I look out at the world through bright blue eyes. Blonde hair. A skinny but shapely 19-year-old’s body. I know six languages. I am educated. I can prescribe medicine that saves lives. I am in love. I am a person. 

I look down at the tattoo on my arm. A number— like cattle. My family is gone. My home destroyed. I am living in a small room— no bigger than 10 by 5 feet— crowded to every last square inch. But I am alone. I am afraid. 

My brown eyes well with tears when I think of my grandmother. I have brown hair, an evidently unpalatable classic Jewish nose and I do not speak six languages. My grandmother was beautiful and looked European. To use a modern phrase, she had “passing privilege.” I can’t help but wonder what it would have been like for me— someone who would not have had the same. 

Her family was taken and killed. First, one by one. Her brother was “hosed” to death. This is when a high-pressure hose is aimed at someone’s internal organs until they die from the brute force.

Then, all at once. Her parents, uncles, grandparents— tragically ripped from her life and gassed. Her husband— separated from her and interned in the neighboring camp conjoined to hers by only a fence, which may as well have been an impenetrable wall. 

The German Nazi soldiers, enamored with her good, non-stereotypically Jewish looks, decided she was physically too valuable to be immediately extinguished. They had bigger plans for her. “Is anyone a nurse?” they asked. Her hand timidly rose. She was not a nurse. But her family owned a local pharmacy and she had worked there long enough to fake it to the untrained eye.

They handed her an orange. It was a test. She had to inject the orange and they would then decide if her skills were up to par. In what I can only imagine to be an indomitable display of will, her hand held steady and she calmly grasped the syringe and pressed down. 

Ah, a nurse. A second of relief washed over her body. She had spared her own life, without knowing that the soldiers had no intention of killing her at all. What better Jew to rape than the Jew who does not look like a Jew at all? In the midst of the gross inhumanity, something as superficial as the color of her eyes and hair saved her. 

I think about that a lot, especially now. As a prospective physician, I will be in a position of power. Hearing her story, no matter how many times, feels like watching a movie whose ending you already know but each time you watch you hope you will be wrong. Every time I hear her story, I hope someone will intervene. Someone powerful will look around and say, “this is wrong.” No matter how normalized the violence was, I always hope and dream that someone’s sense of humanity will supersede the status quo and they will stand up for my grandmother. And her mother. And her father. And everyone. 

When I tell my friends this story, they are disgusted. “I don’t understand how people could be so inhumane! How could people turn a blind eye! These people are monsters!” They are right. But what does that say about us? It is easy and convenient to look back on history and say you would have been different. Better. But how far have we really come? 

I am tired of seeing my Black brothers and sisters have their lives devalued based on something as superficial as their looks. I am tired of having conversations with people in which they debate the value of Black lives against the value of property. I am tired of watching videos of Black people being murdered, every time hoping it will end differently. Yet, these people mourn with me for my ancestors? They qualify the current loss of life by saying things like, “well, that is a bad apple,” without remembering that the entirety of the quote reminds us that one bad apple spoils the bunch.  

It is incomprehensible to me that to this day we are still having these debates. Have we learned nothing?

I cannot imagine what Black people are feeling today. Actually, all I have is my imagination. But, if I can do anything in this world, it will be to use my power for good. I vow to be the person who changes the ending of the movie. I will use my medical education to learn more about the injustices suffered by the Black community and be cognizant of my biases while caring for the lives of others. I will stand up to people who have forgotten their humanity. I will encourage others to do the same. I will never stop listening, learning, and reflecting. Will you? 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Erica Mark is a medical student at the University of Virginia School of Medicine. Profoundly impacted by her experience being raised by Holocaust survivors, Erica is passionate about social justice. As a prospective physician, Erica strives to improve the medical field through ensuring equitable care and improving health outcomes for minority patients.

Dear God,

I have some questions...

Are you getting this? Do you hear me? Are you even listening? Are you watching with disdain as I write this for a letter-writing competition instead of reaching out to you in prayer? If the universe is infinite and you supposedly created the universe... are you off listening to the prayers of some other life-inhabiting planet while we suffer? Do you just ignore us? Or is it an "I am everywhere at once" kind of thing? 

