As of a few weeks ago, I became a gentile.
The irony is, it took traveling to the land of Zion for me to make the switch.
It’s not like I’ve changed my beliefs or severed ties with my people — unless you consider the recent move I made. Accepting an offer from the Salt Lake Tribune, I headed off to Utah, with my fiancé in tow, to become a stranger in a strange land. We became two Jews plopped down in Mormon country, where we immediately achieved — to our surprise — gentile status.
Leaving the Bay Area, a place I had called home for eight years, admittedly wasn’t easy. There I had family, friends and a strong sense of community — not to mention a city and surroundings that never stopped taking my breath away.
It was in San Francisco that I began to define myself as a Jewish American woman. Professionally, politically, socially and spiritually, I was a work-in-progress. Whether I was standing on my head in meditation, sifting through piles of mail from Jewish agencies, watching Jews scream at one another outside the Israeli Consulate or honoring the new moon with text study on Stinson Beach, I was finding what spoke to me.
Oh sure, I had my gripes. After years of searching, I never found a deli to write home about. Now that I’m in exile, however, a seat at Saul’s or Max’s has never sounded so good.
I do believe uprooting one’s self can be a good thing. It pushes you to look at the world with a fresh perspective and see outside your bubble.
We arrived in Utah just in time for the elections. Shell-shocked by the conservative politics, our Bay Area bubble popped before we could unpack or meet our first Mormon.
Most everything I’d known about Mormons, before coming here, was learned on Market Street. The young missionaries were clean-cut, wore black slacks, white shirts and went by the first name of “Brother.” Beyond that, it was all hearsay, and banter about polygamy.
Several people, when they learned of our impending move, made cracks about my fiancé, Jonathan, getting the green light to look for a second wife.
“If she cooks and cleans,” I told them, “I might be game.”
Truth is, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints outlawed polygamy in 1890. Only an excommunicated, fundamentalist group still practices it. First chance I get, I’ll be taking a field trip to see them. Talk about fodder for good stories.
Our first weekend here, we took a trip down to Temple Square, the holy of holies for Mormons. We figured if we’re going to live here, we best start understanding these folks.
We stood before a church “elder” who gave us a dose of Mormon history, enough scripture to make our eyes glaze over and answers to some of our most pressing questions. No, they don’t drink coffee or alcohol. But as for chocolate, even church founder Joseph Smith knew he couldn’t deny his followers their candy bars.
After catching a short film, seeing one too many children on video screens speak of their “Heavenly Father,” and being cornered by an overly enthusiastic missionary, I felt the tug on my hand.
“I’m full,” said Jonathan. “Can we go home now?”
Last Friday night, we finally did. The Utah synagogue was small, as was the turnout. But the rabbi was smart and witty, the congregants warm and the air easier to breathe. For the first time since arriving, we felt like we could exhale.
At the JCC, two days later, we weaved our way through the Jewish Arts and Food Festival — replete with latkes, Israelis and Hadassah women. We even got a pamphlet from the synagogue in Park City, which offers shul on the slopes, North America’s only ski-in, ski-out service.
“Bert and Lois” have invited us for Shabbat dinner. We’re already on at least two mailing lists. And we just noticed a nearby bakery with a sign outside: “We sell kosher bread.”
It may not be what we had in the Bay Area, but the lesson is clear: No matter where we go, we Jews will find our way.
Even in places where we’re deemed gentiles.
Jessica Ravitz, a recent graduate of UC Berkeley’s journalism school, is now a staff writer at the Salt Lake Tribune.
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