Recently, I have been asked whether diversity, equity, inclusion and belonging still matter in the current climate, especially in light of the unprecedented rise in anti-Semitism we have seen in the U.S. since October 7. The answer is simple: One in seven Jewish adults identify as a person of color, and we become more racially and culturally diverse every day.
The answer is yes, because having communities and workplaces where all people can be their true selves, feel a sense of belonging, and want to live their Jewish lives is paramount for our community to thrive. More personally, the reason I answered a resounding yes is because I have experienced racism in two different Jewish spaces; I have experienced two very different acts of racism in Jewish spaces.
For five years, I had the honor of leading my synagogue in DEIB and anti-racism work with my amazing co-chairs. Our committee focused on breaking down internal barriers to belonging and institutional barriers to equity. Before I go any further, I want to be clear that all oppression is connected, and therefore the goal of DEIB and anti-racism is to dismantle all oppression.
As part of that effort, I developed a curriculum called Building Racial Stamina in Jewish Communities (BRSiJC). Its purpose is to educate a significant number of congregations to create anti-racist synagogues from a Jewish perspective. Although the focus was on race, we consider the greater diversity of all congregations. I will always be grateful to the people on the committee and the many congregational people who helped me hone BRSiJC and make it what it is today. It didn’t take long for changes to begin to appear in our congregations. One rabbi said, “You can tell when someone has embraced BRS by the words they use and the way they think.” One participant stated that participating in BRS helped him to discourage sexism during meetings.
From early on, I was clear that this tool was a gift to the community. I also made it clear to the committee and the two rabbis that I would demand compensation if the synagogue wanted to use it for training purposes for their staff. After all, a key tenet of this work is to compensate Black women and people of color for the intellectual property and labor of Black women. Not compensating or underpaying Black women for their labor is a form of racism born out of slavery and continues to this day. So imagine my surprise when I was informed via email that not only would I not be compensated for BRSiJC, but that it would not be “my sole intellectual property” but that the synagogue would use it to train its staff.
A friend used an analogy to help me understand what happened: My family attended a synagogue that had a leaky roof. Once the problem was understood, I proposed an innovative and effective tool to repair the roof. People at the synagogue, especially the committee members, supported me by helping me identify the leak in the roof and even bringing ladders to make it easier to reach the roof. Even after the leak was partially repaired, my friend kept saying that he was happy to continue repairing this roof, but that he should be compensated when he was ready to start repairing other parts of the house. And since I’m always here, I’ll actually offer it for half price.
Other examples of racism
Another example of racism occurred when I was attending a board fellowship. From the beginning, it was clear that there were several people who disagreed with the DEIJ goals. One participant in particular openly expressed disdain and hostility toward DEI work on multiple occasions. I finally lost my patience when the participant interrupted a case study presentation to share her disappointment in her organization’s prioritization of DEI work.
I interrupted that racist moment by first calling out the racism and then providing reasons why DEI is so important to Jewish organizations and our community at large. After I spoke, the next person I spoke to did not support the need to follow agreed-upon norms or show any interest in why I needed to act that way, but instead accused me of calling the person racist when I spoke to them and told them I was being unprofessional and angry.
In truth, I was saddened and angry that people continued to justify their opposition to DEI when Jews of color could not find a place to belong and chose to remain outside of the community. And I was sad because I was a Black Jewish woman who used my calm and passionate voice to call out harmful actions and behaviors that were sparking new incidents of racism.
I am the same Black Jewish woman who recently hired a lawyer following allies to point out the structures of oppression behind my synagogue’s disregard for my work and the value I bring to the table. I hired a lawyer to ensure that the curriculum I dreamed about and spent countless hours creating was understood as my intellectual property.
My synagogue agreed not to use my work in staff training and has barely heard from me since acknowledging that it was indeed my work. Although the synagogue made a final payment to my lawyers and has acknowledged and promised to work towards “repairing,” I have yet to see a real attempt to right the many harms caused by racism.
Meanwhile, the leaders of the fellowship held participants accountable for disregarding established norms. Repair was taken seriously. There may have been things I could have done differently before and after my racist actions, but what matters most is that the leaders acted with thought and intention.
Immediately after the incident, leaders offered support, provided space and nourishment for fellowship, and asked what Jews of Color (JOC) participants needed to continue learning in our group. Leaders also acknowledged that they had spoken with the individual multiple times, as they were aware of his hostility toward the DEI norms that are core to the fellowship. Months later, in recognition of the intellectual and emotional labor JOC had expended in mitigating and responding to the racist act, the fellowship paid for our experience of choice.
Both institutions have made significant efforts toward equity, diversity, and inclusion, but only one lives up to the ideal. All is not lost. Part of this effort is the recognition that we have all done and said harmful things, and will continue to do so, based on beliefs about race, body size, sexual orientation, and more. What is important is to remember that while we all make mistakes, we are not defined by them.
Many of us, if not all of us, are struggling right now. There is a war in Gaza that is further dividing already divided communities. It’s just that some of us who have non-dominant identities (e.g. JOC, LGBTQ+, people with disabilities) have been living in divided communities for much longer than others. Leaders who answer “yes” at the exact same time as me when asked if DEI still matters give me hope.
What gives me hope is that some organizational leaders understand that this moment demands the continued work of DEIB, and that those organizations that have approached DEIB with integrity and accountability will be better equipped to weather this moment than those that have not. It’s the organizations that are continuing to do the work necessary to repair the damage they’ve caused and to prevent it from happening in the first place that give me hope.
The author received her PhD in Educational Psychology with a specialization in Curriculum and Development from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. She is a DEIB Consultant and continues to help organizations and leaders recognize and dismantle systems of oppression with optimism and hope.
