COLUMN: Importance of the 'Jewish factor'

My parents were quite pleased -- although UVA was located much further away, tuition was cheaper and unlike Penn, there were no worries about safety or snobbery. Then something strange happened: my rabbi called me."Let's chat about college," he remarked. Despite my recent anger at him over a youth group matter, I took him up on his offer. Begging me to "reconsider Penn and remember the Jewish factor," my rabbi reminded me Penn was teeming with Jewish people, while in his eyes, UVA had a higher population of people with missing teeth rather than those of Jewish origin. As biased towards Penn and ignorant about UVAas my rabbi sounded, I nonetheless entertained his arguments. How important was the "Jewish factor" to me? The thoughts echoed back and forth. After years of Hebrew school, Passover seders and experiences I had in NFTY (my youth group), how could I turn my back on my tradition, family and identity once I reached college? I could only continue my spiritual growth at a school with a huge Jewish population, like Penn -- right? But wait -- who was I kidding? UVA's Hillel had won awards for its programming and Elie Weisel had recently lectured there. How bad could it be? In the end, I changed my mind and chose Penn, but really not because of the Jewish factor. In reality, the allure of the city and my visit during Spring Fling played a larger role in my choice. But without question, my rabbi's pleadings had subconsciously made me reconsider my original decision. So I arrived on campus last fall proud of my heritage and eager to become involved in Penn Hillel. But during the course of my freshman year, both my eagerness to be active and pride in my Judaism came under fire. Before college, I could never envision feeling isolated and inferior among other Jews. But I did upon attending Kosher dining at Penn for the first time last year. Why the stares? Oh yeah -- I'm not wearing a kippah. Oops. And I won't soon forget the time when an Orthodox rabbi whom I brought to campus for a program about missionary cult groups ended up denouncing my beliefs in front of the crowd. After I responded later with a passionate diatribe about what Reform Judaism means to me, his best answer was, "Maybe you're not really Reform." What was going on? I felt confused, betrayed and angry. These disconcerting experiences were a rude awakening for me. And as a result, I began to question myself and my Jewishness. The reason? In high school, I was Mike Silver, committed NFTY member, Hebrew high school graduate, youth group president and persistent pest who once resorted to bribing a girl with McDonald's chicken nuggets in order to get her to join my youth group. In my northern New Jersey town -- where Jewish education rarely continues past Bar Mitzvah age and youth group events are shunned in favor of parties -- my friends and I were the exceptions. We stood alone as the active ones and since in our circles active was analogous to Jewish, we were the "Jewish ones," -- the ones who cared. At Penn, was I really Jewish? The questions continued to rage on like a tempest, but then the epiphany came: if the beliefs rest in my heart, isn't that the only important thing? Does it really matter if I don't go to services every week or have knowledge of every single Torah passage? I respect my family, upbringing and tradition as much as anyone else and I am at peace with myself and my religion. Why should I be criticized if my faith manifests itself differently? The fact is, active Reform Jews, like myself, shouldn't be condemned because of other people's follies. Today there exists a large number of uncommitted Jews who contribute to the destruction of the religion through their apathy. Of course, many of these people are indeed Reform, but they give Reform Judaism a bad name by using it as an excuse to forsake their religion. The problem lies in the indifferent nature of the people themselves -- not in the institution of Reform Judaism. When stripped away of misconceptions, one will learn that Reform Judaism emphasizes a personal relationship with God, self-evaluation and choice -- and does not encourage intermarriage and apathy. Polarization among Jews remains a severe problem worldwide, not just at Penn. The proclamation by a small but vocal group of ultra-Orthodox rabbis last year that Conservative and Reform Jews weren't "real Jews" sent shockwaves through the American Jewish community. And the debate in Israel over conversion rights shows these issues often transcend religious boundaries and infringe on politics. Combined with external forces like anti-Semitism and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, this internal friction will continue to threaten our stability as a religion if we don't address it. Thankfully, cooperation has begun at Penn, and thus I am filled with optimism for the coming year. Last spring, the new Hillel executive board made a sincere and successful attempt at attracting a pluralistic group of leaders. In addition, several innovative events -- such as the Shabbat Experience -- brought the different Jewish communities together. On a personal note, my friendship with an Orthodox girl whom I met last year has opened my eyes in many ways. Sure, we've had disagreements -- ideologically, we always will -- but mutual respect and understanding still exist. Most importantly, we're still friends. In essence, Penn has taught me one thing UVA could never have: there are issues facing the Jewish religion that must be dealt with both at Penn and around the world in a cooperative manner. Though I did much soul-searching here last year, in retrospect, the exposure to this internal strife has allowed me to become a more educated Jew -- one who's now energized and more committed than ever to Reform Judaism and to Penn's Hillel.

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