Talkin’ ’bout my Generation 26

Every woman estimates her expectations for an occasion by the way she dresses. I decided that jeans and smoky eyeshadow would be appropriate attire for a benefit concert in ever-cool-and-casual California—until I arrived. With a valet parking line wrapped around two blocks and hundreds of Jewish youth emerging from cars that rivaled their clothes, I realized I had grossly underestimated the evening, at least on the level of appearance. I was doomed to stand out like a sore thumb.

But my vantage point lent itself to peripheral appreciation. I could watch and observe how 500 demographically distinct young Jews mix pleasure with philanthropy. “Generation 26” call themselves a “young and progressive leadership” and according to Gematria, the mystic label for Hebrew numerology, 26 is the equivalent of G-d. A lofty goal for a Saturday night benefit in West Hollywood, but it illuminated how the L.A. Jews party: celebrating their good life and improving the lives of those less fortunate.

At the door, where the posh Persian crowd was throwing double zero bills at the bouncer (ticket price was $100 per person benefiting Meir Panim, an organization that feeds hungry children in Israel), I had another realization: I would stand out as the rare American in the set. Ebony tresses and smoldering cat eyes swept upon the scene like a sea. Glittering jewels hung in plunging necklines of silky dresses. Dapper young fellows tended to their ladies, who in a flock, fluttered their tanned arms onto D.J. Tal & D.J. Eliran’s dance floor. The sushi bar was wiped clean by 10 p.m. The bars were desiccated of vodka by the time The Gypsy Kings headlined with their French-infused rumba flamenco. But no one seemed to notice or even care.

And that’s because this group of well-to-do young Jews were out for a cause. By the looks of the turnout, hundreds of hungry children in Israel will have full plates for the holidays. Call it glamorous generosity.

Apparently, my blonde and denim didn’t give me away and several people inquired if I was Persian. By the end of the night I answered “yes,” just for kicks. I figured, if Madonna can call herself Queen Esther…so can I.