My first job in New York was actually in Westport, Connecticut at a company called Modem Media. We were the vanguard of online marketing (really, I was on the team that put the first banner ad on the web, ever… sorry about that). This was during the beginning of the “lunch is for wimps” era in any business even remotely tech-related, and we were expected to work 10-14 hour days pretty routinely. Also, because it was Westport and not Manhattan, it was pretty WASP-y. (This matters later in the story.)
During my first year there, I was invited to seder at a friend’s apartment and it was the first time I’d ever been invited to s seder that wasn’t with my family. I was excited! Moving to New York had opened up a whole new understanding of what it meant to be Jewish for me, and although I still would have called myself a “secular Jew,” I was leaning pretty hard into the foods, culture, and traditions because they were a great joy. So, I was really sad when my boss told me a deadline had been moved up, and I was going to need to pull (another) late night, which meant I’d miss the seder. I remember saying something like “Of course! We’ll get it done.”
Later, I complained about this to one of my few Jewish coworkers, who asked why I didn’t say anything.
“I don’t want to be a bad Jew,” I answered.
“What do you think a bad Jew is?” she asked.
“Someone who makes it harder for other Jews by calling attention to their Jewishness, asking for special consideration, that kind of thing. You know, anything that’s ‘bad for the Jews.’”
She gave me a look I came to see pretty often during those years, one that I used to think of as a City Mouse/Country Mouse thing. Having grown up in a city full of Jews (she was from Manhattan, like actually born there), her take was entirely different from mine.
“What’s bad for other Jews is working on Pesach, or any other holiday, so that when those of us who are observant say we can’t, we get pushback.” She was genuinely a little angry with me, which I guess is fair. But this had never even occurred to me until that moment. “Making non-Jews comfortable at the expense of other Jews is not being a ‘good Jew.’”
I’ve been thinking about that conversation a lot this year, when I’m working to be observant through the whole holiday for the first time in my life. About how I want to cut corners, agree to eat things that are more convenient for other people, etc. because I don’t want my Jewishness to be inconvenient for anyone else. And I don’t want that, because I don’t want non-Jews to think badly of us. And I think this even though I know it’s silly in my current circumstance, when my Austrian family and friends are nothing but supportive. As a junior employee in her first job in the big city, this timidity might be understandable, but why does it linger now?
I’m not sure, but I’ll be thinking about it for a while.
Here is our seder plate from last night. The whole Austrian family was going to join us, but I have a terrible cold, and in this era of Covid, even a negative test isn’t enough to risk exposing other people to our germs. But Dominik participated and was not just a good sport, but a supportive and interested partner. Tonight, I’m having my own seder so he can have the foods he associates with Easter weekend, but that’s fine, too. I no more want to ask him to give something up than I want to be asked to do so myself.
Oh, and I went to that friend’s seder the next year, and it was wonderful. There were six of us smashed into her studio apartment, and to fit us all in she’d had to put her couch on top of her bed and set up a folding table she’d borrowed from her own work. One of the guests was a musician in a klezmer band who played Dayenu for us while we sang. Another was a chef who’d made gefilte fish that didn’t even need horseradish to be delicious. And me? I brought the wine. Because you don’t need to know anything about tradition or culture to know how to go into a wine store in Manhattan and ask for enough bottles of kosher wine for a six person seder… I promise, they’ll know just what to give you. And sure, back then, it was pretty lousy wine, but we enjoyed it nonetheless.
Chag Pesach sameach, Jewish friends. Happy Easter, Christian ones. A blessed Ramadan, Muslim friends. Happy celebration of Eostre, pagan beloveds. And a joyous spring to one and all.
For many decades, American Jews were afraid of making their non-Jewish neighbors uncomfortable or doing something that would cast Jews in a negative light. Many of us have been told not to do something shameful (a shandah) when out with our friends. The well-meaning adults weren't necessarily talking about something shameful to our families (that was implied), rather they were talking about something that would reflect poorly on the Jews. As post-WWII American Jews rushed to assimilate and make nice with their neighbors, many began to take religion less seriously than their grandparents. Granted, the High Holidays, Passover, and Hanukkah were observed, but the daily observances and Shabbat seemed to get left behind. Because these Jews were willing to ignore certain parts of Judaism: they would eat non-kosher food. work on Shabbat and holidays, they made it difficult for those who were observant to get time off for major holidays or to say they couldn't work because it was Shabbat. American Jews were so worried about their non-Jewish friends that they didn't realize they were making things difficult for their more observant Jewish friends.
When I was in grad school, before rabbinical school, I worked as an editor for a software company. My immediate supervisor was Jewish. When the holidays came around and I asked for time off (I would make up all the time by working Sundays), the president of the company would question whether I really needed the time off. "Chris is Jewish and doesn't need this time off," I would hear. It became such a trial that I had to ask my rabbi for a letter explaining why I needed the time off. Even then the president, along with Chris, would still openly question my request, remarking that they knew Jews who didn't need time off.
All in all, being a good Jew has nothing to do with what other people think or feel. Do your best. Treat others with kindness. Walk humbly, i.e. keep your piety to yourself, with G!d. The rest is basically commentary.
Chag Pesach sameach, Happy Easter to my beautiful Sarah and her family! I was not exposed to any Jewish culture growing up. I'm grateful that I was never taught to be anti-Semitic. I feel a kinship because we worship the same G**. Bless you Sarah! I hope that your journey is all that you need it to be. ❤️