I go for a run,

Watching the sun set into the forest

And the fallen leaves swirl on the road.

I think of friends of color,

Afraid to walk these streets

In a town that voted for Trump.

Over lunch, a friend joked:

Trump solved his immigration problem—

No one will want to come here anymore.

I know it’s funny, but I can’t laugh.

My heart turns toward an undocumented immigrant mother and father,

Scared they’ll forever be separated from their children.

I know that there are many intentions

Behind every vote.

I listened in my conversations with voters in New Hampshire,

And to my friends voting for him.

But right now,

I can only see a vote for him as a vote for exclusion.

For only twelve years, I’ve begun to be aware that I’m white,

And the privileges that I carry with that,

But I’ve known my whole life that I’m a Jew.

I’ve been trained when a man says what Trump says about

Muslims, Mexicans, immigrants, women, the disabled, and more,

Then nothing is more vital than stopping those violent words from becoming reality.

The greatest blessing is to be in a room full of wise women:

One thinks about her granddaughter and cries;

Another reflects upon her great grandmother’s 19th century emigration from Ireland,

Passing around a picture and the hand-sewn baptismal dress that her grandmother wore;

The third talks about the solace of milking the goats;

The last one shares the greatest dreams she held for the future on a better day.

Today, I grieve.

And if you are grieving, too,

I see your pain, and I love you.

If you need a friend, I’m here for you.

We’re all here. All of us.

And we’ll make sure that no one ever forgets that.