I used to be proud to wear shirts that said, “Happy Challah Days.”
or “Shalom. Salam. Peace.”
But now I only wear those shirts under something else.
I used to be proud to say I’m Jewish or talk about keeping kosher,
Never afraid to answer questions.
Even if it was “Does a rabbi have to bless your food?”
But now I only say something like “I don’t celebrate Christmas.”
I used to go to synagogue without any worries about my safety.
But now I hope that there will be security when I arrive.
I have never lived in fear, but I have always been careful.
I hide parts of myself just because of my religion.
I get chills talking about Israel, when I should be proud.
Even buying horseradish can lead to uncomfortable questions.
It’s not like I wear a kippah in public.
Only did that while I was in Israel.
But I never hesitated to wear a Chanukah shirt in public.
And now I do.
I may think twice about posting.
I may pause before putting on that shirt.
But I still share Jewish content.
I still visit kosher bakeries.
I still fast on Yom Kippur.
I still put up a sukkah.
Our mezuzah still sits on our doorpost.
May 25
May 25, 2026 at 8:39 PM UTC
I used to be proud to wear shirts that said, “Happy Challah Days.”
or “Shalom. Salam. Peace.”
But now I only wear those shirts under something else.
I used to be proud to say I’m Jewish or talk about keeping kosher,
Never afraid to answer questions.
Even if it was “Does a rabbi have to bless your food?”
But now I only say something like “I don’t celebrate Christmas.”
I used to go to synagogue without any worries about my safety.
But now I hope that there will be security when I arrive.
I have never lived in fear, but I have always been careful.
I hide parts of myself just because of my religion.
I get chills talking about Israel, when I should be proud.
Even buying horseradish can lead to uncomfortable questions.
It’s not like I wear a kippah in public.
Only did that while I was in Israel.
But I never hesitated to wear a Chanukah shirt in public.
And now I do.
I may think twice about posting.
I may pause before putting on that shirt.
But I still share Jewish content.
I still visit kosher bakeries.
I still fast on Yom Kippur.
I still put up a sukkah.
Our mezuzah still sits on our doorpost.
Over the last few years, I think many Jews have felt more visible, more cautious, and sometimes more on edge than we used to. I wrote this poem to capture some of that tension between pride, identity, tradition, and uncertainty in today’s world.
I now share “Our Mezuzah Still Sits.”