Frum Woman of Color

’m used to standing out. As the only child to my amazingly loving parents, I was raised in a predominantly white suburb with a large Jewish community. In grade school, I was the only black child in most of my classes. I never really thought about color or felt out of place until we turned to the slavery chapter in our history books  — I’ll never forget the stares I got then.

I was so used to being the minority wherever I went that when my parents and I chose Judaism for ourselves, I didn’t think the bias we experienced in day-to-day life would be any different. I was wrong.

Life is easier when we can just put other people into boxes. But I don’t fit in a box  — I never have. I don’t know any black Jew who does. Maybe that’s why people seem confused about how to relate to me.

I’d love to be able to be like my friends. I’d love to go to a simchah where I’m not mistaken for the waitress, or go to a chasunah where no one comes up to me and asks if I enjoyed the wedding, assuming it’s my first time at a Jewish wedding. I’d also love for people to not be so surprised when they learn that no, my husband isn’t the other black Jewish person who happens to be in the room  — he’s the fun-loving Ashkenazi man you’ve been talking to!