Dear Reader,
A question that has been important to me is this: Can you be proud of your heritage, your faith, your identity, yet also have a strong need to protect or hide yourself from the “outside” world? That duality was something I, as someone Jewish, often lived with, struggled with, ashamedly agonized over.
After I met Archer Shurtliff and Jordan April, two brave teens who refused to do an antisemitic assignment very much like the one depicted in this novel, I realized how much this duality had permeated my being. I felt compelled to confront the issue. This is one of the reasons I wrote The Assignment.
I recall once, as an eight-year-old, being asked by a woman I did not know: “What are you?”
“A girl?” I answered.
“No,” she said. “Are you Italian? Greek? Spanish?” At the time, I couldn’t quite grasp the full extent of the bias and racism behind her question. The olive skin, big brown eyes, and nose bump I inherited from the men on my father’s side periodically had strangers asking something similar.
“I’m American.”
That woman shook her head. “What is your name?” she asked.
“Liza Goldberg.”
“Ah. You’re Jewish.” Her voice held disdain. I saw disgust as the woman pulled her daughter away. I loved my family but wished for a different last name. That moment left its mark. It also was the dawn of my recognition of the immense complexities, hostility, and hatred people of color and other marginalized groups face every day.
I grew up in a Milwaukee suburb where Jewish people were a small minority. In elementary school, swastikas were carved into my desk. I was asked to show my tail and horns, and comments like “dirty Jew” and “Jew them down” were commonplace.
Antisemitism was not exclusive to my youth. In recent years, my family and I have endured violent antisemitic actions. Writing this novel has brought those horrific moments to the forefront of my mind, providing opportunities to reflect.
Two teens, Archer and Jordan, made a choice—a courageous and life-changing choice. Given an antisemitic assignment, they thought about the message it sent. They refused to blindly accept that it was okay because a teacher gave it to them. They held fast to their moral compasses and never faltered: It was wrong. Something had to be done. Their courage was the catalyst and, after meeting them, I went on to interview other activists and read about other immoral assignments and hateful incidents in our schools. All of the following actually happened, justified by educators as being done in the interest of bringing history alive for their students: In Wisconsin, students were asked to write “three good reasons for slavery and three bad reasons.” In New York, a teacher had some of the white students bid on their Black peers for a mock slave auction. In Tennessee, a student was given the role of Hitler in a living history assignment and was told by the teacher to end his presentation with the Seig Heil, which emboldened students to respond with the Nazi salute in and outside of the classroom. Fifth graders in North Carolina were given a “tic-tac-toe” assignment with different options, including drawing or building a model of a concentration camp. They also could pretend they were children in a concentration camp and write a letter to their parents. It is difficult to imagine that educators gave these assignments. Thankfully, courageous people spoke out against each one. Change was the result. The success of their actions, along with the actions of Archer and Jordan, inspired me to write this novel.
How many more reprehensible assignments go unchecked and unreported around the world?
In our complex global environment, we will all find ourselves facing ethical dilemmas. What to do? Follow the crowd? Find a way to defend the indefensible? Or speak out? My characters Logan and Cade exemplify young people who are vocal against hate, intolerance, and racism. My novel is a work of fiction, but it is rooted in today’s society.
For students, speaking out against any injustice, especially when adults are involved, can be a formidable task. But it’s critical, life-changing, and perhaps even life-saving.
Here is what I hope you, dear reader, know: in darkness, be the light. Let yours be one that illuminates the world, guided by an unwavering moral compass, courage, compassion, and love. Make your home, your school, your community a place where humanKIND is welcome.
Stay strong,
Liza