Resilience

by Noa Sharabi

“She's always taught me that I need to speak up, and that one of the most powerful things I own is my voice.”

"What happened to your eyebrow? Did you shave it? Oh, [laughs] it looks like part of it is missing." As I said this, my friend's eyes flew up from our work and she stared at me in shock. And she insisted that nothing had happened, and became more and more hysterical. I tried to tell her that her eyebrow looked messed up. "You can't say that. It's fine. It's fine. Don't worry about it. Your eyebrow is fine." All my other friends tried to reassure her. They looked at me, clearly saying with their eyes that I wasn't allowed to say that. At nine years old, I told my friend her bathing suit didn't look good and I didn't like it. Her mother proceeded to tell my mother that I needed to be put in time-out and to be educated on being nice. When my friends ask me what I think of the shirt they're thinking of buying, they clearly don't want an answer other than, “that's so cute!” And that's the exact answer I don't give them. Nope. “I don't think it suits you,” or “no, it's kind of ugly” is what ends up coming out of my mouth.

Sometimes my unflinching honesty and sass have gotten me in trouble. Last year in filmmaking, the teacher asked the class what we thought of the project we were doing. He said he wanted our honest opinion. I opened my mouth—and shut it. I didn't want to say what I was really thinking, because in my experience when people say, tell me what you really think, what they want to hear is, “wow, awesome.” I opened my mouth again and this time words came out. "Do you really want to hear what we think, or is this a trick?" "I actually want to hear it," he said. "It sucks and I don't like it. I think it's pointless and I think there's a better way to learn this. Also, it's just busy work." Silence. Everyone looked at me in shock. I could tell I overstepped. I thought, “shit. What is he going to say?” "Thank you. Unfortunately, it is what it is, and I'm not going to change the project. But I appreciate your honest feedback." As I have grown, I've never lost this trait. I started saying exactly what I think at a very young age.

I also always stood up for myself. Once, my Safta was yelling at me for eating too many pickles. I know, ridiculous. Like, there is no way to eat too many pickles. I told her that she wasn't allowed to talk to me like that, and that it made me feel bad. She looked at me with a mix of shock and… pride? She apologized. [German]. “What happened to your eyebrows?" My grandmother said to her friend. We'd stopped to say hello, and the first thing that popped out of her mouth was that. No shame. Even though she lived in Germany where people are more honest, her friend who knew her was a little taken aback. He managed to turn it into a joke though. I got my honesty and sass from my Oma, or in English, grandmother. She always said what she was thinking. Sometimes it got her in trouble, and sometimes people just really didn't want to hear it. Sometimes, it was a real power move. She used to be in an antifascist and pro-Israel group, and she would stand in the marketplace and fight with people. I can see her in my imagination, arguing for Israel in the middle of the street, unaware and unfazed by the spectators. I can see her standing tall, waving a sign as high as she could, protesting for what she believed in. She used to be a teacher. When another teacher wanted to give a bad graduation grade to a student, she stood up to him. She argued for so long until she finally forced him to give the student a better grade. All that so the student could graduate and get a job. I've always stood up for myself and others, and I get this from my Oma. She's always taught me that I need to speak up, and that one of the most powerful things I own is my voice.