A Jewish Journey of Identity and Courage

Chapter 9 David

“Is she from the workshop?” Mom asked as we came to a stop at a red light. The radio was playing an upbeat tune while she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, glancing at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “She seems nice.” “Yeah, it’s Emma,” I replied, hoping she wouldn’t ask any more questions. But, of course, Mom had to dig deeper. “Maybe you could hang out with her after the workshop?” Mom suggested. I was relieved she wasn’t looking at me, as I could feel my cheeks getting warm. “Maybe…” I said with a sigh, needing to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Aren’t you curious about what we did today?” “How was it? Did you talk about anything interesting?” I smiled. “We talked about Israel, and about how being Jewish sucks.” “Come on, I doubt that was the main topic of the conversation,” Mom shot me a disapproving look. “Some boy said he’s being picked on because he’s a Jew from Israel. We talked about how frustrating it is that whenever something happens there, we get blamed here—as if it’s our fault.” My frustration spilled over. “How is it my fault that Israel is messing up?” Mom took a deep breath, then another, and fell silent for a few moments. Finally, she asked the question I dreaded the most. “Has this happened to you too? Have you been picked on for being Jewish?” She turned down the radio, signaling that she genuinely wanted to hear what I had to say. I wanted to say no—that I’d never been targeted, that Marcus’s nasty reels hadn’t affected me. I wished that were true. But I didn’t want to lie to her. Maybe it was time for them to know

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