Schnitzel and Pie

(Teil 1 hier zum Nachlesen)

Es war einmal ein Mann. Ein jüdischer Mann. Und dieser jüdischer Mann wollte in die Synagoge gehen und beten. So wie andere Juden rund um den Globus auch. Es war nämlich auch ihm wichtig, den höchsten Feiertag, Jom Kippur, gemeinsam mit seiner Gemeinde zu verbringen. Es war auch ihm wichtig, Kol Nidre von den Lippen des Kantors zu hören. Es war auch ihm wichtig, die Slichot zu beten – am Versöhnungstag die Bitten um Vergebung, die Gebete der Buße und Reue mit seiner Gemeinde zu sprechen.

Was er aber nicht so tun konnte wie alle anderen, das war Mitlesen aus den Gebetsbüchern der Gemeinde. Er konnte nicht gleich Bekannte oder gar Verwandte von der Ferne erkennen. Er konnte sich im Gebäude, obwohl er seit jeher Gemeindemitglied war, nicht alleine zurechtfinden. Er fand nie einen Sitzplatz, stellte sich oft unpassend vor andere Betende und stand auch nicht immer so, dass er Richtung Aron ha’Kodesch schaute. Der Mann, der jüdische Mann, war nämlich ein blinder, jüdischer Mann.

Er ging wegen all diesen Unannehmlichkeiten und Peinlichkeiten (wobei hier angemerkt wird, dass ihm nichts davon peinlich sein muss oder soll), am liebsten mit seiner Mutter in die Synagoge. Er konnte sich an ihrem Duft und an ihrer Stimme orientieren. Konnte sich, wie schon sein ganzes Leben lang, an ihrem Oberarm festhalten. Sie leitete ihn durch das Leben und auch durch die überfüllten, verwinkelten Gänge des Wiener Stadttempels. Sie leitete ihn hinauf in die Frauengalerie. Oben in den ersten Stock.

Dunkel. Schwarz. Wie die Katze nachts. Wie unter der Decke. Wie im Keller, wenn das Licht ausgeht. Finsternis. Mitternachtsfinsternis. Stockfinster. Hunderte Menschen. Alle mit ihrem eigenen Duft, gebildet aus Körperschweiß und Parfum. Mundgeruch. Ausgezogene Schuhe, weil man schon so lange stehen muss. Aschkenasische Blähungen. Lärm. Ein singender Kantor. Betende Betende. Quatschende Leute, die sich seit langem nicht gesehen haben. „Wie geht’s den Kindern?“ „Wie geht’s im neuen Job?“ „Wie geht’s den Blähungen?“ Laufende, kreischende Kinder, die Fangen spielen. Jeder ihrer Schritte auf dem Laminatboden wird gefolgt von einer widerhallenden Runde selbiger Schritte durch die Galerie. Es ist also für diesen blinden, jüdischen Mann stockfinster, stinkend und laut. Schon so stressig genug.

Obendrauf kommt der emotionale Stress des auf den Moment Wartens, bis jemand zu ihm kommt und ihn wegschickt. Ihn zurechtweist, denn er muss zurechtgewiesen werden. Ihn weg von den Frauen und runter zu den restlichen Männern schickt. Oft ist ein Spiel mit der Zeit. Will man Kol Nidre hören, kommt man früh und geht man ganz rauf in den zweiten Stock – dort füllt es sich langsamer als unten und die Wendeltreppe aus rutschigem Stein mit ihren gefühlt dreihundert Stufen zahlt sich aus. Will man aber den Schofar hören, kommt man nur knapp davor und hofft man, die paar Minuten unbemerkt zu bleiben.

Stockfinster, stinkend, laut. Selbst atemlos ob Stiegen steigen und innerlich gestresst. Versöhnungstag. Um Vergebung bitten und beten. Judentum feiern. Und an dieser Stelle sage ich euch etwas: Wenn uns in den letzten 5780 Jahren keiner umgebracht hat, dann tun wir es heute selbst. Mein Herz bricht in tausend Stücke. Kniend hebe ich die Stücke einzeln vom Boden auf und traue meinen Ohren nicht. „Das ist hier nur für Frauen! Gehen Sie runter!“ Jegliche Logik, Jüdischkeit, Frommheit, Herz und schlussendlich Menschlichkeit haben den Raum verlassen.

