Al Cheyt

Tomorrow night I, and Jews around the world, will beat our chests over our hearts, in confession. Confession is not done in a quiet booth with an emissary. Confession is done publicly and communally. For the sin we have committed before you. For the sin WE have committed. For the sins we have committed before YOU. We say them over and over, ten times over twenty-five hours. The prayer is an alphabetical acrostic, implying the the vastness of our misdeeds.

It's seemed to me that, in the wake of the Occupy Wall Street protests, those of us on the left side of the political spectrum have been unusual introspective. With friends, I've discussed how I'm feeling energized and terrified and angry and anxious and eager all at once. And they feel it too. So, during this apt time of introspection, I decided to write my Al Cheyt of activism. Feel free to add yours. Like the prayer, these are not all intended to be descriptive of me in particular or any one activist. These are communal confessions. And, even if we feel that we haven't committed this one or that one, I think that it's important to recognize the ways that we, as members of a community, have some responsibility for the actions of others in that community, at least if we intend to be cohesive in any way. That's the way of the Al Cheyt prayer. Though I haven't murdered anyone in the past year (or, um, ever), there are people within the greater Jewish community who have. What circumstances led them to that situation? How could their actions have been curtailed by outside intervention? How can we root out corruption from our community, even if we, personally, are not corrupt? Especially if we, personally aren't corrupt? Anyways, I'm getting long-winded.

Al cheyt shechatanu l'fanecha...

For the sin we have sinned before you with unnecessary antagonism.

For the sin we have sinned before you with beliefs that others will do the work for us.

For the sin we have sinned before you with condescension.

For the sin we have sinned before you with defensiveness.

For the sin we have sinned before you with erasure of marginalized voices.

For the sin we have sinned before you with fear of the realities of human bodies.

For the sin we have sinned before you with greed.

For the sin we have sinned before you with baseless hatred.

For the sin we have sinned before you with willful ignorance.

For the sin we have sinned before you with judging harshly and unjustly.

For the sin we have sinned before you with maintaining kyriarchy.

For the sin we have sinned before you with leaving others behind.

For the sin we have sinned before you with making excuses.

For the sin we have sinned before you with neglect.

For the sin we have sinned before you with objecting too quickly.

For the sin we have sinned before you with pity.

For the sin we have sinned before you with queerphobia.

For the sin we have sinned before you with religious bigotry.

For the sin we have sinned before you with scape-goating.

For the sin we have sinned before you with tyranny of the majority.

For the sin we have sinned before you with using people, then casting them aside.

For the sin we have sinned before you with violence.

For the sin we have sinned before you with words.

For the sin we have sinned before you with xenophobia.

For the sin we have sinned before you with yelling before listening.

For the sin we have sinned before you with zealotry.

Having an openly fat relationship

I'm on the couch with my husband, our roommate sitting on the other couch, drinking beer and talking about whatever. The conversation drifts to women and body image and our roommate laments the "worst question" that women can ask their boyfriends: Do I look fat in this? You're screwed either way, he complains. My husband laughs and says he's so happy he doesn't have to deal with that.

I give him an intentionally-pathetic expression and ask, "Honey, do I look fat in this?"

He laughs and says, "Yep!" then grabs my ass for good measure. I smack his hand away in faux horror. We almost fall off the couch, laughing at our roommate's shocked expression. He thinks that my husband will be sleeping on that couch tonight, for sure. But there was no such thing.

My husband and I have an openly fat relationship.

My fattness is not this bizarre unspoken-about characteristic that will cause instant strife when mentioned. My husband is not obligated to pretend that I'm not fat. And, if he did, it would annoy the crap out of me. So we have an openly fat relationship.

What do I mean by that? I mean that I acknowledge that I'm a fat woman. And not a fat woman with thin woman inside waiting to break free.* I am fat and will probably always be fat. And Mr. Shoshie doesn't sit around, hoping that some day I'll lose weight. He acknowledges my fat, as part of my sexy awesome self. Most of the time it's meaningless. Sometimes it's important, like when I'm on top during sex, or when we're carpooling (I almost always sit in front if there's people squishing into the back).

