If I were a man, this wouldn’t happen

Why I Write About Being Wronged… and Why I Won’t Stay Silent

By Bonnie K. Goodman, BA, MLIS

I have wrestled with whether or not to publish this piece. Every time I write about being mistreated, especially by fellow Jews, employers, or colleagues, there is always a voice, family, or friends whispering, “Let it go. Be quiet. Don’t make waves.” But that whisper is drowned out by something louder: the deep, abiding sense that silence only protects those who harm, not those who are harmed.

So let me say this clearly: I do not write about being wronged to shame anyone. I write to warn them, and others, not to do it again.

I am a writer. And not just any writer. I have built a reputation, a readership, and yes—a level of fame. My work has gone viral. It has been cited by leading scholars in American and Jewish history. It is taught from K–12 classrooms to graduate schools. I’ve published books and more than 2,000 essays and articles on history, politics, education, and Jewish life. My writing has weight. My voice is known.

And yet, despite that, there are still people who think they can exploit me. People who assume that because I don’t have a doctorate, because I am a woman, because I am not wealthy, or because I present as polite and respectful in person,I am somehow easy to manipulate. That I won’t speak up. That I don’t know my worth.

They are wrong.

Still waters run deep.
There is power in my quiet. There is strength in my calm. And when I speak out, it is not for drama; it is for justice.

Let me name what I have experienced:
People who hire me and don’t pay me.
People who plagiarize my work and act like it’s theirs.
People who invite me to contribute and then treat me like I should be grateful to even be in the room.
People who try to assert dominance by diminishing me—professionally, financially, and sometimes personally.

Let me ask the question that needs to be asked:
Would you treat a man with a PhD and financial backing this way?
Would you steal his words? Delay his pay? Brush off his contributions?

Here’s the truth that no one wants to say out loud: If I were a man, I wouldn’t be treated this way.
I’m reminded of the Taylor Swift song “The Man,” where she sings, “I’m so sick of running as fast as I can, wondering if I’d get there quicker if I was a man.”
If I were a man, I would be celebrated for my achievements, even if they were fewer. I would be paid without a fight. I would be respected for calling out injustice, not threatened or intimidated for doing so. My confidence wouldn’t be labeled as arrogance. My boundaries wouldn’t be called “difficult.” I would be heard.

Among the most religious Jewish communities, those that preach ethics and values from the bimah often exhibit an even more pronounced double standard. Women are still not given the professional, spiritual, or intellectual respect they deserve. Their voices are sidelined. Their work is undervalued. And when they stand up for themselves, they’re accused of disrupting peace; when all they’re doing is demanding dignity.

The truth is: my success has not always translated into wealth or a conventional title. But I have something more valuable—influence, integrity, and impact. I have built my reputation through skill, grit, and substance, not by playing politics or flattering power.

To the employers who think they can play games with my time, talent, and wages: you are not just harming me. You are devaluing the very culture of truth and creativity that my work represents.

To those who plagiarize—plagiarism is theft. Period.

To those who think disrespect is a sign of superiority: it’s not. It’s cowardice.

And let me speak directly to my community: as Jews, we are taught that silence in the face of wrongdoing is complicity. The Torah commands, “Do not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor” (Leviticus 19:16). The Talmud tells us that those who witness injustice and say nothing become partners in that sin. Morally, ethically, and religiously, it is our duty to speak out—especially when abuse is disguised as professionalism or cruelty is masked as authority. Silence may feel safe, but it is never neutral. It protects the wrong people and betrays the right ones.

I am done tolerating this treatment. I write about it to shine a light — not because I am vindictive, but because I won’t let this cycle of disrespect go unchecked. My silence has protected enough bad behavior. My words will now protect me.

So here is my boundary, plain and simple:
Respect me and my work—or don’t ask for it.
If you admire what I write, then honor the person who wrote it.
If you believe in justice, then don’t stand by while others undermine it.
And if you believe in Jewish values, then live them.

This is not just about me. It’s about a larger culture where women, writers, and workers are too often asked to sacrifice dignity for opportunity. I refuse to keep paying that price.

Because in the end, I don’t need permission to be respected.
I am respected.
And I will never stop insisting on that truth.

Bonnie K. Goodman, BA, MLIS, is a historian, librarian, journalist, and artist. She is the author of “On This Day in History…: Significant Events in the American Year,” and “A Constant Battle: McGill University’s Complicated History of Antisemitism and Now anti-Zionism.” She has a BA in History and Art History and a Masters in Library and Information Studies from McGill University. She has done graduate work in Jewish history at Concordia University as part of the MA in Judaic Studies and at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem as part of their MA in Jewish Education. She contributed to the “History of American Presidential Elections, 1789–2008,” edited by Gil Troy, Arthur M. Schlesinger, and Fred L. Israel (2012). She is the former Features Editor at the History News Network and reporter at Examiner.com, where she covered politics, universities, religion, and news. Her scholarly articles can be found on Academia.edu.