I was always told that no two people were the same, and that we should celebrate our differences. But when I was twelve years old, I was convinced I knew everything. By then, I had learned how to be a good person (as my mom chastised me over and over again never to lie, cheat or steal), I had learned how to share (although I still didn’t like it), and I had learned long division. I felt basically invincible. I thought I was on top of the world, and a large part of that is attributed to the way in which, and where, I was brought up.
I grew up surrounded by Jewish people; my hometown, Scarsdale, is a suburb of New York City with a huge Jewish population. In first grade, I asked my parents if I could go to Hebrew school with my friends. During Bar and Bat Mitzvah season, I was going to two or three parties a weekend. We got days off school for almost every Jewish holiday. Even my friends who weren’t Jewish knew phrases, traditions, and even some songs.
It wasn’t until (almost embarrassingly) recently that I realized not everyone is as familiar with the customs that have been so natural to me for the past two decades. Over this past spring break, I went with some Hopkins friends to my roommate’s house in San Francisco. When we walked in the door, my other roommate turned to me and asked, “What’s that box on the door frame?”
I was immediately taken aback. I told her it was a mezuzah, and the blank stare I got in return made me think she genuinely had no idea what I was talking about. I explained it a little more – it holds a scroll with a special prayer to bless the house – and started to ask her if she knew about other Jewish customs. When I asked her if she had ever had a hamantaschen, and she told me she didn’t know what that was, I was almost rendered speechless. Something that to me was as simple as a triangular cookie filled with jam, eaten during March for Purim, was a complete foreign concept to someone I had been living with for six months.
In college, I’ve met a few people who tell me that I’m the first Jewish person they’ve ever encountered. I always thought it was somewhat strange, but it wasn’t until I realized the people who are very close to me don’t necessarily know what I know, that I found it to be even more shocking.
The pieces of Judaism that I hold most closely are the traditions and values associated with the religion. I’m not someone who follows the Torah to a T (in fact, I barely even know most of what it says), and I can’t speak Hebrew. But I was raised to respect certain things, to remember certain stories, and to celebrate particular holidays. Because I was surrounded by so many people with that same upbringing, or those who understood it very well, realizing that not everyone follows my same beliefs came as somewhat of a shock.
Obviously, this realization made no impact on my friendship; I’m not worried that just because my roommate doesn’t fully understand my culture that we will stop getting along. It was simply one question that made me take a step back and realize I’m only one of seven billion people, and I might not know everything there is to know.