On Haredi Jews and Tzniut

Within Orthodox Jewry, the practice of respecting tzniut (modesty), is nearly omnipresent. Across Jerusalem, scattered among tour groups and secular residents are flocks of orthodox or haredi (ultra-orthodox) Jewish women and men, often segregated by gender, each donning specific attire for their activities: The men often wear suits with tzitzit (fringes) hanging from the front and back on each side of their plain-white button-downs, so that they may be prepared for the frequently recurring religious services, song sessions, and meals; whereas, the women wear comparatively simple, long, black dresses and sheitels (head-coverings), so that they may keep their bodies to themselves while they venture outside the home.

Of course, it may be simple to note the mere rigidity of Jewish gender roles (Still noteworthy: My discussion will address gender as binary, as it is often seen in these religious communities.), given my quest to discuss a religious and/or cultural belief and/or practice contrary to Western—often individualist—conceptions of human rights, but I will choose to focus on the female hair-coverings, and the reasoning behind them.

On Feeling Good and Food Activism

On Friday, March 18, I joined the Haverford College volunteering organization, 8th Dimension, on its (first) annual Day of Service, during which I chose to give up three hours of my time after French Class to better the lives of hungry people in Philadelphia. To be honest, in choosing among the different events, I didn’t read much more than the first sentence—the group needed a minimum number of people in every program for each to run properly, and, by the program’s end, I would have most likely done something to better the world, whatever that may mean. As long as I took a space somewhere in the day’s events, and other people did the same, the Day of Service could stave off any attempt at mortality, and I could pursue a different activity in March 2017.

On the Supposed Privilege of Desirability

John Crowley's Brooklyn is a story of love, resilience, and a willingness to finally choose.

The film follows a young Irish woman, Eilis (Saoirse Ronan), as she immigrates to Brooklyn, leveraging her geographical shift to begin anew. As she commences her new educational path, difficult daytime job, and unexpected romance with an Italian fellow, Tony (Emory Cohen), she must ultimately decide where her true home is and who she wants to become.

A Look at My Remaining Years

The following is the editorial manifestation of my revisit, nearly a year later, to an old essay, "On My Forever Distant Future":

In my continued tenure at Haverford College, a liberal arts college in the western suburbs of Philadelphia, and beyond graduation, I shall forever persist in aspiring to glean knowledge and wisdom from the world around me, perpetually discovering bliss in both grappling with new ideas and the potential for more. I shall continue to challenge my preconceived notions of life itself, and I shall continue to deliberate over truth and morality in an academic sphere embracing intersectional and interdisciplinary study, in languages inclusive and transcendent of my mother tongue. In my remaining years, I hope to accept neither my current perspective nor that of my community as wholly correct or concretized; instead, I hope to forever alter both, forcing my life upon the path of an asymptote approaching divine understanding.

On Self-Care Amid Grand Opportunities

I don’t remember, with clarity, any moment of the first two weeks of this semester.

I must have hugged my friends after seeing them for the first time in months; I must have kissed the girl whom I’d traveled 20 hours to visit during the last week of Winter Break, before she—she must have—decided that she wouldn’t see me when I’m sick; I must have taken heaping plates of food from the “Main Line” of the Dining Center and later only nibbled at what seemed softest or most Nutella-covered, and I must have thrown up most of that, too.

I think I read Hobbes on the Tri-Co Van, while Michael, the driver, shuffled between the classical channel and the jazz one; I think I announced the women’s basketball game, crediting my lapses of attention to the chamomile tea in my mug; I think I said something about independent film in my French class, but maybe I didn’t. I really don’t remember.