Every night of my childhood, my mother read book after book aloud to me. Curled up on the couch or floor, she read me the stories of Wilbur the humble pig, the daring journey of Odysseus, or the adventures of the flying Peter Pan. Still, one of the books I remember most vividly was not an adventurous or magical book, but a historical fiction book called Brave Girl. 

Nestled beside my mother, I learned the story of Clara Lemlich, how she fought for workers' rights and led a march of striking workers down the streets of New York City. This book was my introduction to unions, labor rights, and feminism. Not till many years later, though, did I realize that Clara was Jewish. 

In retrospect, it was a massive oversight of my six-year-old brain not to realize that she was Jewish. There is a moment when she talks at the union meeting, and “the crowd lifts her to the stage, where she shouts in Yiddish; Undzer eyntsiker oysveg iz a dgsheneral shtrayk!” This moment is the most important part of the book and look: Clara’s Jewish identity is clearly represented, but I did not recognize it because I was not used to reading about Jews. 

 I was much more accustomed to the feminist messaging of the book, that feels a lot closer to that of other books I’ve read such as Elizabeth Leads The Way: Elizabeth Cady Stanton and The Right to Vote or  That’s Not Fair: Emma Tenayuca's Struggle for Justice. With this in mind, I struggled to understand the nuance of Clara’s character outside of what I had been presented. 

More importantly, though, I did not realize she was Jewish because, despite a lack of media representing Jewish women, I have had the honor to be surrounded by a myriad of Jewish women in my life. From my great grandma to my grandmas, to my aunt, great aunts, cousins, and sister, to my mother, there was in no way a lack of representation. Because of this, when I searched for Jewish representation, I did not need to go far, because I had my family.  So, when I read Brave Girls I did not latch onto this Clara’s Jewish identity, since I had been surrounded by it my whole life. 

Looking back now, I can better appreciate Clara’s feminist and Jewish identities. I’ve read and understood Kimberlé Crenshaw's work on intersectionality, so I recognize that it is an oversimplification to consider only one aspect of a person's identity. Crenshaw’s work teaches that identity is multifaceted and interconnected. Calling Clara Lemlich just a woman or just a feminist does not actually encapsulate her identity. Instead, Clara Lemlich must be acknowledged with all of her identities intact if one truly wants to understand her.  Therefore, one must push past seeing her as only a feminist symbol to seeing her as a Jewish woman immigrant and activist.   

With this new-found knowledge, I now have a better way of contextualizing the intersectionalities of my own identity. Much like Clara, I am also a Jewish feminist activist, as well as a queer teenager living in the South. As I go through my life loudly protesting and declaring my ideals, I remember that I come from a long line of women who have done the same. I do not need to head out on my own, since so many fabulous women have helped pave the way for me.   

With my recently developed understanding of Clara Lemlich and my own identity, I now devour books by Jewish feminists, from Grace Paley to Hannah Arendt to Gabrielle Zevin. I have a much richer framework for Jewish women's literature that I hope to continue to explore and deepen. Now, as I explore this world of literature, I find myself thanking all the authors I have read, my family, my friends, and every other Brave Girl out there writing advocating, and proudly showing their Jewish feminist identity.