I’m not an observant Jew. Maybe if I’d grown up in Montreal or New York or another Western capital, where WASPs drop “oys” like ice in scotch, and where being openly Jewish is a non-issue—maybe then I’d attend Kol Nidre or give up beer for Passover.

But back in the USSR, I knew next to nothing about Judaism. Religious practice as a whole was marginalized, and if you happened to be Jewish, keeping it to yourself was a survival skill. The sum total of my knowledge of 5,775 years of Judaism was equal to the contents of the cardboard box that landed on top of my dresser every spring. The box contained the spoils from my father’s clandestine run to the city’s old shul, which operated unofficially on some holidays. There, on Passover, a handful of resolute Jews lined up for boxes of matzoh to take home to their families. The matzoh sheets were stacked inside the boxes underneath pink paper napkins. As soon as one of those boxes arrived at our apartment, it was stuffed on top of the dresser to be accessed with caution, away from gentile eyes. To my non-Jewish friends, who sometimes spotted a renegade piece of matzoh lying around, I would nonchalantly offer said piece as a cracker. Frankly, that’s what it was to me anyway: a Jewish cracker.

We fled the USSR in 1988, when I was 16—thousands of Soviet Jewish refugees leaving in a modern-day Exodus. On our way to the States we were stationed in Ladispoli, a sleepy coastal town outside of Rome, where we waited for our U.S. visas. There, on the Mediterranean shore,we learned for the first time about Jews as a people. A Chabad mission was set up in town, headed by Rabbi Hirsch, who worked morning, noon, and night reaching out to every lapsed Soviet Jew. That spring, we sat down to our first seder inside an Etruscan castle. Hundred-foot tables were filled with families like ours, and we finally heard the story behind the matzoh we used to hide under the pink napkins. For many Soviet Jews, that first seder marked the beginning of their return to their lost faith. For me, it marked the beginning of a life-long love affair with jarred gefilte fish.

That year, I also heard the sound of the shofar for the first time. My main memory of that Rosh Hashanah was the rabbi talking about praying to be sealed in the book of life for another year, and the obligation to purge one’s pockets of ‘sins’ into the nearby canal. I had 2,000 liras in my jeans, which I lifted from my dad’s wallet earlier that day with the intent to buy licorice. Despite the Rabbi’s passionate sermon, there would be no purging on my end. I was not giving up my stolen licorice money, High Holidays be damned.

We finally made it to Chicago. No longer scared of being outed as Jews, we were now discovering what it meant to be Jewish. We settled in West Rogers Park, a predominantly Jewish neighborhood filled with synagogues and kosher pizza parlors. But there was so much more than Judaism for a curious a 17-year-old to explore: my daily existence was divided between running to painting classes at the School of the Art Institute in the morning, and running the cash register at Dog On It (a kosher wiener joint) in the afternoon. My classmates introduced me to their friends as “Inna, she’s from Russia.” There was no time to think about being Jewish: I was too busy trying to fit in as a Russian among non-Jewish, non-white, non-conformist art students.

I suppose the physical proximity to all things Jewish precipitated a gradual awakening of my Jewish identity. The Jewish holidays arrived in West Rogers Park with a bang; religious or not, you were greeted with a “Gut Yontif” at every turn. My first Yom Kippur in Chicago was appropriately bleak: my grandmother had just died in a Chicago hospital. She’d been ill for most of her life in the USSR, and arrived in the U.S. too late to benefit from Western medicine. Dog On It was closed for the holidays, so I spent my day shuffling around the neighborhood. I tried thinking about the meaning of Yom Kippur and my babushka being with God, but the concept felt as foreign to me as the rest of America did at the time. There was no God with her or me that day, just the bad weather and the reality of her death and—a combination that felt almost clichéd.

Then I went to Israel. In Ladispoli I’d met some Israelis who had come specifically to encourage the Soviet Jews to immigrate to the Holy Land. Some of those “ambassadors” were particularly good looking, and I decided that Israel was worth a visit. So, during my second year in Chicago, I saved my cashier money, enrolled in an overseas program at the Hebrew University, and flew to the land of milk and honey—and good-looking people.

In Israel, the divide between religious and secular Jews felt bigger than the divide between Jews and Arabs. A Jew like me would get frowned upon for wearing a sleeveless shirt on a bus full of religious Jews, while on her way to visit an Arab friend. Still, a measure of superstition infiltrated secular Israel on Yom Kippur: no one got behind the wheel that day, just in case there was a God, and He decided—God forbid—to punish you for driving. On the eve of Yom Kippur, crowds poured into the streets in every neighborhood and children skateboarded safely on car-free roads. People fasted because, you know, tradition. I fasted too, out of solidarity. God knows I didn’t do it out of faith.

