(Jewish Group) I Was Taught Not To Tell Anyone I Was Jewish. Here's What Happened When I Finally Did
The recent antics of the unlikely trifecta of former President Trump, world’s richest man Elon Musk and superstar rapper Ye (formerly Kanye West) have proven once again that being Jewish in America is complicated.
This isn’t news to us. Antisemitic incidents in the U.S., which have been rising for years, hit an all-time high in 2021. Just under a year ago, on the morning of Jan. 15, a gunman held four people hostage in a small-town Texan synagogue. I wasn’t shocked. I wasn’t even surprised. When you’re Jewish, you come to expect this.
Home during winter break from grad school, I walked up to my mother’s room to share the news. When I told her what was happening, her response echoed a deep-seated family belief: “This is why we don’t go to synagogue. This is what your grandfather feared.”
I didn’t grow up in New York or Boston or Los Angeles, where there are sizable Jewish populations. My siblings and I were raised in a small conservative town in rural Alabama. When I say rural, I mean we were raised across the street from 40 acres of cow pasture. Out here in the boonies, birdsong is just as common as hearing people target practice in the woods. I had a neighbor whose son would ride a four-wheeler around with a big Rebel Flag strapped to the back of it, the crooked starry cross flapping and mud-smeared. In addition to its glorification of the painful legacy of slavery and racism, closeted Nazis and fascists frequently use the flag as something of a substitute swastika.
The author, pictured in his senior photo, was called "the Jew” or just “Jew" by some classmates in school.
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