Tag Archives: Roma

2/30 – Privilege

Privilege is…

…the choice of forefathers to have come here, to have not arrived in chains.

…the ability to not be inherently more likely to be shot.

…whole personhood from the founding of the country of your birth.

…a lottery of melanin,
of economic status,
of opportunity.

…being able to discuss the advantages that I have inherently, because I pass,
gone are the circumspection of circumcision,
gone are quarrelsome curls that announce my otherness,
gone my kippa and tzitzit that says that I’m Hebrew,
Kike, Christ-killer, Juden, Jew,
and Roma, Kalderashi, there is nowhere to call home,
pogroms should be all I know –
privilege is not having ever been driven from somewhere,
my ancestors on either side never knew such,
black men and women in America have never known such,
the First Peoples here have never known such,
the Mexican People have never known such,
this land is built on the bodies of “others” brought here,
granted no rights and worked to their deaths,
privilege is being able to shrug this inhumane history off ourselves.

…perpetual because we’ve let it.

…running rampant because we believe there are more of them,
or that they are more powerful,
but we are what we have always been,
we are WHO we have always been,
the oppressed,
the irreverent,
the dreamers,
the believers,
we are righteous in our indignation,
we are at the end of our rope,
we are ready for revolution,
we cannot have more of the same,
privilege is the right of the strong and the lame.

…available to us all. It is ours for the taking.

…being at the precipice of this coming change.

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What’s Your Name – Oakland Workshop Writing Prompt

Am Yisrael Chai, Am Yisrael Chai,
Am Yisrael, Am Yisrael, Am Yisrael Chai
:

Born of the north of the land of milk and honey to parents of other native tongues who
Tasted the tones of Semitic proverbs that rolled on the winds of two millenia of Diaspora and now it sweetens their saliva, khalav v’dvash, and pass it in a name to their son.

My father holds me, his third boy, my mother’s first, eight days after birth – the brit melah.
This name hovers over the synagogue, not yet announced, but it seeps through the ceiling and out the hearts of the congregation, an ancient promise:

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