a Jewish social justice nonprofit, advocating for Voting Rights Act reform to ensure people of color throughout the South could exercise their right to vote. I found the work so fulfilling because it was connect- ed to the abstract ideal of justice that I embody in my Jewish being. And yet, since I first started liv- ing in Ann Arbor three years ago, my Jewish identity has come under dual scrutiny from both Jews and non-Jews. I’ve found that some gentiles have a hard time reconcil- ing my faith with my appearance. When kids found out I was Jew- ish my freshman year, I was often greeted with raised eyebrows. “Wait, really?” they would say, utterly shocked. “But you don’t look it at all!” Of course, this reaction is more innocent ignorance than malicious prejudice, but it still stings. Yes, I’ll admit that I don’t possess many of the traits some people expect Jews to have — my hair is light brown and I have my mother’s slim nose and green eyes. I’m from Maryland, not Westchester, Long Island or Los Angeles. But the fact that some peo- ple don’t realize that it’s offensive to openly act surprised when a mem- ber of an ethnicity breaks away from an offensive stereotype is beyond me. What was even more offensive was when one girl, after discovering I was Jewish, cocked her head to the side and said, “Yeah, I guess I see it.” But these superficial encounters aren’t the ones that fundamentally upset me. In fact, they feel more like dirt in an open wound. The real gut-punching is when people of my own community and faith don’t recognize me as one of them. It’s when a hand shoots up behind me two weeks ago during the first day of a Judaic studies class and tells me directly that to be Jewish, my mother must be Jewish, too, openly contradicting me and my faith in front of the entire class. Plain and simple, he says. It’s from the Torah. My mother is Catholic, which, according to certain Jewish doc- trine, invalidates my Jewish iden- tity. This doctrine, however, is not actually from the Torah and instead is merely a practice passed down from ancient Roman times. Even though my sisters and I had mikva’ot (conversion ceremonies) when we were babies, the ceremony wasn’t Orthodox. As a result, neither the state of Israel nor the kid behind me recognizes me as Jew. And it hurts. This doubt stings more than the ignorant stereotypes because, com- ing from within my own group, it’s harder to dismiss. The matrilineal teaching is not some fringe, ultra- Orthodox belief. Though not present in the Torah, the teaching is widely accepted, and part of being Jewish is feeling connected to the patchwork of practices and traditions that form our dogma. This tradition, how- ever, makes me feel alienated, like an outsider in my own faith. I find it perplexing to encounter Jews who feel like they can and should reject me for not corresponding with an arcane definition, especially during a time of shrinking numbers and dwindling faith. The fact that I don’t fit neatly into my community is something I’m learning to digest. For now, I’ll continue to embrace the elements of Judaism that speak to me: the empha- sis on progress, social justice and the duty to make the world a better place. And in doing so, I vow to push the community’s stubborn boundaries by creating my own space. —Anne Katz can be reached at amkatz@umich.edu. N ever before had a pope entered the House chamber, much less been given the freedom to address those who run the most pow- erful nation. But there, perhaps, has never been a pope in our lifetime as enthralling as Pope Francis. More than 20 years after U.S. Rep. John Boehner (R–Ohio) tried to invite Pope John Paul II to the chamber and was declined by both him and later Benedict XVI, Francis, the first pope in history from the Ameri- cas, finally accepted Boehner’s invitation. As with anything congressional, politics ruled everything about the pope’s visit, even before he arrived in the nation. Though he is the pope Boehner brought, Democratic presi- dential candidate Bernie Sanders claimed to be his ideological equal, and Rep. Paul Gosar (R–Ariz.) boycotted. Few figures are equally applauded and criticized by both sides of the aisle as Francis is. His approval rating was as high as 76 percent during 2014, with high approval from conservatives and lib- erals alike. Both sides could, in theory, pick and choose issues on which they claim to be in line with the views of the Vatican, but 2015 has seen approval ratings in all groups decline. Approval among conservatives is down to 45 percent, no doubt in part due to the fallout from Francis’ encyclical, or letter of Catholic doctrine, Laudato si’, on climate change. Approval among liberals has also fallen 14 percent, perhaps because time has shown Francis to not always be the progres- sive media darling he was often portrayed as early in his papacy. That said, playing the polls and partisan politics of both the pope and his address instead of recognizing the overarching themes he continued to stress would miss all of the papal purposes. Pope Francis is not playing the side of Republican or Democrat. It’s impossible to categorize the issues into the polarized bipartisan system of Duverg- er’s law. Never mind that the pope’s com- ments prior to his speech are global and not American in nature, or that this was the sec- ond speech he had ever given in English. It was a speech that was neither liberal nor con- servative, but Catholic. In many ways, the lead-up and response to the speech was similar to the release of the Laudato si’. For months, media speculated about how the Vatican, notably opposed to certain circles of conservative Christianity in both its acceptance and encouragement of understanding modern science principles such as evolution and climatology, would blast climate-change deniers. And while the encyclical certainly did align itself with scientists and environmentalists calling for action to prevent further climate change, the point was again missed, as Francis once noted that the encyclical was not really even primarily about environmentalism. In it, he wrote, “The Church does not presume to set- tle scientific questions or to replace politics,” knowing that the two would take the main stage in discussion, but behind all of it were major themes of responsibility to protect the marginalized and care for the poor, as well as a call to end the indifference toward a throw- away culture that extends far beyond envi- ronmental concerns. Far more than Francis pushed political solutions, he urged Congress to continue to strive for the “common good.” The common good, as outlined in the church’s 1965 docu- ment Gaudium et spes, is “the sum total of social conditions which allow people, either as groups or as individuals, to reach their fulfillment more fully and more