Last year, I worked in an NHS clinic in East London. None of my colleagues was Jewish and many of them had never met a Jew before. Yet they were all extremely respectful and eager to learn more about my customs. As a rebbetzen, I am always more than happy to explain my Jewish quirks and, over the year, we had many cheerful discussions together.
But, one morning, the atmosphere had changed. When I looked at my colleague, he averted his gaze. A little later, I caught him eyeing me with puzzlement. I recalled an advertisement that I had seen that morning on the tube.
“I’m willing to bet,” I told him, “that you’ve just been to see that movie Disobedience?”
He smiled and nodded.
“Do you want to ask me any questions?”
The floodgates opened. He asked me questions such as :“Do you shave your head under your wig?”and “Did you get a choice about who you wanted to marry?” — with several others in between. I started with a basic explanation. Yes, I was a religious Jew, as were the people in the film. No, we were not quite the same.
Before I could stop myself, I launched into an in-depth explanation — nay, justification. Yes, I promised, I was more “normal” than they were. Look at my job, look at my family. But no, I am still not exactly “normal”. I rid my house of unleavened bread every year and I don’t use my phone on the Sabbath. And also, I wear a wig. But the “normal” type with hair underneath. Those guys in the movie, their “normal” is nowhere near my “normal”. And of course, I stressed, there is a long list of topics that they believe in that are absolutely the polar opposite of my views.
At the end of my soliloquy, my colleague seemed both convinced and confused. I was left feeling like a pretzel. I went home that day feeling uncomfortable about the conversation but too awkward to readdress it.
Much time has passed since then and I am working in a new area with a different team, who are just as friendly and no less respectful. Shtisel has come and gone and now everyone is watching Unorthodox. I’m waiting for the looks and the questions. But this time I am thinking a little differently.
What would be so bad if, when questioned, I pointed out the similarities between our religious communities rather than the differences? Yes, the community on screen has some different practices and values to mine but we also have so much that we share. I admire their courage to uphold their structure and traditions in a world where these are side-lined or dismissed.
I respect people who emphasise warmth, connection and care for their most vulnerable and honour their elderly. We all enjoy celebrating the Jewish festivals and marvelling at our nation’s enigmatic survival.
Regardless of your position on the religious spectrum, could it not be possible to find some common ground with another Jew? We are all still members of the same tribe. As history has painfully taught us, persecution sees beyond our differences, so why can’t we? And if those fearful times would rear their ugly head again, I know that I would want any Jew, no matter what their affiliation, to have my back. So, I’d like to start by having their back right now.
So when I am quizzed about whether my wig itches on my bald head, I will respond: Yes, us Jews are not all the same. But I am proud of the ways in which we are similar. And regardless of our differences, I respect their right to make their religious choices. And, by the way, do you want to know whether I got to choose my own husband? Yes, I most definitely did!
Chana Hughes is a pyschotherapist and rebbetzen of Radlett United shul