As I took the first cautious steps into the fat acceptance pool (Come in! The water's great!) it became more and more important for me to be openly fat. The assumption in the US, is if you're fat, you are not OK with your body. Which is somewhat understandable, given that even so-called body acceptance advocates often decide to become spokespeople for weight loss and start doing a lot of speaking about how awesome it'll be when they lose weight because fat people are gross and unhappy and unhealthy, amirite? (I'll admit that it kills a small piece of me whenever this happens, though I've mostly gotten used to it). So I started using fat as a self-descriptor. I started arguing with people who protest when I use it as a self-descriptor. I'm still wrestling with how I refer to other fat individuals, since most people won't use fat as a self-descriptor. I'm honest about where I purchase my clothing. I've even spoken about my specific weight a couple of times (this is what 250 or so lbs looks like on a 5'2"-ish person).

And so, I've gradually come out of the fat closet. I mean, to a certain extent, fat people are forced into the open. There's not really possible to hide that you're fat, at least IRL. Except there still are things. People don't know how fat you have to be to be forced out of straight-size stores. People don't know how fat you have to be to have to buy all your clothes online, because not even Lane Bryant fits. People don't know what morbidly obese looks like, and they throw around this term like it's nothing. (Oh I don't mean yoooooou. I mean those really fat people. You know, morbidly obese. *headdesk*) People don't know what kinds of oppression fat people face.

So, if you're fat, I encourage you to dip your toes in. Start talking about your experience as a fat person. Like so many axes of oppression (all of them?), marginalization is built around dehumanizing us. They chop off our heads so we can serve better as demons and scapegoats.

Well, fuck that. I'm a person. And I build openly fat relationships.

*OK, this metaphor has started seriously wigging me out. I mean, did I eat a thin woman? Because I'm a fat chick and fat chicks eat everything? Or has she been growing inside me like some alien spawn and suddenly she's going to burst through my chest all sci-fi like and fat Shoshie will just be left there like some hollow skin shell thing? Urhgle. This is how my brain works.

Twirling in neon

Violet Photons Have Low Entropy or
I Used to Wear Black

I wear colors now!

a purple hat

red top

green skirt blends in

with grass

when I lay back

to hug the sky

my lips as clovers

eyes brown caterpillars

their fuzz itches my nose

flies buzz into my hair

smack them!

no, that's wrong

but it's just entropy

(sometimes, S happens)

we turn to iron

low energy

slow...slow...

Stop

We need the Color need it

Raise it up raise it higher

Faster Bigger More Life More Light

Further further further from black

I don't wear anymore.

When I was 18, I dyed my hair bright, tomato red. In the seven years since then, my hair has rarely been completely its natural color. I had red hair for most of college. Then mostly blue and purple. My clothes also went from the mostly black and white of a wannabe goth to the exact opposite. Lime green became the predominant color in my wardrobe, followed closely by purple and turquoise. And, while I do love colors, I understood even then that it was about more than loving colors. It was about being seen.

Not in the stereotypical look at me look at me teenage angst kind of way, though there was also that. I was just. so. tired. of being overlooked. I was so tired of hiding my body. I was so tired of being ashamed. So I went to the other extreme, which is more-or-less where I hang out today. Because it is subversive in US culture to be fat and to proudly inhabit your body.

I don't think it's a coincidence that my first taste of color, dying my hair that bright shade of red, occurred shortly after I started regaining weight from the most extreme diet that I've ever been on. I was devastated and I was feeling rebellious. And I was so tired of hiding in the back while wearing clothes that made me as invisible as possible.

There's a lot of pressure, when you're fat, to make yourself as small and unnoticeable as possible. Wear black! And navy blue! I have a habit of leaning off the edge of bus seats so as to prevent any possibility of my belligerent thighs coming into any contact with another person. But the more angry I get about the way fat people are treated, the more unapologetic I insist on being. And it's been incredible.

I used to hate fashion, but now I see it as an amazing avenue for self-expression (not that anyone is required to use that particular avenue, any more than anyone is required to play a musical instrument). Giving myself permission to stand out has been incredible and freeing.

