‘So, how Jewish are you?”
That’s what he asked, leaning in provocatively while I sipped my gin and tonic. It was our second non-date. He had asked what my background was. I had proudly told him my mix.
I said, “well… I’m like Jew-lite.”
He nodded, pursed his lips and ordered another drink. He was intrigued, which made me all the more put off and embarrassed for having just called myself that.
I have both the blessing and curse of being from an interracial/interfaith household. My mother is Mexican/Catholic, and my father is an Italian Jew. My dad calls us “Jew-lite” or “convenient Jews,” the kind that celebrate major holidays and their status as an excuse to cut off the Jehovah’s Witnesses mid-speech when they come knocking.
When I was a little girl, it occurred to me that not everyone was so lucky to celebrate two facets of religious opinions or cultures. It also occurred to me that while everyone else knew exactly what they “were,” I was torn between which “side” best represented me.
I often wear both my crucifix and Star of David together on a delicate white gold chain my mom gave me. It draws attention and questions like “Are you confused? Because you’re wearing conflicting religious symbols…” or “How can you be both?” I know that religion is passed down through the mother, but I refuse to consider myself a shiksa. I grew up acknowledging both sides equally and I claim them both — to not do so would be disrespectful to my parents and denying a piece of myself.
Neither of my parents is particularly staunchly religious but they did name me in the synagogue — Peninah Shoshana. When I was growing up, the general consensus in our household was that my sister and I would be educated about both religions, and we could either choose which one suited us best or find a mutual blending point.
My sister (aka: Super Jew) from an early age firmly identified herself as Jewish. She has a beautiful traditional name (Sarah), big curly hair, and a prominent nose — she fits every stereotype. She also has excellent Jew-dar, as we call it, and can spot a fellow Tribe-member from a mile away. She has never doubted or waivered in her conviction that she is Jewish. The Catholic side never once fazed her.
That’s what he asked, leaning in provocatively while I sipped my gin and tonic. It was our second non-date. He had asked what my background was. I had proudly told him my mix.
I said, “well… I’m like Jew-lite.”
He nodded, pursed his lips and ordered another drink. He was intrigued, which made me all the more put off and embarrassed for having just called myself that.
I have both the blessing and curse of being from an interracial/interfaith household. My mother is Mexican/Catholic, and my father is an Italian Jew. My dad calls us “Jew-lite” or “convenient Jews,” the kind that celebrate major holidays and their status as an excuse to cut off the Jehovah’s Witnesses mid-speech when they come knocking.
When I was a little girl, it occurred to me that not everyone was so lucky to celebrate two facets of religious opinions or cultures. It also occurred to me that while everyone else knew exactly what they “were,” I was torn between which “side” best represented me.
I often wear both my crucifix and Star of David together on a delicate white gold chain my mom gave me. It draws attention and questions like “Are you confused? Because you’re wearing conflicting religious symbols…” or “How can you be both?” I know that religion is passed down through the mother, but I refuse to consider myself a shiksa. I grew up acknowledging both sides equally and I claim them both — to not do so would be disrespectful to my parents and denying a piece of myself.
Neither of my parents is particularly staunchly religious but they did name me in the synagogue — Peninah Shoshana. When I was growing up, the general consensus in our household was that my sister and I would be educated about both religions, and we could either choose which one suited us best or find a mutual blending point.
My sister (aka: Super Jew) from an early age firmly identified herself as Jewish. She has a beautiful traditional name (Sarah), big curly hair, and a prominent nose — she fits every stereotype. She also has excellent Jew-dar, as we call it, and can spot a fellow Tribe-member from a mile away. She has never doubted or waivered in her conviction that she is Jewish. The Catholic side never once fazed her.
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