I had originally intended to write about spouses in minorities; male spouses, people of color, other minority religions. And then I realized that I cannot speak for anyone else’s experience. I can only speak to mine. And it is my hope that, through sharing my experience, those in other minorities might feel empowered to share theirs, and I would love to lend whatever leverage I have to amplify those stories.

And I must say that, despite what this may leave you with, our time here has not been all tragedy. My daughters, despite their negative experiences, have made so many wonderful friends. I have had the honor of calling a few incredible people some of my closest confidants. But they have moved and we are moving, and it throws the battles we’ve been through into sharp relief as we relive them without the supports we worked so hard to build.

I remember feeling hopeful when I looked up the base chapel here and saw Shabbat services listed. I emailed the chapel to inquire if the services were regular or bi-weekly, and if Jewish Sunday school was offered. After two weeks, I received a response that there weren’t actually any Jewish services on base, and that I must have been confused.

I wish I had thought to screenshot the chapel website, because when I went to double check, Shabbat services were no longer listed.

It should have been a sign, but I thought that there would still be other Jews on base, and that we would have a community that we put together out of our love for our faith, our culture, and each other.

How hopelessly naive of me.

Not only were there no Jewish services on base, there were relatively few other observant Jews on base. In fact, we have been “the only” Jews on base, and have had to DIY and order everything we can through Amazon. And I hope not one more Jewish family gets stationed here in the future.

The chapel here is just fine with a Sefer Torah that has been rendered no longer kosher because of unattended Christian Bible school children scrawling on it with crayon. The chapel here is hunky dory with an Ark that had a padlock drilled into the doors, the molding and decorative carvings ripped off, and more colorful crayon markings made on it by, again, unattended Christian Bible school children. Because the Ark had been left in Sunday school room.

It took the threat of calling the ADL for them to move it somewhere safe. We still had to clean and restore the ark. A friend made curtains for it. But they have no history of the Sefer Torah within, and it is not marked as being non-kosher, nor are they interested in sending it off to be restored if possible.

I was asked to leave the chapel for discussing Jewish issues with someone who worked there. It was distracting, apparently, and not relevant to spirituality. I have been told that because we are so few, there is no justification for supplying us with anything that is not already in the chapel. I have, blessedly, found Hanukkah candles and menorahs, and managed to scrape together a few sets of things from what remnants are left of whatever Jewish community used to exist here. But they clearly left years ago.

Our family has only been barely consulted for Holocaust Remembrance ceremonies; we’re an afterthought and/or a token, if they remember to ask us for our input and participation at all.

My children had their first run-ins with antisemitism here. My youngest received the usual teasing by peers (particularly around Christmas), and she’s tough, so she put an end to it quickly. My oldest… had to listen to “Jew jokes” and peers screaming “all Jews must burn!” during fire drills. And then cope with a school administration that did not enforce the so-called zero tolerance policy.

There were people walking around with white supremacist tee shirts in the aftermath of Charleston. The chapel has never recognized or offered prayer services or vigils for any of the violence committed against our people. Chaplains check up on people who may be upset over internet arguments because those people are heavily involved in Christian pursuits.

My people are murdered and it’s sickeningly quiet for me, while my husband is still having to explain why the line “Jew money” is antisemitic.

It’s so small and insignificant but I cried tears of joy when the coffee shop on base created a Hanukkah Sufganiyot latte to add to the holiday drink lineup and I had been asked for input on Hanukkah flavors prior to their concocting what turned out to be a delicious drink. I’m going to have to ask for the recipe before we transfer.

There is so much evangelizing on base. So many people from flavors of religions that require testifying and testimony and… I don’t want your testimony, I don’t want your Jesus, really. Everything comes with a caveat of soul-selling or soul-saving, Jesus this and Christmas and Easter that and…

On any other base, it would be a non-issue. We would have a community. We would have a safe haven, backup, and support built in. But we are the only. We are not just a minority; we are it. And all the Christian God this and Jesus that… makes a Jew feel claustrophobic.

It’s suffocating. It’s like walking around with a target on your back. It’s questioning people’s motivations in befriending you because what change of religion are they trying to sell you? What ulterior motives do they have?

I’ve tried to raise my voice. I have done everything I can to make my home open and welcoming to all for most of our holidays. So that people can learn about Judaism, so it’s not a foreign concept. So that when there is violence against Jews, they cannot say they have never met a Jew and will see my face in their mind’s eye.

And I have been told that I am crazy. That I am overly sensitive. That I am pushing too much or not pushing in the right way.

I have had to yell at a grown man who had the audacity to call me a liar when I raised the issue of antisemitism in the schools during a town hall with an education board. He claimed to be someone important to the school, but nobody sees him in the schools. He said if he hadn’t heard about it, it hadn’t happened. I yelled. I frightened people. And when I got home that day, I sobbed.

And a lot of the people who have perpetrated these acts are still here. Are still in positions of power. Sticking their heads in the sand and thinking that lip service to a deep-running problem will make it go away. Or at least that it will pacify me enough so that I’ll shut up and go back to my word search books.

I am so ready to leave and hopefully be united with my people at our next base. I have spent three years being gaslit and relentlessly othered. And I am so tired.