Memoirs of a Jew: Part I

As a Jew in a world full of Christians, I have had lots of experiences that the average kid wouldn't. Since I am a minority, I have had different moments in which I have been proud to be such and moments when I have questioned my faith. The following series (Memoirs of a Jew) present different examples of when I have faced problems with my religion and others around me because of it.

Part of my high school's choir trip to New York this year included singing at a Lutheran Church's Sunday morning service.

As we all entered the church that morning in our long, green choir robes, a dark-haired woman at the door was handing us all new sheet music that we'd never seen before. It was three hymns to be sung in the service, and one was to be sung as we walked down the aisle and up to the balcony (where we were to sit for the rest of the service). So we lined up in single-order fashion and in the order of how we were supposed to sit in the balcony. I was right in front of Mike Sladek, and I thought since Mike was an All-State Chorus Member he would have known how to sing the opening hymn just by looking at the page. However, as we started proceeding down the aisle through the congregation of people, Mike was not only singing it correctly, he had it memorized! Then I realized that everyone else didn't need the music as well, even Jack Carson, the one-noted dumb-kid. So I quickly brought the music down to my side like everyone else, and just mouthed "watermelon" with no sound leaving my lips.

The inside of the church was even more striking than the outside. From our point of view in the balcony you could see the sun shining through the colorful stained-glass windows. One window depicted Mary caressing and holding the baby Jesus, and others showed scenes from the New Testament. The windows did not mean anything to me, except for that they were beautiful pieces of art that are not too common in this world. The Gothic church was also filled with fine and articulate architecture, and at the center of the ceiling all of the arches met and became one. There were also candles spread throughout the church, proving most effective at the front on the golden candelabras. This place was holy.

The wooden pews were also very holy. Rabbi Chesman once said, "If you are too comfortable in the House of God then you are being too greedy." As everyone was finished sitting down that Pasteur proceeded to the front, welcomed us, and asked everyone to rise. He began speaking and everyone followed him in what I later understood as being the Lord's Prayer. Everyone else in the choir knew it by heart, and I had never heard of such a thing ever before. I guess part of being in a new place is learning about other people, and by golly I was learning something new. Although everyone was saying something that I did not necessarily agree with, I wasn't offended and I didn't feel like I needed to substantiate my feelings at that moment. Let's say they came to my place of worship; I wouldn't want them to detest my culture. I would want them to be interested in my culture, and so that's how I decided to be with their culture.

During the next hour we went through the monotonous prayerbook (as all prayerbooks are) and sang the hymns that we prepared and the ones that were just given to us. As we began to sing the Handel pieces that we had rehearsed the church gave itself to us. The acoustics were awesome and at the end of each song a slight echo could be heard lingering above us. The music took over me several times while singing, and I often got the chills. I was "inspired with godly mirth," as Handel would've said it.

After our final song the Pasteur arose from his seat and began his sermon for the week. That day was the Sunday just after Easter Sunday, perhaps the most holy day for all Christians. My simple understanding of Easter is the day that commemorates Jesus' crucifixion. My knowledge does not go far beyond that, so I was hoping to learn much about Easter and Jesus from the sermon of the Pasteur. The Pasteur began by explaining how the Disciples were hiding away. They hid in broom closets for days he said, and they received food and water from other followers of Jesus. Then, he exclaimed these words that changed the whole experience for me: "They were hiding in fear of the Jews."

I sat up thinking that I heard something wrong, but then he said it again, "The fear of the Jews led them to this." The hair on my arms stood up and my backbones clenched as sweat began to fall down my face and drop onto my robe. I looked around to see other people's reactions, but everyone's expression was in melancholy boredom. I collapsed into the seat and put my head down. I wanted to walk out the door in fear that I would begin to cry out of awkwardness. I did not feel right being there, and I did not feel right that nobody realized what the man had just said. He said those blood-stained words again: "fear of the Jews," but this time all of the other words seemed fuzzy and blurred. I tried to stay positive, thinking that I should be intrigued by his sermon, but all I could think about was how uneasy I felt. Now I know that nobody in my choir despises me or fears me because I am Jewish, but for a moment or two, it felt like that.

After the service was over I immediately started telling people how awkward I felt, and I got varied responses from "Yeah, I thought about you when he said that," to "No I didn't hear that; I was asleep when he was talking," and to "Oh, I'm sorry." At the time I couldn't really verbalize my thoughts about that service, and I think people got sick of me complaining about my discomfort. Finally I realized how special that moment was. Although I've been through countless hours at Sunday school and have practiced my Hebrew for days on end in preparation for my Bar Mitzvah, this moment at the Lutheran Church defined me as a Jew. The moment at the church pointed me out as the only Jew, but it did not make me a less of a Jew at all.