Tag Archives: Jewish dreams

The Seven Ages of Growing Up Jewish

by Kayla Anderson (Irvine, CA)

(a Jewish twist on Shakespeare’s “Seven Ages of Man” monologue)

1. You’re snuggled tight in mommy’s arms as she lights the menorah candles. You tear off wrapping paper with chubby fingers, bouncing up and down with joy at the sight of your shiny new toy. Before you know it, the moon is smiling down on you and mommy is rocking you back and forth, singing gently. The familiar melody of Hatikvah lulls you to sleep.

2. Today at preschool you made a magen david out of popsicle sticks, leaving you sticky with glue. Now you’re standing on the bimah with your classmates, singing. Your dress itches a little, and you’ve forgotten most of the lyrics, but at the sight of your parents beaming at you from the pews, you can’t help but smile.

3. Hanukkah rolls around again, and you’re finally old enough to light the candles all by yourself. At school the next day, you bring leftover latkes for lunch and tell your friends about the special holiday, but they look at you with confusion. “You don’t celebrate Christmas?” they ask, wide-eyed. “No,” you mumble. Shame burns hot on your cheeks. 

4. Eventually, you realize that being Jewish can feel lonely. While the rest of your girl scout troop decorates ornaments, you just sit silently. Your fourth grade teacher says, “Have a great Christmas break!” and then glances at you and corrects herself: “Sorry—winter break.” And no matter how many times you remind your friend’s parents that you’re Jewish, they always ask, “How was church?” After a while, you get tired of correcting them, so you force a smile and say, “It was good.”

5. You’ve just turned thirteen, and after many months of practice, your big day—your bat mitzvah—is finally here. Nervousness and excitement war for dominance in your brain as you prepare to read from the Torah. You take a deep breath and look out into the crowd of friends and family, all of them here just for you. In this moment, you feel both the weight of responsibility and the liberation of independence. 

6. You’re older now, and you finally understand the duality of the Jewish experience. For every Shabbat service you attend is another antisemitic comment or Holocaust joke that makes its way onto your social media feed. For every precious memory made at Jewish sleepaway camp is another synagogue vandalized, broken into, attacked. So you buy a silver chai necklace and wear it proudly—the world can’t silence your Jewishness.

7. The rest of your Jewish life lies brightly ahead. Among many things you look forward to are your Birthright trip to Israel, your Jewish wedding, and—eventually—raising your children in a house filled with perfectly-crispy latkes and popsicle-stick magen davids. Growing up Jewish is a rollercoaster of highs and lows, but you know in your heart you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Kayla Anderson is a high school senior and proud Reform Jew from California. Creative writing has always been one of her greatest passions, and she finds it immensely fulfilling to weave her Jewish identity into her work. She plans to pursue a career in education, where she can help children discover the joys of language and literature. One day, she hopes to fulfill her longtime dream of publishing a book, and hopes her work inspires, resonates, and sparks joy.

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A Home With Dignity

by Kavita Ezekiel Mendonca (Calgary, Canada)

(A poem about belonging)

 I want six million Jews back to their homes

To their hat shops, their loved ones, and their bright mornings,

To awake in their beds with soft sheets and warm slippers

To put their feet into, and cross the threshold to kitchens 

Smelling warm with the baking of Challah bread.

I want sisters to whisper to each other from bunk beds

Scurrying up and down the ladder to exchange places

Laughing without fear of being muffled,

Like we did many nights with sleeping parents who

Unaware of our sibling shenanigans, dreamed in peace.

I want six million Jews to watch the butterflies 

Flitting across a kind sun that warmed their hearts

With promises of hope, of births, graduations, weddings 

Dressed in satin gowns with silver stars, the yellow ones 

Out of stock, discontinued, banned forever.

I want six million Jews to look out at the fields with cattle grazing

From train windows, with the fresh air blowing on their faces

Going on a family holiday to the beach with free minds

Surfing the waves, swimming with the dolphins,

Returning to their homes to wash off the sand from their happy feet

To wear shoes of the right size with no holes in them.

 In a career spanning over four decades, Kavita Ezekiel Mendonca has taught English in Indian colleges, AP English in an International School nestled in the foothills of the Himalayan mountains in India, and French and Spanish in private schools in Canada. Her poems are featured in various journals and anthologies, including the Sahitya Akademi Journal Of Indian Literature, the three issues of the Yearbooks of Indian Poetry in English, Verse-Virtual, The Madras Courier, and the Lothlorien Poetry Journal, among others. Kavita has authored two collections of poetry, Family Sunday and Other Poems and Light of The Sabbath. Her poem ‘How To Light Up a Poem,’ was nominated for a Pushcart prize in 2020.  Her poems celebrate Bombay, the city of her birth, Nature, and her Bene Israel Indian Jewish heritage. She is the daughter of the late poet Nissim Ezekiel. 

Author’s note: Challah is a special bread in Jewish cuisine, usually braided and typically eaten on ceremonial occasions such as Shabbat and major Jewish holidays. Ritually-acceptable challah is made of dough from which a small portion has been set aside as an offering. The word is Biblical in origin. (Wikipedia)

(Editor’s Note: “A Home with Dignity was published in “Light of the Sabbath,” the author’s chapbook, as well as in the anthology “Heartstrings,” an anthology edited by Sanjula Sharma). It also appeared in the 25th Annual Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day) Poetry Issue of Poetry Super Highway, April 2023, and is reprinted here with permission of the author.)

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