Judaism is…
AKA To be chosen or not to be chosen…? Wait…Is that even the right question?
I am a very, very, bad Jew. I’m not saying this with an elongated throaty whisper like if I were in an interfaith porno (yes, that’s a thing! The internet is full of very imaginative people!) I am declaring my failure with the chutzpah and guilt that only comes after 34 years of knowingly shaming your ancestors. I’m a bad Jew. Don’t believe me? Let me count the ways:
1) I’m an atheist (that’s a big one, some rabbis might say the biggest one)
2) I have never kept kosher and have no intention to do so whatsoever
A. Bacon and lobster are delicious; even better when served together
B. I actually had to google “how keep kosher???” because I have a very introductory grasp on this concept
3) I have around fifty tattoos and have desecrated this pasty temple more times than I can count
A. And had fun doing it!
4) Bat mitzvah? Too much work, scrap it. The Girl Scouts were already monopolizing enough of my free time
5) High holidays I can kinda manage but Shabbat? Temple? Not gonna happen
A. Fasting you say? No thanks (see 2, subset A)
6) Head covering or a wig? Noooope, no matter how stylish. I also have a huuuge melon so I’d have to stitch like three wigs together and who has the time?
7) Gefilte fish, and most Jewish food, is gross (but I know many “good” Jews who also feel this way but maybe secretly… Don’t anger your bubbe!)
Admittedly I’m a bad Jew but I’m not a terrible one (here’s looking at you Hitler and Jared Kushner) so let’s also keep score of all the Jewy things I can claim:
1) My sense of humor is my greatest coping mechanism. I know that having a good sense of humor isn’t reserved for Jews, but we’ve definitely perfected it as we’ve wandered around deserts for centuries trying out knock knock jokes
2) I am circumcised (just kidding)
3) I have IBS which I acknowledge, respect, and schedule around with the reverence and rigor Hasidic Jews save only for the Talmud
4) I am both clinically and culturally neurotic
5) I have a menorah (and I know exactly which closet it’s in!) and a “Judaism for Dummies” book
A. Also in a pinch I can recite random prayers not knowing what they’re about but I’m assuming…Yahweh, light, letting people go, challah bread…?
6) I’ve seen “The Prince of Egypt” over a thousand times and know most of the songs by heart
7) But last and most importantly…
Judaism is a chosen identity for me.
Unfortunately, many Jews do not consider the arguments enumerated in my second list convincing enough to sway my status from “not chosen” to “chosen” — even despite my declaration of Jewish identity and publicly outing my gastrointestinal failure. And a big factor behind this is that my mom is considered a “shiksa,” a label and concept that is as bullshit as it is hard to spell. And yes I had to google it so I could spell it correctly, but in my defense Yiddish and Hebrew are kinda fakakta when it comes to spelling.
Seriously, do you know how many ways there are to spell “Hanukkah”? Anyway, Google’s spelling and definition was actually spot on. My mom IS a gentile big blonde on my dad’s arm. Well, in reality my mom is actually a petite sun kissed brunette with a husband who follows her around everywhere and does whatever she says. However, if you had asked my grandma, she would’ve loudly lamented that my mom was in fact a big boned non-Jew who would bear blonde children with button noses. Joke’s on her! Only one of my sisters is blonde and she’s the one rocking the Jewish profile.
I disagree with a lot of Jews on this one, but Judaism is about inclusion.
While my grandma had big plans for my dad to marry a lovely, thin Jewess with a matching snoot to boot, who could make brisket in the blink of an eye, instead she got my amazing, Methodist-lite mom who can order pizza on speed dial. I picture my dad breaking the news to my grandparents, “She’s incredible! The love of my life! Is she what? What’s a Jewish…?” Marrying my mom “killed” my grandmother but after my dad became a lawyer (Jewish prince status reinstated) and my parents started having kids, she wanted to see her goy-ish/jew-ish granddaughters so eventually things smoothed over (my dad has actually referred to us as “chai-brids” — google “chai” and combine with “hybrid” — which is a testimonial as to how funny Jews are in dicey situations). But my grandma was always pretty judgmental and terrible to my mom, something my mom endured selflessly for the sake of her family. Without fail whenever we would visit my grandparents in their retirement community in Florida (Delray Beach, baby!) my dad would bicker with my grandma, my mom played nice (her WASP-Y emotion-burying, tight, thin lipped smile definitely an asset here) and my sisters and I played checkers or cards with our grandpa who never let us win but loved us like a grandpa should. At times things were tense and relationships were strained, but I have a lot of good memories from those days.
My absolute favorite memory is when I was around six years old and I stuffed a pillow under my shirt and danced around singing “If I Were a Rich Man” as Tevye from “Fiddler on the Roof” while my grandma and her friends cackled, pinched, and threw nickels at me, which feels pretty Jewish if you ask me.
I tell this part of my family story because many observant Jews believe that Judaism is passed through the mother. So if your mom isn’t Jewish, you’re not one of the chosen. Which to me makes it sound like it’s some kind of hereditary super power that comes packaged with hypochondriasis and a condo in Boca Raton that requires no actual choice at all. You can make the argument that I’m not a “real” Jew but I think I’m close enough. There is so much more to Judaism than the religion of your mom’s womb. Oh, and I also don’t care what you think! Put that in your mezuzah and kiss it!
Judaism is about relationships and family history.
