FEATURED JOBS
Comments (0)I remember the very day I became Jewish. Every year for Christmas break, my family and I would journey to Boca Raton, Fla. to visit family.
In the 99 percent Jewish area, it was uncommon to see a Christmas tree in someone’s home. I grew accustomed to this idea, and it just became “the norm” in my life.
One year when my parents decided to stay home during the holidays, I discovered how incorrect my mindset was. With nothing to do but sit around eating Chinese take-out, the decision was made to attend festive parties on Christmas eve and day. I was excited, assuming we would go and make latkes or spin a dreidel.
However, when we arrived I was confused by all the red and green decorations, especially the evergreen tree in the corner of the room. Where was all the gelt? The thick familiar smell of frying oil? THE MENORAH? In a slight panic, I ran back to my parents. What was all this stuff, and why wasn’t anything Chanukah-related?
Pulling me aside, I received a quick explanation of the logistics of Christmas and its customs. From that moment on, I realized I wasn’t the majority as I had thought. I was the minority.
But I am not tragically Jewish. The Christmas after my “big surprise,” I became upset that I wasn’t included in holiday activities I had been introduced to, such as cookie making and tree decorating. My mother decided to put an end to it right then and there, and sat me down for a Judaism pep talk.
Reminding me how it was different and unique to be Jewish, I was not sold on the idea. Begging for a religious conversion in order to get my hands on that tree, the woman pulled out the big guns. “You know, Jews are technically considered “The Chosen People.” Sold. The woman always knows how to manipulate my ways of thinking.
Suddenly, being Jewish seemed so much cooler than just being one of the common folk celebrating Christmas. I was a chosen one, and being one of the only in Severna Park made it that much better. No one could compete.
However, at times, being the only Jew wasn’t as fabulous as one would think. Sometimes it is the other way around. Being one of the few with a Jewish background definitely made for some interesting and awkward moments.
With a slim number in the Annapolis area, it is difficult to find a nice Jewish boy to date. Junior year I started seeing a boy with a strict Catholic family. One night while eating dinner with the family, they began asking me questions including what church my family was a member of. Nonchalantly, I laughed and responded, “Oh, I’m Jewish”. Needless to say, dessert was cut short and I was promptly taken home.
Maybe it would have gone over better if I had just whipped out my hidden talent of sticking my tongue to my nose and ignored the question all together.
The next week I broke up with the boy; he just couldn’t keep up. Lacking skills and knowledge I feel profound, such as the skill of spinning a dreidel to standards and not being able to relate to all my stories that started with, “...and one time, at Jew camp,” I decided it was time to move on. There were many more fish in the sea, and by golly, I’m sure some are gefilte.
At certain times, I am not Jewish; I am me. I like to dance dances that don’t include the horah. I like to light candles other than the ones in my menorah. And to be honest, nothing could ever separate me from putting a healthy layer of cheese on my hamburger.
Lacking the stereotypical frizzy hair and a nose that consumes half of my face, people wouldn’t necessarily label me as Jewish at first. However I would never try and hide it. While I am many other things besides Jewish, it is one of my favorite qualities that makes me, me. I am tickled when old women at temple insist on introducing me to their single sons.
I love that I can pretend to be fluent in another language with my peers when, in all honesty, I know only the words to the prayers. No one knows the difference! I yam what I yam, and if someone has a problem with it, tell them to take it up with my Bubbie.
Avery Forman is a proud Jewish teen with a writer’s flare in Severna Park. She originally wrote this essay for a high school assignment.