As I explore the charming streets of Savannah, I can’t help but feel that the city has so much more to offer if we could just get out of this car and stroll along the historic sidewalks lined with names of yesteryear carved into stone and marble. After we uncover the treasures of this city, we’re making our way to Paula Deen’s The Lady and Sons for some indulgent Southern fare—something fried and tangy, like a juicy green tomato.
While we’re idling at a light, a car full of college guys pulls up next to us. One of them gestures for me to roll down my window. Assuming Southern hospitality is at play, I oblige.
“Hey man, are you really rooting for Obama, the Yankees, and the Crimson Tide?”
“Absolutely, I am. Funny, right?”
They seem friendly enough, but before we can delve deeper into this cultural conundrum, the light turns green, and we navigate through the traffic into the bustling heart of downtown Savannah, where the heat and humidity are nearly unbearable.
Sometimes I forget what I’ve put on my car. I grew up in Bessemer, Alabama, a town that felt small yet expansive in its possibilities. My parents were never ones for bumper stickers; it took Alabama winning three national championships in five years for my father, the most passionate Alabama fan I know, to finally put a Crimson Tide tag on his Buick. They never supported George Wallace and were open about it with their friends. I remember asking why they wouldn’t display a sticker for Wallace’s opponent, Albert Brewer.
“Isn’t he a good man?” I inquired.
“Sure, but you never know how people might react when you draw attention to yourself,” my dad replied.
This might explain why I didn’t learn my father was Jewish until I was seven, or why I wasn’t invited to temple with him until I expressed interest at fifteen.
When I got my sunset-colored Honda Element in 2004 (which my mother loves to remind me is “Auburn-colored”—Auburn being Bama’s archrival), I decided to break free from my parents’ caution. I slapped on a Yankees emblem, celebrating Derek Jeter’s glory days, and then came the Crimson Tide stickers featuring our beloved tusked elephant.
In 2008, I added my Obama sticker, bracing myself for the good-natured ribbing from a few friends. Now living in South Carolina, I find my political opposition to be a bit more sophisticated. I jokingly asked one friend, who took my political choice the hardest, to see my Obama sticker as “O Bama.” He just couldn’t wrap his head around it.
I’ve always called the South home. I earned my undergrad degree in a small college in Alabama, followed by my master’s and PhD at the University of Tennessee. I now teach literature, Holocaust studies, Southern cinema, and creative writing at a quaint liberal arts college in rural South Carolina. The college is Presbyterian, and though I was raised Methodist, I embraced Judaism without formally converting. When I was hired, they informed me that professors had to belong to a Christian church to teach there.
“I think I’m still a member of my mom’s church,” I said.
“That’s good enough,” they replied.
Yet, being half-Jewish, I couldn’t let it rest. Over two decades, I fought to change the college’s policy, and six years ago, we finally succeeded. It was a momentous year—Obama was inaugurated, the Yankees won their last World Series, and the Crimson Tide captured their first national championship under Nick Saban in 17 years.
I reveled in that year. Today, I still embody all the quirks of my identity. I’m a touch less Methodist, a little less Jewish, yet more Southern than ever—thanks to my newfound appreciation for single-origin Bourbons, my subscription to Garden and Gun, and my latest companion, my Dixie Dingo dog, Max.
He’s a unique mix, much like me, and a delightful reminder of the South’s history. Just like Max, I’m a one-of-a-kind blend navigating life’s adventures.
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To summarize, I’m a proud Southern Jew who embraces my unique blend of identities, celebrating my love for the Crimson Tide, my political beliefs, and my furry companion, Max, all while enjoying the rich culture of the South.