When I talk about my family — the good and the bad — everything is typically drenched in my sense of humor. But there are some things I can’t joke about. Things that impact my relationship with Judaism in such a profound and serious way that it can be hard to talk about. My grandma was a tough woman to be around and even though I was her granddaughter, she wasn’t always nice to me. I attribute this in part to looking exactly like my mom, button nose and all, just a tinier and chubbier reminder of my dad’s shiksa loving tendencies. I also would try to peel off the plastic cocoon swaddling her sofa which she really hated. But my grandma’s bristly demeanor and emotionally guarded interactions were a product of trauma. My grandma escaped the Holocaust as a teenager and I can’t imagine what it was like growing up in Poland as your community collapsed under the hatred of a genocidal regime. Friends and family members would disappear and I can’t imagine the terror of never knowing if you’d be next. My grandma rarely talked about her experiences, but we knew to never forget. To never let this happen again. Which is why I’m glad my grandparents are dead. If they saw what was happening in America, honestly, any faith they once held would be mercilessly ripped from them. My grandma was a hard woman but this undoubtedly would’ve broken her. To escape the threat of her own cage as a teenager only to see how Trump’s administration is caging children. I can’t imagine. My relationship with my grandparents wasn’t always easy but they did teach me a lot about the importance of family. And even though my mom wasn’t Jewish, they included her and cared for her because that’s what families do. The world wavers and falls apart, which is exactly why family needs to stay steady and strong.
Judaism is about culture and traditions (cue “Fiddler” again)!
Growing up my family celebrated Jewish holidays and during elementary school my dad religiously came to me and my sister’s classes to talk about Hanukkah, sing songs, and play dreidel. When my dad came to my school I felt so proud and I’d bask in the glow of my classmates binging on gelt and admiring my dreidel spinning skills. Ya just gotta believe! I remember searching for the afikomen in my grandparents’ condo — and it was NEVER under the plastic wrapped couch — watching my dad make rugelach, making sure the menorah was planted directly on a healthy layer of tin foil so as not to drip on the table, and reading stories about Judaism with my family.
My all time favorite was “Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins” and I just took a look at the illustrations and damn was that book terrifying! Jews are tough!
Judaism is a legacy of peace.
When it comes to celebrating culture and honoring traditions, we also have to think about leaving a legacy, something I’ve only recently started to fully understand. For the past few years I’ve hosted a Passover seder sponsored by Whole Foods and mumbled my way through the Haggadah. I am a professor at a Catholic university and following in my dad’s footsteps every year I teach my students about Judaism and celebrate Jewish holidays.
One year for Purim I wore an unintentionally creepy sloth onesie that was a big hit and I am positive there are photos of me dabbing in my sloth onesie all over the internet with zero context provided. When the Tree of Life massacre occurred in my city I mourned with my community. I felt the loss with such intensity that when I think about it my heart still aches. I know it always will. My family has taught me that to keep our legacy, to keep people alive, we need to educate those around us. Education empowers us and enables us to empathize with people different from ourselves by acting with compassion. Judaism is about doing our very best to make the world a better place, to counter hatred with heart, and remind the world of what happened to us and that what is happening now needs to be stopped.
Judaism is tikkun olam.
In college a frat boy, probably named Brad, Chaz, or Beau (my college attracted lots of southerners), called me a “kyke.” At the time it didn’t mean anything to me. I didn’t understand the hate behind that word. I didn’t understand the severity of that slur. I didn’t understand the anger in his eyes. And I didn’t think about where he learned that word. How someone taught him that word, taught him how to hate, taught him that he was entitled to threaten and target others. A word inextricably linked with a legacy of violence. He wasn’t just an angry boy who thought it was ok to scream at me in the street. He wasn’t saying these words all by himself, he had even louder voices encouraging him. But I shrugged it off and left. I went to the University of Virginia and when the city of Charlottesville was mobbed by violent, murderous white supremacists it rattled me to the core of my being. As my heart broke I couldn’t help but wonder if the abusive frat boy who threatened me years ago was marching among them.
Judaism is…
I’ve always considered myself to be Jewish, but to be honest, I never really spent time figuring out what that actually meant to me. I never felt the need to understand my history or how Judaism impacts my life. But lately as the world comes in and out of chaos, I’ve never felt more aware of what it means to be Jewish and how rich that definition truly is (I’ve got A LOT of nickels saved up). For me, Judaism is about watching “Broad City” and laughing at the inside Jew jokes. It’s about listening to family stories about struggle, strength, and spirit. It’s about making kugel for my Catholic college students that always comes out either chewy or watery but telling them this is exactly how it should taste. It’s about finding a blue chalk swastika scrawled out in kid handwriting on the sidewalk near my house and my husband writing over it “do good.” It’s about finding a treasure trove of klezmer cassettes in the center console of my great aunt’s car. It’s about my incredible mom who does everything for her family. It’s about recognizing hate and fighting it with education, empathy, and shared experiences.
Judaism is chosen identity. Judaism is inclusion. Judaism is relationships and family history. Judaism is culture and traditions. Judaism is a legacy of peace. Judaism is tikkun olam.
I’ve learned that Judaism is all of these things but most importantly it’s a commitment to action. Judaism is about what I do. It’s how I help my community. How I educate and build tolerance. How I build resilience through humor.
Judaism is my decision.
I guess I’m not that bad of a Jew after all.
And don’t get me started on Zionism! Oy vey!
