THE JEWBIRDS OF HERALD SQUARE (AND EVERYWHERE)

They come in the fall, descending like crows, swooping down when I least expect it. They fly in, dressed in head-to-toe black and surround me. No, this is not some violent fantasy from The Matrix where I battle 100 Agent Smiths. This is a threat far deadlier. These are young men who have devoted their lives to God and refuse to take “No” for an answer.

If you live and/or work in Manhattan and look even remotely of Eastern European decent, they will demand to know:

“ARE YOU JEWISH??”

Like Agent Smith, there are many, and they are unstoppable.

My answer to their string-pulled question happens to be, “Yes, I am Jewish.” But my reply, in turn, begs the additional question: Do I want to announce it to the world?

NO!!

Unfortunately, I never have a witty response prepared for this unwelcome violation of personal space and dignity. They always catch me by surprise. It's October and the autumn light gives the city an unspeakable energy and beauty. Just like every year since I stopped going to Hebrew school, I don't know when Succot is. Overwhelmed with the fall colors, I leave work and forget to slap on my headphones/social armor. I’m a goner.

It’s not long before I feel a presence by my side and, from the pit of my stomach I know that I’ve made a huge mistake by not running from where I stand. I look into the bearded face of a very Jewish man, sporting standard-issue God-garb. He has already coiled back like a deadly snake, and is now springing forward to make the kill.

Very abruptly, in that quick, nasal New York Jewish voice, he asks, no, DEMANDS, to know if I’m Jewish. This, of course, startles me, sending me into what is known as the “fight or flight.” Having numbers in their favor, flight is the only option. “No!” I croak, and duck into the nearest subway.

There are those unfortunate souls who have stood up to the Hebrew Horde and shot back with “Yes! As a matter of fact, I AM Jewish.” I’ve stood and watched in amazement as the bearded predators thrust a deadly lulav-and-etrog combo into one man’s bosom before he could finish his sentence. Barely a breath escaped the victim’s mouth, his head raised and eyebrows arched in an affirming gesture that he would soon regret. The man’s own body language became his undoing as he found himself trapped in an embarrassing public spectacle.

The irony here is that these robotic crusaders of the Jewish Diaspora are undoing all of the hard work accomplished by our semi-assimilated ancestors. They are “outing” us in public, on the street. They are doing more harm than good by reaching inside of us and pulling out what we sometimes hide, sometimes loathe, but will always love; they are the Jewbirds of Herald Square.

(originally posted 5.11.04)
- posted by Hal Miller @ 1:51 PM