The Words Matter

And yet, readers are going to interpret what we write for their own purposes.

I normally write once a week so as not to inundate your inboxes, but yesterday, after my essay published about my recent volunteering trip to Israel, I got an email from a reader. A white, privileged woman from a liberal locale, who works in a community of supposedly open-minded people.

I’m paraphrasing what she said, to make it less attacking and aggressive: While I usually find myself aligned with what you write, I don’t today. Clearly, you’ve been fed propaganda from the Israeli government. I take your essay to mean that you only care about Jewish lives? Do you care about Palestinians? I can’t imagine how you’re getting it so wrong. I urge you to check out -Insert name of extremist lefty organization- to correct your beliefs.

I received this response, thankfully amid many more that said, wow, thank you, this is so insightful, so interesting, so enlightening. Thank you for reminding me what runs through my veins. In fact, a lot of readers wrote to say how much they resonated with the essay, and this was the only negative comment.

Look, I don’t like confrontation - does anyone? I was offended, yes, and horrified by her self-righteousness. I wrote back and told her so, and invited her to actually visit the places that she’s defending and vilifying, to which she has no personal connection, and also shared insights about the fake news and exquisite PR that has brought us to a moment in the world where down is up and right is wrong.

The woman responded with an even longer email saying (paraphrasing), I figured you might respond this way, but I had to summon the courage to write anyway. Then she proceeded to gaslight me by demanding that I prove my beliefs and justify my statements. Which, by the way, were about an actual visit to an actual place speaking to actual people. I didn’t respond to the second missive because you can’t logic your way out of antisemitism. Or arrogance.

By putting myself out there, boldly sharing my beliefs, I’m going to get pushback. There will always be people who don’t like what I write. It’s a risk I’m willing to take because writing starts conversations. It gets people thinking. And I believe that is so worth the risk.

I’m not great at responding in the moment. I need time to think through and process and write about what I’m feeling until I get to a proper response. So about an hour or two after I received her first email, it hit me: in an essay about my on-the-ground experiences, that focused on a nation that cares about its people (all its people - not just Jewish ones - did I ever single out just Jewish lives?), this reader chose to see one-sidedness.

She was looking in a mirror.

It’s so frustrating. You can be so careful in choosing your words, you can think it over and over, edit, revise, cross out, choose new ones, even ask for feedback to make sure your message is clear.

And still. People are going to read what they want to read. What they NEED to read.

How do we get around this?

Sadly, I’m not sure we can. People are so wrapped up in their cocoon of beliefs that they often won’t allow themselves to consider nuance or other perspectives. There’s an arrogance in believing you’re right and every other way of looking at things is wrong. True open-mindedness is being open enough to be curious, to dig deeper, to ask questions, and to engage in friendly and honest discussion. (Check out the work I do with the Civility Project - it’s all about talking to people across political divides.)

I LOVE people. I love to ask questions, to hear stories, to KNOW how others feel and think and live. I could spend all day, every day, just talking to strangers and learning from what they’ve seen.

I’m not picky. I’ll talk to anyone. Old, young, any ethnicity, religion, race, region. And every time I do, I see something familiar in their eyes, hear a shred of knowing in their voices.

In 2016, I created a nonprofit called One Earth Writing to bring teens together for writing. The teen participants came from different socioeconomic, racial and religious origins. The idea was that, once they were around a table together, focused on this thing we all love - writing - they’d find common ground and see that we’re really all the same in our humanity.

It was so much fun and a lifeline for many of the teens who participated! Unfortunately, it closed when the pandemic hit.

The woman who emailed me yesterday would’ve supported that effort. It’s the kind of thing that those of us who call ourselves liberal love.

But she won’t support any notion of Jews finding joy despite devastation. Of Jews inhabiting their own land. Of Jews embracing self-determination. Of Jews being targeted just because they’re Jewish.

If I had written yesterday’s love letter to the people of Israel but made it about the Palestinian people, she would have applauded me.

Think about that.

She can’t accept the idea that all things could be true - October 7th was a brutal massacre where rape was used as a weapon and babies were beheaded and captured AND there could be horrific atrocities befalling the Palestinian people AND innocent people are being held captive in tunnels under the ground AND some people want to end the Jewish state AND some people want to make peace in the region AND some people really, really don’t.

So I become the villain - by going to see for myself, by volunteering, by being a witness.

I can’t be speaking truth - I must be the object of propaganda. (Yeah right - the Israeli government is calling me, some rando in the American Midwest, and dictating what I write - how ludicrous is that!)

Israel can’t be a place of humanity or joy. She knows better than me.

I’m still going to write what I think and believe and feel. I’m going to share my experiences. I’m going to be bold and brave and out there. And I’ll get some obnoxious, stupid emails. But I’ll get a lot more of the good ones because I’m honing my audience and bravely opening my heart to connect with others.

That’s the real courage, the kind that writing requires. Writers must be strong enough to take negative feedback. And smart enough to realize that much of it has nothing to do with their writing.

It’ll come no matter how precise your word choice is. But you’ll get people thinking. And start conversations that keep going, long after you’ve left the room.

I think it’s well worth the trouble. Do you?

Thanks for reading the Rebel Author Newsletter! Love, Lynne