easily.” This concept is intrinsically tied to those respon- sible for guiding nations, with whom much responsibility rests. As Francis noted, “poli- tics is … an expression of our compelling need to live as one, in order to build as one, the greatest common good.” As more and more citizens feel like Con- gress is out of touch and a servant to special interests, the belief that politicians continue to promote the “general welfare” in order to build a more perfect union, as noted in the preamble of the Constitution, has waned with it. Francis opened his speech comparing the legislators to the figure of Moses and the tales of him leading the Israelites, telling his audience, “You are asked to protect, by means of the law, the image and likeness fashioned by God on every human face.” The number of citizens who would agree that Congress is fulfilling this duty, especially in serving the faces of the marginalized instead of the faces of the powerful, dwindles each day. There’s no greater picture than that of Fran- cis eating lunch with the homeless instead of with his hosts from Congress after his speech. He’s not interested in the rhetoric; he’s inter- ested in the parable. Instead of only looking down and out at the world from the halls of Congress and the political elite, he put himself among those who come last, for the last will be first. Francis did nothing more than ask for dialogue on the issues that keep us from mov- ing toward this common good — a dialogue that remembers those outside of the House chamber who need help the most. In an address the day before to many American bishops, Francis told the leaders of the Church in America to “be pastors close to people, pastors who are neighbors and ser- vants.” Perhaps that’s a fitting message for the leaders in the capitol as well. — David Harris can be reached at daharr@umich.edu. Claire Bryan, Regan Detwiler, Ben Keller, Payton Luokkala, Aarica Marsh, Adam Morton, Victoria Noble, Anna Polumbo- Levy, Melissa Scholke, Michael Schramm, Steph Trierweiler, Mary Kate Winn, Derek Wolfe EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS Creating my own space DAVID HARRIS I don’t need to have kids I t all started with population growth. During my first semester of freshman year, I took a class called Global Change. It was, in short, a lengthy and depressing list of all the ways humans are severely fucking up the planet. It was also life changing, and it became the reason why I chose to study environmental sci- ence. One of the points I took away from this class was that the world’s popu- lation is getting so large, so quickly, that many of the sustainable changes that we, as humans from all over the world, have implemented are simply overridden by the negative effects of adding so many people to the planet every year. So in that class, as an 18-year-old freshman, I made the decision that I would not contribute to this problem. I would not have kids. Instead, I could adopt one. Or two or three, even. It was a win-win situation for everyone, and I’d save the world, etc., etc. Then, about a year ago, my life suddenly changed forever. I’m still not sure how, but somehow I came to the shocking revelation that I, in fact, am not required to have children. Let me reiterate: It took me 20 years to realize I didn’t have to have kids. That might seem like a very obvious thing to you, especially if you are not a woman, but as ridiculous as it seems, I’m actually not surprised it took me that long. You see, we’re so trained as women to see our lives played out as follows: get a degree, get a job, get married, work for a while, have some babies, either do or don’t give up work and be a loving mom for the rest of your life. I’ve lived my entire life planning on including the mom part — I’ve even spent time brainstorm- ing my future children’s names (which I won’t tell you, because if they ever exist, their names will be way more unique than “Rachael,” dam- mit). But now when I think about that sto- ryline — the one with babies — it seems like someone else’s story. The more I thought about this crazy revela- tion, the more it made sense. I was excited. I was liberated from something I’d never actu- ally faced. But that didn’t matter; I didn’t real- ize how trapped I had felt until I let myself out of the cage. I’ve never been good with kids. Children seriously freak me out. They make me nervous, and I don’t know how on Earth you’re supposed to actually make them listen to you without bribing them with chocolate, cake or Legos (all very effective tactics on me). And babies? Any time I hold one, all I feel is terror that I’m going to somehow drop it, and all I want is for someone to take it back as soon as possible. I used to think that I wanted kids so I could get right all the things my parents got wrong. I even had a kind of mental list of things I would do differently than them. For example, if I had a daughter, she would be allowed to yell at me when she was angry. Great idea, 12-year-old Rachael. I thought I had this parenting thing figured out. But even if I did get right everything my parents got wrong, there’s a pretty good chance I’d also get wrong all the things they got right. There’s not really a practice test you can take for this stuff. Whenever I tell people that I don’t want kids, without fail the response is, “That’s what you say now.” It’s so completely foreign Living the pope’s message ANNE KATZ E-mail RachElat Rdawson@umich.Edu RACHEL DAWSON RACHAEL LACEY and don’t worry, all you child-loving people out there, I’m not a complete monster. At one point I did want kids. Yes, I still might change my mind, and no, that statement is not simply to comfort you or to assuage your fears; it is just me recognizing my freedom. And no, my “freedom” is not just laziness, apprehension or “You’re just an ignorant young per- son who has no idea what’s good for her.” It’s my body and it’s my life, and surprisingly enough, it’s my choice. It’s not that I’ve made up my mind 100 percent to never have children. It’s that I know that I don’t have to. And wow, that is liberating. Instead, I can travel. I can baby- sit other people’s kids and then promptly return them. I can give my friends and family all that extra love inside of me. Or I can give it to cats. I can save money — a whole lot of money. I don’t have to have the ridiculously huge responsibility of literally creating a person. Now my only issue is finding a husband who also doesn’t want kids. Oh, wait. I don’t need to have one of those, either. —Rachael Lacey can be reached at rachaelk@umich.edu. — Pope Francis during his address to Congress on Thursday. “ NOTABLE QUOTABLE Our efforts must aim at restoring hope, righting wrongs, maintaining commitments, and thus promoting the well-being of individuals and of peoples. ”