This is the third post within this particular series. One may view the second part by clicking here. I am a FAKE Jew and have an Imaginary Jewish Family: Part Two

The deeply rooted swamp lands were traversed with ease from my trailer park home in Reaux, Louisiana. The dusty, gravel road gave way to bow at its marshy feet. When not ensconced in Jewish culture, I harbored the ambition of my imaginary REAL Jewish family returning in melodramatic fashion.  With a flourish, they would emerge and whisk me to a land afar. Perhaps Israel, India, or Boca Raton? Well….enough with the grandiose delusions for now.

Ever present, the lush swamp remained an exquisite refuge from my FAKE foster family. The ethereal fabric of the bayou attired me. The mossy Cypress trees showed themselves to be comforting; amid the tapestry of green palmettos.

img_2468At every turn, I played better at rendering myself Jewish. I desired to be set apart from my drunken foster family and pedophile uncle.

Moreover, I had hoped to illicit the favor of God.  Assuredly, He would not decline to mark me as among the chosen people. In contrast, it was of no consequence to me how I was perceived by others.

Drunken, trailer park crawfish boils were customary at Springtime within Reaux, Louisiana. I set about forewarning folks that all of their crawfish was NOT in fact kosher. I pronounced them UNCLEAN. The balmy night before the big crawfish boil, I managed to liberate the whole lot of them from their stifling sacks. Yet again, the folks of Reaux remained empty of gratitude.

Upon the playground I made full use of words like shiksa, goy, and mazel tov. In memorable fashion, I even adopted widely circulated Yiddish phrases such as oy vey and chutzpah in my conversations. Blank stares greeted me.

Kippahs were carefully crafted of  tiny paper plates and taped to my head. No matter that I was a girl, and kippahs are traditionally sported by Jewish men. Beautiful Stars of David, were lovingly etched upon this outward symbol of Judaism with sharpie markers. But here lies the burning question. If I chose to escape to the nearest Jew, would they accept me as their own?


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