•

ou're Jewish? Oh, so you're
rich, right?"
I was a college freshman
the first time anyone asked me
this. Sure, I knew the stereotype, but in
my working-class hometown of south
Oak Park, I was lucky if people even
knew what Jews were, save an occasional
question like, "Where are your horns?"
\_ or "You mean you don't celebrate
Christmas?"
The city had its Jewish pockets, but I
lived on the outskirts and usually felt
like a wayward extra in "Goyz In The
Hood." Aside from a handful of Jewish
families, most residents were either
black, white or Arab. We stood out —
my American-Jewish mom, and my dad,
the Israeli landscaper who hired me to
cut lawns, shovel topsoil and trim shrubs
for 10 years.
"Eh, you will say how I taught you to
hustle," my father commands when I tell
him I'm writing this article. "I showed
you the meaning of hard work, nu?"
It's true. My dad, who came to
America right before I was born, could
be the poster model for bootstrapping
immigrants. He met my mom in
Jerusalem.
/—
They wed, she got pregnant and they
came to America. Although they intend-
ed to return to Israel, they ended up
buying an aluminum-sided two bed-
room home in Oak Park. My mom jug-
gled school, parenting and part-time
work. My dad started Shimon's
Landscaping — him, his pickup truck,
and any assistant who could tough out
the
13-hour workdays.
/--
So when the occasional campus "for-
tune teller" pegs me as a wealthy pre-
med Manhattanite, I flex my biceps and
laugh. When I tell them the deal, the
reaction isn't always flattering. "Then
you're not like those Jews," they say.
And who are those Jews?
"Oh, those Saab-driving sorority girls
f rom the East Coast — you know,
• JAPS!" a former roommate once
explained. "Don't be offended, you're
not like that at all. I don't even think of
you as Jewish."
S'lichah?, excuse me?
Since when did my bank account
become the divine yardstick of my
Jewishness? I resent the assumption.
What do I have to do to cross this imag-
inary Jewish line in people's eyes? Like if
• I gross a million, I'm in the door like
Eliyahu on Pesach?
I was conceived in Eretz Yisrael. My

family ate humorous, not Hamburger
Helper. Friday nights were spent cele-
brating Erev Shabbat, not bowling in a
league. Is there some special Jewish
pheromone I should be emitting?
I may not have been raised in a pre-
dominantly Jewish neighborhood
(although north Oak Park has long been
an observant Jewish enclave), but I was
raised in a Jewish environment. My
fondest family memories involve our
Jewish holiday celebrations, which often
had a distinctive working-class twist.
For instance, we never had the means
to erect an authentic sukkah. So every
year, we cleared the garden tools out of
our small aluminum shed, dragged in
the picnic table, and decorated with
paper lulays and etrogs. Then we ate
dinner in the shed we'd proudly trans-
formed.
My junior year of college, the campus
Hillel held a dialogue for Jewish students
to gather and talk amongst ourselves.
Out of the 30 or so who showed up, I
was the only working-class Jew
As introductions began, my uncer-
tainty about fitting in fell away. People
in the circle complained that they only
grew up around other Jews and felt so
sheltered on our diverse campus. Others
had angst about parents who wanted
them to pursue the Jewish "Big Three"
— law, medicine or business.
I felt like the Jew with the Golden
Ticket. Since my parents were in non-
traditional careers, they couldn't exactly
tell me not to go to art school or start
my own business. Growing up in a mul-
tiethnic neighborhood taught me how to
navigate comfortably between classes,
cultures and languages.
The experience showed me that there
are many ways to be Jewish. Therefore, I
won't be told I'm "less than" Jewish
because I run a lawnmower instead of a
law firm.
Besides, Jews have always been a
working people. We are a resilient group
— look at the atrocities we've outlived.
It's taken both brains and brawn. When
I break the soil in someone's garden, I
relate to my ancestors who broke the
rocky soil of Palestine. When I pull an
all-nighter, I relate to those same ances-
tors who studied Talmud in the wee
hours.
•
So I guess I'm like a secret Jewish
candy bar. My wrapper isn't marked
"kosher" and my shell can be hard, but
surprise — I have a creamy Jewish cen-
ter. ❑

Ophira Edut, 25, is the founding publisher of HUES, a multicultural young
women's magazine. She is spending six months in Duluth, Minn., and chronicling
her adventures at www. hues .net/jewgirl. A version of this article originally appeared
in "Bridges: A Journal for Jewish Feminists and Our Friends."

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44.7;

Seeking Single Volunteers!
For singles only, help out
with rebuilding a home for a
low-income family with
Habitat for Humanity.
Saturday, Aug. 29, 9 a.m.-3
p.m. Call Volunteer Impact,
(248) 559-4950.

Canoeing down the Au Sables
River with Tamarack Adult
Adventures. (248) 661-0600,

RSVP

First session, Jewish book
club for young adults,
through the Agency for
Jewish Education. 7-8:30
p.m. At Bravo Coffee House,
Southfield. Call the AJE,
(248) 354-1050, to put your
name on the book club list
and receive the first selec-
tion.

Save the Date!
Oct. 9-U

Biking in Saugatuck, with
Steppin' Out Bike along the
Lake Michigan shoreline and
room at a country inn on the
harbor with Chicago's out-
door adventure group for
Jewish adults, Steppin' Out
Cost: $310, including
accommodations and meals.
(773) 509-8595.

OCT013E1?

Oct. 6-13

:1

orocco - Rabat, Meknes, Fez,
arrakesh and Casablanca with
remier Jewish Singles. Cost:
(800) 444-9250.

g •S. •

Midwest Jewish singles Shabbato
(age 30 and up). A shomer
Shabbat weekend at Bais Chabad
of West Bloomfield., Featuring
keynote speaker Dr. Eliot P.
Kaplan, Dr. Anita Turtletaub,
Rabbi Elimelech and Mrs. Chaya
Sarah Silberberg. Cost: $175.
Rochel Crockett, (248) 855-6170,
or Dr. Anita Turtletaub, (847)
329-0632.

• O.:3

Sarasota
glen (ages 40-60) g
At The Colony Beach lkT ennis
Resort on Longboat Key. Cost:
5375-1,025. (941) 378-5568.

8/28
1998

Detroit Jewish News

75

