Alef: The NEXT Conversation

St. Paul, MN (651)

By Sarah Pumroy

My mother visited me in New York a few weeks ago. She’s originally from Manhattan, and much of her side of the family is buried in a Jewish cemetery in New Jersey, just over the George Washington Bridge. On a sunny October afternoon, we rented a car and crossed state lines. My mother’s family – the “Jewish-sounding” Silvers, Shapiros and Bernsteins – grew up mostly on the east coast. Eventually, the Shapiros moved out to Salt Lake City (area code 801) in the early 1900s and founded Shapiro’s Leather Goods, which still exists.

I never met any of the Shapiros, but I wonder how their life in Salt Lake City – hardly known as a major center of Jewish life – compared to my experience growing up in St. Paul, MN (651). St. Paul has a small but vibrant Jewish community – three synagogues within a 10-minute drive of my house, and many more in Minneapolis and its surrounding suburbs – but I still felt like a minority. Yes, there were multiple synagogues within St. Paul city limits, but there were eight churches within blocks of my home. I currently work in New York City, and there’s a Judaica store next door to my office; back in St. Paul, we had to travel 40 minutes to pick out invitations for my bat mitzvah.

After the cemetery, my mom and I went out for a late lunch at a diner off the side of the highway. It was packed, oddly full for 3pm on a Sunday. I thought about why it might be so crowded, and said to my mom, “well, it couldn’t be the post-church rush, it’s 3 pm, too late for churches to be letting out.” This was common around noon in the Twin Cities – the restaurants were packed with families and old people who had recently gotten out of Sunday church service. My mom laughed at this notion. “I don’t think they have that out here,” she said. I realized she was probably right – this part of New Jersey was so Jewish that there wasn’t such a thing as a “post-church rush.”

Crowded restaurants on Sunday mornings wasn’t exactly a negative experience, but it was one of the many things about being Jewish that left me feeling like the odd one out. In fifth and sixth grade, I attended Saturday school in preparation for my bat mitzvah. I didn’t mind having to wake up incredibly early on Saturday to go to class, except for the fact that many of my friends, with church to go to on Sundays, always had Friday night sleepovers. Every once in a while, my mom let me go to those sleepovers and skip Hebrew school. Most of the time, though, I was allowed to go to the party but not stay overnight, which made me resentful towards Judaism.

Around Christmas-time, our neighborhood became decorated with beautiful light displays on every block. It was so charmingly Midwestern, and we often took a driving tour around the neighborhood to see them. It was the year before my bat mitzvah that I first begged my parents to put up lights on our house. They obviously refused, and I remember throwing a tantrum and begging for blue and white lights, “for Hanukkah.” I’m not sure why it was so important to me; I think I saw the rest of the community enjoying Christmas and wished I could take part.

In junior high and high school, the High Holidays became an issue. Teachers constantly held exams or set paper due dates on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. I was a quiet, studious teenager and disliked missing school in general, especially if it meant having to make-up a test. Most teachers were understanding, but I regularly had to explain the significance of the holidays, which was embarrassing.

“Yahm Kipper? What’s that?,” some teachers would ask. I shrugged my shoulders and mumbled something about the Jewish New Year, which seemed easier than explaining the tenants of atonement, repentance and fasting.

Now I live in the most Jewish-heavy area codes in the country (212/718), where almost everyone is at least familiar with Judaism. I work at a Jewish organization, and I can attend a Jewish event any night of the week if I want to. At the same time, St. Paul was a great place to grow up, and I wouldn’t trade my experience there, even for one where I didn’t feel like a minority. Having struggled with resentment and shame for being Jewish as a young person has made me a prouder and more active Jew as a young adult.

Photo by The U.S. National Archives, licensed under Creative Commons.

Tags: Area Codes

Posted by Sarah, Tuesday, November 17th, 2009, 12:13 pm, Area Codes.