I’ve always loved being a Jew.  I suppose that after hundreds of years, if not thousands, my ancestors would be pleased that I can do the Jew Strut.  The problem is that no one in my family is remotely observant.  We had a Christmas tree.  We opened presents and ate ham on Christmas Eve (wow, this sounds worse on paper than I imagined).  Yes, we lit candles but we owned retail stores and since Hanukkah is before Christmas, we’d light in the back room of the store and keep an eye on the menorah hoping for the best.  My mother sent me to Sunday school but didn’t make me go to Hebrew school.  To my peers, I was lucky, but I also didn’t get that special 13th birthday party.  My aunt, who I’m certain was meant to be a southern Christian, had babies, they learned how to sing “Jesus Loves Me” and I knew my family was lost.

I went off to college and felt very important and cool that I found family friends with whom to go to temple on holidays.  I never missed the High Holy Days.  I was a pious Jew, finally.  Then I met and married a WASP.  It didn’t last very long and at least I found a rent-a-rabbi who would perform the ceremony.   I moved to San Francisco; not much Jew action there (although I did land a coveted apartment because I played the Jew card knowing the landlady had a 30 year old son).  Finally, I moved to LA and was blown away by the copious amounts of Jew food in the primary promotional aisles of the major supermarkets.  The endcaps screamed MATZOH! GEFILTE FISH!  And kosher wine from the finest wine regions?  Hello LA.

I had Orthodox family friends.  I held seders.  I went to “performing arts” temples.  Chabad services.  It’s Jew Nirvana in this town. (Where do Bob Dylan and Leonard Nimoy go to temple?  Anyone?).   When I met my life partner, I was confused by his non-Jew last name but he looked like a duck and quacked like a duck so I got the nerve to ask his mother’s maiden name.  Nathanson.  Big payoff.  Except he’s as non-religious as my family.

I tried.  It’s not sticking.  I don’t have fun at temple anymore even though my (Orthodox) rabbi is a riot.  I still get mad when my best friend texts at temple but only because I have unreasonable standards of appropriateness.  Yet, I let her talk me into a slice of pizza after Yom Kippur services (non-Jews reading this, Yom Kippur is the fasting holiday).

So hooray for the tradition and goodbye to the religion.  I get strength from my friends and family, not from a book that used to make me feel like I belonged to some tribe.  I will make the meanest latkes on the block and break out the cutest menorah.  We even get the cat to chase the dreidel which is really cute.  Happy Hanukkah, y’all.