On Friday night I got seven texts from friends that were some version of "Well, fuck." Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg had died. The immediate mood in my circles was like a mini version of the November 2016 election. People were grieving. People were freaking out. People were matching the anxiety I always have when it comes to the future of this country. This was far from comforting, though, but incredibly overwhelming. If there's one thing I've slowly learned since November 8, 2016, it's that it doesn't help me to be present for the public breakdown. It puts me into fixer mode, whether that was slowly wrapping up the cheese plate I'd put out for Hillary's seemingly inevitable win back then or texting friends off their ledges on Friday. It doesn't give me space to feel and figure out what to do.
Ruth died on the eve of Rosh Hashanah, a Jewish holiday I only observe by making challah and maybe an apple cake every year. When the bread used to show up in the break room, it was often the first time my coworkers even realized I was Jewish. I am, technically. My mother's side is Jewish, and given it's a matrilineal religion, I am, too. More than half my DNA is Ashkenazi according to 23 and Me. But the only bar/bat mitzvahs I've attended were my cousins'. My actual experience is a menorah lit maybe the first few nights of Hanukkah, family reunions, and flinching at the anti-Semitism I've heard around me. It's an identity I've always felt like an impostor in even as I've found it fascinating. That day I happened to read Tara Schuster's weekly self-care newsletter, in which she mentioned her LA temple, IKAR, was offering free live streams of their Rosh Hashanah services. At the moment, I brushed it off, but after Ruth died and I could tell it wouldn't be a relaxing night even if I stayed off the internet, I decided to watch.
IKAR was like no service I'd ever attended. There was a six-piece socially distanced band singing traditional songs—and covers of Sufjan Stevens' "Chicago"—from rooms of the temple full of fiddle leaf figs. This was a hip congregation. Yet what pulled me in wasn't the modern touches, but the senior/founding rabbi, Sharon Brous. Even though the practicing members of my family belong to the Reform tradition, every service I'd ever attended was led by an old white man. To have a temple with not just one woman in leadership but three was already revelatory. There was a sermon by Rabbi Keilah Lebell on the disconnect of pandemic and how one rabbi in 14th-century Spain made sense of the plague that I highly recommend you watch. Yet if anything resonated with me, a secular Jew who considers herself an atheist, it was when Rabbi Brous said the Mourner's Kaddish for Ruth. "Today we say Mourner's Kaddish for Ruth Bader Ginsburg, an extraordinary, courageous, morally-centered leader. We don't yet say Mourner's Kaddish for our country. We still must rage against the dying of the light."
This distinction between mourning the woman and mourning the country is a vital one that I think many are missing from the few times I've popped on social media against my better judgment this weekend. Yes, the election is a little more than a month away, but that's still 44 days we can effect change. Writer Alexander Chee asked on his Instagram story last night, "What have you never done as an activist that you still might do?" Chee is someone who was very involved in Act Up back in the day, so I was curious how he would answer this question and messaged him. He said donating and voting are the bare minimum, and even though getting arrested is very effective, sometimes the actions that matter the most are about empowering the community through mutual aid. I wasn't even officially aware of what mutual aid was as a concept until June, but it's about caring for your community on a micro level that many nonprofits or government cannot achieve. That can look like a lot of different things: free fridges, grocery delivery, childcare, funds to help those out of work in the pandemic. "Within its framework, we meet one another’s needs not just to fix things in the moment but to identify and push back on the structures that make those needs so dire," lawyer and activist Dean Spade told Jia Tolentino in a New Yorker story on mutual aid. Ultimately, Chee wrote to me, "The question we have to ask ourselves right now is how can we do more from a position of strength."
The questions I am asking myself are: How do I want to show up? How do I want to remember what I did during this period? How do I live my values? There will be no measure of if I've done enough—only I can know that. I no longer feel comfortable sharing exactly who I'm donating to, how often I volunteer, or what I'm even doing as I have in the past. It's not that my actions were hollow before, but their motivation was complicated and led me to start carrying a measuring stick around others. I would feel self-righteous about people getting involved just now or doing actions I considered condescending and annoying. But four years ago I was only just getting involved, and shame from others didn't help me stay involved. Finding causes I cared about and communities that believed in them did. Right now I'm most involved in voting rights group Fair Fight and the local hub of the climate justice movement Sunrise. If you want to talk about either and how to get involved, please reach out.
As Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez said in a rallying Instagram Live on Friday night that buoyed me up, "Every single human being has something to give." That can be time, money, your social media skills, your car to drive people to the polls, your extra pantry items to a free fridge, your art skills to design a flyer or graphic for a mutual aid organization, or your compassion to a friend or family member who isn't planning to vote whom you may be able to sway if you really listen to them. You know your skill set, your budget, and your schedule, so use it the best way you can. There is no way we as individuals can do everything, and we shouldn't. If even answering the phone gives you anxiety, don't feel pressured to phone bank. If you're still out of work because of the pandemic, don't donate money. If you hate Joe Biden, then get involved in a local organization. If you think one action feels performative, then find one that feels meaningful to you. There is something you can do, and it will make you feel a little better, or at least better than doomscrolling.
It's not too late to do something. If we think it is too late, then they've already won. Authoritarianism is meant to exhaust us into giving up and giving in. But if we each have even 5 percent hope, that all adds up. If we can integrate just one action into our lives in the next month, that's still better than sitting back and assuming we are just doomed or that someone else will fix it for us. Don't think of this as saving democracy, just think of it as the next step. Think of what you can do today or this week.
Broccoli and Kale Rubble Farro Salad
Farro is the most under appreciated ancient grain with the chew of pasta but the fiber of quinoa. Smitten Kitchen's broccoli-forward farro salad is a great vehicle that I also added a little kale to. Feel free to top with a runny egg, or even better yet, burrata as pictured.
Ingredients
Salt
1 cup semi-pearled farro
1 lb. broccoli
Handful kale
4 Tbs. olive oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
Red pepper flakes, to taste
Finely grated zest, then juice, of 1 lemon
Freshly ground black pepper
4 oz. pecorino romano, grated
Burrata
Directions
1. Bring a medium/large pot of salted water to boil. Once boiling, add broccoli and boil for 2 to 2 1/2 minutes, until slightly softened but still crisp overall. Scoop out with slotted spoon or tongs, then drain.
2. Add farro back to same pot and cook until tender following package directions.
3. Drain and tip farro into a large mixing bowl; cool to lukewarm.
4. Pat drained broccoli dry on towels, trying to remove as much excess moisture as possible. Chop into small (roughly 1/2-inch) bits. Also chop kale.
5. In a large sauté pan, heat olive oil over medium-high heat until hot. Add garlic and pepper flakes, to taste, and cook for 1 minute, until garlic is faintly golden.
6. Add chopped broccoli, kale, lemon zest, and salt, and cook, stirring, for 3 to 4 more minutes, until broccoli is well-seasoned and slightly more tender.
7. Add broccoli and kale and every bit of garlic and oil from the pan to the bowl of farro and stir to combine. 8. Add lemon juice, black pepper and more salt to taste and stir to combine. Stir in cheese.
9. Top with burrata to serve.
Tess Recommends:
-I forgot to mention how British band Glass Animals' Dreamland was my soundtrack of August. Their third album is a dreamy electro-pop escape. I recommend "Heat Waves."