Hushed Tones

Navigating the secular world as an observant Jew

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.

---

Photo by Ilyuza Mingazova on Unsplash

Is there anything more awkward than trying to explain to non-Jewish co-workers, bosses, and professors why we need two or three days off for yet another Jewish holiday? I worked mostly in Jewish environments when I was younger, then freelanced as a graphic designer while raising my children. I finally went back to work full-time in 2021, taking a job on the production team of a secular weekly newspaper in Chicago.

In my first year at my new job, I was invited to five bar mitzvahs and two family weddings, most of which required travel. And, of course, there were the regular Jewish holidays. I started lying about why I needed time off.

That year, our biggest issue was due at the press during Pesach. I was in charge of the bulk of the layout, and I worked hard to get everything ready in advance. But my boss still didn’t understand why I couldn’t come to the office on deadline day. As I raced out of the office to light the Pesach candles in time, he told me that he would call me if I was needed.

My mother suggested I bring in a Jewish calendar to help explain all the holidays, but I didn’t think that would help. It wasn’t that my boss didn’t believe me; he just thought it was strange.

For the past two years, I have also been pursuing my MFA in creative writing. When I had to miss class on two consecutive Tuesdays for Pesach, my professor told me it was “B.S.”

How can non-Jews understand? I’m religious; I have a huge family. Yes, my niece got married at 20 years old—isn’t that crazy? Yes, she had a baby the following year and I flew to New York for the bris. I love attending simchos. I try not to miss weddings or bar mitzvahs, and I expect my family to do the same for me.

These conversations have been even more fraught since October 7. Not only do I have to tell my professors that I have to miss class for a holiday—I have to do it in hushed tones. I am scared I will be penalized, until I find out what side my professor is on. Do they like Jews? What’s their stance on Israel? Would it help if I pretended to be Jewish but anti-Israel?

At a recent writers’ conference, I had the privilege of speaking privately with one of the panelists, a fellow writer. I told her about the memoir I am working on—and I couldn’t avoid telling her about its Jewish themes.

“Do you feel nervous to write about being Jewish now?” she asked me, bluntly.

At first, I hesitated. What was she asking me? And, who was she? I knew she was a published author, with two memoirs under her belt, but I didn’t really know her. How did I know where she stood on Israel? How did I know if this question was a trap? But I saw the concern in her eyes, and I decided to take a chance.

“Yes, actually, I am nervous about what I write these days,” I told her. “This past year has been really hard.” I did not elaborate, and I did not say the word “Israel.” I was too afraid.

That is what it is like to be Jewish now.

---

Abby Schneider recently graduated from Columbia College Chicago with her MFA in Creative Writing. She has published work on Kveller and Aish. She is currently working on her memoir, which is about growing up in a non-religious community as the daughter of a Rabbi with a difficult personality.

Instagram: @abbys6824

---

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.