I heard a story recently. It’s about a woman whose mother was of European extraction, her father is Black and Protestant, in name only. She was raised as her mother wanted, as a Jew in what she describes as a “progressive synagogue’, which I suppose means Liberal and to her memory, very inclusive.
Her mother, who was actively involved in the synagogue, died while this woman was in her teens, some 30 plus years ago and her father, who really wasn’t all that involved in her rearing, had little to do with her merge into adulthood. She grew up despite that fact, went to college and because of her darker skin color, identified as African American then, as she does today. But she’s also Jewish by traditional birth rite. She went to Hebrew school, had a Bat Mizvah, the whole nine yards.
And she did what most kids do when they leave home–they explore, read, meet people like them and unlike them. Very often that means they graduate with an ideology that’s 180 degrees different than what they had when they entered school as a Freshman. And when they get out in the workforce, that’s a whole different educational process altogether.
So, all these years later, this woman decides as she watches the life intrusion of her 50’s thrust upon her, it’s time to find an ecumenical home, one she used to know quite well. Her partner isn’t Jewish, but he is white and grew up in big city with a large Jewish population, making him hip to all things Hebrew.
He, she says, is all for her return to Judaism, but he loves ham sandwiches and shrimp scampi way too much to convert no matter how reformed the congregation is. But he agrees to go with her to find the kind of synagogue in which she grew up more than three decades ago.
They find a reformed synagogue and attend services. Everybody is nice, but they assume her gentleman friend is Jewish which he isn’t and that she isn’t, which she really is. She’s bothered by the fact that she’s asked in a variety of ways, “So, what brings you here tonight?”
She found these questions racist. I understand that and then again, I don’t. Perhaps I don’t want to. Keep reading.
I get it because of the obvious facts of this story; she’s a woman whose half Black and identifies as such, and she’s Jewish. Unremarkable in the grand scheme of things, but we have to keep in mind that members of this congregation didn’t know her or anything about her specifically and her religious bio isn’t all that common, generally.
According to fairly recent articles in the Encyclopedia of Black America and Ascent Magaxine, it’s estimated that there might be as many as 500,000 Black Jews in this country, including converts. When you compare that to the number of the five to eight million ‘other’ Jews who call the U.S. home then yeah, Black Jews might be a bit rare. Then again, wouldn’t Jews who are aware of the world know that there are more Sephardic Jews (dark eyed, darker skinned) than lighter skinned, light eyed Sephardic Jews? Not necessarily. The Jewish community here is composed predominantly of Ashkenazi Jews, which according to stats, make up about 90% of the entire Jewish American population. And while Ashkenazi Jews include Blacks, lighter skinned Jews with black hair and brown eyes are predominate.
So with that said, should this seemingly well educated and worldly woman have known better, especially in a setting in which she was as unfamiliar with the members as they were with her? And as for the congregants, shouldn’t they have been more open and less speculative of her beliefs based solely on skin color? Well pets, it’s far more complicated then that. We’re talking about human behavior beyond my grasp, but I will say from the most basic level of understanding, people only know what they know. I speak from experience.
Confession: I grew up as a Catholic in a small town in the southern half of Texas. Our church was a fair representation of the community’s population; a number of Hispanics, several Czechs and Polish folks and a few Anglo sounding names of clans from ancient Brittania that just couldn’t hack Henry the VIII’s decision to break from The Church. So, when I went to New Orleans many, many years ago, I’d never before seen a Black Catholic much less a Black priest, but there I was, genuflecting as a minority in this particular NOLA congregation. It was eye opening, but not life altering, because when I thought about it from a historical perspective, it made perfect sense. The Old South, French and Acadian settlers and that nasty, nasty S-word: slavery.
So, in all good consciousness, I can’t speak for or even pose questions of this Jewish woman’s experience. She wrote what she wrote, true to her feelings. She felt like an outcast at a new synagogue . I don’t know if it’s members hadn’t seen many Black Jews or if they’ve ever given a second thought to their existence. See above.
But by her account, she wasn’t mistreated by them either. She simp,y wasn’t embraced as she had wanted, as she had been in the synagogue of her youth. The one she knew, the one that knew her.
This particular race-based religious conflict is a tie, as I see it. My reasoning? Experience and the lack thereof. No one is to blame, yet everyone involved is accountable. Faith is fair game, like a 24 hour drive through, open to everyone. If you’re hungry and willing to wait in line before reaching the window and paying for your order, fine. No one is refused service. And it goes without saying, your involvement and adherence to any religion, any job, any community or relationship of any kind, is entirely up to you.
I’ll wrap things up with this patently pathetic and terribly hackneyed sentence, but one that’s required for this blogpost—labels can be wrong. Blah, blah and blah. But it has to be said. Yes, there are a few people with all kinds af varying amounts of melanin in their skin who do look and act like their stereotypes, which exist because of exaggerated reality. Then again, no one ever looks at me and learns of my Catholic roots then declares I look more Baptist.
During my years in broadcasting, in radio to be exact, I was always amused that when sone people met me in person after years of just listening my FM filtered and processed voice, they would express surprise. They said I sounded much taller and more brunette—I’m 5’1″ and blonde, which to be honest, was already becoming a fading hair color memory even all those years ago. I didn’t know how tall brunettes were supposed to sound, or if there was a specific tonal quality belonging exclusively to short, women with blond hair (and black roots only Alex Haley could appreciate).
But we should never assume anything, but we do, and we always have and always will. It’s like mental bedrock. It’s our easiest, ‘go to’ response. It’s what we think we know when we don’t take the time to learn anything different.
And actually, THAT just might just be the most pathetic sentence of all.
