On Privilege (and heartbreak), From Lisbon

I write this from Lisbon— a follow up on the Israel-Palestine conflict

In the two weeks following my break up, I found myself frequently on the floor. Grasping various rugs, pressing my palms into the ground. My stomach twisting like a wrung out towel. No appetite.

I listened to “Songbird” by Fleetwood Mac, tried to write something coherent in my journal. I sat on the stoop, and I’d see a bird pass by and pretend that it’s him watching over me.

I went surfing before I left for my trip, and when the session was over the grief swallowed me. Back on the floor I was.

Now, I write this from Lisbon. The part in me that wanted to control the depression I anticipated planned a trip to Europe in April. Booked and paid for so that I would have to go without an excuse. For the next 4 weeks, I’m in Lisbon, then Madrid, the Nice, then Rome, then off to Greece with my sister.

The piece I was going to write on this trip was supposed to be exclusively about heartbreak and healing. But, in light of the feedback I received on my most recent essay, “Antisemitism & Anti-Palestinian Genocide,” which discusses the Israel-Palestine conflict from a Jewish perspective, and in the context of my travels, it’s important that I discuss my own privileged identity.

Many people found my recent essay to be a prescient and honest recount of media consumption as a Jewish person. In the piece, I reconcile different aspects of my identity to speak out against the genocide. For my Jewish audience, this essay was of tremendous value—I unveiled something other Jewish friends and family have been experiencing since October 7th. I can also hope that this piece reached Jews who maybe do not even acknowledge the genocide, or might use antisemitism to excuse activism against the genocide. For some, it’s shocking that a Jew would speak out against the genocide in the first place.

At the same time, I’ve been humbled by the feedback I received—that the discomfort I discuss in the essay is at a small scale given the scope and magnitude of the genocide of innocent civilians.

My candid and privileged account did not acknowledge how my learned discomfort speaking on the issue does not put me in immediate danger. My discomfort is undeniably minor in comparison to genocide. I consumed media regarding the genocide from my LA apartment. From my comfortable and cozy life.

It was a privilege to quit my job, and I’m incredibly lucky that my parents will help me through grad school. To live in my loving home in Brooklyn while doing so. I currently have no expenses except the extras like iced coffees and drinks with friends. At home I will eat the groceries my parents pay for, I will do my laundry for free. And in turn, the money I have saved in part due to working a 9-5 for a year, eating homemade sandwiches every day at work, my parents paying my car insurance, and living behind a Prime Pizza in a roach infested apartment, is being used to pay for this trip to Europe.

I shared about my Jewish identity with the intention of unveiling something unspoken, that I know after writing this piece, many other people have experienced too. But the piece did not break the 4th wall: my “struggle” is a struggle of privilege. A hardship that I don’t have to carry like Black and Trans women at risk of violence in large numbers, like innocent Palestinians who can’t help but be victims to their situation, even the Israeli hostages. It is a privilege to write so candidly, to share my opinions online, to use my judgmental, and at times snarky, writer’s voice.

On the plane from London to Lisbon I sat next to a young woman named Sophie from Cognac who works in event planning.

“Do you know it?” She asks.

“No.” I shake my head and smile. No one doesn’t know New York City.

“Cognac like the liquor,” she says. “That’s where it comes from.” This seems like an explanation that she’s used hundreds of times.

She makes wide eyes as I explain in English (we default to English even though she is French) that I was raised in Brooklyn, moved to Los Angeles for university, worked there for 2 years, and am now returning home to attend a graduate program at Columbia. After talking to Sophie I immediately feel better. It’s a privilege, merely to live my life in it’s trajectory. I see it on her face.

I wave Sophie goodbye as she pulls away from the airport in a taxi with her work colleagues (she’s here because she’s planning an event — she previously worked on the Paris Olympics etc). On the way to my hostel, my own taxi driver points out a park near a fountain that I should not walk by late at night because in his words, that’s where “working men come to sleep.” When I go to dinner that night, I am careful to ask for my check promptly to make it past the park before sundown. I sleep in a comfortable bed at the hostel that night.

