Bernie Sanders playing Rabbi Manny Shevitz (oy) in the 1999 rom-com, “My X-Girlfriend’s Wedding Reception.”

Here’s the part where I out myself as Jewish. I know, with a name like Wensleydale? But Jews like cheese, too.

Before I begin, let me reiterate a central axiom of my faith: “Two Jews, three opinions.” My religious compatriots and I never going to agree on everything (or sometimes anything). What I discuss here is meant to represent my views, not those of all millennial Jews, or Jews in general.

That said, I would not be surprised if this piece spoke to a large swathe of my peers.

I find it amusing and a bit deflating that so many people think Bernie Sanders doesn’t wear his Judaism on his sleeve. Some have taken offense, going so far as to suggest he’s ashamed of his heritage — the irony, considering he got into politics specifically to halt another Hitler from ascending to political power. And let’s just leave aside for the moment the gross antisemitism of (especially non-Jews) dismissing his identity altogether.

But beyond that, and beyond his easily definable Jewish mannerisms that fellow Jew Larry David so ably mimicked on Saturday Night Live, I think Bernie Sanders is arguably the most representative of modern Jewish America we could ask for in a candidate.

I’ll paraphrase a friend of a friend who summed up being Jewish as “feeling different than the archetypal white male (or female).” This is, as far as I’m concerned, the cornerstone of Jewish American identity. There’s a good piece from David Klion on this topic which I encourage you to read here for more.

Empathy

Let’s start with history. As I’m sure you’re aware, Jews have been scapegoated and kicked out of a bevy of countries, usually killed or forced to convert in the process. This has been going for thousands of years; here’s a brief list starting at just 250 C.E.

Why is this relevant? Perhaps a better question is, “Why does this keep happening to us?” My answer is rather simple: to build empathy.

I have no way to justify the absolute abandon with which the rest of the world seems to take pleasure in coming after us. If I ever meet God, I, like many other Jews, would have a question or two to ask about the Spanish Inquisition and the Holocaust. A classic Jewish joke comes to mind:

A Holocaust survivor who dies and goes to heaven. On arrival, he tells God a Holocaust joke. God says, ‘That isn’t funny.” The survivor replies, “Guess you had to be there.”

But theistic quests for meaning aside, the one thing we can pull from these events is that we’re fairly well acquainted with oppression. The reason we tell the Passover story every year in vivid detail isn’t just for the sake of tradition; it’s to remind us that the historicity of the Exodus story to one side, our people have been strangers in strange lands countless times. We know what it’s like to be a minority group with no representation and outright discrimination. But this arduous retelling doesn’t demand self-pity — it demands action.

(This call has become so strong that some Haggadot, the prayer books we use during the Passover meal, include direct references to real-world initiative Jews are expected to take: visiting the sick, defending downtrodden peoples here and around the world, and so on.)

Barack Obama summed it up better than I ever could.

This is why (in my view) throughout history you often see Jews partnering with other minority groups in solidarity. For an easy example, see Martin Luther King Jr. and the Jewish coalition of rabbis and supporters who fought with him. You can also look to the impressive interfaith work that happened after 9/11 as Jews sought to protect Muslims from unfettered violence and attacks. Note that obviously Jews were hardly the only ones who joined in these events — but they are often at the scene historically. Particularly in America.

Remember, we weren’t considered “white” until fairly recently. Colleges were all about discriminating against Jews for ages. Seeing the same type of institutional roadblocks put in front of Hispanic immigrants, black Americans and women (among others) hits home for us.

(Unless you’re Stephen Miller, apparently.)

This is where Bernie comes in. His college work with CORE and the Civil Rights movement, or his efforts to protect gay, disabled, elderly and poor folks from housing discrimination as mayor of Burlington, are precisely in line with his Jewish identity. I imagine growing up so long ago in Brooklyn he experienced overt “outsider” rhetoric about himself and his family both for being Jewish and for his parents’ immigrant status. He sums up this idea himself in this excellent moment from the 2016 campaign:

I believe that in my whole life, that we are in this together. The truth is, at some level, when you hurt, when your children hurt, I hurt. And when my kids hurt, you hurt. ~ Bernie Sanders

While many younger Jews don’t have these outsider experiences day-to-day, these feelings have percolated down through the generations. That said, you’d be hard-pressed to find a 20-something Jew who hasn’t had to sit through a painful Jewish joke or found a swastika or anti-Jewish bit of graffiti posted in a public place. Just in case we’re getting too comfortable in America, someone’s bound to keep us on our toes.

Okay, so empathy. That’s part one. It’s in our cultural DNA.

Bernie Sanders picking up trash in Burlington, VT, in 1981. Source

Tikkun Olam

The other half of the story is the rise of progressive Judaism. Bernie Sanders was, in many ways, ahead of his time with his activism (although as aforementioned, fighting with the oppressed is something we’ve at least strived to get right historically).

But in the past few decades, we’ve seen a huge surge in Jewish youth activism. It also has given rise to Left-leaning social thought about society and the country: see groups like the Union for Reform Judaism or the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College and their stances on gay rights, women’s rights, black rights, and so on.

Tikkun olam — loosely “repairing the world” — is a belief held among Reform, Reconstructionist and other progressive Jews that our responsibility as ‘yuman beings is to maintain the planet and help each other, improving society as we go. This isn’t an endeavor we embark on for any sort of promised reward in the afterlife — it’s a means of ethical coexistence.

When I grew up, this idea consumed my whole. My Jewish identity was inextricably tied to my volunteerism. I racked up hundreds of hours in from 3rd grade through 12th grade doing volunteer work in the community through my temple, and I’ve tried to keep that up since where I can.

One congregation’s graphic sums it up perfectly. Source

Whether it was juggling at the local annual pediatric HIV/AIDS Christmas party, playing Klezmer music at retirement homes, baking food for homeless shelters or volunteering with special olympics bowling, every organization I got involved with in my congregation was about social justice and action.

I am far from unique. This is precisely the experience of thousands and thousands of Jewish students who grew up when I did. For us, this was Judaism. Not just going to services, not just keeping the sabbath: tikkun olam was the ultimate expression of our Jewish identity.

Importantly, a belief in God and religious practice were not necessarily key to our experiences as kids and youth leaders. They were important to me, but for every person I found who liked going to services and doing the more traditionally Jewish stuff, I could find at least a couple more peers who considered themselves atheists. Jews, but atheists.

Bernie Sanders getting arrested for protesting segregation in Chicago in the 1960s. Source

So when we see someone like Bernie Sanders, he is immediately familiar to us. His grasp of progressive social thought, his intensely personal concept of empathetic governance, his commitment to getting in the trenches with those who need help — this is what we know as Judaism. For us, he couldn’t be more Jewish; whether he talks about it or not — or whether he talks about God or not — it has clearly influenced his life and career from the bottom up. He’s not hiding anything.

So there you have it: empathy and tikkun olam. They’re why he got into politics, and they’re at least part of why I got into film (empathy) and biomedical science (tikkun olam). In a way, they are kindred spiritual paths.

This isn’t to say progressive Jews are invested in Bernie just because he’s Jewish. But it is fascinating to us to see someone whose values so completely overlap with what we were taught growing up. That’s what’s resonating with us, particularly the liberal Jewish youth. And it’s why while we see ourselves in Bernie, more traditional Jews and Jews around the world are left scratching their heads.

Remember what I said? Two Jews, three opinions.