The Hyphenated Life

My name is Amapola and I am the shiksa from Manila…

A hyphen is a small bar that looks like a minus sign. The dictionary further describes the hyphen as a punctuation mark used to divide or connect two words; to describe a person who performs more than one function; to describe a unit of mixed or diverse backgrounds.

To me the hyphen is all that. For something no bigger than a period, it means so much more. It describes the life I lead: a life that straddles two worlds, the tight rope that connects me to both, maintaining the delicate balancing act between the life I had before and the life I have now.

At times the shiksa life can be confusing. It gets so confusing at times that I swear I can’t keep my life straight. It’s that neither here nor there feeling. Like that. Then it really gets more complicated when other people try and do it for me. With the best of intentions of course. People always have the best of intentions even when the outcome is bad.

The other day I went into a Judaica store in search of a spice box. No, not for oregano, silly. For Havdallah at the end of Shabbat. Right now, all we use is an oval stainless steel tea strainer that looks like an egg with holes. You probably own one just like it. It’s the kind you’d buy at Broadway Panhandler or Crate and Barrel. The one we have preceded me so I wouldn’t be surprised if Glenn bought it at some JobLot before it went out of business. He can’t be bothered with details like that.

I’m the exact opposite; I’m all about details. If you’re going to do something, do it right, or don’t bother. Glenn just rolls his eyes whenever I say things like that. It’s a quality of life issue for me; he starts tabulating how this will dent our household budget. A spice box? Yeah, right.

Like I said, I walked into a Judaica store on Coney Island avenue. It’s not like I’ve never been to one before but this is the first one I went to by myself. It was a recent recommendation and I just happened to be in the neighborhood so I figure, why not?

I go in and look around. No one looks up. No one comes near. This is good. I am left alone. I don’t like it when sales associates come too close and trail me around as if I didn’t know what I was doing. Honey, I may look like this but I know what I’m doing so leave me alone. But that’s not a nice thing to say and I don’t.

I take my time going around. I’m not one of those grabbers who pounce on the first thing that catches their eyes. It needs to knock me off my feet for me to do that. I see some really nice Seder plates except that I already own one. There are several good-looking menorahs. We own three, in addition to the ones the kids made at their pre-school. I am happy just checking things out. It’s what I love to do whenever I go into a store. I get into my Zen, meditative mode and have a good time. There’s no rush. Something will pop at me and then I’ll know when it’s time to buy. Until then, I will just go from one display to another, floating in and out of space.

Suddenly I feel like I am being followed. I turn and there just behind me is an elderly man. He says politely, “Excuse me, can I help you?”

“Just looking,” I respond brightly. Then, “Actually, I’m looking for spice boxes. Where would they be?”

He doesn’t answer immediately but just stands there looking at me. Sigh. I recognize this look. I get this all the time whenever I come to places like this. I should have come with Glenn; they’d never give him that look. But he never has time plus I wanted this to be a surprise. I could have invited my friend, Miriam. They wouldn’t dare give her that look. Plus she’d look right back at them.

“You don’t look Jewish,” he says. I am not offended; he is right. Still.

“I’m not,” I reply evenly. In my head I add, I know what I’m doing even if I look like this. It would have been unkind to actually say them. Nothing would change. Plus he wouldn’t get it. So we stand there face to face, the two of us unsteady on our feet. I shouldn’t have worn heels.

He steps aside and with a slight bow, points to a certain direction. As I make my way he adds, “Well, you look like you know what you’re doing. Call me if I can help.”

I may look like this but you bet I know what I’m doing. But I say no such thing because the old man saw me and knew.