Judaism and Identification

I should be fully converted by around my birthday.  I have three essays I need to write, the beit din, and the official conversion ceremony.  My class has been over for a month and people are slowly starting to decide how they’re going to identify themselves as Jews.

I don’t seem to be having this problem.  There are entire discussions about wearing things that make it clear a person is a Jew, what it’s like to experience discrimination, and how to make being a Jew a part of your day to day interactions with people.  None of it makes sense to me.  I don’t understand the fear of discrimination.  It’s hard to fear something you consider a normal part of living.  I don’t understand the hesitance to identify yourself as a part of a minority group.  I’ve been part of a minority group since birth.  I don’t understand not knowing how to speak up when people make crude jokes.  I learned how to do that when I was a child.  There are just so many things that are considered new and scary for your average white, middle class, heterosexual convert that I’ve always thought of as a part of existing.

Where this becomes even more obvious are the discussions about wearing things like Star of David necklaces or kippot.  People will start, will start giving subtle (or not so subtle) indications that they’re Jewish, and it’s always a huge deal to them.  Not because of the Jewish part, the part that is most important to me, but because of the obviously different part.

When you go out into the world people assume certain things.  They assume you’re middle class unless you show up in a limo or wear patched up clothes.  They assume you’re white unless you have a skin tone that couldn’t be classified as “peach”.  They assume you’re heterosexual unless you fit certain stereotypes.  And they assume you’re Christian (or at least were raised celebrating Christmas) unless you’re a guy with forelocks and funny clothes.

To me these assumptions are obvious, I can’t go a day without being reminded of them.  Most people don’t notice them though, they have no reason to.  Problem is, I forget that most people don’t notice.  I grew up in a place where these things don’t really exist so when any of us leaves — even those of us who are straight, white Christians — there’s a period of intense culture shock.  I forget that to most people these assumptions are so ingrained that they can’t imagine life without them.  I was lucky to grow up in a place where I was given the luxury of being blind to race, religion, sexuality, socio-economic status, and the million other stupid things that divide our society.  Most people don’t have that luxury.  Those who do don’t realise that it’s less of a luxury than a curse.

You see, when you don’t notice the divisions you have no way of buffering yourself when you suddenly end up on the minority side of one.  That’s the biggest issue I see people having right now, they get a weird look and they think it’s because the person they were talking to is upset they don’t celebrate Christmas.  They’re nervous, meek, terrified that if they say the wrong thing they’ll be attacked.  I don’t like constantly being treated as a punchline.  I just may deck the next person who uses ‘gay’ as an all purpose insult or insinuates that all Mexicans are criminals.  At the same time, those things have helped me learn the difference between someone who is an actual threat and someone who honestly doesn’t know any better.

I don’t consider wearing a kippah nearly as much of a threat to my personal safety as other people.  For one thing, if I’m discriminated against due to my religion I have legal recourse.  For another, the chances of my being assaulted for being Jewish instead of gay, or even Mexican, are incredibly slim.  I’ve learnt to gauge how safe I am at any given point in time.  I’ve learnt to have a sense of who will be accepting and who won’t.  These are things I don’t even think about, they’re as natural as breathing.  I don’t have nearly the same learning curve as someone who’s converting from a majority perspective.  What’s funny is that I consider myself the lucky one.  It’s the first time I’ve ever been grateful for people discriminating against me.