My stomach ached and I immediately wanted to hide. But there was no place to go. “Yes,” I said timidly.
I felt uneasy the rest of the day and actually throughout childhood and my 20s about accepting my Judaism.
I rarely said anything about being Jewish for many years growing up in Lawrence, so except for a few friends and people like my second-grade classmate, I didn’t think anyone even knew I was Jewish. With a last name like Garfield I basically was able to live a life free of the anti-Semitism I saw inflicted upon my Jewish classmates. My uncle changed the family name from Garfunkel when he opened an optometry practice in Toronto in the late 1940s because of the rising anti-Semitism.
In high school, I had a gym class with a Jewish kid. He was teased daily with no mercy.
“Get the Jew.”
“It’s the Jew’s fault.”
I kept silent fearing being outed about my faith.
In high school, I had an anti-Semitic baseball coach who mistakenly thought one of my teammates, Mike, was Jewish.
The coach constantly harassed him.
“Hey Jew,” my coach said with me standing next to Mike.
“Jews don’t run,” he said.
“I’m not Jewish,” Mike replied.
“Yes, you are,” the coach said boldly.
Again, I kept quiet. Afraid of “coming out” Jewish, I knew I couldn’t take the anti-Semitic remarks if my coaches and teammates knew. After all, these same teammates were constantly slinging ethnic and racial slurs and making fun of minorities. I wasn’t strong enough – too sensitive to handle the taunts.
It was like I was living a double life. Once in elementary school, some friends came over to my house. I was scared they’d see the menorah in our living room and I find out I was Jewish so I hid it in the closet. My mom came home, found the menorah and immediately thought it was the maid who put it there.
She got angry.
“No mom, it was me,” I said fearfully.
She asked me why I did it, but I never really gave a reason. I couldn’t tell my own mother I was ashamed of being Jewish.
About six years later after returning from High Holiday services, I went into my parents’ bedroom and cried. I told them I felt different and uncomfortable about being Jewish. They hugged me and told me it was OK and I’d eventually find my way.
I certainly didn’t find my way in college at the University of Kansas. While my dad was the faculty adviser to Hillel, I stayed away from their events. Some friends in the dorm found out I was Jewish and made fun of me.
“Oh, don’t be such a Jew,” one friend said about a money matter.
“You’re a basketball Jew,” another friend joked.
While I didn’t show any outward pain, this hurt me deeply as I still felt like an outcast.
Then one friend in the dorm, who didn’t know I was Jewish, decided one night to imitate Louis Farrakhan and tease one of the Jewish residents.
“Kill the Jews,” he said with his hands flying as he went running after Larry.
Everyone burst out in laughter. I felt like escaping and crying at some of the most dehumanizing words I had ever heard.
It wasn’t until my early 30s that I started to find myself. I became involved in some Jewish singles groups in Kansas City and joined the Jewish Community Center of Greater Kansas City in 1999 for one year.
I was friends with fellow Jews. Finally, I didn’t feel so “different” and alone.
Still, I only attended High Holiday services in Lawrence and never identified strongly with being Jewish. This all changed, however, on Nov. 30, 2018, during a defining moment in my life, when I met a wonderful and compassionate rabbi in Topeka at Temple Beth Sholom named Debbie Stiel for 90 minutes to talk about my faith and my personal and family struggles.
I spilled my heart to her. She listened and comforted me with great empathy and gave me a book to have on Jewish wisdom. I’ve felt close to Rabbi Stiel ever since and attend many of her Shabbat services, which give me some much-needed peace. Temple Beth Sholom is a Reform congregation with a strong commitment to social justice. I’ve also gone to Kansas City and attended services at Reform synagogues there at Kol Ami and Beth Torah, both who also believe strongly in social justice.
It’s been a great experience exploring my Jewish faith. Exploring Judaism had previously made me uncomfortable for most of my life, living in Lawrence with few Jewish friends. I’ve realized how far I’ve come since that day in second grade when I was frightened for being outed as a Jew.
it is now more important than ever for Jews like me to stand up, attend services, and be proud of their faith, with the rising anti-Semitism in America and the Tree of Life killings in Pittsburgh in 2018, the murders at a kosher market in Jersey City, New Jersey, vandalism at a Beverly Hills synagogue, and stabbings at at Hasidic rabbi’s home near New York City during a Hanukkah celebration last year.
Now, after meeting with Rabbi Stiel and exploring my faith over the past couple years and regularly attending Shabbat services (now watching them during COVID-19 on Facebook Live in meaningful prayer), there is now no reason to hide from my faith. I’ve become a mensch, embraced my Judaism, and feel like telling anyone in the world — even my second-grade classmate — that I am so proud of being Jewish.
I can even more ardently than ever say:
Hello world: Yes, I am a Jew.
David Garfield is a freelance writer based in Lawrence. He’s been writing professionally since 1995, and written over 20 magazine cover stories.
