Passover, Matzah, and Being on the Outside Looking In

From ages 9 to 16, I lived in a neighborhood that was primarily Jewish, so Passover has special meaning to me- but it’s not what you would expect. Passover made me feel left out. I watched my friends’ families stock up on Kosher-for-Passover foods, and bring matzah in their school lunches everyday, while my peanut butter and jelly on white bread stood out like a scarlet letter.

To make matters worse, my mom’s friends would give us their leftover matzah after Passover. Now, I love matzah- just like I love gefilte fish, matzo ball soup, kugel, latkes and all the other foods I ate during those years. But my well-meaning mother would suggest I pack matzah in my lunchbox. And I’m here to tell you- there’s no bigger shame than being seen eating matzah AFTER Passover.

This does have something to do with writing…I’m getting there, stay with me!

I wouldn’t trade the experience of having lived in that town for anything in the world. Why? Few white, Christian Americans ever experience being a minority. As a non-Jew (aka goy) in our town, my brother and I were friends with all the black, asian, mormon, and foreign kids. Our posse looked like a model United Nations, or at least a Benetton ad.

Studies show that minorities have a more nuanced idea of cultural differences. For example, African Americans can makes lists both of things black people do that white people don’t, and also of things that white people do that black people don’t. Caucasians, on the other hand, may recognize how the African American community is different from them, but not how they differ from the African American community. It seems that if you’re in the majority, you can’t easily see how other groups see you.

As a writer, I use my perception of cultural differences all the time. I notice how Catholics are different from Protestants, who aren’t exactly like Mormons. I know that Latino families are large and close-knit, that Asian families can be reserved, that WASPs can seem cold and heartless, but have a system for showing affection that might not be apparent to outsiders.

In my most recent work-in-progress (MERCURY RISING), I have a scene where the god Mercury goes to his lover Dillon’s home in Mexico. I was a little nervous writing Dillon’s character because though I’ve been close with a couple latino families, I don’t live in Southern California or the Baja Peninsula and don’t know any families who are specifically Mexican.

Plus, Dillon’s family is poor by U.S. standards (though I imagined them being “normal” in the Baja region of Mexico.) So how could I, as a white middle class American writer, do justice to that experience?

Well, firstly I’m going to brag. My agent is latina- a Puerto Rican from Central Florida- and she mentioned to me how I did a really great job with the scene. She felt like it read as authentic. So if she thought my Dora the Explorer Spanish and and hints of Mexican culture made sense, then I think I did an OK job.

But the reason my scene in Dillon’s abuela’s house worked probably wasn’t the details I added about the matriarchal nature of his family, or the food they ate, or how I described their apartment. The scene probably worked because of Mercury’s reactions. As a fish out of water, the god watched the way the family interacted. He worried that he wouldn’t be able to act naturally in a group he didn’t fully understand.

He listened to them try to speak English on his account, and then tried to ignore the niggling sense that he only half-understood their conversation once they switched to rapid-fire Spanish. Mercury reasoned through every nuance of Dillon’s world the way only an newcomer can.

I’m not Mexican, but I sure know how it feels to step into a culture not my own.

To me, those outsider observations provide the best splashes of color and the finest shading to my worlds.

How about you? When do you feel like an outsider? Do you use that in your writing? If so, how?

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