My pink elephant

I am getting the feeling that in spite all the hospitality, friendliness, kindness and jokes together, being non-Jewish is a kind of a glass ceiling one can't break. Even with the risk of sounding ungrateful or defying the saying about not throwing stones in glass houses (with those glass ceilings), here goes anyway.

Being non-Jewish, you ultimately will be liked only to a certain extent. It doesn't mean you are hated or considered a bad person, but since you're not Jewish – you won't be taken for a ride for that extra mile. Shiksa/goy is a label you can't choose to take off. And it might not be obvious discrimination or a statement of opinion – or even anything that someone would say out loud. It is kind of like that pink elephant in the living room. Everyone knows it's there, but it might not be spoken of. Well, except by a blabber shiksa like myself.

I can't help but think if my surname ended in ”-ovich” or a maternal great grandmother would be discovered to be Jewish; that invisible barrier I can't break, the label I can't take off, would be removed for me. I would get an all access pass to the Jewish funfair. But alas, none of this will be happening. Well, what about that conversion thing then? For all the reasons stated in this text so far it would be like forfeiting and admitting that there is something wrong with you.

But that's the thing, there isn't. No one did anything wrong by being born non-Jewish (or vice versa for that matter). It is not a choice, but yet you are being judged according to it. It could be compared to the security check at any Israeli airport. They treat you in a sort of polite manner, but yet doubt, question and scan you, leaving you feeling uneasy and thinking what did I do wrong to deserve this. And the process will never go away if you keep visiting the land of Israel – no matter how many Israeli stamps in your passport, hamsa key rings or I heart Israel t-shirt with blinking neon lights in your suitcase. Or no matter how nice, funny and smart you are as a person. You're always the usual suspect. You didn't do anything wrong; it's just the way it is and will be: at the airport, outside the airport.

So, the pink elephant is there, your presence in social media is denied and your existence is never revealed to certain relatives or friends. Those who say that this sort of situation is not really a problem, are lying. There's obviously something to be hidden, and it may not be you as a person - but the fact that you are not an "-ovich". I am not writing this to demonstrate that I am desperate to join the haim-mile club. No, but the whole setup is very sad and hard not to take, well, personally. Feeling inadequate as a person for qualities in you that you can't help is quite a heavy baggage to carry if this status quo will persist in my life going forward.

Sometimes, I'm asking myself how it is in reverse. Did I ever encounter a situation where I'd need to hide or deny the fact that I have a Jewish boyfriend? Did my parents, family or friends ever consider it a constraint? So far, never. The only constraint that I can see is that we as a couple can never visit certain Arab countries, but this is not a problem caused by me, my country or my background. And sometimes I think if this is a European thing, where people are sticking to their national identity, language and colors of flag so strongly. Would it be different in the US for us, for instance? I wouldn't be Christian, Finnish or shiksa, he wouldn't be Israeli or Jew, but we'd be (after a long naturalization process and unlikely to happen anyway) just merry Americans?

I'm not asking to be considered kosher, I'd settle for being parve. But like the piggies and myself, we can't really help it. According to the Torah, according to the glass ceiling, pink elephant... we are what we are - can't chew this cud. And in a desperate search of a silver lining and somewhat of a positive ending to this text, I could say that at least I'm not an Arab or German. So it could be worse, no?