i’m not a biologist, but I can tell a woman when I see one
Gender confusion is where we are today, courtesy of Woke Madness.
As for me, over the years, many people have complimented me for my uncanny sense of detection. For example, I can spot a woman a mile away.
This is a skill well beyond Postmodern Progressives like Ketanji Brown Jackson…and guess what? She’s a judge.
What’s more, she is slated for the Supreme Court, and of course, she went to Harvard.
At the hearing before the Senate Judiciary Committee where her qualifications for the job were being tested, most of her responses were longwinded and agonizingly muddled.
It got even more convoluted when Sen. Marsha Blackburn of Tennessee asked Judge Jackson, “Can you specify a definition of the word woman?”
In other words, is she willing to admit that men and women are different? Otherwise, she’s a far-gone leftist.
The room held its breath. Suspense was in the air. Judge Jackson seemed puzzled, perturbed, blindsided, baffled. A Google search would help, but she was on the spot.
Define a woman?
Seemed easy to me, as it would be, say, for any Quiz Show contestant, most of whom are educated, hardworking Americans…but never went to Harvard.
They’d have the answer in a snap, and though the top prize would not be a seat on the Supreme Court, most likely it would be a NEW CAR…and if you think the concept of a “strong woman” began last year, then you don’t know Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah from the Hebrew Bible.
We’d be nowhere without Moses’ sister Miriam. More, some other time about how “The mirrors of the women” in the wilderness were not vanity, but G-d’s “legions.”
It used to be so simple, remember? Daddy was a man. Mommy was a woman. That’s how we grew up. How did we know the difference?
When there was a mouse in the house, Mommy would scream; Daddy would chase it down. That was one way we knew.
Mommy ran the kitchen; Daddy ran the garage and kept polishing the car…and there was nothing complicated about any of this.
Daddy fixed a flat tire. Mommy fixed the cut and dried our tears.
I imagine that Judge Jackson grew up the same way.
But then she went to Harvard and at Harvard, Yale and the other Ivy Leagues, they teach you everything all over again.
Some might say they teach you to be stupid.
Everything you thought you knew, forget it, say the intellectuals, the sophisticates, the professors, who also attended Harvard.
They taught the Judge…and millions of others now ruling our world…to trust them, and not your own eyes or your own intellect and impulses.
This could be hazardous when at your early years you knew never to cross against a red light, but after attending college, now you freeze and get confused between red and green.
Because red and green are suddenly interchangeable…even meaningless.
Like the difference between man and woman.
Or rather, as they say, there are no differences.
So, when she was asked to define the word woman, Judge Jackson finally collected herself to assert, “I cannot.” Why not? “I am not a biologist.”
You need a biologist for this…the most basic question and answer since Adam and Eve?
Does someone like this fit the criteria for the Supreme Court?
You be the judge.
New York-based bestselling American novelist Jack Engelhard writes regularly for Arutz Sheva.
He wrote the worldwide book-to-movie bestseller “Indecent Proposal,” the authoritative newsroom epic, “The Bathsheba Deadline,” followed by his coming-of-age classics, “The Girls of Cincinnati,” and, the Holocaust-to-Montreal memoir, “Escape from Mount Moriah.” For that and his 1960s epic “The Days of the Bitter End,” contemporaries have hailed him “The last Hemingway, a writer without peer, and the conscience of us all.” Website: www.jackengelhard.com