When I would tell people back home I was half Jewish and half Italian, they’d pretty much go, “Yeah, obviously.” That’s just what New Jersey is like: It seems like everybody is Italian, Jewish or both. We even called ourselves “Jew-ish” or “Pizza Bagels” — a mixture of Italian and Jewish heritage wrapped into one.
Before I arrived in D.C., I never thought about how many students had never met a Jewish person prior to GW. I didn’t realize that things like keeping a light-up menorah next to a Christmas tree, which to me had been a core aspect of growing up, was unheard of to others. The way I was raised can be hard for my peers to understand, especially considering how valuable religion is to a lot of them, and how I’ve interacted with the holiday season in a way that combines two religions — Catholicism and Judaism. In a strange way, having to explain my multicultural upbringing to people has made me reflect on, and appreciate my background, more than I ever did before.
When I have been fortunate enough to be the first Jew someone has met, they are usually surprised to learn I have any Jewish heritage at all. The shock is not the unfamiliar part to me: As far as I know, there are only four Jews in New Jersey with the last name “Morrelli” — my immediate family. But it’s the necessary elaboration that is new. Once I tell them I’m only half Jewish, and the other half is Italian, I am pelted with questions.
The non-Jewish students ask if I went to church or synagogue growing up, and I tell them I did neither. They ask if I keep kosher, and I tell them I did when I was living “ten months for two,” an inside joke for people who go to sleepaway camp, meaning you live through the ten months of the school year just for two months of summer camp. Did I have a Bat Mitzvah? Nope, but for my sweet sixteen, I went to see SIX on Broadway, which is way more Jewish if you ask me. At first, my interviewer is often confused, but they eventually start to understand. I’m happy to answer their questions. It’s a strange reminder that I don’t observe certain customs or participate in traditional events like some Jewish people — or at least what goyim think most Jewish people do.
Back in New Jersey, people seemed to understand that I had a different experience during the holidays than people who were just Italian or just Jewish, so it was unsettling to suddenly be around people who didn’t grow up with families like mine. My combination of religions was normal and it’s not necessarily abnormal here, either. But it’s less common than the realities of some students here, who grew up in areas without a lot of religious diversity.
My family all lives in the Tri-State Area, so the more holidays we can all gather for, the better. When I’m asked about the holidays, it’s usually about the big ones: Christmas and Hanukkah — which is how I’m spelling it for this article, and if you’re mad about that you can complain about it to your family at your own Hanukkah party. Their eyes light up like a Christmas tree when I tell them I got to celebrate both. They seem to think I was living the dream as a child in December’s past. I feel bad bursting their bubbles but I wasn’t getting eight straight days of big presents.
As much as I would have loved receiving over a week of gifts for Hanukkah, it was never like that in my house. My parents would always save the best presents for Christmas morning. We would see my Mom’s side of the family on whatever Sunday happened to coincide with one of the nights of Hanukkah, and I’d get gifts from my Nana and Grandpa then. On the other nights of Hanukkah, my family would shuffle into the dining room and try not to set the entire house on fire while lighting a menorah. Mom would have us close our eyes since she would usually forget to wrap the Hanukkah gifts. She and Dad would place the gifts into our cupped hands. We’d open our eyes, look down and thank our parents for what usually ended up being erasers or candy. This was normal to me, and coming to GW made it seem like something befuddling.
After a few days, we would usually forget about Hanukkah. At some point, Christmas would come and overtake Hanukkah, if it hadn’t already trampled its momentum by coming before it. Fried potato pancakes left in the fridge would slowly be replaced by seafood salad, rice balls and struffoli — the only food my Dad ever makes. We’d see Mom’s family again on Christmas Eve and Dad’s family Christmas morning.
I never really saw these sides of my family as separate parts to be analyzed or questioned before coming to GW. To me, they were all my family. It made me appreciate the way I grew up. I objectively celebrate more holidays than the average GW student, if they tend to be more secular. It gives me a sense of familial pride. I love talking about my family and about how we spend the holidays. It’s been an odd experience, but I feel lucky. At the end of the day, pizza and bagels are both just bread anyway.
Caroline Morrelli, a first-year majoring in political science and minoring in history, is the staff cartoonist.
