Free To Be You And Me

"Daddy, is it okay to be us here?" Sennen asked while we waited at the departure gate.

"What do you mean, Sennen?"

"Is it okay if people know we're Jewish here?"

"Yes, it's safe in Greece. You don't have to be careful here."

This was a follow-up to the prior day when I had told my kids  - fresh out of Jewish summer camp – the should hold off on singing Hebrew songs and anything too outwardly Jewish while on Turkish Airlines or in Istanbul. I had to explain that Turkey is not a friend of Israel these days and not necessarily friendly to Jews in general.

"But we're American Jews," Sennen said.

"A lot of people don't understand the distinction between being Jewish and being Israeli," I explained. "They have feelings about the war against Hamas and not everyone is educated enough to understand that religion and ethnicity are not the same thing as nationality."

"But they should!" Sennen almost implored.

"I know, but not everyone is educated and not everyone cares or wants to be."

Sennen really struggled with this. An eleven-year-old boy and his nine-year-old sister just spent 12 days in an all-Jewish environment celebrating their Jewishness suddenly had his world turned upside down over a Turkish airliner. In that moment, I wished I had thought about it more when booking our tickets. United put us on Turkish because it's a Star Alliance partner and during busy seasons, United has been filling its friends' manifests. We've been to Turkey before. The kids remember our 2019 side trip to Kusadasi fondly. In my multiple trips to Turkey, I have had only positive experiences. However, I've never put my Jewish identity out there. I've been mistaken for Turkish before and through the ambiguity of my looks in a darker, hairier country can – if I want – simply be American. 

Prior to 2010, Turkey and Israel had a strong relationship. Israelis frequently traveled Turkey where they were welcome. But Turkey has changed a lot in the Erdogan years and I feel no need to test the sentiment of the people – especially where my children are involved.

So without planning or forethought I taught my children a lesson very much the opposite of what they just got at camp – that being Jewish isn't always safe.

Sennen broke down crying at the airport gate in Athens.

"Why do people hate? And why do we have to judge the world by the worst people can be? Why do we have to be afraid of the world?" he asked with tears running down his face.

Such simple words with such big, difficult answers.

I explained hatred exists where people feel threatened and uncomfortable – often because they are afraid of losing power or resent having lost it. So they hate others. It also has an easier time existing where there is less education and more poverty. 

I also explained that we don't always have to judge the world by people's worst actions and qualities. Sometimes we can decide to take a risk and hope for the best in people. Not everywhere is the same and I gauge a situation based on the circumstances. For example, there's antisemitism in France, but I feel more comfortable with us being Jewish in France where there's still a large Jewish population and the level of education is higher. People are more likely to understand the difference between ethnic identity and nationality – and that when people disagree, it doesn't need to come to violence. While France has its antisemitism, I gauge the average French person to be safer than the average Turkish person who is less educated and more likely to be given hateful messages by their government and media.

Sennen said he doesn't want to live his life afraid of people or hiding who he is. I told him as he gets older, he'll decide which risks he wants to take. Hopefully he gauges situations smartly too. However, they will be his risks to take – and I may or may not like them at different times. For now, it's my job to keep my kids safe which means, I'm more likely to err on the side of caution and say it's better not to be outwardly Jewish in Turkey. But have at it in Greece.

The tears stopped. He understood even if he didn't like the answers. Because who would?

In a sense, we're some of the lucky ones. Not every minority, not every target of hate can camouflage.

"I want to believe in the best in people. I don't want to think the worst of them," Sennen told me.

My whole heart wanted to tell him to keep that attitude – that looking for the best and leading with love (as my favorite yoga teacher says) is the way to go. In a sense, we find what we seek – we see what we want  - and true positivity has positive effects. My brain and my deeper instincts have their own opinions. We living in a highly imperfect world – a world of hatred and darkness where senseless crimes happen to innocent people – where children die in schools and people are kidnapped from raves, never to be seen again. Where people who are stopped for minor crimes are shot dead and where human beings suffer as the political pawns of their own leaders. Our world is beautiful, warm, special and at times cruel and harsh. 

What do I tell a good-hearted American-Jewish boy who just wants to be himself and enjoy the people in the world he encounters?

Sennen asked me if there's less hate in Athens because it's more metropolitan, or Patmos has less hate despite it being a "small town". I told him while cosmopolitan areas tend to have less hate because people are used to more diversity, in this case Patmos is generally just more warm hearted and kind. He's free to be him – however he defines it – on Patmos.

Maybe that's all I could really offer him for the moment.

So we did what we set out to do. We caught our flight to Kos, took a taxi to the ferry dock, got a quick dinner and a nearby restaurant and caught the ferry to Patmos getting in late – at almost 1:30 am. 

Sennen and Ailyn were reunited with their Bubbee and after showers and chatting, got some sleep in a place where they are safe to be them.

And today they took to Kampos Beach like a Sennen and Ailyn to water.