Tag Archives: life in America

May 11, 2026 · 7:30 am

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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April 21, 2025 · 7:30 am

Sonnet for the survivors.

by Linda Laderman (Commerce Township, MI)

Praise the Holocaust Survivors who ask us never to forget, but live life 

in the present and the future. Praise their resilience, the ones who dance 

the Hora at their grandchildren’s weddings, the grandchildren they couldn’t

imagine they’d have, the weddings they couldn’t dream would take place.

Praise the pastries they take home wrapped in a napkin, because they can’t

know for sure if the cake will have to be left in haste, a dish of dry crumbs.

Praise their unwillingness to take freedom for granted, to refuse to bow to

the demands of demagogues, to stay clear-eyed about our new fear mongers.

Praise the man who hid in plain sight, moving from place to place to evade

the Jew hatred, then began a life in America where he believed he was safe.

Praise him, and his wife, who at 83, bakes cookies because, she says, every-

one deserves sweetness in their life. Praise the children who come to visit 

the Holocaust Center, then walk wide-eyed around the train exhibit, and ask

why Jews were forced into cattle cars. Praise their young eyes, because they see.

Linda Laderman grew up in Toledo, Ohio, where her family belonged to B’nai Israel Synagogue. Though she attended Hebrew and Sunday School, no one spoke of the Holocaust. In 1959, when she was ten, Linda had a Hebrew teacher with numbers tattooed in her arm. Curious, she asked what they were, but her question went unanswered. Years later, as a docent at The Zekeleman Holocaust Center near Detroit, she came to better understand the reluctance of many survivors to talk about their painful past. Linda is a past recipient of Harbor Review’s Jewish Women’s Prize and has received a Pushcart Prize nomination. Her poetry and prose have appeared in many literary journals and media outlets. She lives near Detroit with her husband Israel Grinwald. Linda dedicates this Sonnet to the survivors of the Shoah. For the six million who did not survive, may their memory be a blessing. 

If you’d like to read more of her work, here are two poems that she shared previously with The Jewish Writing Project: Observations and An Invitation.

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December 30, 2024 · 7:30 am

R.I.P. Clifton Jewish Center

by Sue Macy (Englewood, NJ)

This is a different sort of obituary, not for a person, but a place. The synagogue I grew up in, the Clifton Jewish Center of Clifton, N.J., held its last Shabbat services on December 21, 2024. The building is being repurposed to become a cheder for Orthodox girls. With the original members gone and their descendants moving away, the Center—the last Conservative shul in town—closed its doors.

It was founded in the late 1940s by nine young men who had gone to Clifton High School together. My parents joined the Center in the early 1950s. I went to Sunday School and Hebrew School there, and had my bat mitzvah. It was not just a place of worship, but of community. My mom joined Hadassah through the Center. My dad was on the temple board.

We had the same rabbi, Dr. Eugene Markovitz, for 52 of the Center’s 75 years. He was an Orthodox rabbi in a Conservative shul, which meant women didn’t have aliyot while he was in charge. It forever irked my feminist soul, but the rabbi had more depth than my younger self gave him credit for. In 1988, Rabbi Markovitz intervened when four local boys painted anti-Semitic graffiti on the temple building. Instead of allowing them to be sent to juvenile detention, he convinced the judge to sentence them to 25 hours of education about Judaism, with him, and 30 hours of helping around the synagogue. CBS made a “Schoolbreak Special” about the incident. Hal Linden played the rabbi.

Although I moved out of Clifton decades ago, I continued to attend High Holiday services with my family. After my dad died, my mom and brother and I went. After my mom died, my brother and I just kept going. But as the congregation shrank, the signs of decline were unmistakable. We no longer had a cantor. Israel Bonds luminaries stopped coming to give High Holiday presentations, hoping for lucrative investments. Eventually, we had no more bond drives at all. There was a time when the temple had to put hundreds of chairs in the adjacent ballroom to fit all those coming for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services. Lately, the ballroom remained empty and unused.

I know that times change. I write books about history and intellectually I can place the geographic movements of the Jewish people in historical context. With affluence, many of the Jewish families in Clifton moved to wealthier suburbs. Still, it’s hard not to feel a personal loss with the closing of the Center. It makes accessing the feelings and experiences from my past that much harder. It also raises questions about my Jewish identity that until now, I haven’t had to answer. What kind of synagogue do I want to join? Where do I go from here? 

Ironically, the last services at the Center attracted the largest Shabbat crowd in years. People like me, whose parents lived their lives in the community, came from near and far to be there one more time. It was a fitting tribute to a place that truly had been the Center of our lives.

Sue Macy is the author of 18 books for children and young adults including The Book Rescuer: How a Mensch From Massachusetts Saved Yiddish Literature for Generations to Come, winner of the Sydney Taylor Picture Book Award. She lives in Englewood, New Jersey, and can be found on Instagram @suemacy1 or through her website, suemacy.com.

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