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

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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. ”

