Peace

Response to Prompt 6

Peace
By Laurie J. Kemp

I don't remember when, but several years back my sister gave me a necklace. She often gives me unique things for my birthday or Chanukah, or even a trivial holiday such as Valentine's day. Whether it's a handmade soap from the farmer's market, or a piece of jewelry she bought from an eclectic Etsy site, she is exceptionally thoughtful about the gifts she picks out for others.

This gift was no exception. It's an unassuming, thin black twine with a terra-cotta clay disk about the size of a half dollar dangling from it. There are no connectors or clasps, nothing silvery or gold. Just a hole punched into the clay, and the twine looped through the hole so the clay hangs as a necklace. Very plain, sort of natural and earthy. But the disk, now that's what makes this necklace special. On one side, textured into the clay is a series of dots in lines reaching from the center out towards the circumference, resembling a sand dollar. The other side, a single word: שׁלוֹם.

***

For this writing exercise, we were asked to write about an object that feels dangerous or is emotionally charged. It came at a time when I was already contemplating the role this necklace had come to play in my life. I have had it for years, and I don't think I have ever worn it. It has been tied around the neck of a lamp I have on the night table at the side of my bed. When I roll over in the morning, I see it. When I turn the light out at night, I see it. שׁלוֹם.

I realize many won't recognize these letters, after all they are clearly not English. They are in fact Hebrew, and they spell out the Hebrew word Shalom. Almost any Jewish person raised with connection to a synagogue and Jewish study would recognize this word, even if they are not literate in Hebrew. שׁלוֹם looks strange amidst a paragraph of words in English because Hebrew is read from right to left. The ש which is the letter "shin" in Hebrew is actually the first letter of the word. Though probably spoken in most any encounter between speakers of Hebrew, the word itself is unique. It has three meanings. שׁלוֹם means hello, goodbye, and peace. It is also used in Hebrew phrases, like  שׁבּת שׁלוֹם or Shabat Shalom, meaning Good Sabbath.

***

About two weeks ago, I was getting ready for work in the morning, and I stopped at my night table to put on a ring I had taken off and left there the night before. I looked at the necklace wrapped around my lamp and wondered why I never wear it. I tried it on though I knew it didn't really coordinate well with my outfit. I decided I didn't like how it hung on my chest with what I was wearing, so I took it off. Just holding it gave me a subtle feeling of peace, like running my fingers over the word שׁלוֹם and thinking about my sister gave me strength and calm. I wanted to wear it, but I put it in my pocket and decided to carry it around with me as a physical cuing object throughout my day. If I felt stressed, upset, or angry, I'd put my hand in my pocket and rub my finger over it. שׁלוֹם. Peace.

As I walked around throughout the day with the black twine hanging from my pocket, I also couldn't help but think of tzitzit, another Hebrew word for the fringes that hang from the traditional Jewish prayer shawl. I felt what I can describe only as a sense of comfort. Every time I touched my necklace throughout the day, the necklace that was hiding in my pocket, I started to think more and more about my life as a Jewish person. And this, is why my שׁלוֹם necklace is a dangerous object- an emotionally charged object. I realized in my contemplation, maybe not wearing it had less to do with how it looked on my neck, and more to do with my fear of being outwardly Jewish in public. There I said it. I'm relieved, yet ashamed it's out there.

As a young child I never experienced such feelings, not because of youthful naïveté but because in New York, Jewish people are everywhere- especially Long Island, where I grew up. I was surrounded by many Jewish people, and most of my friends and our family friends were Jewish. There were multiple synagogues around the area, and schools were even closed for the major Jewish holidays! Later, when my parents split, we moved to Southeast Florida- Ft. Lauderdale area. In Hollywood, there were plenty of Jewish people. I had friends who were and plenty of friends who weren't (my boyfriend among them) but I never encountered anyone who didn't know what Jewish meant, and I didn't have any friends who questioned my faith or my family's culture. Broward County schools didn't close on all the Jewish holidays, but we always had off on the high holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. I went to college in Miami and things were similar there. Friends who were, friends who weren't. Professors who were, professors who weren't. I never really gave it much thought.

Then one day, soon after graduation from the U, when my boyfriend-turned- husband and I were living in Orlando, I encountered my first in-person Jew joke. I was waiting tables at a seafood restaurant, getting ready to start graduate school. A redneck waiter came running back to the kitchen complaining about his table of guests who didn't order any alcoholic beverages. All they wanted was a round of "Jewish cocktails," he said. By this he meant water with lemon, which bothered him because they wouldn't be running a bar tab which theoretically would make his tip bigger. I had no idea what he meant until I asked another waiter who laughed while explaining it to me. I was shocked, no horrified. And while I wanted to tell him off and explain how insulting he was, I didn't. I cringed inside and turned away, afraid if he knew I was Jewish, if any of them did, they wouldn't like me anymore. That's right. A confident, more educated than any of them adult, I was embarrassed. Hard to believe I was the one embarrassed in this scenario.

Fast forward almost 20 years later. After moving to Palm Beach County, then back to Broward again, we landed here in Southwest Florida. A little less metropolitan, a little more country, and a lot less Jewish. I wouldn't have noticed really. It wasn't even that important to me. My husband isn't Jewish, and as long as there was a synagogue close by where my son could go to religious school and have a bar-mitzvah, the rest didn't matter so much. At least that's what I thought. That's what I thought until I started encountering more and more people who asked me (and my son) things like, What is Jewish? To which I thought, really? Why didn't you tell me you were Jewish? or If you're Jewish, does that mean you don't believe in G-d? And of course, So you're Kosher? What exactly is Kosher?

The list of questions goes on. But I think what's been most upsetting is I have encountered people who treat me like I haven't yet found G-d, just because I don't accept their version of what G-d is. They placate me, nod at me, claim to understand and even say they'll pray for me, all because they think I'm a child who just doesn't get it yet. I can't explain how insulting and infuriating it is. It's as though I haven't arrived yet. Poor me, I haven't been saved yet.

And this closed mindedness, this need to believe all people have to believe the same things, is what has me living quietly. I won't go so far as to call it hiding, as people who I know well, my friends and even my co-workers know my faith. And please, don't you dare mistake my hidden שׁלוֹם for shame. I am not ashamed of my beliefs, of my family's rich history and Jewish roots. It's self preservation. If I tell my students I don't celebrate Christmas, they want to know why. If I have to explain why, I have to explain my faith. If I have to explain my faith, I must immediately be on guard. For simply mentioning my faith, I may be accused of denouncing their beliefs. It's as though as soon as someone knows you are Jewish, everything you do or don't do, is because you're Jewish.

Try going to a birthday party with your 3rd grade son whose friends know you're Jewish, because you taught your kid to be proud of who he is and thankfully he is, and have another child ask you if it's true that Jewish people are the chosen people. How's that for a loaded question for a token Jew at a kid's birthday party? Yup, that happened. I was dumfounded. I didn't know what to say. Heck I didn't even know what I believed was the right answer. All I could think to say is people believe different things. It all depends on what you and your family believe. Crisis averted. Can we go home now? Now my son is 17 and I'm glad I don't have to explain anything for him. He handles it on his own.

My שׁלוֹם necklace is a dangerous object because it challenges me to face my fears, to be proud of who I am, and to find a way to navigate my faith in the world I inhabit. It represents peace, literally. It's up to me to find peace with who I am and what I believe.