Did you cause corona because you thought we deserved it? Or do you have every global disaster scheduled like on my mom's planner? When you supposedly created the universe, is this what you had in mind for us? Just occasionally punishing the innocent in hopes of getting the ignorant to make smarter, more empathetic decisions?

Did you just create us and leave us alone to our devices as you watched us destroy ourselves from the inside out? Or did you consciously let this happen? No, not let this happen. That's not what I wanna know. I wanna know if you made this happen. If you are as great as they say, why don't you punish those who deserve to be punished? 

What's the deal with the whole "lord's name in vain" thing? Does it really irk you all that much when people say "Oh my god" or "Jesus Christ!"? Forgive me but I don't see the problem with it. 

Why did you supposedly sacrifice your son for us? Did he volunteer to die on the cross? Or did you force him to do it with a wave of your all-powerful arm? Do you think he resents you for it? No, right? Well, you'd be wrong because all children hate their parents at one point or another.

In reference to the "You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination." line... Do you just not like gay people? What's the deal with that? I'm asking you specifically because there's no way you had nothing to do with the writing of the goddamn bible. (Did you get offended by that "goddamn"? Not that I care, I just want answers.)

How come people who don't believe in you aren't allowed to go to heaven? Why should the people who refuse to have blind faith in you suffer eternal damnation? And what about the people who just have different religions? Do you consider them to believe in you, but just in multiple forms? 

Why is my sibling such a dick? Did you make them like that on purpose? They take medication for their depression and bipolar disorder so why are they still a dick? In fact, why is my whole family just a family of dicks? Mommy's a dick, Devin's a dick, Samuel's a dick, Cal's a dick, I'm a dick. The only one who isn't a dick is Daddy. Is that because you figured he's been through enough? After his rough childhood, you decided not to torture him even more. Do you curse people with bad personalities or is that just a part of being human?

Do you love me? Let me rephrase that: Do you love humanity? Are you as compassionate as they say? Are all the bad things that happen to us because of free will? Or is it because you love tormenting us?

Why do you want to be worshipped? Aren't you supposed to be impartial and benevolent? Why would you crave (you hear me right, crave) for people to literally worship you? That seems like such a humane thing to do. To be self-centered and insecure. "I created you, you should be thankful. If you don't obey my every command then you should be tortured for eternity." Is that the thought process you've had all these billions of years after creating the universe?

Also (last question, I swear) why are people tortured - or blessed - for their infinite lives based on things they did and decisions they made in their finite lives? Doesn't that seem a bit... cruel to you?

Sincerely,

An ex-Christian who never paid attention during bible study anyway. 

