How to feel Jewish at a biker bar (or anywhere else)

Since I'm no stranger to tangentially Jewish-themed events (including gefilte fish classes, interreligious speed-dating sessions and Israeli hip-hop performances), I was happy to attend the recent Heeb Magazine-sponsored party in San Francisco.

If you haven't yet heard of Heeb, I recommend familiarizing yourself. But first, you should probably have a seat and prepare to be pushed to your limits, with its self-deprecating, almost over-the-edge humor. Personally, I enjoy the New York-based magazine — a satirical, fresh look at all things Jewish mixed with pop culture. At first glimpse, I was a little taken aback. But, when taken with a few grains of salt, Heeb is young, cutting-edge and funny. I was hoping the party would be too.

My friends and I kicked off the night with a movie at the San Francisco Jewish Film Festival. Packed into the balcony of the beautiful Castro Theatre, we watched a raw, moving film about love and hate in an eccentric East Coast Jewish family. After a brief Q-and-A with the film's director, my friends and I headed over to the Heeb-sponsored afterparty.

It was still relatively early in the night, but the Castro was already buzzing with several groups of tipsy bar hoppers. The Heeb party was being held in a bar called Lucky 13, a slightly upscale biker bar — if such a place exists — on Market Street. By the time we got there, the bar was already crammed full of people. We showed our IDs to the big, jolly bouncer sitting on a stool by the door and slowly inched our way through the crowded bar, pushing gently when necessary.

I looked around. I was surrounded by lots of smiling, conversing, beer-sipping people. I checked out a foosball table with a missing ball. Two bartenders — understaffed, as usual — were desperately trying to keep up with orders for one drink after another.

It was a typical bar.

But this was supposed to be a Heeb party, I thought to myself, disappointed.

Weren't there supposed to be

young people sporting "Moses is

My Homeboy" T-shirts (available for sale on Heeb's Web site)?

Though I searched for signs, there was nothing overtly "Heeb" about this party. I was in a crowded, poorly ventilated bar on Market Street on a Saturday night. No more, no less.

Would this really be it? After two years of contemplating my life as a young, Jewish woman in the Bay Area, there I was, searching for something — anything — remotely Jewish, and finding nothing.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the director of the film we had just watched. (I recognized him by his bright green sweater.) He stood there, surrounded by people, young and old. They were all peppering him with questions about the movie, and he seemed happy to answer their questions.

And that's all it took to make me feel at home. Just a little reminder that, over the years, I've learned to feel comfortable — and to find Jewishness almost anywhere I go: in an Orthodox synagogue, in a gay church, even at a bar, where the only sign of Heeb was a director on the rise, talking to his fan base.

I used to feel that I needed to be back in Israel to really feel Jewish, but I've learned that I can belong in several places. I know that here, within the Jewish community, I've made a second home. The external — the place, the people, the language — aren't what make me Jewish.

At the risk of sounding utterly and unabashedly corny, the "Heeb" was within me.

With a renewed sense of purpose, I walked over to ask the bartender for some drinks for my friends and me.

"How 'bout I help all the other people that came here before you first?" he snapped.

"Sure," I said, giving him a smile. "I've got time."




Michal Lev-Ram, born in Israel, is a freelance writer in San Francisco. She can be reached at .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address). This is her final column for j.