Orthodoxy considers me gentile because my matrilineal line traces to a non-Jew.
Fine.
Honestly fair enough.
A sacred rule since Sinai, I will respect it.
But I have some thoughts.
My dad isn’t Jewish and my mom’s Jewish community is on the East Coast where we spent only a handful of the holidays as I grew up
My mom’s direct family did not follow Judaism strictly, but her and I still practiced the traditions we knew and learned what we could
Menorah on the mantel
Christmas tree in the corner
A weird mix, but a fun nine nights
A great-great-great grandfather of mine was a lawyer in Kyiv
According to my great-great-aunt Edna’s account of some family history,
“He preferred carving inkwells over attending Shabbat services”
But still, he fled from the pogroms
Still, I carry stories of horror
My family history goes deep, and I trace it
Of the branches from which I stem, this branch is the branch I know best
I cherish my Ashkenazi ancestry
It is the biggest piece of my ancestral pie next to my Irish heritage
I love going to Shabbat dinners
I feel the intrinsic connection of kinship with other Jews
I know the joy of breaking fast among friends on Yom Kippur when three stars appear in the sky
I feel and respect the sacredness of the sacred days
But as a great-aunt pointed out during a family call with the Shulman-Shushan clan:
My name is “Tobias Branson”
She pointed out that my Aryan complexion provides me the ability of anonymity
She pointed out that I could take off my kippah and blend into a crowd if it came down to it
I know the feeling of fear—I know the trauma
I also know that I won’t be subjected to hate, unless I am with the people I feel are my people
Among Jews, the gaze of anti-Semitism falls upon me too
Among Jews, I rejoice pridefully with the living and connect with my ancestors
My great-aunt was right about my name
A contrast from my youth confirms this
At my secular highschool, I was frequently next to my dear friend Yehudi Moses
His first name is an endonym for “Jew”—and the significance of his last name is obvious in case you miss the first
Let us grant what my great-aunt said
I could pass as fully gentile in mainstream society
But to do so and disregard my family’s past?
Never.
My middle names are “Aaron” and “Shulman”
Aaron Shulman is the name of my cousin
Aaron Shulman is the name of our great-great grandfather who bootlegged alcohol from Ontario across the border during the Prohibition
That Aaron Shulman started a furniture trade out of a hotel he bought as the son of a Jewish immigrant who peddled the streets of Toronto
That peddler’s name was Leib Shulman
A name passed to my grandfather
My name is Tobias Branson
I have other names too
Names that escaped persecution
Names that persevered and maintained their cultural existence
Those names survived and they persist within me
Those names are my names
The Jewishness within me is a testament to the chain of causality my ancestors clung to as a guide through the trials of time
I hear the message to be proud and open—and I am
But I am told the message does not apply to me
Surely you can understand my disappointment
All the same, I hear what my uncle says about how it is wrong to treat Judaism as a girlfriend who you only see every once in a while
Maybe I’ll come to a conviction and convert
Maybe I’ll do a proper bar-mitzvah at a synagogue that will accept me
Without that, I understand that I might be seen as gentile
Until then, I see it as a great act of disrespect to my ancestors to not treat my Jewish roots at all
So for now, here I am.
A little confused.
A living contradiction.
But happy.
And without a doubt,
Jew-ish
Powered by Froala Editor
