You Know You Love Being Jewish If…

Whether or not you know it, there is probably a part of you that processes much of the world through a Jewish lens. And there has never been a better time to reconnect with the part of you that is eternal, in constant search of meaning and wisdom, and always ready to send back that salad because you know you asked the waiter to hold the raw egg yolks.

There has never been a better time to reconnect with the part of you that is eternal, in constant search of meaning and wisdom, and always ready to send back that salad because you know you asked the waiter to hold the raw egg yolks.

You know you love being Jewish if:

Traveling 

You are on vacation and immediately feel a sense of familiarity, community and yes, safety in meeting someone who turns out to be Jewish. You could be a devoted atheist on a backpacking expedition in Nepal, but the sight of a Star of David tattoo on the arm of another devoted atheist halfway down a majestic mountain results in an hour of exchanges regarding your respective grandmothers’ cooking, the fact that Passover seders end so late, and why none of the courageous Nepali sherpas who are providing support on the mountain seem to have as many mother issues as the two of you. 

Israel 

After Oct. 7, you’re still not yourself. In fact, you’re not sure whether you will ever feel like your old self again. Perhaps, you argue wisely, that is not such a bad thing.

You also know you love being Jewish (and you love Israel) if, this year, you felt compelled to hug every Israeli you met, whether the newly arrived mother who sought temporary refuge in the U.S. because she survived a kibbutz massacre and her husband is a reservist in Gaza, or the disgruntled Israeli handyman who has lived in this country for over a decade, and who returned to Israel to reenlist on Oct. 9. But not before he finally fixed your leaky faucet. He was also a surprised recipient of your hug-a-thon. 

Campus Life

You’re a college freshman and you spent the first three weeks on campus actively preventing anyone from finding out that you’re Jewish, only to have your mother announce loudly (on speakerphone) that your Uncle Menachem and his wife and children are all coming over for the first night of Rosh Hashanah. 

After that spectacle, you decide that despite your valid fears over fanatically brainwashed campus antisemites masked as human rights warriors, you’re going to be yourself, and that also means finally pulling out that container of Israeli-brand ramen soup that you’ve been hiding for three weeks. 

You also know you’re embracing your Jewish identity on campus when you’ve stocked five extra mezuzot, along with extra scrolls and tape, in case the mezuzah that a campus rabbi helped affix to your dorm room is ripped down. 

You love being Jewish more than your enemies hate you for it. As far as they’re concerned, you’re like a soda vending machine for mezuzot; once one of them comes down, it’s immediately replaced by another one that rolls right out, reminding everyone that Jews have just as much right to live safely and freely as anyone else. Just don’t forget to report everything to campus administration and police, and to make sure those mezuzah scrolls are all kosher. 

Pets

At one time in your life, you owned a pet that was named after a Jewish reference, whether it was Matzo Ball the dog, Golda the cat, a pair of parakeets named Ethel and Julius, or an over-anxious marmoset called Woody.

Shopping 

You’re always complaining about the kosher market where you shop — the terrible service, the noise, the wrestling in the produce section, the traffic jams in the aisles, etc. — but you wouldn’t be caught dead shopping anywhere else.

Vacation 

You have not washed a single dish or cooked one meal in seven days because you’ve been resting by a tranquil pool or at a tropical beach. You feel calm, relaxed and far away from the mundane grind and overwhelming demands of your duties back home, where no one seems to know how to properly load the dishwasher but you. 

And then, one evening during your vacation, as you taste a delicious appetizer with new spice combinations at a local restaurant, you feel compelled to recreate the dish for Shabbat as soon as you return home. In your excitement, you fly back one day early and invite a dozen friends for Shabbat dinner before you’ve even unpacked your bags — and all because you tasted a new dish that you simply had to replicate for a Shabbat meal. 

Diversity

You read a list, whether on a blog or on the website of a Jewish organization, that describes what Jews love about being Jewish. And suddenly, you feel aggravated that every other description features a reference to stereotypically Ashkenazi Jewish pastimes such as bagels, lox and schmears, Yiddish, and names that end in “berg” and “man.” 

What is this? you ask yourself. Where are the Ethiopians? The Mizrahim or Sephardim? Those wonderful Moroccans, Egyptians, Iranians, Spaniards, Greeks, Yemenis or any other Jews that merit non-Ashkenazi references in lists that claim to describe some of the best aspects of being Jewish? 

Despite the fact that you are Ashkenazi and your eyes are bluer than California voters, if you read one more Jewish pride story that mentions that wonderful language known as Yiddish more than three times, you’re going to stress-eat an entire jar of real Moroccan harissa — the kind with a warning label to keep away from skin and eyes — and take a long nap because you are so tired of this nonsense. 

Entertainment

Each time you discover that another actor, actress or filmmaker is Jewish, you share the news with every relative, friend, physician and mail carrier in town. And your shock and bitter disappointment upon learning that a celebrity whom you presumed must be Jewish is, in fact, not the slightest bit Jewish, is endless. 

For the last time, Bruce Springsteen is not Jewish. I know it hurts, but at least we still have Neil Diamond. 

Conversely, you also know you love being Jewish if you read about the latest corrupt politician, indicted entrepreneur who stole millions, or other celebrity who shamefully broke the law, and repeatedly think, “Please don’t be Jewish. Please don’t be Jewish.” When the Google search verifies that the culprit is indeed Jewish, you shake your head and express gratitude that Neil Diamond never ran a Ponzi scheme.  

Also, you have a habit of watching (at least twice) any new movie that features a scene in a synagogue.

Sports 

You are proudly secular and would still give anything to witness a Chabad rabbi help a famous Jewish athlete wrap tefillin and recite Jewish prayers in the parking lot of a stadium. 

Politics

You couldn’t care a fig whether a candidate’s husband, daughter, grandchildren or fourth cousin through marriage is Jewish; you assess whether a candidate would support Israel and Jews, or embolden Jew-haters through rampant appeasement, based on actions and proposed policies. 

This year, you learned that you’re a Jew before you’re a member of the Democratic, Republican, Anti-Mason or Free-Soil Party. 

I have exceeded my word limit (in print, at least) and perhaps I will devote another column to this topic in the future, but here is a final thought: Whether you last set foot in a synagogue when you were 13 years old, or just this morning, you know you love being Jewish if each time you remember that Hamas’ hostages, whether Jewish or not, are still bound in cruel, dark spaces where enemies seldom choose life, you realize that food tastes a little less sweet, prayers seem a little more potent, and you can almost swear that you hear the voices of three-millennia-worth of ancestors whisper in your ear, “Hold on, be proud, erase our enemies, and remember that like us, you are eternal.”

Tabby Refael is an award-winning writer, speaker and weekly columnist for The Jewish Journal of Greater Los Angeles. Follow her on X and Instagram @TabbyRefael.