Was stört es eine Frau, wenn ein blinder Mann da steht? ER SIEHT DICH NICHT! Er sieht nichts! Nicht gestern und nicht heute! Sondern niemals! Keine Sonnenstrahlen am frühen Morgen, keine lachende Kindergesichte, keine Bilder, keine Tiere, keine Sonnenuntergänge am Strand und auch dich sieht er nicht. So wie die kleinen Buben oben mit ihren Müttern sind, weil Kinder auf Hilfe der Mütter angewiesen sind, auch so steht dieser Mann oben mit seiner Mutter. Kein Kind, sondern schon über 30. Aber trotzdem auf die Hilfe seiner Mutter angewiesen. Weißt du, wie sehr sie dich beneidet? Du Mutter gesunder, sehende, nicht bei jedem Schritt auf Hilfe angewiesener Kinder? Oder wie sehr er uns alle beneidet? Wir, die alles sehen können – jede Kunstausstellung und jedes Haufen Hundekot auf der Straße. Um den Hundekot beneidet er uns!

Aber dich stört er. Dich stört sein stilles, hinten in der Ecke, sich am Oberarm seiner Mutter anklammerndes Stehen. Aber nein. Nicht er stört dich. Er kann dich doch gar nicht stören. Womit denn? Nein. Du hast etwas in dir, das dieses Stören auslöst. Und du musst bei dir etwas ändern. Wenn jemand in dir Wut oder Verunsicherung oder Schmerz auslöst, dann erwarte nicht, dass er sich ändert. Ändere du deine Sichtweise. Ändere deine Perspektive. Deine Paar Schuhe. Und zieh’ zur Abwechslung mal seine an. Ändere du dich. In diesem Fall ist das sehr leicht gemacht: Finde einen Unzen Menschlichkeit in dir. Verwehre einem Juden nicht sein Gebet mit der Ausrede, du seist zu fromm für einen blinden Mann in der Frauengalerie. Suche nicht den Rabbi, der es ihm erlaubt und dir das Siegel zeigt. Suche den Menschen in dir. Vergib dem Mann für seine Blindheit, die ihn dazu zwingt, bei den Frauen zu stehen. Und vergib dir selbst für deine Schwäche und dafür, dass deine Barmherzigkeit in dem Moment verschwunden war.

Bärte, Bärte, Bärte, wo ist euer Jude? Sei so fromm wie du möchtest. Aber vergiss nicht, worum es am Ende des Tages geht. Wofür Du wirklich stehst. ?הנני. ואתה

Der Mann blieb zu Jom Kippur Ausgang zuhause. Er hat den Schofar nicht gehört.

Some time ago, I was lucky enough to enjoy four great years with you. And although you’d already been around forever, it seemed I was somehow witness to the time you were really just warming up. I missed the decline of your manufacturing days and the rise of your artist lofts. I missed your strip joints on 42nd Street. I missed your crime in the nineties. I missed your 9/11. I was, however, there for your revelry.

When I was with you, you were absolutely always in your best, smartest, hippest outfit. You were all about new trendy restaurants – all of which had at least an hour wait. You were having after work signature cocktails with music blasting so loud no one could hear themselves think. You partied. You lived in the now. And hell no, you were not having children. You also weren’t getting old. You air-conditioned to an absurd fuck-the-environment and let-me-see-your-nipples-at-all-times temperature. And damn, were you rude. Getting on the subway, your elbows were out. And on the train, you’d spread your legs over three seats. You would curse at anyone who cut you in line at CVS where you were getting your 5-hour energy drink. Just to stay at work late again. Make more money. Spend more money. Live stronger, harder, better. Or so you told yourself.

