On Sunday, January 19, I – along with 12 fellow March For Our Lives (MFOL) student activists – spent the night on the floor of Virginia Delegates Chris Hurst and Dan Helmer’s offices in Richmond. As unusual an arrangement as this may seem, it was necessary to ensure our safety.
MFOL students from across the Commonwealth had planned to travel to the capitol last Monday for the 28th Annual Virginia Gun Violence Prevention Vigil and Advocacy Day, held on MLK Day. What traditionally has been a moment of unity for the Virginia gun violence prevention community ended up being cancelled by organizers days earlier due to credible threats of violence from neo-Nazi groups.
We also contemplated cancelling our plans, but in the spirit of Reverend Martin Luther King Jr., we decided that we would not be deterred by hate groups trying to stop the voices of the Virginia gun sense majority from being heard.
So like the good Gen Z organizers we are, we utilized social media to carry out our plan. I direct messaged every Virginia General Assembly member I could, and fortunately, both Delegates Hurst and Helmer agreed to let our group spend the night in their offices. This was done to ensure we were safely on the capitol grounds, where guns were prohibited per Governor Ralph Northam’s temporary state of emergency, before over 20,000 armed protesters gathered around the building.
One thing you should know about my background is that my grandfather (Opa in German) and his family fled Nazi Germany in 1937. Given this history, why would I willingly go towards a group of gun rights protesters that included 21st century neo-Nazis? To be honest, as a young Jewish woman from Los Angeles who lives in Washington D.C., I never imagined I would ever come into contact with Nazis. Despite my fears, I knew this was something I had to do. I don’t regret the decision at all.
Sunday night I slept only 45 minutes, staying up to write legislative talking points and a press release. When I woke up, I got ready by putting my kippah on my head, and my Jewish star and chai necklaces around my neck; I placed my belongings in my Opa’s satchel and wore his American flag pin alongside my March For Our Lives pin. Though I was fearful to wear these very visibly Jewish symbols, I did so because I was compelled by the Jewish belief that you do not stand idly by in the face of injustice.
I felt it necessary to tell the people who despise me because of my religious identity that I am not only a proud Jewish activist, but I am an activist because of my Judaism. I am also keenly aware that it is a privilege that I can choose to be visible on a daily basis. This same privilege was not afforded to my friends and colleagues of color who were in Richmond alongside me, and so it is something I do not take for granted.
At the same time, it is also true that many of the rally-goers believe that my Judaism disqualifies me from being “white” in their eyes. This was made clear to me two years ago in Charlottesville by the white supremacists who chanted “Jews will not replace us.” Many of the same groups and individuals were also present in Richmond, including infamous conspiracy theorist Alex Jones.
Of course, I didn’t have to go to Richmond. I could have just as easily stayed home, comfortable with knowing that I helped organize this trip for my peers. This arguably would have fulfilled my duties as an organizer and activist. The truth is, though, that I wanted to be in Richmond because of my Jewish identity. My Judaism is the reason I am an organizer. My parents raised me to view my identity as a Jew as intrinsically linked to the value of tikkun olam (healing the world). To this day I see my organizing as an expression of Judaism. I chose to go to Richmond because my Jewish upbringing taught me to be an upstander rather than bystander and, most importantly, to stand up not only when my people are being targeted, but when any marginalized group is persecuted.
Featured image courtesy of the author.