I am again confronted with privilege when I notice how fiercely I guard my belongings when I go to swim at the beach in Cascais the next day. Here I have things of value worth stealing. I picture my iPhone being snatched along with my Kindle and my mom’s Armani sunglasses. Plucked out of my bag and gone. So I watch my bag and back into the water slowly. I swim briefly and lay out on the sand. I use my bag as a headrest. This is never a concern in Montauk, where I am fortunate to spend summers. Everyone leaves their cars and sometimes their homes unlocked.

It’s a privilege to fear being stolen from. None of my items are truly irreplaceable, and most of the time money can protect me from immediate danger. My parents warned that if any of the hostels felt uncomfortable, they would be willing to split a hotel with me, and if I ever find myself somewhere past sundown in Lisbon (or anywhere in the world), I can easily open the Uber app and plug in my mom’s credit card should I ever need to.

All day I walk from neighborhood to neighborhood. Tram to market to café to the beach to the train. My strong, lean, legs carry me there.

I call my mother every night to talk on the phone, I reach out to friends who make me feel better, who text me stupid things to get my mind off of the breakup. And, I was so busy blabbing out in the surf lineup before I left that I forgot to ask other people how they’re doing. I am taken in with love regardless.

I had the choice to travel, and I had the autonomy to leave a great love to find something better.

I don’t regret posting the piece (at the same time that it can be improved). If Jewish and non-Jewish friends and family found the piece candid and relatable, if the piece caused those who may lean pro-Israel to change their minds, then it was worth sharing. It was worth sharing because I pushed myself past the pigeonhole of feminism and relationships. Women’s issues. I could write a book on how afraid I am to walk alone as a woman late at night.

But more than that, the piece was worth sharing because now I am writing this follow up. And likewise, I welcome criticism. Publicly grappling with my privileges—coming from a well off family, having a US passport, speaking English, being able bodied, being skinny, being educated at 2 outstanding universities—I invite readers to sit beside me as I clutch the carpet. I write to engage with what’s genuinely challenging me, to push myself, to push the people around me. To openly and honestly confront privilege is to actively dismantle the above power structures.

I am heartbroken right now, yes. And when I write about love, I am always met with nothing but praise. My “Love Letter to LA” received nearly 4 times the amount of likes than any of my pieces about politics. Even when I write about feminism, readers agree fearlessly because it’s immediately compelling from my perspective.

I could write solely about my grief and pain. But all I can think in Lisbon is that I am so grateful to have been loved by such an incredible boyfriend. He held my heart like an egg in the palm of his hands that I miss so much. To say goodbye to something great—it’s a privilege to choose to do so. We both are lucky enough to have the autonomy to want more. To want more context in relationships before settling.

In Lisbon, I stopped feeling hopeless. In Lisbon, I am overwhelmed with gratitude for what I do have. I cannot in my right mind return to the floor of grief.

On my second night, I sit in the square and cry because had I never dated Chase, I would not be here right now. To love is to be transformed. And Chase’s love made me brave. I never would’ve thought myself capable of traveling alone before meeting him. Because he believed in me, I do the same. In my heart I also know that he’s here with me. We’re no contact right now, but I put my hand on my chest and send him love every few hours.

As the sun sets, I look at the purple, flowering Jacaranda trees. Those same trees flowered all around LA this same time of year. The same trees Eve Babitz writes about in her novels and memoirs. I find contentment in that knowledge.

I’m crying now, not because I’m heartbroken, but because I’m happy. My heart is cracked open, and I fill it with things I am grateful for—the ability to call my endlessly supportive mom on the phone. To text my friends in New York and Boston and LA. I sit and observe my surroundings like the tourist I am. I devour pistachio and marabunta flavored gelato, and my appetite returns.

As I grieve my first breakup, the world erupts. American democracy is in shambles. Today children and families are being slaughtered and starved to death in Gaza, Yemeni civilians are being bombed, antisemitic violence is on the rise, my Black and Brown American friends fear being shot by police every single day, dehumanized by micro aggression after micro aggression, immigrants fear being deported and imprisoned. My reformed Jewish identity can become invisible. By birth lottery I remain under protection—my white skin, my family’s money, my first language, my passport, my body—all keep me safe. My beautiful life continues. And what remains of my life is everything.

What’s Next on the Substack?

• Probably something about love and travel and god…

I want to hear from you!

• DM me. Let’s go get coffee when I’m back in BK <3