I have been crying for 15 minutes. My chest hurts, my stomach hurts. My heart hurts. I feel like walls around my heart are caving in and my lungs feel smaller, tighter, like the air has been sucked out of them.
Do I look like your f$%^ing priest I want to say? Do I look like I’m taking confession?
This is anger but I don’t feel anger, not at first. First, I just feel pain.
Because my friends, my white Jewish friends, their white Jewish friends, like confessing their discomfort, their latent racist tendencies to me.
Because apparently, I look like a f$%#ing priest.
They assure me that these racist tendencies don’t apply to me because I’m different. I’m not one of those people. That’s why they can confide in me.
They can tell me on the day that I’ve been rocking my afro, that actually they don’t think Michelle Obama should ever wear her hair natural. That makes them uncomfortable. They don’t even like seeing her kids rocking their hair au natural. Seeing the Obamas with their hair natural just strikes my friends as unnatural. But they assure me, they like my hair just the way it is. “It’s cute.”
And they would never date black people. No, no. But this doesn’t apply to me because I’m not black, I’m Hispanic, you know. There isn’t enough African blood in my veins for me to be offended by this confession, they assure me. No, it would kill my grandmother if I married a black person. So what if your grandmother died? Would you do it then? Silence. And a black Jew? Silence.
And did you know that you were ripping my heart right out of my chest? Probably not. If you knew, I’d like to think you would have thought about it before you said something. Like I think about it before I tell you I hate white people because they’re all racists. I mean, they’re not right? I mean, they can’t be. I just hope. Please tell me, they’re not.
MixedJewGirl responds with “When people forget you’re a minority”.