When I was ten, I read Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume. It resonated with me deeply, reflecting the stage of life I was in at the time. Recently, at the age of 51—and candidly, in a very different stage of my life—I watched the film adaptation. It resonated with me again, but for entirely different reasons.

I remembered the broad strokes of Margaret’s journey into womanhood: stuffing her bra, starting a new school, the anxiety of waiting for her first period, the all-too-familiar fears around social acceptance in those pre-teen years, and yes—her first game of spin the bottle. I can’t even imagine how much more intense those years must be for LGBTQIA+ youth navigating identity on top of everything else. And, on a lighter note, I still have to ask—why did they make us learn square dancing?

But what I had forgotten was that Margaret was also navigating profound questions of faith and religion. In the story, one set of her grandparents rejects her mother for marrying outside their faith. That struck a chord with me. My chosen family spans an incredibly rich and diverse universe of backgrounds, nationalities, and beliefs. I try to honor them all.

Have you ever had the privilege of attending a Bar or Bat Mitzvah? These sacred, thousands-of-years-old traditions are somehow perfectly balanced with challah, dancing, and party favors. Or an Armenian wedding? The celebration goes all night, with the elders staying the longest—and raising the most toasts. A Seder dinner? Another beautiful intersection of culture, community, and faith that I’ve had the blessing to experience. And perhaps most personal of all: the baptism of my son, who carries the names of both his grandfather and great-grandfather—a powerful symbol of legacy and love.

To me, the question of faith transcends religion. Do you believe—in something bigger than yourself? Right now, our community, our country, and the world are being asked to choose sides on so many issues. But I’ve learned that love and faith—when held together—build bridges, not boundaries.

My own family history reflects that: my mother’s side fled Europe, hiding their Jewish ancestry and eventually immigrating to America as Swedes. My Armenian great-grandfather was disinherited for falling in love with and marrying a Sicilian woman. From this legacy, I draw one core belief: if you have love and faith, you have family. And with family, anything is possible.

As this marks my final message as President of this extraordinary organization—one comprised of a vibrant spectrum of colors, cultures, religions, identities, abilities, and orientations—I want to leave you with this:

WLALA represents more than coming together despite our differences. It represents our collective faith in a better future that includes a broader, more inclusive spectrum; and, a united commitment to defend the rule of law—for all women attorneys in Los Angeles and beyond.

And if I may quote my favorite shero, Maya Angelou, from Still I Rise:

“Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise…

I rise, I rise, I rise.”

And if I may offer one final, slightly modified tribute to Judy Blume:

“I must. I must. I must increase my B[E]ST.”

Noelle Natoli
President, Women Lawyers Association of Los Angeles