Because it is OK for you to be noticed.

You are allowed to experiment with your dress.

The fashion police will not arrest you, I promise.

You are under no obligation wear black or navy if you are fat fatty like me. It will not make you less fat. It may not even make you appear less fat. No carefully tailored top or placement of lines is going to make me look thin, because I'm just not thin. Once I realized that, I was able to focus on wearing what made me happy, which is an awesome way to start the day.

Why I wear tefillin

Tefillin are small, black boxes made of leather with black leather straps. They're wrapped around the arm and rest on the forehead. They're heavily symbolic, and within the boxes are several pieces of writing from the Torah.

I love tefillin. I love their warmth. I love the idea of wrapping myself in the word of God. I love that they look bizarre. I love forming the word "Shadai"* with the straps, within my firmly Jewish home. I love kissing the boxes during the Ashrei and Sh'ma prayers. I love the fading marks on my arm that persist for a couple of hours after I remove the tefillin. People on the bus may not know why they're there, but I do, and they're a reminder of the holiness of God and God's word.

My wearing of tefillin is highly controversial.

Women are historically not obligated to wear tefillin, since it is a positive, time-bound mitzvah (commandment), and women were not historically obligated in positive, time-bound mitzvot. Although many women throughout history still wore tefillin, it is strongly discouraged today within Orthodox practice, because somewhere along the line, a lot of these exemptions morphed into prohibitions. Which is one of my big problems with Orthodox Judaism. But this post isn't about that. It's about why I wear tefillin.

Frequently, when I mention that I wear tefillin, people ask me if I'm doing it just because men do it. If I'm diligent in the "women's" mitzvot like lighting candles before Shabbat and immersing in a mikvah.

For what it's worth, I also love lighting candles and immersing in a mikvah.

But I also love tefillin.

I've pretty much always loved tefillin.

When I first started wearing tefillin, I admit that there was a bit of rebellion that threaded through my practice. Although my school claimed to be egalitarian, in 6th grade, I was one of two girls in my grade who wore tefillin. Then my friend, Shira, moved away, and I was the only one. And, although the boys got an extra five minutes after prayers for putting away their tefillin, I was yelled at for being late to class. As girls in my class were getting more invested in clothes and makeup and performing femininity, tefillin was this apparently masculine, unfeminine ritual that I was determined to keep. I did not have to always look pretty. I did not have to always look feminine.

An though they did not appear feminine or pretty, or perhaps because they did not, I loved tefillin.

As I grew older, my approach to Jewish theology developed. I became convinced that the prior exemptions for women did not hold in a society where men and women share equally in maintenance of the household. I further could not understand why I, as a teenage girl who couldn't imagine even dating someone for a year, no less marrying someone and having children, was not just as obligated in commandments as my teenage boy counterparts.

Then I went to college. I found a strong, committed, feminist Jewish community. I was no longer the only woman to wear tefillin. People did not look at me suspiciously, as though my tefillin were only a way of showing off, a pitiful cry for attention. And, through this beautiful, loving, safe, community, my rebelliousness softened. When I wrapped the warm leather around my arms, and adjusted the soft box against my forehead, I didn't feel self conscious. I didn't feel rebellious, hah, look at me, yeah I know you don't like what I'm doing, too bad 'cause I'm gonna do it anyways. I just felt comfort and love and the tefillin wrapped around me, just like my community and just like God. Tradition says that the tefillin are an ultimate expression of love between God and people, wrapped around the fingers like an engagement ring.

Wrapped in this love, I didn't want to be a man. I didn't feel like a man. I was just a woman wearing tefillin and preparing myself for the morning prayers.

* An acronym for "shomer delatot yisrael," the protector of the doors of Israel. Israel being the Jewish nation, not Israel the state.

Please stop comparing your oppression to antisemitism

Dear activist community,

Can WE PLEASE stop comparing whatever travesty or injustice of the moment to antisemitism? For example, saying the following is obnoxious:

- Man, nobody says stuff like this about THE JEWS!

- EVERYBODY learns about the Holocaust! Why can't they put more emphasis on my cause?

- No one would have ever [offensive statement] that if [target of oppression] was JEWISH!

