Culture Corner: Token Jew

By Alyssa Appelman
KOC Editor
University of Missouri

My plate of vegetables in hand, I sat in the dining hall with my two new friends: one an atheist Unitarian Universalist and the other a non-denominational Christian. It was our first year of college, and we had just met. I told them I was a vegan -- no meat, milk or eggs – to explain my choice of food. Both knew I was Jewish, because that's one of the first things I tell people about myself. They asked me if Judaism dictated my eating habits. I told them that, though being a vegan helped me to follow Jewish dietary restrictions, health and ethical issues were also factors. This led to a Q-and-A about the laws of keeping Kosher, in which I tried to speak on behalf of my community. I felt like the token Jew. For the first time in my life, I was in the minority.

I grew up in a culturally segregated suburb, where my childhood reads like a PR pamphlet for the St. Louis Jewish Federation. I attended preschool at my shul, grade school at Schechter and high school at a public school Jewish enough for class on Rosh Hashanah to be optional. I spent summers at the JCC and Ramah until I turned 16 and became a counselor at my shul's day camp. During high school, my synagogue was my second home. I was active in USY, I went to Sunday School and I tutored 12-year-olds for their Bar and Bat Mitzvah celebrations. Every week, my family pored over the St. Louis Jewish Light and searched for pictures of ourselves and people we knew. I could count the number of houses with Christmas lights in my neighborhood on one hand. I never thought the community was that large, considering the non-Jewish areas in town and comparing myself to camp friends from Chicago.

By the end of high school, I was fed up with the overwhelming role Judaism and the tight-knit community played in my life. Everyone knew or was related to everyone else and my world felt quite small. Through my own rebellion, I turned down acceptances to Brandeis and Wash. U. and instead chose Mizzou, with the great journalism school and the tiny Hillel.

Once my semester started, I leaned toward regret. I moved from a city with more than 25 shuls to a city with only one. I was forced to lead services my second week at Mizzou because not enough people knew how. It was disconcerting to hear upperclassmen discuss their shock at seeing so many people at services; The number of people I'm related to at my St. Louis synagogue easily tops the 20 who were there. Early on, I questioned my decision and worried I had abandoned my community.

My first semester posed challenges. Some were logistical, such as learning to explain holiday-related absences to professors and others were psychological, such as learning to walk through campus without dwelling on being condemned to Hell by Brother Jed, the local proselytizer. I faced these challenges alongside fellow Jews and by second semester, Hillel had become our new home. I now sit on the Hillel Board of Directors, I held positions on the board of the Jewish Student Organization and I interned at Hillel for three years. I read Torah at Congregation Beth Shalom and I edit the lovely online magazine you're currently reading. I spent an amazing week in Israel on KOACH's Taglit-birthright israel program and attended two KOACH Kallot. Now that I live in a city with next to no Jews, I appreciate the community I do have. It's hard to see fliers for a Nazi march but comforting having a student group to organize a protest. I reconnected with my St. Louis synagogue as well. I visit when in town, and I read its monthly newsletter cover-to-cover.

Growing up, I never questioned my connection to Judaism because it never seemed like a choice. Everyone I knew was Jewish, so my Judaism wasn't what defined me. Yet now, it's the foundation of my life. I know that with age comes a greater appreciation for tradition and family, but my newfound dedication is more about Columbia, MO. It was easy being Jewish when everyone else was. I didn't have to work to celebrate holidays or to find Kosher-for-Passover food. I didn't have to explain traditions or rituals. But in the minority, I had to make an effort.

Last spring, I spent five months studying in France. My friends and family questioned why I would choose a country that was non-Jewish and therefore, in their minds, anti-Semitic. But Parisian life called. I was once again in the minority and I once again faced challenges, such as finding Jewish life in a city where I didn't know anyone who was Jewish. KOACH's Associate Director, Rabbi Elyse Winick, directed me to a colleague from rabbinical school who had moved to France and I quickly became a regular at his synagogue, where he led services in a combination of Hebrew, French and English. Through my conversational French and broken Hebrew, I navigated my way through the Jewish quarter. I visited the Holocaust memorial, bought Israeli jewelry and developed a polite-nod relationship with the falafel-shop owners. By facing the token-Jew challenge at Mizzou, I learned to find community anywhere.

[Posted 5/5/08]