Living in Jerusalem this year is a painful reminder of how I interact with people who are different from myself. In fact, pretty much everywhere I have gone this year—to the zoo, out to eat, to the supermarket—I am reminded that I need to be more kind and considerate towards others. Wherever I go, I don’t just feel that people are staring at me, I see them staring at me. It’s not only children who do the staring, but also adults. Sometimes they will stop what they are doing and stand, open-mouthed, watching me pass by. And no, it’s not some weird back-handed compliment. I’m being stared at because I’m dressed differently than the people staring at me. The truth is, I’m not the only woman in Jerusalem who wears pants, short sleeves, shorts, or even a cute sundress from time to time. For some reason, though, it seems like many children and adults are seeing these fashions for the first time when they see me.
Twice a week, I dress more modestly (not that what I usually wear isn’t modest), in order to volunteer at two religious institutions. When I’m wearing long skirts, long sleeves, and have my hair covered (the mark of a married woman), no one stares. No one bothers me. And random men on Ben Yehuda Street certainly do not approach me and ask if they can take me for drinks in the middle of the afternoon (yes—this really did happen).
In the midst of my frustration at being made to feel like a social pariah, and despite the fun I sometimes have experimenting with how to respond (everything from staring back, to saying “hi” or “can I help you,” to simply ignoring them, depending on my mood), I am often reminded of times when I have been guilty of the same interactions towards others. I am not a perfect person, and I don’t pretend to be—there have been times when I have judged someone based on what they are wearing, or stared at someone who looked or was dressed differently. After having been on the receiving end of it, I am more aware of my actions and will make a conscious effort to stop.
The ironic thing is I’m not so different from the people who are staring at me. I, too, am an observant Jew. I am shomer Shabbat and shomer kashrut. I try to live my life ashalachly (abiding by Jewish laws) as possible, and I try to incorporate middot (Jewish values) into everything I do. Although we may have different interpretations of what it means to be a halachic Jew, or what it means to live a life full of Jewish values, we’re still trying to do the same thing. There are those who would take one look at me and determine that I am not Jewish, regardless of what I say, do, or what laws I observe, and I would be happy to have a conversation with anyone who is curious about why I call myself an observant Jew and still dress the way I do. But, people fear things they do not understand, things that are different from themselves, so the only people I have spoken to about my wardrobe choices are Andy (quite reluctantly) and some friends. Dialogue is important for understanding—staring is counter intuitive and accomplishes nothing.
Despite my sometimes being curious about others around me, I have been fortunate enough to have interacted with a number of people whose experiences vary wildly from my own. I know I need to experience more, to interact with even more people. Growing up in what I call the “Jewish bubble” made it difficult for me to obtain these experiences, so I sought them out on my own once I was mature enough to realize their value. Motivated by the desire to continue the Jewish tradition, we often seek out people similar to ourselves, settling in Jewish neighborhoods where parents send their children to Jewish day school, Jewish camp, and Jewish youth groups—some Jews grow up never knowing that Jews are, in fact, a persecuted minority. Some Jews grow up never interacting with people different from themselves, never knowing that other people even exist. As far as I can tell, there are people of all cultures who grow up isolated and insulated, but I’m choosing to focus on Jews because Jews are the ones staring at me, and the Jewish experience is one I know something about.
Despite the proven success of these organizations at creating Jewish marriages, and developing committed Jewish children, isolating ourselves has consequences. Without exposure to other people, we fail to learn how to treat others who are different from ourselves. We learn to fear, or hate, or resent them—and the only societies in which we can safely and comfortably function are those sheltered “Jewish bubbles”. That’s not the way of the world anymore—no two people are the same, have the same narrative and experiences, the same wants and desires. We need to learn to interact with all types of people, to treat all people with respect. That’s part of what it means to be a human, part of the responsibility we inherited when we were born.
There are some, I would imagine, who cling to the idea of the Jews as the “chosen people” to justify their living as a separate nation. I would offer this: what if the Jews were “chosen” to be an example of how to treat others, of what it means to give each other dignity and respect, of how to make the world your community? Perhaps we’re not supposed to be separate at all, but rather, examples of the love and compassion that one person can have for another.
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