You seem to have grown out of it, though. You’re not “all that” anymore, and you know it. Yes, you are still you, and no one can take that away from you. However, you’re not as cocky about it. You’ve been reading the news and you’re appalled by the orange fluffer half your country decided was fit to lead. You’ve been interested in what’s happening outside your bubble. You’ve also realized your lifestyle wasn’t very sustainable. So you’ve spread out. Dared to learn there’s more to you than just the island or those few spots across the river, which you treated like your own personal carnival for a while. You’ve found areas that serve brunch for less than $25 and apartments that allow you to keep your shirt on. You’ve had children. And you’ve made an effort to spend time with them. For four years I never saw your children, and now they’re running around temperate, normally audible, and well-lit restaurants. You’ve started to smile and be polite. You’re getting people’s attention when they drop something and you’re helping handicapped people across the street. You don’t get stuck in traffic at all hours anymore. You’ve become reasonable.

You’ve grown up, kid. A part of me is sorry to not be there for this next chapter. But another part of me is so glad I got the parties and laughs with you. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all skittles and beer. We worked hard together, you and I. We counted the hours in every day and made sure we were out and about and making things happen and getting places every minute. It was exhausting. But damn, was it good. That was you and me. That was us. That was our time. Swing when you’re winning, though, right? And I’m OK that I did. I’m over you. I still love you and I’ll never forget our time together. But I’m over you, New York.

It’s time for a brief pause. For a moment. A moment of honesty. Press pause. Pause your fast-moving, Instagram-skimming, selfie-taking day just for a second, please.

Before I begin, let me make it clear to you that this is not a moment of self-pity. Not one bit. If anything, it’s about the phoenix within me I’ve gotten to know these last few months. Many people review their past year around New Year’s. The coming of the new year being a good time to think about what one wants to accomplish during it, especially in comparison with how the last one went. I guess a birthday isn’t all that different. There’s a new year ahead. And another one that’s being wrapped up and left behind. A round birthday – and I think 30 is the first round one of any emotional or psychological importance – is an even bigger year and chance to look back and think ahead. Please hold while I gather my thoughts and put them into a bullshit-free summary of this past year. Of this chapter I’m closing.

My 2017 and my year of being 29 was, and pardon my French here, the shittiest year I’ve ever had. It’s been a year that I hope never finds its match. Great days and successes were few and far between. What was it made up of? Well, here goes: My first panic attack. Yelling matches. Crying sessions. Too many visits to the oncology ward and prayers said. A trip to the emergency room that ended with stitches and an infection. Falling-out with a friend. No trips made stateside. Barely any travel at all. Over 200 hours of volunteer work. Close to 1000 hours of overtime. Norovirus. IV drips to stay hydrated. Business dinners accompanied by conversations about fisting and rimming. #metoo moments. Other wholly inappropriate and unsolicited comments, requests, exchanges. Missed celebrations. Reoccurring nightmares. Frightening elections and newly-formed governments. Let-downs. Lies. Disappointments. And, unfortunately, so much more.

However, it wasn’t all bad. Every once in a while I caught a break. I visited two new countries. Danced at four weddings. Tried countless new things. Met more people than I can remember. Was inspired. Learned invaluable lessons. I separated the wheat from the chaff and saw who my real friends are. My supporters. The people that have my back no matter what. You know who you are. And I thank you. I thank you more than I will ever be able to say.

I don’t want or need your pity. Or your sympathy. That’s not why I’m writing any of this. I’m writing about that phoenix I discovered within myself. Yes, this past year was absolutely horrible. But there was some light at the end of the tunnel. And that light wasn’t an oncoming train, as I was warned that it could be, but it was actually light. A clearing. And things are looking up. Better. I’ve cut ties with poisonous elements. I’ve discovered and rediscovered things and people and habits that make me happy. It’s about always searching for that silver lining and also about finding it – no matter what.

Right now, I’m just excited about my birthday, about celebrating with my friends, and about all the possibilities the next year can – and surely will – bring.

