Skeletons tucked away in closets aren’t always completely metaphorical. Almost everyone has clothes they don’t wear draped over hangers or shoved into their dressers. Often, these items reflect a style we once had and a person we used to be. In my closet hangs a shirt that will always be a representation of my identity, but almost never gets worn.
Overall, I am comfortable with who I am and have no problem screaming it at just about anyone who will listen, but this trait is different. It’s not that I am ashamed, but that I fear how I might be perceived because of it.
The skeleton in my closet is a white baby tee with my identity “I *heart* Jewish Girls” displayed across the chest.
I understand this may sound dramatic. I’m not coming out, and I certainly have privilege. However, being Jewish comes with an array of assumptions and stereotypes about everything — from how much money I have to my appearance, character, and political affiliation.
I didn’t grow up surrounded by a lot of Jewish people and felt the most connected to my Jewishness when I went to the East Coast to visit my family. Once I came to New Mexico State University, I felt more isolated than ever. To write about every little comment, jab, and uncomfortable conversation I’ve had about my Jewishness while being here would take forever.
I had known about the conflict between Israel and Palestine before Oct. 7, 2023. That day, when Hamas attacked Israel, the conflict was put on everyone’s radar, opening the floor for tons of opinions and swirls of misinformation coming from both sides.
I was nauseated to find my Instagram flooded with posts about how the attack was deserved. I had never celebrated the death and fear of anyone; I didn’t understand what was different about the loss of their lives. Soon after, when Israel retaliated, protests erupted on campus.
Later in the year, I decided to wear my skeleton for my favorite Jewish holiday, Passover. I couldn’t tell if I was paranoid or if I was getting looks all day, because in this climate, others assume being Jewish means supporting Israel, which it does not. That was the last time I wore the shirt, April 23, 2024.
Over the summer, I made it a point to look for a community of young Jewish people at NMSU. The few Jewish kids I grew up with were all active in Hillel, an international organization for Jewish students to find other Jewish Students.
NMSU has a page, but no contacts or information about events. To find a connection to someone, I contacted the University of New Mexico Hillel to see if they knew anything about who ran the NMSU chapter. I was given the number of a professor who was Jewish and made plans to attend a Shabbat dinner at the Chabad House once school started, which is a place where gatherings are held separate from the Chabad’s synagogue.
Chabad is typically a conservative-leaning Jewish practice, which, as someone who personally identifies as a secular Jew and raging feminist, made me nervous.
I found the Shabbat dinner a little bit awkward, but I was able to meet more Jewish people, most of whom were graduate students or NMSU faculty and staff. We attempted to put together a club, but it quickly dwindled.
During these dinners, I met my first Jewish friend, Itay. Itay was Israeli and played tennis for NMSU. We went to events together, and I honestly would not have continued to participate if it were not for him.
My biggest struggle with the Chabad House was the conservatism. During Shabbat dinners, we sat at a long table. The Rabbi and the Rabbi’s wife sat on opposite ends, and the rest of us filed in between them. Dinner had lots of interconnected small talk, but after dinner was different.
After clearing our plates, the once unified group split. Because Itay was who I felt most comfortable with, I stayed seated next to him and listened as he, the Rabbi, and other men engaged in conversation about Judaism.
As the curious girl I am, I tried many times to ask questions and embed myself into the conversation. Every time, I was met with blank stares, and my inquiries were brushed off like leftover crumbs of hallah on the table.
After several attempts, I peered over at the other end of the table where the women were gathered around the Rabbi’s wife. I listened as they talked, and the children played around in the living room, the oldest child tending to the others and the newborn.
In her sweet singsong voice, the Rabbi’s wife called me over to join them. I was clearly not getting anywhere with the men, so I joined the huddle of women. There is nothing wrong with the conversation they were having, and if they like it, I love it… for them.
Bored out of my mind, I listened to them dote about all her children, where they were going to school, how many more she would be having, and their names and meanings. This was not the type of community I was looking for.
I needed intense conversation, debate, and liberation. I had no interest in being “ladylike.” Where one identity was found, I wasn’t willing to compromise another.
Discouraged, I stopped going and made no further attempts at discovering a community. I decided, instead, to share who I was and create space for my Jewishness in my everyday life.
When my Jewish identity was shared with my roommate’s coworkers, she relayed stories telling me about their reactions. The fear I had about sharing my identity started coming true. These people did not know me, yet they felt very comfortable making negative assumptions about me. I seemed to become the butt of work jokes at a place where I didn’t even work. I couldn’t even defend myself or my people, and instead felt helpless as my roommate told me the tales and her attempts to educate them.
I felt uncomfortable and unsafe in a space I wasn’t even in.
To handle it, I stopped sharing again to avoid the confusion and misconceptions. I was isolated either way. Suffocating in my Jewishness but not feeling safe enough to let it spread around me, rather than gather around my insides.
As I’ve grown into myself, found amazing friends, and a career I aspire to, the bind has loosened. My skeleton remains tucked in my closet, but I wear it in a different way. I still lack a Jewish community, but I love who I am, and being Jewish has become one of my favorite parts.
