“We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”--T. S. Eliot
I just discovered this quote last month, but I feel like it has been waiting for me my entire life. I’m leaving the country in less than a week. This particular voyage will be far different from my countless adventures around the world in the past eight years. I’m going to Israel for my first time. All my family and friends ask how I've managed to travel all over the world and somehow I've never made it to Israel. So what, right? If I could skillfully articulate why I’m going and what I’ll be doing, the quote and the hype might make a little more sense. Allow me to give it some context.
As Rosh Hashanah approached in mid-September, I already had a New Year’s Resolution in mind. Something simple enough to stay focused on, yet challenging enough that I’d have to work on it throughout the year: come out of the “closet” about being a Jew. In a nutshell, this story is about two things being in the closet, the Jew and the hat. Strangely enough, there’s a great connection between the two.
The Hat in the Closet:
I had a 5th grade project for Ms. Merriman’s class where we had to research our family tree and then do a presentation on the country and heritage of our ancestors. Since my grandmothers were the oldest living link to my past, I tried to get the information from them. Each time I tried asking them what country we were from, they said they didn’t know. I’d give them a hard time for not knowing, insisting that I needed to present on something for my class project. All they could tell me was that our ancestors were all Jewish. But that wasn’t going to help me for my project.
-“I told you dear, we’re Jewish.”
-----“Grandma! That’s not what I asked! What country are we from?”
-“What country? How should I know, we’re Jewish.”
-----“No grandma that’s not good enough! I have to know the country for my class project.”
-“We’re from Russia…or is it Poland?”
-----“What part of Poland?”
-“No wait it’s Germany, that’s right Germany. Or was it Hungary?”
-----“Is it Hungary or Germany, grandma?!”
-“Actually it might be Romania. It can’t be Ukraine, so it must be Romania.”
-----“So we’re from Romania then, grandma?”
-“Well I’m not, but our family is, I think.”
-----“You think? How do you not know what we are?”
-“But I told you, we’re Jewish!”
-----“No that’s not good enough!”
-“What do you mean being Jewish isn’t good enough?”
-----“No grandma, that’s not what I meant. I mean I can’t do a class project on being Jewish. I have to do it on the country of our ancestors.”
-“Oh I see. Well do your project on Russia then.”
-----“Russia? I thought you said Romania?!”
-“Russia, Romania, how do I know. Just pick a country and do your project.”
Shockingly, I had a similar conversation with my other grandmother. So I went to my mother and asked for advice. Knowing that I had to bring in food from the country, and her being the expert baker, she suggested I stick with saying we’re Russian so we could make Russian tea cakes.
-“Mom! I can’t just make up where I’m from!”
-----“Oh please, nobody will know the difference as long as they like the tea cakes.”
And so I became Russian.
By the time I hit middle school the Russian thing wore out. I started embracing my Italian “heritage.” I tried learning some Italian phrases with a computer program (to no avail), and became a chef in an Italian restaurant, after completing some culinary training. Then I discovered the pop culture Italian mafia. Movies like the Godfather, Goodfellas, and the Untouchables, plus the eventual debut of the Sopranos made me fascinated with this sense of community in the Italian mafia. Everyone belongs, everyone takes care of each other, everyone’s significant, and they “don’t take no nonsense from nobody.” This came at a time when the harassment at school continuously escalated for me being ‘the Jew;’ to the point where I couldn’t eat in the cafeteria without the frequent ‘heil Hitler’ salute from bullies.
Still not getting any further information from the grandmothers about our heritage, I began to embrace the ideals of La Cosa Nostra. In 8th grade I even bought a big black fedora to express my new-found heritage. This was my favorite hat in the world. I wore it alone in my room and felt like a million dollars.
The first, and last, day that I ever wore it in public was second semester, 8th grade. I figured if I wore it to school I would command the same type of respect and significance as everyone wearing fedoras in the mafia movies. I was a bit off. To be precise, I was made fun of to the point that I went home and threw the hat in my closet, swearing to never wear it again.
