Proximity Alarm! Or, What Even Is Culture? Or, Funny, You Sure Look Jewish...
I've gotta get this out of my head because it's... Well, the thing is, it's NOT weird to me, but I think it would be weird to other people, so I'm just trying to calibrate myself. The following will be tangled brain yarn.
I'm name-checking an old joke, but maybe you never strayed across it. A little old lady on the bus says to a younger man, "Pardon me, are you Jewish?" He says, "No, sorry." But she really won't let up about it, she's asking him if he knows certain families in her neighbourhood and trying to get him to trust her and open up and finally he loses all patience and says, "Okay! You found me out! I am Jewish! Will there be anything else?" And the punchline, of course, is "Funny, you don't look Jewish."
I've strayed across a fellow NB who shares a lot of my intersections, but the European side of their family is Jewish and mine is Catholic, except...
Right away, our roots are in Eastern Europe, so I let them know, Hey, we eat a lot of the same food! Potato pancakes and Manischewitz, right off the bat. I probably could've namechecked kolache and had some recognition too, due to the Slavic countries trading language like Pokémon cards.
But it's not just that. I picked up a lot of stray Yiddish as a kid, either from people who were near or in my family. I try not to use it now, because somebody might get upset when I step on their culture... But if I grew up with it, what do you call it?
I think part of this is because my mom ALMOST married a certified Nice Jewish Boy. He had a delicate old grandmother who would have literally died if she knew he was engaged to a Catholic girl. Mom had to go to synagogue and pass, and prepare to convert. Grandma lived, even if the engagement didn't, so I gotta figure Mom did pass, or Bubbie was smarter than she let on and just let the family pretend. But, all that stuff my mom picked up, on top of the Eastern European background, she kept.
So, my standard, "bounce the fussy baby" song was "Hava Nagila." Mom also taught my cousin Debbie and her kids got bounced to that song! I probably learned how to sing that, phonetically, before I could walk. I had a book with Schlemiel stories in it. I knew how to keep the pastrami and the corned beef Kosher, even if not what to call it. CHEESE? No! We don't put cheese on this meat! Unthinkable! Deli mustard, okay? I didn't have a Reuben with Swiss until I was well into my adult years. I dunno, it just seemed wrong. (I got over it, I like 'em now.)
The result of this is, when I was a kid, I wasn't even trying to pass and I passed. I got a babysitting gig with a Jewish family. I saw the Manischewitz in the pantry with the matzohs and said, "Oh, my mom and Nana love this. Yours too?" The kid couldn't contain herself anymore, and spoke the opening line of that old joke, "Are you JEWISH?" With disbelief. 'Cos I resemble my dad's side of the family too, just with fairer skin. I don't look Jewish.
But I kinda do, too?
And I wonder. I was told my great grandmother on my grandpa's side spoke "Swiss," almost exclusively, such that my mom couldn't understand her. Not Czech, that was different. Well, "Swiss" ain't a language, so what was it? I assumed, because Mom really didn't like Germans, it must've been German. She refused to say "Czech-German," even. She'd say, "Czech-Swiss." That side of the family emigrated from Prague when it was still in Bohemia, well before admitting to Jewish heritage would've gotten you dead in the Holocaust, but there was antisemitism in Eastern Europe at that time too. Kinda always? People got converted by force, and just to blend in. Mom wouldn't have been able to tell between Yiddish and German as a kid. I mean, they're close.
I do know she reprimanded me for saying "schmuck" as a small child. "No, no, that's really rude." "Can I say 'putz'?" "...That's a little better."
And I remember, as she was arranging us in the mirror one day, she told us we had "noble noses." Roman noses. It seemed weird to me, that why I remember. I didn't have a problem with my nose. Why go out of your way to tell me what to call the shape of it? I don't think it even looks particularly "Roman," although it does turn down slightly at the tip. Grandpa's was similar, but more pronounced. Did he go out of his way to tell her it was called that? Did his mom do the same? Is this merely the result of swimming in the bog-standard antisemitism of the past and wanting to differentiate yourself from your Jewish neighbors in the nicest possible way, or are we hiding something?
I'm divorced from my family. I got no one I can ask. But even as a kid, the Pribek family history vanished at Ellis Island somewhere around the turn of the 20th century. We looked for 'em and couldn't find 'em, so a name change may have occurred. My dad had a genealogy hobby and traced the Gonzalez clan all the hell over the place, but Pribek resisted the level of research he was able to do at the time. Joss, my maternal grandma's family, was doable. We found a baseball hall-of-famer! But Pribek? No. I was told, vaguely, that a distant relative had a statue somewhere in Prague, but I don't have a name to look for.
While I was in high school with that babysitting gig, I participated in "Knowledge Bowl" basically a pub quiz, but we'll call it educational and put it on our college applications. The teacher helping us "train" divided up subjects and tried to assign us to learn things we were already familiar with. She was Jewish. She surveyed a pool of mainly Hispanic, white, and South Asian kids and said, "Does anyone know anything about Judaism?" Nope. Nope. Finally, my smartass hand goes up, to be funny. "I've seen Fiddler on the Roof a bunch of times!" I had. We had it on VHS. I got the laugh I wanted, and the teacher said, "Okay, then you learn about Judaism!"
It wasn't much. I memorized some Cliff notes-style information and forgot most of the details, until I took World Religion in college and got reminded. But, broad strokes, I already had most of it. I had the idea of it. Not "obey the law" like Catholicism - Catholics famously do not read the Bible - but know the law, so you can have an argument about it and defend your position. OK, God. I've read your demands. Now let's negotiate!
What the heck do you call growing up so near a thing, but being told over and over again that you're not of it? That's not you. We just do all these very similar things for a different reason. Even if you look a bit similar, it's for a different reason. It's all explainable that way, I guess, but it's still in my brain. So whose culture is it? What even is "culture"?
I honestly don't know, but if you come to my house with latkes, I will steal them and eat them. Seriously, I've done that. I think they were leftovers, but later it occurred to me that my husband's friend may have intended to take them home and eat them himself. I'm so sorry, my dude. You had to put up with your friend's apparently-Mexican spouse screaming, "ARE THOSE LATKES? I LOVE LATKES!" and running for the sour cream and applesauce.
They were really good, though.
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