by Scarlett Smithen
I created Under the Same Sky to emphasize the love in the world that we can share with one another. To spread love, though, we must address the hate that stands before us. When I spoke to HilayOr, a few months after I wrote this essay, I instantly felt a sense of empathy for what she was going through. Her whole community is hated by the world because of the actions taken by their government. HilayOr is not her country’s politics. We should not have to be defined by our country’s politics. There is a necessary time and place to separate church and state, to separate culture and politics, to separate media from reality, and to separate perceptions from behaviors. When I think of HilayOr, I think of her kind heart, her passion for helping her community, and her love for so many people. I think of our shared and differing religious customs. I think of our similar experiences during such a difficult time. I think of our mutual frustration with how the common media presents us. I think of how at the end of the day, we’re just two Jewish teenagers who are trying to live each day better than the next. Like Pink Floyd’s wise words, “We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl,” we’re just trying to navigate our place in an imperfect world.
I wrote this letter to my younger cousin when she had just become a Bat Mitzvah. In the Jewish community, a Bat Mitzvah is the pivotal moment when a girl becomes a woman. It is a moment when that girl gets to decide what mark she wants to have on her religion and her community. Through the past year, there has been an incredible uprising in anti-Semitism. I’ve experienced it in my hometown but I’ve also witnessed it out in the world. Constantly fearing hate on the basis of my religious identity is not something that can just be ignored. The scary part is, I only really noticed the depths of this hatred as I got older. Events in the last few years have forced me to change my outlook on a world I’ve tried so hard to love. But how can I love a place that doesn’t love people like me?
Next year, I will be going to college, a place where constant acts of hate are brought about every day. I think carefully about each school I apply to and I put my identity in perspective: Are there other Jews? Is there a Hillel or Chabad? How have they handled the uprising anti-Semitism in the last year? Are there communities for Jewish people to get together? How have Jews been treated on campus? Navigating the future is frightening, but it shouldn’t have to be. As I look at my younger cousin who will start high school next year and only a few years later will go to college herself, I can’t help but think about her place in our community. As I write to her, I think about all the amazing things she will do in her future. She has a long path ahead of her, but I know she can handle it.
Dear Cousin,
You are finally a Bat Mitzvah. You are officially a Jewish woman. You are at the point on the road where speed bumps start to come, or the point where you have to decide which next turn you want to make. I wanted to let you know that as a Jew, you are limited at this next intersection. Some lights may flicker, or may not work at all. Don’t let the traffic lights stop you from moving forward. Don’t let the darkness keep you from shining your light in the Jewish community.
I remember when I became a Bat Mitzvah; it was over three years ago. If I would have known that three years later the world would end up like this, I don’t know what I would have done. I used to view the month of October as sacred because of that day in 2020 when I stood on the bimah and left my mark on the Jewish community. But now I think of October and want to tear that paper to shreds. To think that much antagonism could exist toward our community, seems so unlikely, and yet there is. And it stayed. It still stays. And every place I go I’ll see broken glass all scattered around the room, like that night back in 1938. And suddenly I shrivel up inside knowing that it continues to be forgotten. “It never happened,” they’ll say. “I’m going death con 3 on JEWISH PEOPLE,” a world renowned musician will say. There is no fate for us; we’re just “money collectors,” they’ll say. But they are the ones who light the matches. They are the ones who add gas to the fire. You must not listen to Twitter, or Instagram, or any of the crapshoots that people put out on social media. If the world is blood, then the media is the vampire that keeps sucking it. You must stay gold.
I feel like it was just last year when I read The Outsiders in school, but now you probably know it better than I do. We really do all see the same sunset, but society doesn’t like to view it that way. It stereotypes us through our identities. It distinguishes us by a singular box we check off. It traps us in a fence that we try so hard to get out of but it is simply just inescapable. Remember that this world is an imperfect place. In a perfect world, we wouldn’t have to walk into services surrounded by cops with giant firearms who are “protecting us.” In a perfect world, we wouldn’t have to tell our Uber drivers to drop us off down the block so they don’t have to see that we’re going to a synagogue. In a perfect world, we wouldn’t have to feel like the odd one out when everyone discusses their plans for Christmas and Easter, and sit there, feeling like our holidays are invalid. Remember that we still see the same sunset as everyone else. Though it doesn’t always seem like it, we all live under the same sky.
Nearly two years ago, at my own synagogue, someone threw a molotov cocktail at the window of the sanctuary, the most holy place. They wanted to destroy a part of the Jewish community. Though I’ve seen these acts of hatred all over the world, I would have never thought to see it so personal to me and my congregation. And sure, it hit the news headlines for a couple days. The “woke” people will give their thoughts and prayers. Then suddenly the spotlight moves away and no one seems to care anymore. They don’t care that the Schwartzes and Cohens hesitate to share their last names. They don't care that my dad, your uncle Kevin, told my sisters and I that we should feel lucky to have a last name we can “disguise.” I guess “Smithen” is just “Smith” with an extra “en.” But Kirsch, oh what a beautiful last name – it is much less “disguisable.” Our own names should not have to be disguisable, or even questioned, because society simply cannot handle our nuances.
I worry that they will never understand. I worry that it will just slip right through their fingers. I worry that they will always see us as this monster crawling through their skin, but then again I worry that they don’t even see us or care to look for us at all. And they don’t even realize the damage they’ve done. And it hurts. They may say that you are “playing the victim.” They may say that you are invalid or unworthy. But don’t let them crawl under your skin. Don't let them take your identity away from you. Don’t let them make you sweat when they see your formal dress and ask, “What’s the occasion? A wedding?” and then you have to reluctantly answer, “No, a Bat Mitzvah.” Don’t let your smile fade away like that rainbow the other day. That rainbow, that beautiful, wondrous rainbow, made us realize it was all okay: the red jelly spilling out of the sufganiyot on Hanukkah, the orange yolk from the hard boiled egg on the Passover seder plate, or the yellow etrog that we shake for a good harvest on Sukkot. The Festival of Lights is always my favorite. As we watch the candles shine, it reminds us of the light that illuminates our path forward. And, through this light, we can continue the fight against anti-Semitism. Let the flame of justice burn brightly in your heart. Let this flame guide you through this dark tunnel and bring you to a more equitable world.
And now, in your time, you must continue to honor your religion. It may be difficult to call a society that daunts you home. But however you call it, home is waiting for you.
Like Vienna waits for you, like our family waits for you, like your Jewish community waits for you.
I urge you, please, don’t let your Jewish culture be forgotten. Don’t let us be forgotten. Let our legacy live on and shine bright. I promise that there will always be a place that you can call home.
With all my love and wishes,
Scarlett
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