How it feels to be a minority

And now we interrupt our regularly scheduled programming for a mediation on recent events … specifically the massacre in Pittsburgh at the Tree of Life Synagogue.

As a white, American, Protestant male, growing up in a bucolic Southeastern Washington town, I had no idea that my life could characterized as one of privilege.   But, as the son of a successful surgeon, I realized, if only dimly, that my life came with some advantages.  My family lived in a spacious home on a big piece of property, meticulously landscaped; we traveled and took vacations; I received piano and violin lessons and got to keep all the money I made at various agricultural jobs and spend it however I wanted.   I didn’t worry about where the next meal was coming from, where I would sleep (after all I had the entire basement all to myself) and whether I would be able to afford attending the college of my choice.  At sixteen, I took over as the primary driver of the yellow Ford Pinto, installed a CB radio and took up the call sign “Gold Nugget.”  Looking back, it all seems pretty cushy and compared to a lot of people, I had it made.   When a child is raised in an environment like the one I knew, is provided with every advantage and sent into the world with multiple educational degrees and no debt, it doesn’t tax the imagination to envision a bright future.   And so it has come to pass.

If there is a problem with the picture I’ve painted, it’s not that I was born to loving, giving parents in the richest country in the world at a time when the economy exploded, those who could afford to put money in the market got rich and tech stocks led the way into hitherto unheard of prosperity.   No … I had no choice in any of this … where and to whom I was born; the color of my skin; the religion into which I was baptized.   Why I was born into relative luxury and others were not was not in my control but it has become a matter of deeper reflection as I’ve grown older.

It wasn’t until much later that I began to realize that being a WASP in America came with baggage that initially I was not prepared to deal with, nor willing to unpack.   But, now that I am a Jew, I cannot avoid thinking about this and confronting what it means to be in the minority.   Until my conversion two years ago, I could travel anywhere in the USA and expect to be treated with respect.   Why?   Well, for one thing, I am white.   Racial bigots are unlikely to single me out of a crowd.  I can pass as “one of them” without saying a word.  But now, I am Jewish.   That’s the only thing that has changed but apparently I am now a credible target for lunatics who have access to assault weapons.   Why?   Because of a label, an affiliation, a choice to pursue spiritual matters in a different way.   This is obviously insane, cruel and evil.   I’ve never thought that people should be treated differently because they have a different skin color, a different gender, a different sexual orientation but now I have a target on my back.   I have to face up to the fact that mere attendance at a synagogue could mean going home in a coffin.

People … this is f–ked up.   And now that I get to live the reality, I see much more clearly how it sucks to be a minority in this country … especially a hated minority.   Why wasn’t I more angry before?   It’s easy … the barrel of an AK-57 wasn’t pointed at my head.

Opposing this kind of bigotry and hate is not optional.   By doing nothing, we are guilty of letting this sickness, this disease, grow and spread.   I am living proof of how absurd this becomes:

One day I am a WASP = you are okay

The next day I am a Jew = die and burn you filthy animal

What?  To say that I am outraged is an understatement.   The blood of the 11 Jews in Pittsburgh is on the hands of anyone who endorses this kind of hate and supposed leaders who fan the flames of violence and hatred   I don’t think anyone who takes the time to read my blog thinks this way, but I just felt the need to point out that I am no longer safe in my own country.   Safety was the myth into which I was born.   This is the reality that I now live.