“So, you’re Jewish?”
I’m yanked out of my sleepy haze, completely unprepared for such a question. It’s two in the morning on my second night of college and I’m curled up on the couch chatting with my suite-mates.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask.
“You’re Jewish, right?”
“Yeah.” I say matter-of-factly.
“Cool! So are you a practicing Jew?”
A smug little smile creeps across my face.
“Actually, at this point, I’m pretty much a pro!” I retort. And we all roar with laughter.
Surprisingly, this conversation is fairly representative of at least half a dozen such chats I’ve had on campus. I’m from Skokie, Illinois, where you can’t so much as walk down the street without seeing another Jew, so being asked about my faith so frequently was rather surprising. I was, up until this point, completely unaware that so many people didn’t know any Jews. My mom often told stories about being one of the only Jews on her campus, but I assumed that since that was (sorry, Mom!) twenty plus years ago, that things would be different now. In a world where you can video-chat with a friend on the other side of the world, surely most people had met a Jew.
I’ve met no hostility on campus, and I have never once felt ashamed of or uncomfortable with my faith. But it was a bit of a culture shock to meet so many nice, normal people, for whom I was the first Jew they had ever known.
I have had some really fascinating and passionate discussion with my peers; at breakfast, after class, and, of course, in the wee small hours of the morning. We talk about G-d, faith, holidays, and Sunday School (yes, I got to share the news that Jews and gentiles alike have the pleasure of getting up early on the weekend and staring into space for a couple of hours in a toasty religious school classroom). I’ve told them about Bar/Bat Mitzvahs, potato latkes, and the meaning of the dreidel. I have fed them challah (which some say is good enough to make them want to convert), explained the meanings of holiday traditions, and taught them that the best way to eat a bagel—with cream cheese and lox.
We’ve exchanged stories, ideas, beliefs, and shared our favorite religious experiences. Each day I wondered, am I, as the only Jew on my floor and in my half of the building, representing us well? At first, I wasn’t so sure. But, last night, when my friends welcomed me home and congratulated me on breaking my Yom Kippur fast, and asked me how services were, I knew.
I am happily and comfortably, a professional Jew.
