On Being Jewish

In England, from the beginning, I knew I was different and somehow not very acceptable. Oh, I was cute - I had curls and dimples and an outgoing personality but I was Jewish - and I knew that from the get go.

I started school at the age of 4 - my parents had found jobs in Whitchurch, Hampshire - and gently removed me from my English foster family. Once I went to school, the differentiation became more pronounced. The kids teased me - but kids do that everywhere and for any reason - or for no reason. But I was sent from the room during prayers - I got to stay out in the hall with the gypsies. And, with the gypsies, I had my hair carefully examined for lice.

I'm pretty sure the principal didn't like me or Jews very much - she used a metal comb to section and search my scalp and at times I thought she'd draw blood with it.

I must say I was a pretty bright little thing and sociable. My Mother was very upset with me because I didn't cry for her or cling to her as she left me my first day in school. She'd bring that up for years. But I was happy to be with other children and doing interesting things. I had a hard time keeping my mouth shut in class and was forever getting into trouble about talking too much - not much has changed.

My Mother , the eternal looker out for my interests, signed me up for a theatrical/dance group
and for years I performed plays based on fairy tales - usually playing the boy's roles - even before I learned to read. Usually someone walked me through my role and told me the words I had to say and I learned them that way.

I also learned basic ballet and dance - which I love to this day. And I think I had no fear of performing - then - because I ended up with good roles in the plays and in prominent positions in the dance.

I do remember learning to read though - the process was that we learned the sound of the letters and then had to stand in front of the room and sound out the words. I had no clue what the process was or the goal for that matter. It was just something teachers did.

So, one day, I was in front of the room, sounding out my letters when all of a sudden those very same letters floated into words, and the words made sense. I said "Oh, I see." and started reading fairly fluently. The teacher stopped me "What are you doing?" she asked. I responded "I'm reading." She sent me to my seat and I thought I had done something wrong.

When class ended, she told me to stay after. I sat and waited and worried while she left the room and then came back with several other teachers. She then told me to read - and I did. The next day I was moved into the higher grade.

I think the structure of the school was that "when the child is ready" the instructor would move them into the next grade. I slithered through the first 3 levels of school in about 3 months and was soon in a class with much older children. It didn't bother me - unless they bothered me.

My Math skills were not so great as my reading skills. Those numbers never floated into any meaningful patterns that I could discern. So it's a good thing I was stuck in the 6th Form for three years. I couldn't take the national exams until I was 10 so I had to stay there. We left England the summer I was 10, so I never knew if I could have passed those exams or not.

Those exams, as I understand it, decided your future. If you were in a lower percentile you would go to a technical or craft school. If you were higher, you got an academic education and a future.

When we came to the United State, Los Angeles to be specific, I was very insulted that they didn't know how brilliant I was. They just put me in Fifth grade with the other 10 year olds
and processed me from then on according to my age - no matter how smart I was. There wasn't much incentive to excell in that environment.

I got good grades and worked in the office in 6th grade - of course, I took advantage of that special position and looked at my "cum" card and was shocked to see that the teacher had written in that first year in the USA, that I was very mercenary. To this day, I have no idea how she could have come to that conclusion. Nothing that occurred in class, or for that matter on the playground, that had anything to do with money or material acquisitions. Certainly nothing on the level that warranted it appearing on my "cum" card and traveling with me throughout my school experience. I finally decided that that teacher didn't like Jews - the first time in the USA that I applied that label to someone. It stung because I knew that that was what people believed about Jews - I'd had a good dose of that kind of treatment in England, but I was not prepared for it here.

When I say that I had anti-Semitic treatment in England it was hard to really define.

I remember that I was invited to a very posh party at the Manor House at Christmas time.
I was shown off (my parents were not invited, only me) by the adults who called me the "little Jewish girl". Not my name, just the label. I didn't like it. I was in total awe of the house and it's contents. Remember we lived in four rooms (small ones) without water, power or gas. The Manor House had a living room/sitting room bigger than our whole house and it was filled with furniture. Soft sofas, occasional tables, gilt lamps and crystal chandeliers. The Christmas tree reached the sky - and was covered with beautiful decorations and candles. I was very envious.

I didn't like it when people asked to touch my curls and asked "Where are the horns?"
I didn't like waiting in the hall with the gypsies while prayers were said.
I didn't like being called and teased by the name "Jerry" - it was what they called Germans but I wasn't German!
The teachers called me "The Little Polish Girl" which felt even more foreign to me. I suppose it was to try and protect me from anti-German sentiment but it didn't work.

I realized years later, on looking back on England that except for the Sims (my foster family) we were never invited into someone's home - not for parties, not for Sunday dinner and not to play.

The one family where I did play in the time before school started in earnest, I realized that my Mother cleaned house there and I could play with their daughter of the same age while my Mother worked. When school started the daughter, Rosemarie, went to a public (private) school.

That said - I was still happy in England. I didn't mind being on my own a lot. But I did feel like an outsider always. I pretty much roamed the farm and local area unsupervised. I read everything I could get my hands on and loved history - which I saw all around me. From the church "Where G-d has been worshiped for 1000 years" to the silk mill where a child had drowned sometimes in the 18th century.

So my memories of England are overall good.