A Jewish Woman's Coming-of-Age in Kuwait
A Jewish Woman's Coming-of-Age in Kuwait
A story of hope for our post-October 7 world
This essay is part of a new collection of work inspired by the anthology On Being Jewish Now: Reflections of Authors and Advocates. Want to contribute? Instructions here. Subscribe here.
“Buckle up, buttercup,” I told myself. But that’s not what I told the audience at the temple, where I had come to discuss my debut memoir, Saying Inshallah With Chutzpah.
“Fasten your seatbelt,” I said. “We are about to take off on a bumpy ride—and yes, there will be a lot of baggage to unload.” My attempt at humor fell flat on the five congregants who sat solemnly beside the rabbi in the mostly-empty community room.
It took me ten years to get to this moment. Ten years to publish the uplifting story I believed everyone should hear—and suddenly, no one wanted to touch it. My book came out thirty-eight days after October 7. The gefilte-fish-out-of-water story of a young Jewish woman navigating an unfamiliar world, working for a Muslim government.
“Why would you even publish this book now?” a congregant asked, before I could even introduce myself.
With three young children and a full-time job, I had spent two hours a week, year after year, squeezing in time to write my story. I had wanted to share the humorous, forward-looking perspective of a Jewish woman working for the Kuwaiti government. And now, in the community room of the temple, I stood alone. It was too soon for a story of optimism and joy.
Reading the room, I restarted my speech.
“In 2008, when the economy crashed...” I took them back to when I was unemployed, praying for an opportunity. All I needed was one person to take a chance on me. But every door I knocked on was shut. It took almost a full year for my only job offer to come in. It was from a Muslim man, a diplomat and cultural attaché for Kuwait. I was hired to be an advisor to Kuwaiti students studying on U.S. college campuses.
“Did they even know you were Jewish?” An older woman scoffed. I was used to this question. When I first started the job, it was what everyone wanted to know. I lived in LA, took time off for Rosh Hashanah and had frizzy, brown curly hair. I wondered how they wouldn’t know—and why it even mattered.
The congregants weren’t prepared for the next turn. My job offered me the opportunity to practice Jewish values. Ahavat ger, welcoming the stranger—a reminder that we were all once strangers. Lifnei iver, removing barriers for professional women and girls applying for scholarships from their government. The benefits of the job didn’t come in the form of a 401K, but in the opportunity to demonstrate gemilut hasadim—offering kindness.
Sharing my story has tried my perseverance, but as a mother of three, I’m used to being in a room where no one wants to listen. I remind myself to have faith. My hope for Saying Inshallah With Chutzpah has remained constant. With the weight of the tragedies we carry, may we find the space and time to lift ourselves up by remembering the positive stories we carry.
Jessica Keith is a professor at San Diego State University, in the Department of Journalism and Media Studies. She has worked for two foreign governments at the Embassy of Spain and The Consulate of Kuwait. Jessica was awarded a Community Action Grant from the American Association of University Women to produce a documentary, Beyond Our Boundaries, distributed by Berkely Media. She has been published in the New York Times, Kveller, McSweeney’s, The Nosher, Scary Mommy, Uptown News, Sammiches & Psych Meds, PJ Library, and BLUNTmoms. Jessica lives in sunny San Diego with her bashert and their three children, the family’s first generation of Black Jews.
Instagram: @jessicakeithwriter
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