I once heard a most probably made up but very plausible-sounding statistic. We’ve all heard many of these kinds of statistics – you know what kind I mean – but let me focus on just one right now: There are three times as many binoculars per capita in New York City than the worldwide average. Why? Because we give up our privacy the minute we board a flight to New York. Because we all live in shoeboxes. Made of glass. Because we live so high up. Like birdhouses. With a great view into so many other apartments. Birdhouses. Shoeboxes. Because we’re interested. Because we’re curious. Because we’re nosy. Because this is New York. And because that’s what you do in New York. A great view doesn’t mean a view of the skyline, the Brooklyn Bridge, the Statue of Liberty, One World Trade, or even Central Park. A great view means a myriad of snooping opportunities.

So what did I see when I looked out my New York window? I saw parents putting their kids to bed. I saw them reading a story out loud, wishing them a good night, and giving them a kiss on their foreheads. I saw a high school senior open up his rejection letter from yet another college. I saw him sit down in disbelief, starting a list with “Plan B” ideas and options. I saw a couple having dinner in front of the TV. I saw them settle on Season 1 Episode 1 of Friends, and I saw them stare blankly at the screen, wondering how they got there. I saw a guy in his mid-30s finishing a work call. I saw him take off his suit jacket, loosen his tie, open a beer, and start surfing Tinder. I saw a single mom cleaning away that night’s take-out food. I saw her daughter prep the home hair dye she’d spend the next hour helping her apply to her hair. I saw a grandma dusting off the portraits of her family. I saw her pick up the landline phone just to hear the dial tone, to make sure it was working. I saw her face drop every time she did. I saw a middle school basketball team celebrate their third consecutive win. I saw as their euphoria encompassed their parents, allowing them to bathe in their victory. I saw a baby’s cry wake up its parents. I saw the parents spend ten minutes arguing in bed about whose turn it was. I saw first kisses stolen on building stoops. I saw last nickels dropped into cups on street corners. I saw another round of drinks ordered. I saw too much make-up being applied. I saw too few smiles exchanged. I watched as people looked out their windows. I watched them feeling watched. Knowing they lived in this concrete jungle – in this public zoo. I watched them as they drew their curtains.

Good night, New York.

Fun facts:

It’s the only Jewish holiday that isn’t in the Torah.

It’s based on an actual and recorded historical event.

No one knows how to spell it. Pretty much any transliterations of חֲנֻכָּה are accepted.

It’s also referred to as the Festival of Lights.

Quick summary: Over 2000 years ago, Israel was once part of the Syrian-Greek Empire, dominated by Syrian rulers who over time enacted many series of harsh decrees against the Jews: The scrolls of the Law were confiscated and burned, and Jewish worship, Sabbath rest, circumcision, and dietary laws were prohibited under penalty of death. The respected elder Rabbi Eliezer was ordered by servants of King Antiochus to eat pork, but he refused, leading to his execution. During this time thousands of Jews were killed or died a martyr’s death. Antiochus’s men went from village to village forcing inhabitants to worship pagan gods. Only one refuge area remained in the hills of Judea. Here, Yehuda became the leader of all those loyal and courageous enough to flee and remain true to their belief. Yehuda’s followers were called the Maccabees, a word composed of the first letters Hebrew words Mi Kamocha Ba’eilim Hashem, "Who is like You, Oh G-d." Antiochus sent his army to wipe out the Maccabees. Though greater in number and equipment than their adversaries, the Syrians were defeated by the Maccabees, who were finally able to return to Jerusalem. Once in liberated Jerusalem, they cleared the Holy Temple of the idols placed there by the Syrian vandals and built a new altar, which he dedicated on the 25th of the month of Kislev, in the year 3622 (139 B.C.). When the Maccabees wanted to light the menorah, they found only a small amount of pure olive oil, sufficient to light for perhaps one day. But by a miracle of G-d, it continued to burn for eight days, until new oil was made available. This miracle proved that G-d had again taken His people under His protection. In memory of this, our sages appointed these eight days for annual thanksgiving and for lighting candles.

