Several years ago I worked for an organization called Seeds of Peace.  One of their programs involved bringing 14-15 year-olds to a 3-week summer program in Maine. The kids were from Israel, Palestine, Jordan, Egypt, India, Pakistan and Afghanistan.  These campers were accompanied to the States by educators from their home countries.  That’s where I came in.  My job, was to create a safe space for these adults to dialogue with each other with the hope of breaking down stereotypes.  When I introduced myself on the first day I never included  that I was Jewish.  I didn’t conceal it either.  If anyone asked me, I told them.  One summer, towards the end of the 3-week session, we went on a field trip to Portland to visit several houses of worship.  When we got to the synagogue, people had several questions and the Rabbi said to the group, “If you have more questions, I’m sure Marsha can answer them.”  I was outed.  When we got outside, two Palestinian women looked at me with disbelief and said “You’re Jewish?”   I casually answered, “Yes,” and we moved on.  I don’t know what they thought after that, but they never treated me any differently.  Maybe the dialogue was working. What I do know is that being white and Jewish affords me the “luxury” of deciding who I tell that I’m Jewish.  Most Jews know.  We have a sixth-sense about who’s Jewish and who’s not. There is a bond, sometimes a thread bare one, but no less a common bond.

For the past four-months I have lived in a part of the world that all but obliterated the Jewish population.  It’s all around me. The traces of an entire race are everywhere, and nowhere.  Lots of people “look” Jewish to me but I suspect that decades of denial have changed that.  It hasn’t been that many generations since the Holocaust and so many towns and villages that once had thriving Jewish communities have single numbers of Jews left.  I often feel overwhelmed when we visit a city and go on a walking tour and the guide tells us how many Jews lived in the city before 1940 and how few remain today. It all seems so close to me I can feel it in my bones. 

When I’m in the States, I am aware of the amount of antisemitism that exists, but it doesn’t feel as intense. The history is not screaming in my face like it is here.  My heart is heavy and the history of my people has been weighing on me.  We are headed for a relaxing 8-day cruise in the Mediterranean.  I will enjoy the warmer weather and the escape from the bleak history I feel every day.  I will assume that no one will “out” me and I can decide who I might tell.

Have wonderful holidays and a joyous and healthy start to the New Year.

With love and gratitude,

Marsha