The Jew in the Closet:
I’ve been outwardly ashamed to be a Jew since I was little. It may have started when I was growing up in a Colorado mountain town of about 500 people, where supposedly there were only 3 Jewish families in the entire county (the county being about 10,000 people). Whether in the mountains or in Boulder, where my family later moved, I always felt foreign for being Jewish. Kids were quick to point out that I was in fact different. They teased me for being Jewish, all throughout elementary, middle, and high school; anything from name-calling, to harassment, to threatening me and even physically attacking me.
I never felt a very strong connection with my Jewish identity when I was growing up. It was more of an obligation and a tradition to me more than anything. Since I was always harassed and teased for being Jewish, all through school, I associated it with far more pain than joy. It wasn’t until I went abroad for my first time that I found more importance in my Jewish identity. When I was 17 I went to live in France for a year. I lived with a Christian host family in a town of 1,000 people. I attended a private Catholic High School in a neighboring town. Talk about being the odd-man out!
I never realized how important being Jewish was to me until I was in this entirely new environment. That same year, around 40 synagogues had been burned, bombed, attacked, or destroyed in France. Luckily I found naiveté more often than hatred, where most people thought Judaism to be a branch of Christianity, like Catholicism or Protestantism. I was removed from everything Jewish and anti-Jewish/anti-Semitic, and yet I began to miss it.
My year in France did more than inspire a little bit of Jewish identity. It inspired me to explore more of the world. One year later I found myself teaching English, French, and Portuguese in Ukraine. I had no idea how much anti-Semitic sentiment I would find there. There were swastikas carved in the walls all over my apartment building as well as all over the city.
My students, who did not know I was Jewish, spent an entire class one day talking about how evil Jews are, though they admitted to never having met a Jew before. One student approached me after class and told me she had Jewish friends. She said she really admired Jews and wished she could be Jewish too. I asked why she hadn’t spoken up in class and she said she was afraid the classmates would ostracize her.
I had two colleagues there who still stand out to this day. One was Ukrainian, teaching German, who thought it was hilarious to give me the ‘heil Hitler’ salute every time he saw me. The other colleague had become a good friend. One day he called me to say he needed to speak to me urgently in person. He came over promptly. We moved to my kitchen and he told me he had heard a rumor at work about me being Jewish. He sat me down and said, “We’re friends, I want you to be honest with me. You’re not a Jew are you?” I was blown away. I asked him what difference it would make. He responded that he didn’t have any Jewish friends and didn’t plan on making any. He said that I should have told him I was Jewish when I met him. I asked what that would have changed, to which he responded that if he had known I was Jewish from the beginning, he wouldn’t have wasted time getting to know me; that he wouldn’t have been my friend in the first place.
Somehow I’ve become a magnet to anti-Semitism; death threats in Egypt, prejudices everywhere from Korea to Costa Rica, Brazil to United Arab Emirates. Every country I have been to I have noticed some level of hatred and disdain, particularly when people don’t realize I’m Jewish. Surprisingly this has happened a lot in DC as well.
As you can imagine, these experiences left some deep scars in my Jewish self-image. I quickly found, as I began traveling around the world that anti-Semitism was prevalent everywhere. I noticed this particularly when people assumed I was not Jewish and felt at ease disclosing their true sentiments. All these experiences made it harder and harder for me to “come out” as a Jew, and yet it has made my inner Jewish identity perpetually stronger.
“Outing” the Jew from the Closet:
I have never in my life been somewhere I felt comfortable being Jewish. I always felt like I had to hide it for my safety or comfort. As you can imagine, it was a bit of a shock when I moved to Washington, DC. I saw a Jew wearing his kippa in public and I recall saying to him, “What are you doing wearing that in public? People might know you’re Jewish!” Looking back I realize what kind of damage all of these negative experiences have had on me. I made a resolution to myself to ‘get over it.’ I wanted to become more comfortable with being Jewish. One part of that is learning and understanding more about what it means to be Jewish.
With much hesitation, this past August I went to a Jewish “retreat" to learn more about Judaism. I met some truly amazing, wise, honest, inspirational people who really helped me get a better idea of what it means to be Jewish. I cannot describe how great the environment is. A place where there are no locks on the doors, which not only shows the trust and honesty of everyone there, but stands as a metaphor for all the people I encountered, who show true compassion and concern for each other without the barriers that we as a society are accustomed to.