I returned to Chicago a year later only to find that my family now kept kosher and went to shul on Friday nights. There was no picking up the phone or driving on the Sabbath. I didn’t get answers to how it happened—it just did. That’s when I first felt conflicted over competing definitions of Jewishness. I had just spent a year in Israel and felt more Jewish than ever; but I simply didn’t see how giving up the car on Saturdays would make me a better Jew. My parents eventually downgraded their religiousness and found a middle ground, which balanced their yearning for a Jewish identity with their modern-day needs. My brother continued on a religious path. Today he’s an Orthodox father of seven living a few blocks from our first home. He goes to the same shul, keeps kosher, and observes all Jewish holidays. As I write this, he’s probably saying selichot.

Perhaps the closest I came to the Jewish faith was during my return to the former USSR a few years ago. I came to Kiev to work as an advertising executive and went to shul on Yom Kippur to see for myself the state of post-Soviet Jews. They had come a long way from lining up for camouflaged matzoh; there was even jarred Manischewitz gefilte fish at break-fast. On that Yom Kippur, I felt thankful for their freedom and mine, though I still wasn’t sure who I was thanking.

On this Yom Kippur I’ll walk around my city as I often do, remembering past Yom Kippurs. I won’t be asking for forgiveness or praying to be sealed in the book of life. I will be thinking of that early Yom Kippur morning in Jerusalem, 20 years ago. I saw an old lady who seemed lost. She summoned me over and asked, “Is today Yom Kippur?” I said yes. “Oh good,” she said, “I’m glad I forgot to eat.”

I’d like to think God was good to her for another year.

Inna Gertsberg is an advertising writer. She lives in Toronto with her husband, two sons and a cat. You can follow her on Twitter at @twigstr.

(Main image: Yossi Gurvitz via Flickr)

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• “Dustin Hoffman wore a 34B in Tootsie.” That is all. [NYP]

• While in Beijing filming her award-winning documentary Ai Weiwei: Never Sorry, filmmaker Alison Klayman also became an in-demand bat mitzvah tutor. [Forward]

• Rachel Shukert’s upcoming novel, Starstruck, made the Atlantic’s list of Young Adult books to look out for. [Atlantic Wire]

• Chicago, meet Jewish food. [Serious Eats]

• Looking for Spanish history in Spain? Google’s got you covered. [Google]

• Gary Shteyngart’s blurbs, still a thing.

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Gold wields his Judaism as a weapon instead of letting it hold him back in this stereotypically Jewish profession. He’s the type to feign offense at what he could concoct to be an insult or a slur, name-checking his heritage to exact leverage on an enemy when necessary. More than anything, he wants to win, whether it’s an election, a petty rivalry with a law partner, or a match of wits with his ex-wife’s new campaign manager.

The well-dressed Gold is actually played by a rather peculiar Scotland native, Alan Cumming. Known for his flamboyant nature, double entendre name, and pronounced eye makeup, Cumming is the complete opposite of his onscreen persona. The only small trace of the actor in his character is a tendency to get overexcited when passionately talking about something, which usually causes Gold’s carefully styled hair to move independently of his body. Gold is much more normal—and straight—than most of the characters that Cumming has played, and it’s somewhat shocking to discover that he’s just as fascinating when he’s buttoned up.

Gold addresses his Judaism only when provoked, and, since he works in politics, Israel comes up often. He is stubborn and opinionated, and it’s no surprise that his teenage daughter, Marissa (Sarah Steele), would inherit those same qualities. When she suggested that she wanted to move to Israel, Gold promptly rejected the idea as preposterous. Talking up Israel and name-checking his Judaism is largely superficial—Gold is definitely more of a ‘High Holiday Jew’ who’s not particularly observant.

In one example of the show’s constant mirroring of headlines in its plot lines—which have included social networking site scandals and Ponzi schemes—Gold found himself pulled in opposite directions as a metaphor for the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Though the primary thing holding Gold back from defending a Muslim student accused of killing a Jew is the threat of losing financial support from a prominent Jewish group, it’s hardly as deplorable as it seems. Gold may not be subtle about his motivations, but being honest doesn’t make him a bad person. Being cunning and conniving just puts him one step ahead of the rest of the crowd. He may be shrewd and greedy, but unlike most Jews on TV, Gold is far from nebbishy. Anyone watching would rather be him than be one of the people he yells at on a given day.

It’s no coincidence that Gold has been compared to a real-life famous Jew with a similar profession. Rahm Emanuel, former Chief of Staff for President Obama, and brother of Ari Emanuel, the basis for Entourage’s super agent Ari Gold, has quite a reputation for winning at all costs, and Gold has managed to earn that same status in what could easily have been (and originally was) merely a guest-starring role. Gold may reinforce the stereotype of Jews wanting all the power, but he’s definitely someone you’d want on your side.

Previously on Network Jews:

Howard Wolowitz, the nerdy, sex-obsessed engineer on The Big Bang Theory

Paris Geller, Rory Gilmore’s high-intensity, over-achieving friend and foil on Gilmore Girls

Kyle Broflovski, South Park’s Resident Jew

When he’s not working in the world of Jewish outreach, Abe Fried-Tanzer can be found blogging away about movies and television.

