(Jewish Group) Why I'll never again insist: I'm not Jewish

[Behind the Aegis]

(THIS IS THE JEWISH GROUP! RESPECT!!)


It’s never a good sign when someone sitting across from you over dinner starts crying. Less so when you’re in a friend’s flat, the person with tears rolling down their cheeks is a stranger and you’re the one to blame. Of course, I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong. She, a Jewish American, had been taken aback when I’d been clarifying for some friends (yet again) that, no, I’m not Jewish, yes, my name is Moses, no my parents aren’t Jewish, I do have curly hair, that doesn’t make me … I was adamant.

The effect it had on the one Jewish person around the table took me aback. “How can you deny it? It’s so sad that you’re ashamed of your Jewish identity, your heritage.” And then the tears. I quietly slipped out of the room.

The thing is, as hard as it is to believe for anyone who knows my name or even just sees me (I’ve been mistaken for a rabbi), I’m not Jewish, not in any way I consider meaningful – and I haven’t changed my mind about that. My mother isn’t Jewish, her family isn’t, my dad’s parents were Jewish, but they never practised the religion. There wasn’t any of the cultural aspect in my childhood, no Friday night dinners or happy Hanukahs to remember. Sure, I have Jewish heritage. Two of my grandparents were Jews, many Jews would consider me to be half-Jewish and, of course, the Nazis would have considered me to be Jewish. But I have none of the familial, cultural or religious trappings of Judaism; it simply isn’t part of my identity.

And yet, the past couple of years have made me question why I felt the need to push back so hard whenever someone told me I was Jewish. Because people don’t ask me, they tell me, and that made me bristle. But there are more important things than people defining who I am for me.

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