The Out-of-Town Jew

BY MORIAH SCHRANZ

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Growing up, I loved the fact that I was Jewish. Living in an area with few Jews, this was my unique trait. It was my go-to fun fact, my uncontroversial icebreaker. I had triple the holidays as everybody else, received gifts for eight nights during Hanukkah, and ate delicious food every Friday night. My Conservative synagogue was a safe haven. My parents would ask my older siblings to stay in services but as the youngest, I got to go to the childcare room and graze on apple juice and cookies. Afterward, I would run around playing with my friends until kiddush, where I would be forced into trying a few bites of tuna fish.

Never would I have thought that my religion, my identity, would become complex. However, slowly as I got older, it began to feel like bringing up the fact that I was Jewish was a controversy. Sometimes it was met with a negative comment or stereotype. I didn’t want to be defined as just “a Jew,” so I began to bring it up less often. In 8th grade, I was sitting in science class when a boy in front of me turned around to tell me that I had a big nose. I brushed it off and thought that he was being an immature preteen. Weeks later in that same class, I had an intellectual debate with a friend of the boy. She got upset and told me to “shut my Jewish ass up.” That is the moment when I understood that the comment about my nose wasn’t intended towards me, it was towards my Jewish heritage.

From that moment on, my confidence in talking about being a Jew began to waver. I no longer wanted to take the risk and wonder whether or not people would react well to me being Jewish. The risk of rebuke was too great. Never had I ever been ashamed of my heritage. If asked about my religion, I would share my faith without a thought. Previously, the popular topic of kashrut allowed me to share my knowledge and eagerly answer inquiries as to why I don’t mix dairy and meat or eat certain foods. But being Jewish became a topic I didn’t want to organically bring up. The fun fact I once held sacred was replaced with “I have a dog.”

On October 7, 2023, I woke up to a panicked call from my mother. She told me that there was a war in Israel. Thinking nothing of it, and feeling safe in America, I did a quick Google search to see what was going on. To my surprise, I saw many horrors. I was shocked, and posted the breaking news to my Instagram story. Under no circumstances could I have expected that the killing of over a thousand innocent civilians and the kidnapping of hundreds more would become a controversy, but it already had. Prior to the attack, I was mildly aware of the criticisms of Israel. Never having seen it in action, I thought of the dislike of Israel as harmless. Little did I know my entire perception of how the world viewed Israel would soon shift completely. Suddenly, this once innocent aspect of my identity became a hideous scandal. Over the next year, many of my classmates would post in support of Palestine or attack me for my defense of Israel.

Since I was one of the few Jews that many people in my town knew, I was aware that how I responded to the war in Israel was bigger than myself. The Torah teaches that the Jews are to be a holy nation, and the prophet Isaiah tells us Jews are called by God to be “a light unto the nations.” This is not a task that should be taken lightly. As 0.2 percent of the global population, there is a reason Jews have made such a lasting impression. I did not want to be the reason that my friends became hateful toward Jews or, even worse—misinformed about us. I kept encountering common misinformation about Israel such as inaccurate data on the number of Gazan civilians killed and questions about the legitimacy of Israel’s sovereignty over the land. So, I did the one thing I have always done: I read. I wanted to be the most educated on the topic, for it was the only way to fend off the attacks from getting to my heart. Attacks on Israel felt like attacks on me, because I was the only one who would defend Israel.

The pressure was through the roof. My parents constantly sent me videos to share with those who asked questions, along with articles that gave clear insights into Israel’s retaliation. They sent me information on our ancestral heritage, on the religious aspect of the conflict, on the civilian hostages; the list goes on. Overwhelmed and overburdened, I fought tirelessly, but only when the spotlight shifted towards other global matters could I see the effect it had on my identity. To be the only person defending the Jewish people began to feel like a burden, until I thought of the alternative: having no one to defend the Jewish people.

I was relieved by the thought that maybe this was only the case at my public school. However, I shared my experiences with some Jewish peers and unfortunately found that my situation was not rare. Many Jewish American teenagers had experienced the same situation, facing constant questioning of the ancestral rights of the Jews to the Land of Israel and the actions of the Israel Defense Forces.

Indeed, I am not the only Jew who has been put into this situation. While some people live in highly concentrated Jewish areas, many, including myself, do not. The reality of being an “out-of-towner” is that there are places where one can feel alone as a Jew. There are not always fifteen different synagogues to choose from, nor is there likely to be an influx of Jewish friends. While this may feel challenging at times, this responsibility also holds power.

The love between Israel and the Jewish people is an unconditional relationship. Criticism can strengthen a relationship, and there is nothing wrong with noticing imperfections. What is wrong, is to stand idle and watch the very nation that our ancestors dreamed of for centuries and built over generations, be desecrated. My message to all of the out-of-town Jews is to take your stand. Make your point known, for the way you display your Judaism may be the only way Judaism is displayed to those around you.