So we're headed into another heatwave it would seem, which is obviously the perfect time to FINALLY receive the heavy leather motorcycle jacket I ordered off Amazon. I chose it after exhaustive research, vacillating between the one with side laces and the one without, calling the manufacturer to ask the weight of the jacket, having immediate buyers remorse after checking out because maybe I should have chosen the one with the laces afterall, oh well, or maybe I should have gone with that one that had the braided detail oh god what did I just spend a hundred something dollars on what was I thinking??? When I was a 13 year old suburban punk kid living in North Miami Beach, Fl, I washed so many cars at 5.00 a piece, going door to door after school everyday until it was dark out and I could no longer even see whether the cars were clean so I could buy my first leather motorcycle jacket out of the Sears catalogue. It was a hundred dollars back then, (which was a lot more than a hundred dollars is now,) and even though the South Florida heat was oppressive, along with my combat boots, I would wear my heavy, leather jacket which I'd made even heavier with all the band pins on its lapels every single day, (because I was THAT punk) eventually ripping out its lining in a misinformed attempt to make it slightly less hot. It eventually fell apart, because apparently the lining is more integral than I knew, and I wouldn't get my next leather biker jacket until many years later when I was living in New York. I've since had several; some of them painted and studded, some left plain, but here's the thing, they were all men's jackets. They all fit my body, or more accurately, failed to fit my body in very boxy, awkward ways. I've never had a women's black leather biker jacket until today. When it arrived this morning, I unwrapped it from its grey, plastic bag and unfolded it, laying it out on the bed. Unbuckling its belt, I unzipped it, and immediately unzipped the winter weight full sleeve liner and removed it. It's SO much lighter than all my other jackets, some of which, I kid you not weigh 20 lbs. I put it on, and stood in front of the full length mirror we have in the bedroom. It stopped where my hips began. I zipped it up. It closed over my chest like it was made to. I lifted my arms. The sleeves didn't cover my finger tips, but stopped at my wrists, where, sleeves are supposed to stop. "Please don't paint this one" Carrie said, and I laughed, as I turned this way and the other looking at myself. When I'd bought all my other jackets, I was trying so hard to be something I wasn't, something I could never really be, and they fit my body in ways that constantly reminded me of that fact, which is to say, they didn't fit me at all. I'm so glad I'm able to stop pretending. This fits me so much better.

To be a Jew who is, generally speaking,
a leftist,
or more specifically speaking, compassionate, empathetic,
soft hearted, etc,
is to have a heart that is
layered in scars,
broken, superglued and stapled back together
so many times you can't even count anymore.

To be a Jew who cares about her fellow humans
is to be reminded again
and again
and again of how disposable you are,
why your struggles
"just don't matter that much right now"
"are distracting" or "derailing"
"you're taking away from the real struggles people are facing!"

To be a Jew, generally speaking,
is to keep fighting anyways
even if nobody fights for you
holding on to hope
that if push comes to shove
"They'll come through in the end"
(whether you think they really will or not.)