Are You Jewish?

Two weeks ago, as I was checking out at Ralph’s supermarket in West LA, the cashier looked at me and asked, “Are you Jewish?”, as she handed me the receipt.

I was wearing my “Bring Them Home Now!” dog tag and a Magen David necklace, so the answer was obvious. She may as well have asked, “Do you have red hair?” (Obviously, yes.) “Do you have blue eyes?” (Again, obviously yes.)

I smiled and answered, “Yes.”

I expected a follow-up question or remark, so I lingered an extra second. But there was nothing further, and she shifted her attention to the next customer in line.

I could detect no subtext or emotion in her voice.  Why did she ask, I wondered?

I bought my “Bring Them Home Now!” dog tag in Hostage Square at the Tel Aviv Museum in February, and I’ve worn it every day since. The dog tag gets noticed almost everywhere I go … a hike in the Santa Monica mountains, walking down a side street in Santa Monica, at LAX boarding a plane to Sacramento, comments from Jews and non-Jews, Israelis and non-Israelis. It has been a great catalyst for conversations, an open door for many to ask questions and express their feelings.

My experiences thus far have all been positive. Every interaction, question, comment, or query about the tag, has expressed curiosity, support, and genuine interest.

Yet in looking back on the past months, I realized that perhaps there were occasions when non-verbal subliminal negative messages were conveyed. Browsing in a thrift store in Cambria in July, I felt the proprietor glance at my dog tag several times while showing me something in a glass case, although no words were spoken. Walking down a crowded street, I noticed occasional glances in my direction that quickly looked away. Were these negative messages, or my own paranoia creeping in?

“Are you Jewish?” The question stuck with me as I drove home from Ralph’s, gnawed at me at work the next day, and the day after that.

I took inventory of my Jewish identity: I have no doubt it is intertwined with every fiber that makes me ‘Me’.  It is unequivocally who I am. Yet, until 12 months ago I rarely thought about it, I just took it for granted. After all, I am the daughter of a Conservative rabbi, from a long line of rabbis. I was born this way.

I never felt the need to prove anything about my Jewishness. While I have never kept my identity hidden, neither have I felt the need to advertise it.

Growing up in the United States, I never ever felt concerned about being Jewish. That was a concern in my parent’s generation, not mine as a proud baby boomer coming of age in the ‘70s and ‘80s. Despite the recent rise in antisemitism in Europe, in the U.S. and elsewhere, I felt relatively safe, even as the executive director of a Conservative synagogue in Los Angeles.

Until October 7th. Since then, I have asked myself a lot of “What if” questions. What if this wasn’t a safe place? What if the answer to “Are you Jewish” had consequences? What if the answer meant the difference between life or death? Between eating or starvation? Being able to attend school or barred from class? Or the answer meant staying in the light or being dragged into a dark airless, cramped, hostile tunnel?

“Are you Jewish?”

Last week on Erev Rosh Hashanah, standing in the checkout line at Trader Joe’s, a man, perhaps in his 40s, standing in the next line, turned to me and with a slight accent said, “I like what you have.” Naively, I looked at the items in my basket, a few nondescript things, and responded, “It’s all good stuff.” He repeated his comment, this time pointing to my dog tag and Magen David. My antennae immediately went up and I did a quick mental inventory—he was medium height, short dark curly hair, olive skinned, a middle eastern accent, though not Israeli, as I calculated how much to share with this stranger. We started talking about the “situation” in a general way. Do I get nervous now? He must have sensed something as he reached inside his shirt and pulled out his ‘Chai’ necklace.

“Are you Jewish?” YES! In so many ways. YES!

Shana Tova and G’mar Chatima Tova!

Renalee Pflug proudly serves as executive director of Adat Shalom in West Los Angeles.