#jewish-identity

#jewish-identity

Our hanukiah is ridiculous. I love it precisely for its absurdity; a chunky, oversized piece designed by a dear friend and crafted from aircrete. It looks like a forgotten set piece from The Flintstones. In a family home that also contains challah covers, mezuzahs, kippot and Shabbat candles, our menorah is easily the most overtly Jewish thing we own. Its presence badges us immediately. Brash and proud.

At necessary moments in my life, Tom Stoppard, the preeminent British playwright who died last Saturday, has popped up like one of his frenetic characters, spouting enigmatic lines and leaving me thrilled, confused, and somehow heartened. The first time, I was in graduate school, reading Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, his breakthrough homage to Hamlet; I was surely thinking grad-school thoughts when I came across the line "the toenails, on the other hand, never grow at all"-the best bad joke ever.

For most of my life, I attended reluctantly, dreading the long hours of prayer. I was proud to be Jewish, taking satisfaction in my people's survival and success despite the attempts to annihilate us. But I was also embarrassed by what I perceived as Judaism's weirdness and obsolescence: all those nitpicky laws, and that implausible, reward-and-punishment God I thought was portrayed in the liturgy.

"The Solomons household is what you might call a treasure trove of distinction, reflecting a rich history intertwined with various facets of cultural and national significance."

People who are suffering right now, people who cannot pay their mortgage, people who have been separated from their families, people who are sitting in deportation camps, concentration camps, foreign and domestic, those people do not...

Tamara Yajia reflects on her experiences as a preteen child star, expressing that she was completely sexualized during her childhood while modeling after Madonna.

Robert Einstein was cousin to the famous physicist Albert Einstein, both having a deep familial bond formed during their childhood in 19th-century Munich.

With the approach of this year's Pesach, I feel neither fortified nor replenished. I am, instead, trembling with contempt for those in my Jewish community ignoring the core lessons of the seder.