Tikkun Olam, Tikkun Our Selves

I didn't grow up idolizing Gloria Steinem. In fact, I mostly just heard her name floating around feminist spaces without really knowing why she mattered. But, as I've gotten older and started reshaping my own identity, I've realized that I'm living inside the world she helped create. Her work didn't just advocate for women in general; it created a space for people like me. People with layered identities, mixed backgrounds, and a commitment to justice that comes from every part of who we are. 

What draws me to Steinem isn't only her activism, but the way she connected it to something spiritual. With a Jewish father and Presbyterian mother, she learned early on that identity is rarely one-dimensional. Yet she consistently returned to Judaism's call toward justice, especially the idea of tikkun olam, repairing the world. What stands out to me is that she didn't see feminism as the final goal, but instead saw it as one piece of a much larger mission to confront oppression in all its forms. As a Colombian, Filipina, Jewish woman, I find comfort in her understanding that justice work must hold all of our identities at once, not just a small portion.

Steinem's breakthrough moment when she undercover reported “A Bunny's Tale” is a perfect example. Instead of just writing from a distance, she got a job at the Playboy Bunny Club, and quite literally lived in the sexist environment she was working to expose. She felt the discomfort and pressure placed on women to be decorative objects rather than treated like real humans. Her journalism mattered not only because it was truly sensational, but also because it honored women's lived experience as raw evidence of what needs to change. That approach still continues to shape the way feminist writing works today.

But Steinem didn't stop there. She played a major role in the 1977 National Women's Conference in Houston, where she advocated for a platform that connected women's rights to racial justice, LGBTQ+ rights, childcare, and economic equality. She insisted that liberation only works when we honor everyone's struggles, not just the struggles of women who already have the most privilege. For me, this is where her Judaism shows up most clearly. Tikkun olam isn't selective. It demands we look at the whole picture, especially when it's uncomfortable.

Steinem’s intersectional vision helps me understand my own activism more clearly. Sometimes the word "feminist” feels complicated, or weighed down by stereotypes and assumptions. But Steinem reminds me that the label is less important than the values behind it: Values like dignity, justice, and collective liberation. When I show up in Jewish spaces as a person of color, or in feminist spaces as a Jew of color, I’m reminded that my presence alone challenges the limits of how people imagine identity. I don't have to separate my Judaism from my feminism; each one strengthens the other.

One of Steinem's greatest lessons is that storytelling is a form of activism. Her writing was powerful because she never pretended or tried to stay neutral. She simply told the truth from her own experience. That has pushed me to see my own stories differently. When I write about navigating Jewish spaces where I'm the only person of color, or about being in classrooms where feminism is treated like an option rather than a survival strategy, I'm not just venting. I'm documenting the world as I see it, the same way Steinem documented hers.

My lived experience as a young Jewish feminist of color has political weight. It matters. And writing about it, questioning, analyzing, and challenging the status quo is one way I contribute to tikkun olam. It's also part of tikkun of the self, the work of understanding who I am and how I want to show up in the world. 

Gloria Steinem’s legacy isn't just something I read about; it's something I feel myself stepping into. She teaches me that activism is both personal and collective, it's spiritual and political. She reminds me that telling my story is never an act of selfishness, but an act of repair. I'm repairing a world that feels full of fracture, and it is my responsibility to use my voice to mend whatever parts of it I can reach.