Conundrums of a Half-Jew - a humorous romp through religious ambivalence. Polish/Jewish mom; Italian/Catholic dad. I was a religious mutt - a matzo brie pizza; a blintz marinara; a bagel and lox trapped inside a spaghetti and meatballs body. I needed an identity. I could have become: a) A Jew, invoking the very popular, and all-inclusive, 'if your mother is a Jew' rule; b) A Catholic, ignoring the above-mentioned rule; or, c) A half Jew/half Cath, Jewolic, straddling both religions, favoring the one that was most advantageous at the time. I straddled for most of my youth. I was a Jew Catholic, or Cath Jew, or half and half, or half-Cath, or half-Jew, or Jewolic, depending upon whom I was trying to impress or what I was attempting to avoid. My Gram tried to convince me that I was a Jew by virtue of the 'mother of the Jew rule'. I remained solidly unconvinced and ambivalent. "But why isn't the rule: if your father was Catholic, you are too?" I always challenged the 'mother of the Jew rule' when I had an urgent need to irk. "Because you are a Jew," she said, a cigarette dangled from her lips and smoke meandered up through her glasses. "How can you be so sure?" "Because, you are a schmuck and only Jews can be schmucks." She had embroidered the very same saying onto a pillow, which she threatened to give to me for my birthday. She opened the clasp on her purse and snapped it shut, signaling the official end of the conversation. That was my conundrum. This is my story.
