Delivered at UUP by Maxine Levaren on March 25, 2007

In the last several months, our local newspaper has been publishing letters from women addressed to their younger selves, and I’ve found them absolutely fascinating. We’ve all had the feeling of "if I knew then what I know now," and these letters expressed some of the emotional, practical and spiritual lessons they’ve learned throughout their lives. In these letters, women recounted some of the victories and challenges they’ve lived through, the choices they’ve made and the ones they’ve regretted. And they all gave their younger selves congratulations for what they’ve achieved and what they’ve survived, and also some words of advice on how they’d do things differently. They’ve ranged from the practical, such as "fund your 401k" to the personal "give yourself a break" and the spiritual "forgive and accept those who have harmed you." Reading these letters got me to think about what I would tell my younger self, and there’s so much.

Of course, everyone’s letters also reflected the times that they’ve lived through and I must say that I’ve lived through some interesting and exciting times, which have influenced my life and my world view.

I inherited a certain political awareness from my parents (although we didn’t always agree) and I remember crying when Adlai Stevenson, a noted intellectual and Unitarian, lost the presidency. I campaigned for JFK (and even wore one of those funny straw hats) and was certain that I was going to die during the Cuban missile crisis. During those fateful days, I sat with friends around the college cafeteria trying to decide what to do with our final hour. Most of what we wanted was selfish, hedonistic and even a little salacious, but when I think about it, we all wanted to cram a full life into those few remaining days.

My young life was a time of activism. I marched against the bomb, for civil rights, and protested the Vietnam War. I even did door-to-door canvassing for John Lindsay when he ran for mayor of New York, perhaps the only Republican that I enthusiastically supported. Before you all groan, let me tell you a little bit about Lindsay: He was congressman from the wealthy silk-stocking district of New York, a politician who didn’t let labels influence him. He supported the civil rights movement and championed liberal causes, and fought Tammany Hall, a political machine which ran the New York Democratic Party. Too bad --the GOP doesn’t make them that grand any more; and in his later days, Lindsay converted and became a Democrat. He was, in the end, respected by all --Rudy Guiliani even gave a eulogy at his funeral.

But perhaps the most personal of all was my support of women’s rights and most especially, the right to choose. Unfortunately, I found myself pregnant at 21 with a baby I didn’t want. It was before Roe vs. Wade and abortions cost money that I did not have. So for nine months I carried a baby girl and then gave her up for adoption, a heart wrenching decision that I tried to put immediately out of my mind and my heart. As much as that decision was painful, and for a long time, shameful, I know that it was the right choice, not only for me, but for Susan Janette, who I named in spite of the fact that I knew she would not be mine.

That long ago decision informed many of my actions and opinions throughout my life. I’d love to be able to say that I joined some of the massive pro-choice marches on Washington, but with my funds, my vote (I admit that being pro-choice is a litmus test for getting my support) and my time, I supported choice for women. Because of this experience, I vowed that no woman should ever be forced to make that same choice, and so I volunteered as a pregnancy counselor at Planned Parenthood, in order to give information, as well as support to other young women faced with tough choices. In doing so, I not only was able to be there for those women, but also to come to terms with a piece of my own life.

Of course, by this time, almost no one gave their babies up for adoption --they either raised their children or had abortions.. Some of their decisions were based on culture, because an entire extended family would come together to raise a child, whether or not the parents were married. Other women had their choices determined by their parents’ needs or values, while some made their decisions based on her life goals --a teenager bound for college seemed to be more likely to end her pregnancy. And still other cases were discouraging --young women who came back time after time, either aborting or keeping their babies. In time, these cases burned me out, and I’m somewhat ashamed to admit that I found I could no longer do that job.

I became a mother again, this time of two boys. However my views on women’s rights continued to influence me, and I tried to make sure that sexism had no part of their lives. I’m proud to report that today, my sons cook, clean, do yard work and home improvement, and even iron their own clothes. My sons will probably never fully understand the fight for women’s equality, and free choice. In fact, when I told them about my long ago pregnancy and choice to let my baby go, they couldn’t quite grasp how different things were, just 25 years earlier. However, now I believe that my sons do have a sense of tolerance and acceptance, not only for women but for all people.

I also was there when the Time cover story asking "Is God Dead" caused a great controversy in 1966. I, for one, didn’t quite get it --how could God be dead if he never existed? I was raised as a Jew in a family who had put aside many of the orthodox rules but determined that one could go no further in changing the old ways. By the age of about 10 or 11, I questioned and challenged just about everything. If it didn’t make sense to me, it didn’t exist. When my parents or family and community elders said, "Because I said so" or "We’ve always done it this way" it never convinced me of anything.

