Walking into Shun Lee Palace on 55th and Lexington on Christmas Day, my family and I couldn’t help but look around at the other families and laugh. As we waited for the hostess we glanced down at the reservation list: Cohen, Schwartz, Blumfield, Freidman… The waiter walked us to our table as we overheard old men saying, “This soup is too cold!” and teenage girls whining, “Moom”. By the time we arrived at our seats, my family and I looked at the crowd like outsiders. We thought to ourselves, “We are not this loud and obnoxious. We never complain!”
Soon enough, my dad felt a draft.
“Did you feel that?” he asks my mother.
“Feel what?” Mom asks, “Your imagining things”.
“I’m gonna ask to switch tables, this is terrible I can’t sit like this, feel my nose- I’m freezing!”
“Oye… here we go.” Mom rolls her eyes.
“Guys, its fine. Let’s just ask the waiter for some hot tea.” I suggest with optimism.
My dad mutters a, “fine,” but by the time the waiter comes to our table, he asks if they can lower the air conditioning. The waiter initially objects by saying that people have been complaining all night about the temperature, but he soon realized that you do not argue with Jack Genende. As my dad was pitching a fit, my brother and I shoot each other looks and try to control our laughter. My mom catches us and asks, “What’s so funny?”
As if she needed to ask.
We were just like everyone else in that restaurant. Just as New York, and just as Jewish. Instead of it making me sick, it made me really happy. Why did me identifying with these other loud obnoxious families make me feel so blessed and special?
By the time the delicious meal of vegetable dumplings, cold noodles and moo shoo pork was complete, my brother Seth and I were practically rolling on the floor laughing at overheard conversations of recession mark-downs and John Stewart quotes. I silently bonded with the other guests at Shun Lee Palace that evening.
The next day my mom told me she was in an exercise class when her instructor asked, “So, how many of you ate Chinese food last night?”. The whole class erupted in laughter. Even as my mom was telling the story she was laughing. It occurred to me that this story isn’t particularly funny, but it just makes us Jews feel good. It is so important for us to feel a togetherness and camaraderie amongst our people. Going to a Chinese restaurant on Christmas, or visiting a place like Israel, gives us the same warm feeling inside, that makes us feel at home. We feel a certain bond with other Jews we meet, regardless if they are or aren’t friendly.
This feeling would make sense for someone like my Grandmother, who survived a mass genocide. But for someone like myself, who grew up surrounded by Jews, it seems odd that I would yearn for the feelings of togetherness and the common bond amongst Jews. I think that most Jews are searching for that mutual feeling of belonging. We are a people who have never felt at home. Who have wondered the world searching for land to call our own, to feel acceptance. Even today, in the vastly populated Jewish community that I currently reside in, I continue on the path to seek the feelings of togetherness and belonging that Jews have been searching for for sixteen thousand years.
So when I go see a movie on Christmas day, and the man next to me whips out his ziplock bag of non-perils, I don’t just mock him; I bust out my own ziplock bag of homemade popcorn and feel a warmth all over that makes me feel a bond towards a complete stranger- and that’s what being Jewish means.