Today, we celebrate the first of eight nights of Hanukkah. We give thanks to G-d’s continuous and eternal protection, we light candles in memory of the light that continued to last in the temple, we exchange gifts with our loved ones, and we eat lots of fried foods like Latkes and Sufganiyot in commemoration of the temple oil.

latke (here’s the recipe in song) /ˈlʌtkə/ noun plural noun: latkes A pancake, especially one made with grated potato.

Sufganiyah /SOOF-gah-nee-AH / noun plural noun: Sufganiyot A round jelly doughnut eaten in Israel and around the world on the Jewish festival of Hanukkah. The doughnut is deep-fried, filled with jelly or custard, and then topped with powdered sugar.

I’ll take a broad brush of generalization and claim that there are three groups of people in the work force. The first group consists of the unaware. Unaware of their day-to-day bee-like behavior, their surrounding, and their own effect on their surrounding. The second group consists of the aware and accepting. This group realizes the automated feel of their day, and can pinpoint those parts of the business world that could be improved, but doesn’t really see a need for said improvement. The third and final group consists of the aware but not accepting. This group understands the status quo, has dissected, studied, and analyzed it, but will not accept it. This is the group that startups are born from.

The term startup awakens all sorts of different images, but generally people think of a group of young, thought provoking, and tech savvy individuals who want to change something. Their want for change springs – at least initially – not from a quest for financial profits, but from the desire to fill a gap. A gap can be anything from a market product gap to a user-friendliness or even employee-focused gap. From a dating app to a delivery service, from sustainable clothes to news watches. Their missions boil down to one common goal: Striving for improvement. Life improvement. Improvement for themselves and for others.

My move to Vienna from New York has been an adjustment to say the least. What keeps getting to me, though, is that I thought the job part of my life would be the simplest part of my move. It’s come to be far more difficult, though. And it’s mostly due to the general attitude and status quo that exists here. I keep hearing office stories that indicate how conservative Austria – especially in terms of work – still is. Work hours defined to the half hour, overtime regulated, and speech and tone more than suggested. By the same token, though, I am meeting more and more people who got sick and tired of the status quo described above, that they decided to join the startup community. This community is made up of people who want to break out of the strict framework of these little boxes. They want more and they want different. Flexible work hours, jeans and hoodies, working from home or the coffee shop, being friends with your coworkers, playing a round of foosball before your next meeting, and enjoying group lunches. But that’s just the esthetics, it’s not all by a long shot. It’s wanting progress. It’s accepting faults and criticism and working towards improvement.

Working in an office whose décor consists of five shades of gray, where secretaries are still drafting emails for their bosses, everyone says “Mahlzeit” when they pass each other in the hallway between 11am and 2pm, and no one wants to hear your great idea sounds like my worst nightmare. I’ve noticed that generally, the longer a company has been around, and the more inflexible their modus operandi and general structures are, the less efficient the employees and the firm’ as a whole become. Juxtapose these long-standing companies with fresh new startups, and the difference is immeasurably huge. And I’m talking not only about differences in work and office style. I’m talking about actual efficiency. Actual, measurable steps that young leaders are making to improve our world.

And this is why startups are what they are: Fantastic leaps towards the future.

When your home is broken into, there’s nothing personal about it at all. The burglar doesn’t know you. He doesn’t care about you. He wants something you have, he waits till you leave the house, and he breaks in and gets it. But yet, there is something extremely personal about it. Your house was broken into. Your home intruded. Your life interrupted. Your anxiety level raised. Your fears both of being at home and also of ever leaving your house have become immeasurable. You live in constant fear.

Military and warfare evolution has taken us from fighting with our fists to fighting with knives, then spears, crossbows, guns, bombs, missiles, and finally drones. One principle can be seen in this evolution: the constantly increasing distance between the attacker and their victim. And also, of course, the damage that can be done is far greater. Once, one person could only fight one other person at a time. But a drone? A drone can do extreme amounts of damage. And all just by the click of a button thousands of miles away. Very sanitary, very impersonal.

We can therefore agree that knives are not the best weapons for ensuring the greatest amount of damage. Knife fights also have nothing to do with martyrdom. There is no greater good someone is ready to die for. No reason to strap on a C4 belt. No reason to get on a bus and blow oneself and others up. Knife fights are also not very smart. The chance of getting caught and having the life either beaten out of you or getting shot is close to guaranteed. So then, why knives? Because knives are personal.

