Now maybe the other aging sign I suffered this weekend was watching the film, Anora. I hated it. I didn’t care about the characters. I didn’t think it was funny. The scriptwriter abused my favorite word by repeating it maybe 10,000 times in 2 hours and 19 minutes. The English language contains many more words than fuck. I liked the ending because it was the only honest moment in the whole film. Maybe that was the point. I don’t know why it was lauded and I especially don’t know considering other films like The Brutalist and Conclave.
It’s possible I was hooked on Brutalist because of my own life. I remember well my grandparents bringing their relatives who had survived the Holocaust. Later, they sponsored families escaping the Hungarian Revolution in 1956. The immigrants all looked the same to me: blank stares looking at me over the dark circles under their eyes. I remember my own experiences with antisemitism.
All Jewish children who were born between 1945-1960 knew who Hitler was. I was raised not to fear the non-Jewish world but to tread carefully through it. Don’t make noise. Don’t laugh too loudly. Don’t express my opinions to outsiders. I was lucky. I didn’t have a “Jewish” nose, a Jewish surname (lots of Irish and Greeks share my last name) or a New York accent. I was a 4th generation Colorado native who grew up riding horses, skiing, hiking and speaking with a Western twang. I was as far from a stereotypical Jew as one could be.
Except, I wasn’t. When I was 10 we moved from Park Hill to Crestmoor. We moved because “Negros were moving into our neighborhood”. I’m quoting my parents. I didn’t want to move. Park Hill had alleys, broad sidewalks, and big trees. Crestmoor didn’t have any of those things. Well, Old Crestmoor had big trees but, guess what, Jews weren’t welcome there. In fact, we were the third Jewish family to move to New Crestmoor.
Well, I got on my bike and explored the place. There was a swimming pool and tennis courts a few blocks away. Ok, I thought. This’ll work. I excitedly gave the news to my parents. My mom adjusted my attitude. No Jews allowed.
We had literally moved out of a neighborhood to escape the onslaught of a minority group to a neighborhood that did not want us there. Because we were a minority.
Wow. I never forgave my parents’ hypocrisy. Never.
As I grew up, I learned the subtle cues of antisemitism. Where are you from? People would ask. Denver. I said. No, where are your people from?
Denver. My dad’s family first arrived in the 1880’s. My mom was born in Pennsylvania.
This went on and the conversation tired me until I finally came up with better answers. Sometimes I was from Mexico., Greece or Italy. Sometimes Black. That one always stunned people. I was Black. I felt more comfortable being Black than being Jewish because the hostility was more honest.
And, then there were the many times I was complimented by people because I wasn’t “too Jewish”. One day, a guy I was dating primarily because he drove a gorgeous yellow convertible, remarked on my lack of Jewishness. He liked that about me. I looked at him, said, fuck you. I’m totally Jewish, got out of the car and walked home. Truth told; I didn’t walk far. The discussion was held on the corner of my house in Boulder. Still. I stood up.
Another time was more painful. I was in my freshman year at Boulder, and I tried out for the ski team. Much to my surprise and disappointment I didn’t make it despite failing to attend workout sessions, stop smoking, stop drinking and partying. The tryouts were held at Eldora Ski Area, a 20-minute drive from Boulder. The great Bob Beattie was the coach. The slalom course was set up and we all walked up the hill to familiarize ourselves with it. I was one of the last to come down and the icy ruts made it impossible for me to maneuver the course. I went down at the third pole and skid to a stop at Beattie’s feet. I looked up at him. He said Get out. I went home and then off to a party at my roommates’ boyfriend. She was a Pi Phi and he was a Delt or something. Shorthand here for not Jewish. I proceeded to get drunk and loudly bemoaned my fate with the ski team. My roommate took me by the arm and said Calm down. You’re acting like a Jew.
I was happy to move to another room and following semester. She moved into the sorority house, and I never had to see her again.
I’ve spent my life waiting for the antisemitic joke. Or the comment that excuses me for being a Jew. Am I paranoid? No. I’m not. Just realistic about the attitudes people have towards minorities whether we’re Jews, Blacks, Hispanics, gay or whatever. It always amazes me that the majority just can’t leave the minorities alone.
And all this even though my mother would label me as a bad Jew. I’m not a hefty Zionist. I rarely attend services. My career has been outside of the Jewish community. Most of my friends have been non-Jews. I’m not a liberal. I probably only dated 3 Jewish men in my entire life and ended up marrying one that turned out not to have been born a Jew. But I’ll gladly put up an argument when confronted with antisemitism.
So, when László Toth comes to America, he’s unaware that the underpinnings of the Holocaust would greet him here. I could have told him about it. And had he lived long enough, he would have encountered it again in 2025 when Donald Trump opened the doors and welcomed the vile extreme right into the White House.
Air. 
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