How Jewish Am I?

A few days ago, I had an essay published in the Ventura County Reporter about my experience with Hannukah. The essay's mostly about how Hannukah as we know it is an American invention, and so the fact that I only kind of celebrate it (and always celebrate Christmas) makes me a part of the distinct culture of American Jews.

At the same time, I came across an ad on Craigslist for a couple seeking a Jewish egg donor. They're willing to pay $10,000, which would almost wipe out my debt. In discussing whether six months of taking hormones, undergoing a painful operation, and knowing - for the rest of my life - that my spawn is walking around somewhere, would be worth $10,000, one friend pointed out: "But you're not really Jewish." Which is true. With only my Dad's side of the family Jewish, I'm only half -- and the wrong half, at that.

Both of these led me to the interesting question, How Jewish am I?

I look Jewish. I identify with Jewish culture. Israel might not give me citizenship, but the Nazis certainly would have killed me. (So I may not be a real Jew but I'm a Gas Chamber Jew?) I can read a bit of Hebrew, but I never had a Bat Mitzvah. So, does my Jewishness count?

There's no real answer, of course. It's all up to personal interpretation.

But discussing it with another Jewish friend did bring up a delightful little story about passing a bakery as a child with his mom and his sister. The trio peered in the window and his sister, who was seven years younger than my friend, spied her first doughnut.

"Look, Mom!" she exclaimed, delighted. "Chocolate bagels!"

Now that's Jewish.

Comments

[wifey]

jewish enough to stomp on a glass with me baby.