On Yom Kippur, it is customary to hear the Book of Jonah chanted as the haftarah for the afternoon service. In the book, the eponymous Jonah is tasked by G-d to deliver a prophecy to the people of the city of Nineveh: they are behaving wickedly, and if they do not repent, G-d will destroy them. But despite this impending doom, the main conflict of the story does not involve Nineveh, but forms between Jonah and G-d.

Of all the prophets in the tanakh, Jonah is the most reluctant. He is not the only one: even Moses, the greatest Jewish prophet to ever live, tries to shirk his duty as he stands before the burning bush. But unlike Moses, Jonah does not give in to G-d’s arguments. Instead, he turns and runs in literally the opposite direction, boarding a ship to Tarshish, as far away from Nineveh as one could reasonably travel back then.

Being a queer Jew of Color in the vast majority of Jewish spaces can often feel like being asked to become a prophet — to speak truth to power, to be the force behind making meaningful changes in your community towards equity, inclusion, and celebration of diversity. While this may be true of being any minority in our larger American society, Jewish communities are already so small and often insular that you are much more likely to find yourself as the only person in the community — the only queer Jew, the only Jew of Color, or the only person with the resources to put yourself in an uncomfortable position — that is able to fulfill this duty.

And just like Jonah, you might be hesitant or even wholly unwilling to be that person. It’s not fully clear in the text why Jonah flees from his duty, but one interpretation says that he worries he will be called a false prophet by the people of Nineveh and therefore be subjected to their punishment. Perhaps, even if they recognized him as a true prophet, they would punish him regardless, out of fury at their fates.

It can be very scary to stand up for what is right, especially when you have only a single, small voice amidst the crowd of those in the majority. Like Jonah, you might fear that your community won’t believe that your concerns of injustice are real and important, and so might label you the modern equivalent of a false prophet — a troublemaker, an instigator. Or perhaps, they might simply be unwilling to make the necessary changes, content in the status quo and their own power.

But as queer Jews of Color, as the ones with the vision to see what needs to change in our Jewish communities and the ability to help make those changes, it is our responsibility to stand up for what is right, even when it terrifies us. G-d recognizes something in Jonah that he doesn’t see in himself. G-d could easily choose a new, more willing prophet, but doesn’t, sticking with Jonah until he does what needs to be done. Like Jonah, we have in each of us the power for prophecy. Sometimes, all we need to see and act upon our own potential is to get swallowed by a big fish.

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Saffron Mala Kaplan is a queer Jew of Color based in Austin, Texas. She is a scholar of midrash and queer Judaism, and plans to attend rabbinical school in the near future. You can learn more @saffiemk on Twitter and Instagram, or saffronkaplan.com.