- If [stater of douchbaggery] said that about JEWS, they would have definitely been fired!

Have you ever wondered why we Jews are hyperaware of antisemitism? Or why we fund agencies like the Anti-Defamation League? Have you ever wondered why we bang down the doors when someone says something fucked about us?

It's because after >2000 years of being screwed over pretty much everywhere we live, we are always on the alert. It's not just the Holocaust. It's pretty much our entire freaking history. You build up a lot of caution after that much time. You learn that expulsion or genocide always starts with off-color remarks that become more and more acceptable and pervasive and then the cycle starts again and well, that's it for this country for a while.

For the record, I don't think that the US is going to be unsafe for Jews anytime soon. I feel pretty safe here. But I worry sometimes when things like this Pew study come out. Because hard economic times like these are ripe for greedy Jew stereotyping. And when people say the above statements, my gut always attaches a little "for now" to the end. People listen to us...for now. Many people think that Jew jokes are off-color...for now. People learn about our past oppression...for now. But I worry that it's temporary. Hell, I feel almost a certainty that it's temporary. After all, things seemed pretty awesome for a while in Poland and Germany and France and Spain and Iran.

So if you could make your point in some other way, that would be really awesome.

Seriously? This is pro-ana bullshit.

Check it out. I mean, for years, places like Weight Watchers and Jenny Craig have been espousing pro-ana* slogans, like "Nothing tastes as good as thin feels." But now we've got mainstream media proposing the same tricks and pieces of advice.

Want to lose weight? Turn down your thermostat! You'll shiver the weight off!

Not only is this dumb, but it highlights the progression of our weight-obsessed culture. Nothing is more important than being thin. Not your comfort. Not your family's comfort. We're all warriors in the fight against fat bodies.

This infuriates me on a greater level, because IT'S BAD SCIENCE. Oh, hey, house temperatures have gone up, and obesity levels have gone up. I bet warm houses cause obesity!

Oh! Oh! I can do it too!


*Pro-ana is short for pro-anorexia, a community that provides support for people losing weight through extreme caloric deprivation. They provide tips for losing weight faster, hiding your extreme diet from your caring family and friends, and "thinspiration." These are people who need help, not people we should be taking health advice from.

My letter to Dan Savage

Dear Dan,

I'm a fat bi woman living in Seattle, and I've been reading your column pretty regularly for 5 years. I very much respect the work that you do to advocate for gay rights and support for children being bullied. But your work loses credibility when you use your platform to ridicule fat children.

I mean, doughnut jokes? Seriously? Come on. You're funny, Dan. And original. You don't need to rely on harmful and hackneyed jokes about fat children with doughnuts. You're better than that.

If I was a bullied 13 year old, and saw an adult doing anti-bullying work, but then making fun of me for being fat? That would probably drive me even further into depression. Because there was pretty much only one thing that got me through when I was 13 and being chased around the playground by children oinking at me, or asking me when my next liposuction was. And that was hoping that older people would care less about my weight, and would see me as a legitimate, whole person.

I have to tell you, Dan, I did a lot of dieting back then, because I couldn't wait for that magical time when my weight would stop mattering to those around me. I went on a 1400 cal/day diet before I was 14. When I was in high school, I regularly ate less than 1200 calories/day. And I was a pretty active teenager. I ended up permanently damaging the muscles and tendons in my arms because of rapid weight loss. But everyone applauded my weight loss, including my doctors and parents. Because you can't be on a starvation diet if you're fat, and even on 1200 calories/day, I was still fat.

This is what you cause when you make fun of fat people. You cause suicide and you cause eating disorders. You cause little girls to kill themselves or hurt themselves forever.

Please stop hurting us. Please use your platform to admit that you were wrong, and that ridiculing fat people is wrong. I want to improve nutrition and fitness in the US. I think it's incredibly important work. But that work will be accomplished by teaching sustainable and enjoyable activity in schools, and by making nutritious food inexpensive and readily available. That work will NOT be accomplished by demonizing fat people. It just doesn't work, and IT HURTS CHILDREN.

Sincerely,

A Fat Activist