P.S. If you do actually exist and you're watching me write this letter, why are you choosing not to answer me?

~~~

Sidenote: I've got nothing against Christian people btw.

Because I knew you.

because I knew everything about you.

and had.

for years.

when we were together.

It’s like no time had passed.

Because I knew you.

It felt the same.

Electric and warm fuzzy.

It took my breath.

My heart slammed against my ribcage. Mouth dry.

shallow breathing. Embracing.

Your long hair.

bearded sheepish grin.

I couldn’t have pictured you any more perfect.

Because I knew you.

I knew it was destined for failure. Even before the second first kiss.

And yet. I maintained the childlike hope for you that spanned half my lifetime.

Because I knew you.

it was better than the last.

The connection. The laughter.

The love. Was real. Though fleeting.

Because I knew you.

I knew it was destined for failure. Even before the third, first kiss. Perhaps even destined to be the last, first kiss.

Because I knew you.

I am the person who sees the good. I am the person who seeks to fix others. I am the person who will always love you unconditionally.

Because I knew you.

I came to know me.

Dear Ukulele,

My dad claims you’re too loud, but that’s exactly what the boys in middle school said about me, so I sympathize.

Dear Baseball Bat,

My mom tells me you’re too boyish for me and I shouldn’t keep you close “in case of emergencies.” She said the same thing about my best friend in first grade.

Dear Pearl Necklace,

I think you’re too pretty for me. Too delicate, more like. I think I’ll break you. That’s what I thought about my first crush too.

Dear Instant Dry Nail Polish,

You chip away too soon, almost like my self esteem.

Dear Anxiety,

My parents don’t think you exist. My old therapist claimed she could get rid of you. I don’t think I want to just yet. Or maybe I’m afraid of what I’ll do if you leave.

Dear Money,

People tell me that you’re worthless, and in the same breath, they explain your incalculable value. Whole worlds have been built around you, yet you’re taken for granted. Now, you’re being replaced by a screen and some code. I think you and happiness have a lot in common.

Dear Society,

You’re the home I don’t want to visit anymore but come crawling back for Thanksgiving dinners and weekly rants about the economy. You’ve been my old companion since I was six, and I don’t think you’ll ever leave me. You’re a spiteful bonfire that everyone hates, but we always come back for some more.

Dear Bookshelf,

Stop looking at me like that.

Dear Thoughts That Fill My Head At Night,

Don’t leave me.

Dear Inanimate Objects I Compare My Problems To In A Fictious Piece Because I Can’t Discuss My Problems With My Problems,

I’m glad you listen to me when nobody else will.

Sweaty palms, heart pounding, mouth drying, clock ticking, it's too much. Too much to process, too much to say, it's all too much. But once I open my mouth I don't know if it'll be enough, if my words will reach them or not. They all watch from a distance, I won't miss my shot, I can't. This is my only chance. The words come to my head like a steady law that was written long ago but only recently perfected.

"What causes us to move on? What causes us to say we are done with life and then suddenly cling on to it when we're about to lose it? What makes us human? Our compassion? Kindness? Emotions? Feelings? Which is it? Why do we feel the need to hold on to things we'll no longer need after death? Why do we become consumed by money and greed? Why? Why? Why? So many questions and not enough answers." The words flow out of my mouth like a flash flood, I don't think I'll ever be able to stop. "We have so many questions, some we'll never be able to answer. With these questions come solutions we have yet to find. People of the world, hear me! How can we let hatred consume us into monsters that criticize and judge others? We need to stop this monster that society has created! It's consuming all of us, one by one. You've felt ashamed when given a judgemental stare but then you'll turn around and do it to someone else! Why? What justifies you to do such a thing that you hate being given? How can you weep over words someone has said to you and then say them to someone else? People of this world, things will never change if we don't change."

They all stare wide-eyed, have I reached them yet? The only thing to do is go on.

"We have polluted the very planet that feeds us, that brings us oxygen and resources, we have hurt each other because of differences such as religions, race, gender, and other things that make us unique. We have left children and others starving, we have created a divide between the rich and poor, we have left citizens of this world homeless. And yet some still deny the iniquities of this world. How can we correct something we ignore? It's simple, we can't! We have failed the very people we were supposed to provide and protect for. So let me ask you, people of the world, how do you think we got here today? Is it because no one regulated these problems a long time ago? Or perhaps is it the fact that no one even considered the possibility that our world is crumbling because of the people we have become today? We have been ignorant, we have ignored the cries of this world for far too long. This is a call for change! A call to put aside our pride and egos, to set down our weapons of war, to love everyone regardless of who they are, to improve our environment, and to contribute to the well being of those less privileged. So, people of the world, I only have one final question. Are you willing to make this change?"

Some days I wish

I could replace this throbbing heart

with dandelions

bright and yellow and sweet.

and there, where my breast-bone meets my ribs

the poets would weep.

Dandelions are not a symbol of love,

and how can we quantify the pining of our hearts

if the only thing filling the vacuum of our chests

is a weed?

And as the tears of poets fill my lungs

dandelions float into my throat

and I begin to choke.

The poets turn away

-back to sketchbooks filled with doodled hearts-

But with a final breath I laugh,

a bitter, victorious, thing.

What is left

when the poets can no longer

describe my heart as aching for its other half?

when love ceases to be the most interesting thing about me?

Even in the euphoria of my victory I know the answers to these queries.

Without a heart

I become worth little more

than the flowers that fill my chest.

When love is the currency of womanhood

it pays little to be a weed.

And the story of my life

would fit so neatly here,

penciled between a first kiss and a shiny ring,

as if my ability to love another

is the only thing worth remembering

at the end of the day.

But in a journal tucked at the back of my nightstand

I write of a girl who filled her chest with flowers.

Who slid a black ring onto the middle finger of her right hand,

if only to fill the empty space

left by a heart that was never there to begin with.

And the girl grins,

for when your heart is no longer fodder for halfhearted love poems

you begin to live for yourself.