It was an unexpected moment of Jewish joy, the kind that catches you off guard and fills your heart. It might sound exaggerated, but as a Jewish mom who embraces life fully, I can honestly say the feeling was akin to witnessing my daughter read her first words.
“She’s JEWISH?” my 8-year-old daughter exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise. She had just learned that Pink, her ultimate rock star idol, is Jewish, just like us. “What?!” she repeated, her voice filled with a mix of disbelief and excitement. Lielle, with her characteristic wild curls framing her freckled face, looked genuinely proud. Unlike many of her school friends who are devoted Swifties, Lielle has always gravitated towards Pink’s music, drawn to her humor, edgy style, and infectious dance beats. It made us think – perhaps there’s an unspoken connection, a way of instinctively recognizing “your people.”
This delightful revelation occurred during our usual car ride home from dance class, a twice-weekly ritual soundtracked by our favorite tunes. On this particular day, Pink’s song “I Am Here” played, a track we hadn’t heard before. As the lyrics filled the car, my heart expanded, a welcome sensation after a day navigating Instagram, where well-meaning but often misinformed individuals were offering unsolicited lessons on antisemitism.
May the light be upon me
May I feel in my bones that I am enough
I can make anywhere home
My fingers are clenched, my stomach’s in knots
My heart it is racing, but afraid I am not
(Afraid I am not)
I am here, I am here
I’ve already seen the bottom, so there’s nothing to fear
I know that I’ll be ready when the devil is near
‘Cause I am here, I am here
All of this wrong, but I’m still right here
I don’t have the answers, but the question is clear.
Hearing these powerful words, the Hebrew phrase hineni immediately came to mind: Here I am. I explained to my daughter that this particular Pink Song felt like it resonated from the depths of a Jewish woman’s soul. It wasn’t a casual “ani po,” the Hebrew equivalent of “here” used for roll call in Hebrew school, often delivered with minimal enthusiasm. Pink’s “I Am Here” was a declaration of presence with her entire being, her full humanity.
Hineni transcends a simple English translation. While often rendered as “I am here” or “Here am I,” it carries a much deeper significance. In the Torah, it appears repeatedly as a response to a divine call or at critical junctures in our biblical narrative. Abraham utters hineni when God commands him to sacrifice Isaac, a profound test of faith. Moses answers with hineni to God’s voice from the burning bush. It’s a complete affirmation, a commitment to something larger than oneself, to others, to our community. Hineni is spoken with faith, even without knowing what is being asked or what awaits on the other side.
As Rabbi Jennifer Kaluzny, my insightful rabbi, articulated, “It is a way of communicating dedication, readiness, and unwavering faith. It’s recognizing a pivotal moment unfolding in the present, demanding an immediate and wholehearted response. It also acknowledges covenant, the relationship between the caller and the answerer, a bond built on trust and mutual reliance. Hineni is ultimately a potent declaration of standing firmly in a place of love and reciprocal dependence.”
Pink, as a fellow Jewish mother, embodies Hineni in her vocal and unwavering support for our community, especially during these challenging times. Her Hanukkah message, which directly confronted antisemitic trolls, is a testament to this spirit. It’s this very palpable presence that my own daughter instinctively connects with in Pink’s music. Another favorite Pink song of ours further illustrates this point:
If someone told me that the world would end tonight
You could take all that I got, for once I wouldn’t start a fight
You could have my liquor, take my dinner, take my fun
My birthday cake, my soul, my dog, take everything I love
But, oh, one thing I’m never gonna do
Is throw away my dancin’ shoes and
Oh, Lord, don’t try me, really, not tonight
I’ll lay down and die
I’ll scream and I’ll cry
We’ve already wasted enough time
I’m never gonna not dance again.
Listening to these lyrics now, I can’t help but think of the courageous Mia Schem, who was taken hostage at the Supernova music festival and, upon her release, chose to get a tattoo that poignantly reads: We will dance again.
Since the horrific events of October 7th, hushed conversations have become commonplace among my Jewish American friends, filled with anxieties whispered behind closed doors: “I’m scared. Should we still display a mezuzah on our doorpost?” Our deepest desire is to protect our children, but we also understand that concealing our Jewish identity, whether truly possible or not, means sacrificing the very essence of who we are.
That night, as I tucked my own little rock star into bed, I inhaled the sweet scent from the top of her head, held her close, and softly sang, I am here. Here I am.
By Erika Bocknek
Dr. Erika Bocknek is a family therapist, researcher at Michigan Medicine, and the founder of Convo. Find tips for intentional families who love children too much on IG @DrErikaConvo and @twomamalehs
