By Debbi Levy
My Jewish inner child had a very positive and nurturing formation. All my individual circumstances were, somehow, blessedly safe and rooted in Jewish customs unaffected by antisemitism. From hanging fresh fruits and vegetables in the Temple Emanu-El sukkah to partnering with my brother Adam as we flew our kite on JCC kite-flying contest day, I was surrounded by a contented Jewish world.
A dim and distant early childhood memory places me back at the JCC entering day camp. There was a sign that I read each day upon entry that contained the words “Soviet Jewry.” Week after week, I kept waiting for the actual “jewelry” to be displayed. Completely unaware of the Holocaust that preceded my birth by roughly a quarter of a century, my Jewish inner child blissfully danced and played with a belly full of my grandmother’s homemade strudel.
In my late middle school years, a letter was apparently sent to the parents of my religious school class alerting them to the beginning of studies concerning the Holocaust. There would be black-and-white historical photographs of the atrocities and camps. My mother wrote a note that I carried with me that Sunday morning explaining, “Debbi is tender-hearted, and please let her wait outside in the hall as the photographs are shared.” I did just that.
The neighborhood of Preston Hollow in Dallas was a haven for a Jewish girl like me. Today, I understand that some of the parents and grandparents I knew were Holocaust survivors. The school I attended during my formative years was the Lamplighter School. There, my Judaism blended into our caring community melting pot in an intentional and kind way. There was no occasion when I felt afraid or targeted or simply teased because I was Jewish.
Living in this same geography as a 60-something grown-up, it has been heartbreaking to have to leave my Jewish inner child behind. It is not that my neighborhood has changed drastically but, rather, that the entire globe has transformed, it seems. I am working to live boldly, with our six-foot menorah placed on our porch and lit up for all to see post-Oct. 7, but I must confess, every single incident of hate meets my heart with a new shock. It has been necessary, in moving forward wisely, to shed my Jewish inner child along with her innocent joy.
Like each of us, I have witnessed indirect trauma from the news and reports of our homeland, Israel, and the murders and kidnappings of her people. On other days, I have told myself, “Debbi, close your mouth,” when astoundment was all I could feel at the news of our college campuses. I wept with my community on the Federation Solidarity Mission in February 2024 at Kibbutz K’far Aza on the blood-stained sidewalks, and I shouted with all that resides within me in Washington, D.C., in November 2023 at the National Mall during the “March for Israel.”
In a new low as a proud Jew, I wondered if I should tuck my pendant made in the shape of Israel underneath my shirt when I traveled outside the United States to stay safe. As the layers of the antisemitism onion peel away to reveal the current climate, I am most saddened that my grandchildren will not have the innocent Jewish upbringing I was accustomed to. Is there any use for my Jewish inner child as we await the remains of our last hostage?
I have determined, with the help and shepherding of our rabbis, cantors, wise Jewish professionals and community leaders, that I am going to trot that inner child right out of my heart and into my current life. The unbridled joy she dwells in is exactly the dose my grandchildren could thrive on. Our grandson’s bar mitzvah is only about one year away. I can’t wait to dance and go overboard on his Shabbat dinner. I have given my Star of David necklace a great shine. Our six-foot menorah shone brightly over Hanukkah and will again for the next Festival of Lights.
My Hebrew flashcards are back in my purse for Barry and me to brush up at restaurants, and I am paying all my increased Jewish organization pledges with gratitude and a smile on my face. The cost of security? My tzedakah as a caring grandparent and Jewish community member. And this one I include here so I’ll hold myself to it sooner rather than later: the mission trip to Israel I’ve been dreaming of.
My Jewish inner child has grown up, and she wants to enjoy those pretty olives and a glass of champagne on the roof of the King David Hotel in Jerusalem a day before the rest of the participants arrive. Am Yisrael Chai.
Kohenet Debbi Levy is appreciative of your stories as we support one another in living our Jewish lives fully and with joy. She can be reached at debbiklevy@gmail.com.
