Scrolling And Trolling

By Malkie Gordon Hirsch Magence

Rena plopped down onto my couch a few Shabbatot ago and asked me how I felt about the anonymous letter sent to my father’s house, which was then followed up by an article by the editor himself.

I looked at Jeremy first and then looked back at her.

“What letter?” we asked in unison.

She laughed in a way that told of this typical behavior on my part to not only not regularly read the publication I write for, but that also I wouldn’t have heard from anyone from my camp what had been written about me.

She then went on to tell me the sordid details of a letter anonymously sent from “an anonymous friend” starting out positively enough, by stating how much they loved the paper and were regular readers of the weekly publication that my father has published for the last 25 years, but that they just didn’t like or have any interest in reading any of the written material from my father, me, or my brother.

It went on to bring actual examples of what bothers this individual—me writing about my kids, for example.

Apparently, I’m boring.

And just as an aside, I’ve been called a lot of things, but boring has never been one of them.

My father writing about his father’s untimely sudden passing going back many years, and my brother’s writing of divrei Torah and chizuk is also something he’d rather not see published.

As I sat there and heard this information, I couldn’t help but laugh, which for anyone who knows me, is the exact opposite reaction I usually would have had not too long ago.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a people pleaser.

If I’d catch wind of someone not liking something I’d say or do, I’d be the first person to reach out and apologize for any and all of my actions.

Every time I made a wrong move while taking drivers ed in high school would result in an apology from me.

One day, my driving instructor asked, “Is there any possible way you can go an entire driving session without apologizing for things you’re learning to do and might not know yet?”

Naturally, my response was an apology for apologizing so much.

He shook his head and laughed.

But this has always been me. I think it’s a combination of my general insecurity and uncertainty on many matters combined with my incessant need to be well-liked.

And frankly, it’s exhausting.

I never meant to be here, period.

And even while in the throes of grief and sadness, as the writing became a therapeutic process for me to write of while people read it, I figured it would end at certain milestones. At first, it was a year after his death. And then it was extended to after we all survived lockdown. But then as I began dreaming up ways of once again being happy, I wrote of that.

I wrote of single parenthood, dating with a three-year-old at home, getting FaceTime calls while making small talk sitting across the table with a guy I barely knew and making an early exit when my kids wouldn’t stop fighting.

I wrote of my kids getting older (to my anonymous friend’s chagrin), relationships that don’t last, and so many other topics worthy of coverage.

I never wrote for my own personal satisfaction and although at this point, it might feel strange not having a weekly deadline, I’d find a way to tie this stage of life in a pretty bow and tuck it away for good.

Six years is a long time, and for me and my family, the series of events have felt like a second lifetime.

I thought I’d be done long ago, and there are weeks where I feel uninspired and the writing may reflect that, but there are still many times where I’m able to share and make a difference to someone, somewhere. The style has changed from its intensity and seriousness to something lighter and easier to digest. And just as it’s easier for you to read, it’s easier for me to write about. Frankly, it sort of feels good to write about relatable topics that others deal with instead of the life-altering issues I used to write about.

And if it’s boring, here’s a general rule of thumb—you don’t have to read it.

A few weeks ago, on the first early Shabbos of the season, I decided to try my hand at a neighbor’s recipe of overnight salt chicken.

It was her grandmother’s recipe and the simplest one I had ever tried. I decided to record the how-to for my Instagram page, as I do with most things that come out of my kitchen, and I was completely shocked that this of all the more complicated recipes I make was one that went viral.

At first, I received great feedback from recognizable accounts that keep kosher homes and understand how important it was to start prepping some of Shabbos on Thursday or even overnight since Shabbos started at 4 p.m.

But then all of a sudden, I started receiving horrible comments on this chicken post. Comments on how I can’t cook, how this bacteria-laden chicken will hurt my kids because it’s not properly cooked, and so on.

At first the comments trickled in, and then it came in full force.

Comment after comment was mean and insensitive and I could suddenly see how easy it was to hide behind a screen and criticize other people’s hard work, their vulnerability and their willingness to share and turn it into something to make fun of and unfavorably judge.

I thought of my anonymous friend who didn’t even have the courage to state a name with the letter that nitpicked on the material I chose to write about, and I felt bad for them.

It would be easy for this person and for the hundreds of people who have commented on my inability to make chicken on my post to just let it go. To watch a method of making chicken, disagree with it, and move on.

Or to read a column in the local newspaper, not enjoy it, and decide to never read it again.

But there’s something lacking within themselves that drives them to criticize others. It’s self-loathing, jealousy, a lack of self-awareness, perhaps that cause these people to feel the need to resort to meanness. The one thing it does that they didn’t realize is bring greater attention to the work, whether it’s writing or cooking or whatever medium I choose.

So, I guess a thank you is in order. n

Malkie Gordon Hirsch Magence is a native of the Five Towns community, a mom of 5, a writer, and a social media influencer.