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The
Jewish Mystique
Blame it on Paul Stanley, that sexy
beast of a lead singer for KISS. While you're at it, tag Jeff Goldblum
and Adam Sandler. Jewish men, I'd noticed, embodied what I'd been searching
for my entire life. They seemed like dark, handsome, intense family men.
What girl doesn't crave that? Sadly, outside of television, I'd rarely
seen a real Jew. How was I going to relate to any of them if I knew nothing
about the culture? So, I did what any self-respecting Goy would do. I
ordered Judaism for Dummies online and made a list of places I could meet
some Jews.
Jews have been noticeably absent from the first twenty years of my life.
Not by design, mind you. There just aren't many in Honolulu, Hawaii. Now,
I've gone through this before: I started reading the Koran when I heard
Cat Stevens had converted to Islam. Rick Astley was from Manchester? No
problem. I'd affect an English accent and learn about British society.
After all, we were going to need something to talk about, right?
To me, Judaism has always been a lot like the best, most chic sorority.
From the outside looking in, it was fantastic. They had their own language,
traditions, ancient history, not to mention tasty recipes. And like college
sororities, I didn't necessarily want to join, but I wouldn't mind going
to a couple of the parties. It was getting invited that was the kicker.
So I decided to find a Jewish friend, an intermediary to answer sensitive
questions I was too embarrassed to ask. Like why they were so hated by
everyone? Honestly, besides the whole Jesus thing, were they really all
that bad? Were all the stereotypes right, I wondered? Were they all good
with money? Smart? The men less than endowed? Who knew? Maybe I'd score
an invitation to a family dinner and get the scoop.
But before I could befriend a Jew, I had to find one. Judaism for Dummies
was clearly the key. In the meantime, while waiting on my book to arrive
by mail, I immersed myself via internet in the Jewish faith. I signed
up for an internet newsletter, read a book on being half-Jewish (I figured
I'd start slow) and marked the Jewish high holidays on my work calendar.
Once, near the end of the day, a co-worker sidled up to me at the copy
machine. "Are you Jewish?" she whispered shiftily. While she anxiously
awaited my response, I watched as a thin layer of sweat formed on her
trembling upper lip. Her beady eyes were mad with delirium. I feared she
would bite me. "No," I laughed nervously. "What made you think that?"
I nearly tripped over another co-worker running away from her. Surely
thatās not the response Judaism evokes in everyone? Hmm, and I thought
being black was difficult.
Alas, similar to my other lust driven multicultural endeavors, my Jewish
phase came and went. Don't get me wrong, be they New York or Israeli-born,
I still carry a torch for them. But, when my Judaism for Dummies finally
arrived, I gave it a cursory flip-through and put it high on the shelf
next to my copy of Brit Cult: British Pop Culture from A-Z from the embarrassingly
moronic Rick Astley phase. And although I'm still waiting for my mensch
in shining armor, I've moved on to the next thing: the Irish. Honestly,
take one look at Daniel Day-Lewis in those tight buckskin trousers from
that one movie and you'll know why. I wonder if all Irish men look like
that? I've heard Irish men are at least an 8.5 on the 10 scale for lovers.
Furthermore, despite what anyone says, I for one have faith that Bono
can save the world.
by
Keisha Poiro
28th September 2003
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