One person in particular, Rabbi Styne, left a lasting impression with me. He told me stories about how, before studying to become a Rabbi, he too felt embarrassed to be Jewish and tried to hide what he valued most. He didn’t realize the true value until a non-Jew commented on the nobility of traditional Jewish practices and ideals of righteousness, honesty, and compassion for others.
Inwardly I feel like a much stronger, prouder Jew than I have ever been. Outwardly I don’t though, and I never have been. All my horrible experiences in Colorado, DC, and abroad have made me associate being Jewish with this certain and ultimate pain; that if people know I am Jewish, I will be treated differently.
What Rabbi Styne helped me understand is that we will be treated differently regardless; but we have the power to affect how people treat us differently. On one end, I’m plagued by all the prejudices, stereo-types, and hatred that scare me from being outwardly Jewish; with the thought that if people know I’m Jewish they will immediately judge me negatively. But he made this an opportunity for empowerment and said this is the perfect chance to be an “Ambassador of the Jewish people;” to show everyone that real Jews are honest, righteous, compassionate, generous, caring people.
This, combined with my recent exposure to a positive, warm, loving environment of what it really means to be Jewish, has empowered me to be proud of who I am, given me more confidence in being a Jew, and much more curiosity and desire to more-fully understand what it really means to be a Jew.
There’s a common expression, that every time you learn a foreign language, you gain another soul. I believe this to a certain extent. I feel like every time I have learned a new language and have been exposed to a new culture, new people, and new way of life, I have found something within myself that I didn’t know existed before. Out of all the souls I have gained in my life, nothing feels as fitting, as comfortable, and as true to me as my Jewish soul.
With this, I’ve decided to go to Jerusalem for a year to attend a fantastic Yeshiva, Machon Shlomo. With all the crazy adventures I’ve been on, it’s about time for a more spiritual trip. I figured that after all my world travels, learning about many world languages and cultures, it’s about time to learn about my own heritage.
This year in Yeshiva will help me gain a better grounding on my Jewish identity and become a better, more-rounded person. I’m not quite sure what to expect, but I am confident that any school that preaches seeking knowledge, honesty, righteousness, and compassion for everyone regardless of faith or creed, could only be a positive experience. It will also allow me to phase out the distractions and physicalities of “the real world” in order to focus on what is truly meaningful to me.
The Hat, the Jew, and the Closet:
I’ve been fortunate to have exposure to many countries, languages, and cultures. I often think back on the conversations I had years ago with my grandma. For 14 years I have searched desperately to understand where my ancestors were from; to discover my heritage. Recalling my conversations with my grandma, her telling me we’re Jewish, and me telling her that wasn’t good enough; after all these years I’ve finally realized something. I’ve realized that being Jewish is good enough; and not only is it good enough, but it’s great.
After 11 years, I still have that black fedora I bought in middle school. What’s funny is that hat has followed me every where I have gone. Every time I have moved, from one house to another, I have brought it. From Boulder to DC, from dorm to dorm, from apartment to apartment, I still have it in my closet for some reason. For 11 years I didn’t wear it once and yet I brought it with me everywhere I lived and just left it in the closet.
And what’s even funnier about that black fedora hat that has followed me around for 11 years, is that I’ve never found a use for it; just as I’ve never found a use for any of those heritages I attempted to adopt. You might know where I’m going with this. Anyone who has seen Torah Jews (Orthodox Jews) on Shabbat has seen them with their black suits and their black fedoras.
To come full-circle, I bought that black fedora 11 years ago because I thought I found a heritage I could connect with. And by now, I’ve explored every heritage but my own. Throughout all the years, I’ve kept my hat and my heritage in the closet. And now I realize how unique my heritage is, how meaningful it is to me, and how I’ve had the right hat all along, I just never realized it.
“We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.” --T. S. Eliot
I leave October 5 for Israel. See you in Jerusalem.
Shalom,
-Andrew