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8 pm, 18+, $10

Clare Burson’s latest CD, SILVER & ASH, is “finely polished, profound and must hear record…with good arrangements, great songwriting, Intellectual lyrics, beautiful tone and true inspiration, this is storytelling at its best.” Inspired by her grandmother’s escape from Germany to Nashville in 1938 and Burson’s own struggle with the legacy of family secrets and loss, SILVER & ASH is a musical event, not to be missed.

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Preparing for the graphic fanfare that the Chicago elections would bring in our coverage, I came across a fascinating artistic venture headquartered in Minnesota and catching art collectors’ eyes internationally via eBay. Forget Mary toast, say hello to Dan Lacey’s Rahm paintings.

Jewcy: Portrayed with lox, what is Rahm saying with his eyes?

Dan Lacey: ‘Come closer and let me share with you what is on my mind.’

J: When did you start putting pancakes and other breakfast foods on celebrities?

DL: My first pancake portrait was of John McCain and was inspired by the Oolong the pancake bunny meme. Before that I drew a webcomic called ‘Faithmouse’ and previous to that I operated an art studio in the Rio Hotel in Las Vegas and contributed role model portraits to a magazine called ‘Saludos Hispanos.’ I stopped drawing the cartoon following a loss of faith and began to paint again, posting paintings for sale on eBay and drawing inspiration from the internet.  The pancake portraits represent created self-context and the absurdity of changeable and impermanent identity. The related Obama Nude On A Unicorn series is the carnalized Messiah-substitute superman.

J: What inspired you to take your brush to Rahm’s face?

DL: I did no such thing.  It would have been rude and perhaps created unnecessary personal jeopardy to approach Rahm with a pointy stick in my hand.

J: Who’s buying these Rahms?

DL: Art collectors from Australia to Serbia. (Including this Toronto blogger who has her Rahm prominently framed.)

J: Do you think you’ll be inspired to paint more kosher gourmet Rahms after the Chicago election?

DL: Rahm needs to win so I can paint him with deep dish pizza.

Commissioned by this Toronto blogger who prominently features her framed Rahm.

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Check out “Exotic on the Speaker” by Soulico

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As Marc Tracy pointed out yesterday at Tablet, I am part of the Chicago Bears Jewish fanbase.  And thanks to Marc’s post, my mom can now say that my name came up in her Google alerts for both “Chicago Bears” and “Jewish,” fulfilling two dreams she never thought would come true.

Tracy also points out that The Bears are also the team left in the playoffs with the largest Jewish fanbase.  He’s right.

Of course the Jets are a New York team that plays in New Jersey.  That means they’ve got not only the Upper West Side covered, but probably really Jewy places like Cherry Hill and Teaneck.

I don’t think that matters, and I’m here to back up Tracy’s assertion with the following:

Sid Luckman, the greatest Jewish football player ever, played on the Chicago Bears from 1939 to 1950.  When you really take into consideration the period’s rabid anti-Semitism, no other Jewish athlete – save for Hank Greenberg in baseball – was as much of a sports hero to the Jews as Luckman during that time.

Luckman and the Bears revolutionized the game of football with the famous T-formation. They’d go on to win several championships, and Luckman would set records that still haven’t been broken.

Luckman’s influence on the game hasn’t been forgotten, and his impact on Chicago Jews who were lucky enough to see him play is a lasting memory for many of them.   In an essay I’d been writing on Jewish culture in Chicago in the 20^th Century, I was surprised at how many people I interviewed chose to talk about Luckman instead of the city’s perpetually awful baseball team, the Chicago Cubs. [I also count myself among the many people who love the perpetually awful Cubs]

Proximity did help the Bears capture the hearts of Windy City Jews.  For nearly 50 years – until 1971 – the Bears shared the Wrigley Field with the Cubs.  This coincided with the period when there was a massive influx of Jews from the West Side to the North Side neighborhoods of Rogers Park, Uptown, and then the eventual flight to the near-north suburbs of Evanston and Skokie.

While Chicago stadiums don’t boast much Kosher food, like New York or Los Angeles, the local Vienna Beef Company was founded by Jews, and offered a pork-free wiener that was readily available at Wrigley Field.

The fertile period also kept fans close to another Chicago Jewish landmark: Ashkenaz Restaurant and Delicatessen.  After a Bears game, it was normal to see bar mitzvah boys, just out of Sunday Hebrew school, maybe sitting next to Pulitzer Prize winning writers like Studs Terkel or Ira Berkow.

The Bears have had the most ambiguously Jewish roster in the history of football. You can’t fault someone for thinking current kicker Robbie Gould is, and yes, we even thought Rex Grossman was, but he turned out to be a false messiah of the worst kind. And if you ask any Chicago fan, Mike Ditka may not be Jewish, but in their eyes, he transcends all religions.  The same goes for legends like Walter Payton, Dick Butkus, Richard Dent and Gale Sayers; as well as guys from the current roster like Brian Urlacher, Devin Hester, Jay Cutler.  All of them would be welcomed into any shul in the Chicagoland area.

And if they beat the Green Bay Packers on Sunday, and make it to the Super Bowl, who am I to argue they aren’t also the chosen ones?

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There is an early show at 6:30 and a late show at 10:00

$14, 21+

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