The Lovely American

Last Friday, I was invited to a party in Aix-en-Provence, where I am staying until Sunday. The host of the party thought it would interest me to be introduced to the only other American there. I had heard the woman talking to some other people before, and was quite aware of her nationality. You're from America, too? She exclaimed excitedly. Where are you from? I gave her the story in a nutshell. Not even. Really just the basic details. I didn't much feel like getting into it. It wasn't that I didn't care. It's just that when I travel, I don't usually go out of my way to seek out other Americans. It doesn't really excite me.

She told me she was from LA. How long have you lived France? Oh, half my life, she told me, and rolled her eyes, as if it were at once the most special and also the most boring thing in the world. What did she do? Oh, I'm an artist, she said, again in that blasée, self-important tone of voice. (This I knew from before, in fact, due to her loud American accent). She's the kind of artist that makes my skin crawl, because she has that self-righteous attitude about it. Knowing people like her kind of made me want to stop doing art when I was in college. And usually it's coming from the people who are over-priveleged, and never really appreciate the difficulty of making a living as an artist. She can grow up in some suburb or other - Hollywood, in her case. And she can just paint or do whatever she wants, and it doesn't matter how bad or good the art is. She can move to France, and then she can complain about it and go to lame parties where she can feel special. No, I should really give her the benefit of the doubt. She had probably had some problem in her life that she was dealing with and that's why she wanted friends so badly. Seems to me that's always the way. But I still didn't really like talking to her.

But when she said she's been to Israel, I became interested. I thought maybe we had some common ground. Oh, are you Jewish? How did you know? she asked. Well, aside from the dark hair, etc., she had mentioned Israel, in that kind of honorific way that Jewish people often do. She respected it (unlike France), which I took to mean it was important to her. I just put two and two together. she asked if I was Jewish, too.

I considered whether or not to tell her I was converting. I still don't really like the term. I prefer "Jewish by choice." But I didn't getting around to discussing it with her. I told her I was "in the process." That didn't sound quite right to me either, but I went with it. "I feel so bad for people who convert," She said, "For their boyfriends or husbands, or whoever." I couldn't believe she was saying this to me. "I mean, I'm Jewish," She said. "It's in my Blood." That's when I stopped talking to her. It is very rare for me that I will actually leave a conversation, but in this case, evasion seemed my best tactice. What she had said was so patently offensive, I could not even dignify a response. I suppose I could have said something like, "I'm not converting," or said I was Jewish by practice, but I don't think any of those things would have mattered to her. What I said was, "Never mind," and turned away to do what I had come to that side of the room to do: sign the bag of some guy who was about to embark on a three-year world tour. "I'm sorry I offended you," She said. I didn't say anything again to her for the rest of the night. I smiled at her once and that was it.

Because she did offend me. For years of my life I've told myself that I couldn't "convert" because I'm not "Jewish" - because it's not "in my blood," and I wasn't raised that way. And I was miserable. But now I have learned that I can choose Judaism. It is something you do, and it's available to me, and to anyone who truly wants it, and not just something you are born into. Doing is what makes it part of who you are. To me, it's like people who are born Jewish have a free ticket to synagogue or Bar Mitzvah or whatever you want. You never have to work for it. And those people can complain about their heritage and whine about persecution, never appreciating what they have. I wondered if she had even read the book of Ruth.

I feel the way I think a legal immigrant feels about illegal migrant workers. I have to work to get my visa, pay lots of money, study, pay, and study some more. Finally, I will take a test and get my green card. I will do everything to the nth degree, but I will always be somewhat of an outsider. Those people - the illegal aliens - just walk in and take everything for free. I'm not saying that all Jewish people are like illegal immigrants, because they're not, but when they don't appreciate what they have, then they are, and it's disrespectful to me.

When you are born Jewish, it's like you are given a free pass. A magic gift. You can come and go as you please. Choose to practice or not. You will always "be" Jewish. How great, and what a blessing to be born Jewish. But maybe - and this is what I think the book of Ruth might really be about, at least in part - you need someone to choose it from the outside to make you realize that you have a special thing. I know I did that for at least one person I've met. Yes, you are Jewish and you have something desirable. You can be proud of it. But you can also be welcoming. I don't think a haughty attitude will do very much to impress people. I just realized that that woman did not speak the truth for me. And the best I could do was let her think about her words. I know the truth for myself already. I've done my research, and I've made my choice. And even though I will always be slightly jealous, I think, of people who have had the opportunity to be raised Jewish, and live in that kind of house hold, I will be even more thankful that I've been given the freedom and the ability to choose it for myself. And that's something I could never do if I was born Jewish.