Alef: The NEXT Conversation

Scottsdale, AZ (480)

From Jewish Melting Pot to Pioneers

By Joshua Schechter

When I was eight years old, my parents told me and my eight brothers and sisters that we were moving. My mother was an avid business traveler and really liked Phoenix. So one September, we all packed our bags and left New York.

I don’t remember the plane ride to Phoenix or other details about the trip, but I do remember the drive to the hotel where we stayed until my parents found a house. The Supershuttle turned off the main road and pulled into the parking lot of an adult video store. I was confused and asked my older sister, who was sitting next to me, where we were. She just giggled. We drove past the video store parking lot and up to a motel. My mother and father went in, and when they came out they told the driver to pull up to the back. All eleven of us would be staying in two rooms – my father, mother, and infant little sister in one room and eight of us in the other room. There were only two queen beds in each room (we went sleeping bag shopping later that day).

Moving from New York – where we attended Orthodox yeshivas - to Arizona – where we would attend public school (there weren’t any yeshivas in the area at the time) – would be a huge transition for us. Instead of going to school from 8 am – 4 pm, we were going to school from 9 am – 3 pm. I was thrilled – It felt like a half-day. Plus, the curriculum was only in English, instead of the three hours of daily Hebrew studies in addition to English studies that we were used to.

Eating became a challenge. In New York, a family that kept kosher didn’t have to struggle to find kosher food; there were a multitude of restaurants and supermarkets that were kosher, and it was a true convenience. Only until we moved to Arizona did we realize the hardship of finding kosher food. We would go to the supermarket and all of the brands were foreign to us. We had to inspect each thing we bought and make sure that it was kosher. And any food that was perishable, like cheese, meat or poultry, was NOT kosher in Arizona and had to be flown in, special delivery, from Los Angeles. Feeding a family of eleven was not easy to begin with, and it became even more difficult in Arizona.

Eventually my parents found a home, or more specifically, happened across a government re-possessed home that we bought for $122,500. We slowly began to move all of our things out of the motel, except for the sleeping bags which we kindly put out of their misery. But this new place was no ordinary home. Arizona didn’t have two-story houses, they were all “ranch” style. We had four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a backyard that was as big as a New York City block. My parents shared a bedroom and bathroom, and had direct access to the pool and outdoor spa. Throw nine kids into the remaining three rooms and have them share one bathroom and you have a party.

At first, people in Arizona were very friendly. Our neighbors came over and introduced themselves, and people would say “good day” to us as we walked in the street. This was nothing like the attitude of native New Yorkers that we were used to. But one thing that was different about these friendly people was exposed as soon as the baseball caps came off to reveal our yarmulkes. At school, I was constantly teased about wearing a “beanie” or a “shoulder pad” on my head. Being a young, naïve Jew, I would try to explain why I wore it, which only brought on more questions and ridicule.

Even the school administration was insensitive towards us. We would have to miss school for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and since Jewish law prohibited us from calling the school on holidays, we had to send a note in beforehand. The school would question us and gave us a hard time about it, as if we were making up new holidays that they have never heard of before.

One time during Passover, I was eating matzah in the cafeteria and the lunch lady walked by with a puzzled look on her face. Later that day I got home and my mother asked me why I hadn’t packed my lunch. I didn’t know what she was talking about until she told me that the lunch lady had called to ask her why her child was lunch-less, eating what must have seemed like nothing more than a large cracker or a piece of cardboard. But how could I be blamed when the only thing to eat in Arizona during Passover was matzah; there was no other “kosher for Passover” food.

One of my most embarrassing moments was during a school presentation when I decided to share the Jewish ritual of blowing the shofar. Everyone was interested until I pulled out the ram’s horn and tried to blow it for them. All that came out was a loud fart-sound. The teacher next door ran in and asked if everyone was okay. I was the butt of many jokes after that incident (pun intended).

Life as an eight-year-old in a foreign state wasn’t easy, but it also challenged us in a good way. Moving from New York, the Jewish Melting Pot of America, to Arizona, we were the first eleven Jews there (or so it seemed), definitely caused my family to look at things from a different perspective.

Photo by Sebastian Bergmann, licensed under Creative Commons.

Tags: Area Codes

Posted by Sarah, Monday, November 23rd, 2009, 3:05 pm, Area Codes.