Because no one could explain the seemingly arbitrary rules to me, I rejected them altogether, along with the religion itself. Although my family thought I would come around to their way of thinking once I got older, it never happened. I went through some of the motions, for one thing to please my family, and for another, to give my sons some sort of feeling for their heritage.

However, around 1994, I took a self-development course, and learned that perhaps childish rebellion shouldn’t influence my adult decisions, so I decided to go back to "Hebrew School" and learn some more about my birth-faith. I now have a greater understanding of some of the background of Judaism, and why things are the way they are. I can now appreciate some of the outstanding contributions of Judaism and my fellow Jews, but I still don’t believe what can’t be explained. For the longest time, I felt that because I didn’t believe in the religion per se, I was not a spiritual person, but now I can see that much of what I do and feel, rather the rules I follow, give me my spiritual identity. Having found Unitarian Universalism, I’ve found a place where I can marry my rational self and my spiritual self. In reading Denise Taft Davidoff’s Preface to "A Chosen Faith," I can embrace this tradition without feeling like a traitor to my long and proud heritage. Finally, I can choose and make my theology as an adult. I think I’m a Jewnitarian Jewniversalist.

Very recently, my mother’s passing also made me think deeply about my spirituality, most especially about the nature of life, and whether there is anything after one’s body leaves this earth. I still don’t know quite how I feel about life after life, but I do know that what’s most important is how one lives while on this planet. At mom’s funeral service, the rabbi spoke about not waiting until someday to live fully, both for ourselves and for others. It made me think of Rabbi Hillel’s famous words, "If I am not for myself, who will be for me? And if I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now--when?"

As a young woman, I was very much an idealist, and was convinced I could change the world - but assassinations, Watergate, Iran-Contra, the Gulf war and our current national crisis squashed some of my idealism. For many years, my involvement in peace and justice was limited to expounding my views and telling anyone who disagreed how and why they were wrong. Now, I believe that I can only change myself and the small part of the world that I live in, and in doing so, perhaps influence a far-off corner or the world somewhere. One of my greatest challenges is to disagree lovingly rather than stridently. Rather lately in my life, I have come to believe that being of service is a way to affect change one step at a time. As a Soroptimist, an organization that works for a better life for women and girls, locally, nationally, and internationally, I can make positive changes in my community, and in doing so, change the world.

So after much reflection, this is my letter to myself:

Dear Max,

There’s so much to tell you that I don’t know how to begin, especially since so much of what I want to say is contradictory. I want you to come to terms with the past and understand what it has to teach you, for only then will you know how to build on your strengths and avoid repeating your mistakes. Realize that you always did the best you could with the resources and knowledge you had available, and forgive and embrace yourself.

And I want you to look ahead so that you can work to achieve your dreams, but most of all I want you to live each moment to the fullest (as I write this I’m listening to a small child scream his way through a 3 hour flight and wonder how to be in that moment.)

If something feels right, take the risk and do it. In talking to elderly people, the things that they most regret are the things that they didn’t do, but rarely do they regret the things that they did do (especially if they were fun!)

If you decide to take a risk and go for it, play full out. True, you could fail, but even that will provide a road map for how to do it next time. There’s an idea out there that tells us to "fail forward" in such a way that, even when what you try doesn’t work, it puts you in a better position after your move than before it. But if you play half-heartedly, you’ll never fully experience the journey.

If you think you can change the world, take the steps to do it. March on Washington, join the Peace Corps, work with disadvantaged kid or build homes in disaster areas. Even if you lose some of your idealism later in life, your actions will make a difference, not only to the world, but to your life as well. You don’t have to start with the whole world --just start with your community. There are poor, homeless, illiterate, undereducated people just waiting for you.

Don’t worry too much about what people think, even people who you love and respect. In the final analysis, even if they disagree, they will respect your integrity. But disagree with love and speak softly. Respect their differences, as difficult as it may be, and look for the kernel of truth in what they have to say.

Don’t worry too much about God, but keep your eyes and heart and mind on some of the universal truths. Love your neighbor as yourself, but to do that, first love and accept yourself, warts and all. Whatever you have done or will do, it is the best you can do at the time.

And just remember that I love you.

Max

Women’s history (and in fact all history) is an ever-changing thing, filtered through the eyes of those who write it, as well as those who read it. Can we change history? Absolutely. We may never ride the space shuttle, find a cure for cancer or win the Nobel Prize, but our individual actions and our group efforts do make a difference.

And our personal histories also keep changing. Recently, I’ve enrolled in the Building your Personal Theology class at the First Unitarian Universalist Church of San Diego, and have begun to look at my own spirituality. Every time that I live in the moment, improving my life as well as those around me, and work to help others, I am living a spiritual life and writing a new history

Create your own history.

Blessed be.