We Jews are a stiff-necked people. We did, after all, coin the word “dafka’. So our reaction to the hatred directed against us immediately following the October 7 massacre was entirely predictable. This is my story.

As a teen I was so skeptical of the existence of God that I paid no attention to the meaning of the Jewish holidays, except a few. I knew, for instance, that Rosh Ha’shana was akin to my Gregorian New Year, and that on Yom Kippur I was forbidden to eat (no kippers on Kippur), and that during Sukkot I got to shake a big frond and hang out in a large wooden structure and have a picnic. Pesach was definitely my favorite – the locusts, the dripping blood of the firstborn, the chase, the sea parting – what fun!  But as for the rest, with all those weird names like Shemini Atzeret, Lag BaOmer, and Tu Bishvat, I knew little about them and cared less. Oh, and there was another one floating vaguely in my consciousness about some guy who tried to kill us, but we were saved by a beautiful queen, the bad guy was hanged and we ate his ears…

Schul was an opportunity to hang with my friends. Those prayers in incomprehensible Hebrew (which turned out to be maybe Aramaic, and what is that anyway….) were so BORING, I could barely sit through a complete service. I itched and fidgeted at the Saturday morning services until finally released to walk 2 miles to a downtown Greek café where I’d join up with my friends who had also come there from the Orthodox schul. We’d eye the girls, eat minced pie slathered in a thick savory gravy, and blow straw wrappers at each other. Shabbat was fun.

And yet, though ignorant of my........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)