Only Jew In The Room
2012: Age 14:
I spent my friend’s birthday party last night getting coins thrown at my feet while others taunted “look at the Jew picking up the pennies!” I put a smile on my face and laughed; I didn’t want them to think that I was affected. I was. Of course I was. For the first time in my life, I looked around and realized I was the only Jew. My friend did nothing, even when I urged her to tell them to stop. Those people, now all in college, living their lives, probably never thought of their actions or that night again. And they definitely did not think that I would carry that night with me every day. I do. That night, at the young age of 14, the innocence and privileged ignorance my friends possessed for years to come was stripped from me. From then on out, I carried the hate of others with me everywhere I went. From then on out, my Judaism, a part of my identity that was then associated with the warm lights of Hannuka and my Jewish friends at Hebrew school, was now stained with hatred. I never was able to get the stain out.
2016: Age 18:
I am at college now, living with a stranger in a room the size of a closet. My roommate calls me her “Jewmate.” She comes from a small town with practically no Jewish people, so to her I am different, maybe even exotic. When I told her I was Jewish, she focused on that part of my identity like it was the only thing that defined me. To her, I was not Ellie, her freshmen roommate from Philadelphia, I was Ellie- the Jewmate.
Sometimes she facetimes her friends from home, and when she introduces me as her “Jewmate,” they immediately start giggling as they make ignorant and insulting comments. They laugh at their cleverness as they google “best Jew jokes” and proceed to read them to me through her computer. I try to show my roommate how uncomfortable I am, but she either doesn’t care or doesn’t realize. She thinks I find it funny, I think, to have my identity put on display and attacked by complete strangers. I try to put in headphones and drown out the noise. I can’t. I never really can.
2018: Age 19:
I am in South Africa studying abroad. I have no Jewish friends here and I feel the absence of my Jewish community from back home everyday. In class the other day, I was taking notes as the professor lectured, when suddenly he fell silent. I looked up from my notebook, confused, to find him looking directly at me. I look around the room, wondering if my classmates know what is going on, because I sure as hell don’t. Eventually he says “You are Jewish. I can tell.” My cheeks redden and my heart races. I wonder to myself if there is a point to his direct and public declaration of my Jewish identity. I soon realize, as he looks at me for confirmation, that there is no follow-up question, no real purpose to his humiliation of me in class. He merely wanted to brag about his ability to pick a Jew out of the crowd, like it was some kind of game at the carnival you could win a stuffed bear for. Because of my curly brown hair and larger-than-average nose, a professor thought it appropriate to prove his knowledge of Jewish stereotypes.
I left class shaking, both unnerved and angry. Unnerved because my Jewish identity was put on display like a novelty. Angry because my education was compromised and I was humiliated because a man thought my private, personal, religious identity was up for discussion. I went to my friends upset; they didn’t get it. “Maybe he was just trying to be nice,” they said. “Maybe he just wanted to learn about Judaism,” they offered.
It was then that I realized, yet again, that I was the only Jew in the room.
October 27th, 2018: Age 20:
I wake up to my phone buzzing and sirens wailing. Groggy and confused, I glance at my phone to see messages from friends and family asking if I am safe. Safe? I wonder to myself, why would they need to know I am safe? It is then that I see the words “active shooter at Tree of Life Synagogue.” I immediately call my parents, assuring them that yes, I am safe, still in bed. They are relieved. They tell me to stay in my apartment until they find the shooter. I say okay. I hang up.
Five minutes later, my head is in my hands as I sob- deep and painful. I am fully awake now as the shock begins to wear off. My phone keeps buzzing and my head keeps spinning. For the next two hours, I stare at the wall, still in my pajamas, and I cry.
October 30th, 2018:
It is now Tuesday, three days after eleven people were murdered at the hands of anti-semitism. My head is still spinning. Will it ever stop spinning?
I am angry. I am confused. I am overwhelmed. I am numb. I am raw. I am tired. I am afraid.
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To those that say that this was an isolated incident, who think that Jews do not experience anti-semitism, who say we having nothing to complain about: Listen to my stories. Listen to the stories of my Jewish brothers and sisters. Listen to the stories of those that lost their lives on Saturday October 27th.
Just… listen.