The game has changed. The tables have turned. The Palestinians have realized that the Israelis aren’t going anywhere. It’s just not going to happen. The Israelis’ willpower combined with their military strength is too strong a force to continue battling. So what do you do when you have absolutely nothing to lose and nothing to gain? When what you thought was your number one goal in life disappears? When you’re left with nothing to live for? You go crazy. You go insane. You hate. You lash out. You don’t care that there might be a more practical way of killing more people. You don’t care that you’re not being a martyr. You don’t care that you might get caught. What you want is to get into people’s faces. You want to look them in the eyes, and you want them to look into yours. You want them to see the frustration and anger and desperation that fills your eyes, your soul. And then you want to see their faces overcome with fear and pain as you stab them. Over and over again.

And you want to read the headlines about people being afraid to go about their days. You want to know that their beautiful, contented lives have been interrupted. That you caused a ripple effect throughout a nation. That because you stabbed someone in Jerusalem, a mother in Tel Aviv is afraid to wait at a bus station. That she and her friends have joined a krav maga class where they are learning how to fight off knife attacks. That she is now even more suspicious, and more afraid of every Arab she passes on the street. And that because you can justify your frustration with your situation, your oppressor, and the world, you are gaining understanding. Your acts are being justified and even defended.

Yes, there is something deeply personal about knife attacks. And they should be a wake-up call to the world that something has changed in the mindset of the Palestinians. This is the result of decades of hate. This is hopelessness and pointlessness. This is the tipping point. And I think it could tip either way. That there could be two completely contrary results to the realization that the Israelis are indeed there to stay. Either what we’re seeing now continues, which means that violence, aggression, terrorism, and the desire to terrorize spiral out of control. Or, which would benefit everyone far more, the Palestinians realize that it’s not true that they don’t have anything to live for. Who ever told them that? Of course they do! Their futures, their education, careers, families, and lives. Why can’t the goal be to create peace and a better future?

You want to get personal? Let’s get personal! Stop teaching kids hate and stop raising yet another generation of hopelessness. The Israelis are staying put. So are the Palestinians. Deal with it. I’m appealing to both and all sides of the conflict. Change the goal. Change the direction. Change the future.

I’m that Jew. (Original text by Eitan Chitayat)

I’m that always writing Jew. That footnote-citing Jew. That academic Jew. Scholar Jew. That thinking Jew. And let me tell you something Jew. Worker Jew. White-collar Jew. The tend the flock and herd Jew. That calloused foot and hand Jew. That roamed the barren sands Jew. That tills and works the land Jew. That old Jew. New Jew. That makes the desert grow Jew.

That always trying to make things just a little better Jew. At the same time, don’t mind if I’m a self-centered Jew. And that persistence sweated out Jew. That I made it big because I earned it Jew. That give me what I want because I know that I deserve it Jew. That arrogant Jew. That humble Jew. That whatever Jew I’m in the mood to be Jew. Just like you. That oh yes, I’m just getting started Jew.

I’m that Israeli Jew. That Caribbean Jew. That English, Indian, Sephardic Jew. That Ashkenazi blonde and blue-eyed no I’m not a Shiksa Jew. New York Jew. LA Jew. Australia and Ukraine Jew. That Russian, South African, Ethiopian and French je suis Juif Jew. That proud of being Jewish Jew. That Jesus Jew. Judas Jew. That don’t know why I’m still being persecuted Jew. Scapegoat Jew. That whenever we’re murdered you probably think we had it coming Jew. But still, not afraid to wear my Star of David Am Yisrael Chai Jew.

