Last night, as I sat in my living room, lighting Shabbat and Rosh Hashanah candles alongside my roommates (not one of whom being Jewish), I received the most jarring message I’ve received in quite awhile. The message came from a friend who I was planning on studying with later that night: “I rescind my offer to do homework tonight. RBG died and I am unwell”.

Recently, I decided to speak out about an experience that I thought would stay within the confines of my own existence, frankly for the rest of my life. Never in this lifetime, nor in the next thousand lifetimes, did I ever think I would have the courage to speak openly about my experience getting outed. My seventh grade year has always been an immense source of shame for me; I haven’t felt ashamed of my sexuality since voluntarily coming out nearly four years ago, but I have ALWAYS felt ashamed of the time that somebody else took that moment away from me.

As I’ve been taking some professional strides, and thinking more about what my plans are for the coming years, I’ve been thinking a lot about mentorship. I recently read a book called “How ‘Bout That For a Crack Baby” by Shawn Blanchard, in which he outlines both his own story as a mentee, as well as his story as a mentor. One of the key take aways I got from his book was the importance of a strong mentor at a young age. I’m lucky, in that I have no shortage of positive role models or mentors in my life, dating all the way back to eighth grade (and who would I be if I didn’t credit some of those mentors at this perfectly opportune moment: Mark Honeyman, Katie Fried, Jeremy Chamberlin, and many others). As I saw in Shawn’s book, not everyone is that lucky.

Obviously the darkness outweighs the light in the situation we have all found ourselves in. I wake up each morning and wrestle with the question “how did we get here?” One day I’m on top of the world, planning my summer in New York City, saving up for my trip to Las Vegas this fall, counting down the days to my 21st birthday, constantly surrounded by my best friends who all lived just steps away.

As a white person, I recognize my privilege and responsibility to advocate for racial equality. In 2020, one and a half millennia after the emancipation proclamation came about and four decades after the “end” of segregation, the fact that there are still hate crimes being committed, police brutality targeted entirely towards races that are not white, and simply massive amounts of racial injustice within government and society is truly sickening. As a white individual, as a Jewish white individual, I know that it is my job to advocate for these causes, to use my white privilege to do everything and anything I can to combat this revolting injustice. Unfortunately, not many white people share that knowledge of their responsibility, and are the perpetrators of this outdated racist ideology that results in far too much pain.