It was 1970, a time of tremendous change for our nation. I was in 8th grade, far removed from these changes, in a town so small we only had one high school, and it included grades 8 through 12. Having had some success as 7th grade class representative and at what I would later realize was the height of my popularity; I stepped up to run for freshman class president. I was nervous about making a speech in front of all 100 of my classmates from a podium in the auditorium with a real microphone. But I practiced and I wrote and re-wrote. It was all sincerity and hard work.
I only had one opponent, the younger sister of a cheerleader, who drove a vintage aqua T-Bird around town, and lived up on “the hill”, in the better part of town. After giving my serious speech, my heart sank as she walked up to the podium with a sign that her sister had made. “I have laryngitis” it read. The audience roared with laughter and sent their approval with their votes.
In politically correct 2007, at my daughter’s private school this would never happen. There is a long list of requirements for eligibility to run for student office of which a “real” speech is one of them, but the lesson I learned about elections still seems to matter, both at the high school level as well as on the national level. We vote for who we like, and not always who will be the best at the job.
So as my daughter contemplates running for student body president at the end of this year, I worry that she will be hurt. She says that she would always regret not running, that she has the teacher’s support, and that she has worked really hard this year as Assistant Commissioner for Spirit, an appointed post. I too had the teacher’s support, so much so that after my election loss, they gave me an adjunct position to the student council, so that I participated in the running of the school and leadership events, but I knew without the imprimatur of my peers, what did it really mean?
I was sharing my worries over the phone with my mother a few weeks ago. My daughter was spending an incredible number of hours in the middle of finals week preparing for the school’s winter formal. She believed her effort would influence the other kids to be impressed with her, perhaps like her more.
My mother asked a question that was so far out of left-field I couldn’t even process it for a few minutes. “Do you think being Jewish matters?” “Of course not!” was my indignant response, and “Why would you ask that?”
“Because, that was why you weren’t elected.” It turns out my mother had a secret that she never shared with me, that long before my ill-fated speech, she had heard from another parent that the word in the halls of the high school was they weren’t going to vote for me because I was Jewish. It had nothing to do with my speech, or my sincerity. I was just a bit too exotic for that small town.
My immediate reaction was, “Why didn’t you tell me?” “It was too painful” she replied. My mother came to the
For me, growing up as one of three Jewish kids in my high school (and one of the other kids was my sister), I took a don’t ask, don’t tell approach to my religion. Every year I would be asked at Christmas if I had my tree yet, or what I got for Christmas presents. So I learned to just say, not yet to the tree question, and just translate my Hanukah experience to whatever was being asked. I wasn’t lying is how I looked at it. When I sang Christmas carols in choir, I was silent during the JC mentions. All of this was benign in comparison to the bizarre Easter question, “Did Jews drink Christ’s blood?” that I got more than once. Sure, just had some for breakfast, I wanted to reply, but typically I would just blow it off and move on.
The more I didn’t fit in, the more underground I went. I went so far as to attend Young Life meetings, and in college to avoid the topic completely. My grandfather was near tears when he heard from a congregant that they had run into me on my way to a football game on Rosh Hashanah. It was only after moving to
One of the things as a parent I am most proud of is that both my children, despite attending a catholic prep school, have never felt the need to sublimate their own identity. They get Hanukah presents from their Christian friends, and matzo is shared at school lunch during Passover. So no, I don’t believe it is a factor, I don’t want to believe it is a factor. It is hard enough to believe that prejudice carried the day in 1970.
I hung up the phone and wondered. Would it have made me feel better, to not question my speech making abilities or to know walking up to that podium I had no chance? That my opponent had to do nothing to win, by having the “right” background the right heritage. I have tried my whole life to not be defined in the work place by my gender or my religion, but I know deep down, it is still sometimes a factor.
We are watching the presidential primaries closely in our house. This could be the year we elect a president not based on race or gender, although clearly charisma still matters. And for those of you who voted for my opponent in 1970, well shame on you!