I’m that feeling the world has gone mad and dammit I want to get off Jew. That way too much horror in the news everywhere I turn Jew. That fed up with ISIS beheading Christians, knife-wielding, suicide-bombing, lunatics Jew. That disgusted by Boko Haram, Boston Marathon, Lindt Café, Pakistani school children killers. And I’ve had enough of radical Islam to last me a lifetime Jew. That they’re killing so many of their own but somehow we’re blamed for that too Jew. That wake up, world Jew. And that you don’t want to hear this, but I don’t give a damn what you think Jew. That you’re just going to have to deal with it Jew. That bullied in high school Jew because I was rocking a yamulke Jew. That standing up to you Jew. That talk to the hand Jew.

I’m that Iron Dome cheering fan club and where were you when the missiles were raining down on Tel Aviv Jew. That just shalom motherfuckered you off my Facebook page Jew. That sick of your double-standards Jew. That U.N. today equals Useless Nations to me Jew. That we’ll fight it out if you have a problem with me Jew. And yet, I’m that desperately wanting to live side by side in peace with you Jew. That get to know me, and you’ll see we’re not so bad like they make us out to be Jew.

Bingo. I’m that who knew Jew. I’m that needing to explain Jew. That let’s figure it out together Jew. That questioning Jew. The never ever just one answer Jew. That contemplative Jew. That wild-haired genius Jew. That psychoanalytical and let me tell you something about you and your mother Jew. That never claim to be perfect Jew. I’m that shelf sagging with Nobel Prizes Jew. That brilliant scientist Jew. That astronaut Jew. That inventor of something that’s part of your everyday life but you don’t even know it Jew. But I’m also that let’s laugh it up Jew. That I’m on a boat and it’s good to be the king Jew. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I’m the new rules, in your face, butt-kicking, sassy, sexy, smart, and wonder woman Jew. That Harvard actress and director and Princess Leia’s mother all rolled into one Jew. That Fiddler on the Roof, always performing, but damn, I’m gone too soon Jew.

I’m that lox and bagel noshing Jew. That falafel and hummus eating Jew. That couscous, schnitzel, latkes and matzah ball soup Jew. I’m that only liberal democracy in the Middle East Jew. I’m that became a refugee when my ancestors were kicked out of Arab lands Jew. I’m that political Jew. That activist Jew. That gay Jew. And female rabbi Jew. That eat a Big Mac but won’t touch bacon Jew. That looking for the truth forever wandering Jew. That just want to get married under the chuppah and break a glass under my heel Jew.

I’m that Merry Christmas, Ramadan Kareem, have a good whatever you’re celebrating Jew. I’m that Hindu high-fiving, Sikh fist-bumping, Christian-loving, Muslim friend-having, Buddhist and Baha’i I’d love to get to know you better Jew. I’m that religious Jew. That secular loving my heritage Jew. That brother in arms Jew. Hero Jew. Soldier-turned, olive branch holding Jew. That put three bullets in my back but you won’t kill my dream Jew.

That yearning for peace and I’ve never been to Israel but I’ll get there someday because it’s my homeland Jew. That almost 6000 years and I’m still standing Jew. That Hatikva-singing with a tear in my eye Jew. I’m that won’t apologize for surviving Jew. That fighting for my rights Jew. That number one and number six million and every number in between Jew. That learned from what happened to us in the Holocaust Jew. That never ever again Jew. And that wish there were more of us Jew.

That creative Jew. Business, funk, and folk Jew. That dancer Jew. Painter Jew. That tailor, baker, wedding singer Jew. That neurotic Jew. Part Jew. Let love rule and wannabe honorary Jew. I’m that lucky father Jew. That husband to a wonderful woman Jew. That son to loving parents who worked hard so I would be happy Jew. That grandson to those who suffered so we would just make it Jew. That thanks to them, I’ve got my whole life ahead of me Jew. And that everything’s got a reason for being and I’ll keep looking for the answer Jew.

That writing this to all my Jewish brothers and sisters Jew. And to those who aren’t Jewish, but get this, and show me love, I’m that writing this to you too with utmost respect Jew. I’m that believer that everything’s going to be okay because there’s no other choice Jew. That hang in there and keep your head up Jew. That human dignity will prevail and the world is made up of decent people Jew. And that believer that the decent people will win in the end Jew. Not a wishful thinking Jew.