Article for December Temple Israel bulletin

I am Jewish. I am American. I am an American Jew. My Judaism and my American identity are seamlessly interwoven.

Sounds simple enough to you, right?

Wrong. To most Israelis I’ve encountered, this seemingly easy duality of national and religious identity is inscrutable. To be Israeli and to be Jewish is one and the same, but to be Jewish and any other national identity presents a dichotomy that cannot be easily understood.

Let me use my life as an example: every Wednesday of last year I served as a graduate assistant at CSULB in the morning, and then I taught at Torah Center in the afternoon. It felt completely natural to me to give a lesson on Kant and Rashi in the same day, to an entirely different audience. One group was Jewish, one was not. In one group, I would use Yiddish phrases for emphasis, and in the other I would be as non-religious as possible. Yet, the experiences were not contrasting; they simply were. I was an American Jewish teacher, and in the future I will be an American Jewish rabbi. I can separate the two identities if I wish, but it’s merely an exercise in semantics. In my heart, I feel both identities at once; there is no difference.

My brother, on the other hand, does not call himself an Israeli Jew. He calls himself simply Israeli, for to be Israeli, to him, is to be automatically Jewish. He is secular but celebrates all the holidays, speaks Hebrew as his mother tongue, and doesn't fully understand why I would not want to make aliyah. He and most other Israelis I know consider Israel to be the center of Jewish life in the past, present, and future. The educational system supports this belief – the high school curriculum teaches very little about Diaspora history aside from pogroms, persecution, and the Holocaust. In this religiously Zionist society, living in Israel is the ultimate expression of one’s Judaism, for it is the only Jewish safe haven and the empirical fulfillment of Torah and Talmud. To live elsewhere is to be less authentically Jewish, and to invite a fragmentation of self-identity.

Yet, I do not wish to leave you with the impression that Diaspora Jewry is not appreciated. Israel is a nation of immigrants, and all Jews, no matter their country of origin, are of course welcome here. My point is merely this: we in Long Beach, in our humble juxtaposition of brisket and apple pie, Halloween and Purim, and matzah with peanut butter and jelly, find it effortless to be both American and Jewish. Our identities overlap, and may even completely overlay the other. This is difficult to explain to someone in Israel, where Judaism the religion is inextricably intertwined with Israel the land. I freely admit that it is easier to be Jewish in this country, where the workweek is Sunday to Thursday, and challah is sold in every store. But I am grateful to be a Jew in the Diaspora, and I am proud of my heritage – I transcend culture and territory, and am a daughter of an ever-evolving faith. As an American Jew, I straddle two worlds and call both my own. You might even say that I have my bagel and eat it too.


I included the picture of myself and my sister from September, with the caption:

Two Jews, different lifestyles: My American Diaspora self and my native-born Israeli sister, who is serving her compulsory army service.


(BIG THANKS to Mara, by the way, who unwittingly inspired my article with her blog)