Julia Dvorin                                          (Solipsistic Storyteller)

(Yes, Parentheticals has been distracted by the holidays. But I’ve been *thinking* about blogging, doesn’t that count? Yeah. I know. I didn’t really think so.)

Anyway, today’s seasonally appropriate topic comes out of various experiences I’ve had over the last month with feeling especially aware of my Jewishness—and therefore, my outsider-ness—in the midst of a Christian-centered culture. It always comes up this time of year, when no matter what your beliefs about or relationship with Christ, the Christmas season is an inescapable cultural force. Most of the time I just go along with the inescapable force, and try to enjoy the ride from a tourist’s perspective (“look at the quaint local customs! Isn’t that pretty/heartwarming/fun? I can relate to that.”) I find my own comfort in the repetition of the seasonal decorations and activities, the familiar smells and sounds and tastes. Most (if not all) of these really have nothing to do with Christ or his birth, and I can enjoy them aesthetically without feeling attached to them, the same way I enjoy, say, a Taiko drum performance or Thai food.

But there are also times during the Christmas season where I am forcibly reminded that I am different, that my family is different—that as fun as all this holiday fuss can be, it is not *our* holiday, and no matter whether we join in the reindeer games or not, we are always on the outside. It’s not that I feel discriminated against, or repressed in any way—far from it, I’m always very grateful and appreciative of the way that in this place, at this time in history, I am generally free to believe what I want, worship how I choose, and observe the holidays I want to without fear of repercussion or repression. There’s something going on though, that’s more subtle, that I want to note and put out there.

Even when you are not discriminated against, there’s a specific discomfort in being in the minority: an awareness of one’s difference that is inevitably flavored by a history of persecution (even if the persecution itself no longer exists in overt or obvious form). Related to this, there’s also a specific discomfort in always having to the be the one who educates, who speaks up and says “hey don’t forget about me, I have my own experience, and don’t assume I’m always like you, because I’m not.” Deciding whether or not to educate the majority means deciding whether to expose oneself as different rather than “passing” (when passing is even an option—sometimes it’s not)—and sometimes we still hesitate to expose ourselves, because being “out” hasn’t always been so safe.

Let me illustrate with some recent personal experiences. At my kids’ elementary school, the first graders and their “buddy class” of fourth graders were scheduled for a December field trip to go caroling at a senior home. The class parent for the 4^th grade class decided to put together a craft project in preparation for this trip, where all the kids made Santa hats with their names on them to wear during the caroling. Cute, right? Well sure...except for the fact that the Jewish kids (and there are actually at least 4 or 5 of them in first grade this year, strangely enough) don’t really “do” Santa, so that felt a little weird to some of the moms of those Jewish kids (myself included). We asked ourselves, was that appropriate? If not, should we say anything? Are we being over-sensitive here? It’s just decorative, getting into the “spirit of the season”, plus Santa really doesn’t have anything much to do with Christ either. What’s the harm?

Well, there’s no harm, really. The kids didn’t *have* to wear the Santa hats if they didn’t want to (and btw the Jewish kids decided they didn’t want to), and no one really cared who did or didn’t. The people planning the caroling did apparently include a Hanukkah song along with the Christmas carols and general winter-themed songs, which was inclusionary and thoughtful, for both the kids and the seniors. But the thing is, we Jewish families had to think about how we felt about the assumption that we’d just go along with the overall Christian imagery and customs, and furthermore we had to decide whether or not to make the class parent and teachers aware of the fact that their activities were potentially exclusionary. Should we just let it pass, we wondered, and be grateful that our kids were able to be part of something all together with their peers, even if that something didn’t technically “belong” to them? Or should we speak up, and highlight our different-ness, and potentially make things feel a little more uncomfortable, more divided? None of the other families had to think about any of this—it wasn’t even an awareness, let alone an issue.

I also did a presentation in the first grade class about Hanukkah, where I talked about the holiday’s history, and lit a menorah, and showed them how to play dreidel, and we served latkes. I’ve done this kind of presentation pretty much every year for one or the other kid’s classrooms. I had a fun time doing it (once an educator, always an educator!), and the kids always are open and interested in learning about new customs (Hanukkah is exotic and unfamiliar to most of them). But none of the other families had to decide whether or not to do some educating of the “majority” kids about what the “minority” kids were celebrating instead/alongside of the traditional Christmas customs. There was no risk for the other families to being “out” with their own customs and celebrations.

Let me be clear: I’m not complaining, and I’m not being all righteous about “why can’t the culture pay attention to meeeeeee?” But there’s still something here worth reminding myself (and others) about. I feel like my experience of being a minority in this way (not to mention a lifetime of being a woman in a man’s world) gives me a great deal more empathy and understanding of what it must be like to be a minority in other ways (a black in a white’s world, a queer in a straight’s world, a kid/senior in an adult’s world, a differently-abled person in a normatively-abled world, etc), and that kind of empathy is often what is sorely lacking between us humans (specifically, its lack leads to all kinds of discrimination and persecution and eventually atrocities). I think being a minority has been a tremendously helpful growing experience for me, and so I continue to speak out and educate others who don’t have the opportunity to experience minority status in some way in hopes that they too will be able to grow from it. The thing to remember is that most of us are a minority in some way or other, and even those of us who aren’t are perfectly able (if not always willing) to learn from others’ experiences in order to experience the same opportunity for growth that being a minority presents.

So here’s to hoping that in 2012 we all proactively look for opportunities to learn about and appreciate each other in all our multi-faceted glory, and to use what we learn to make the world a better place. (And on top of that, here’s wishing everyone a peaceful, joyous, and fulfilling winter holiday celebration of your choice...me, I'm gonna go light Hanukkah candles and eat some latkes!)