A Jew in Paris

On an international trip to Paris this past June, I traveled with an alumni group from my university and unexpectedly came upon a better understanding of who I am and where and when I show up in the world as an American Jew.

Initially, I should have realized this was going to be a momentous trip — especially given the pre-travel blessing our rabbi gave provided during the Friday evening Shabbat service days before my flight.

Blessings come in three kinds at our synagogue: birthday, anniversary and travel. Since I wasn’t accompanied by my husband at the arc, the rabbi thought I may be celebrating a birthday. When he learned the truth, he mentioned that he looked forward to learning more at the Oneg Shabbat and he proceeded to complete blessings for me and others celebrating that evening. It was the unofficial kickoff and made my anticipation of the trip even sweeter.

As for the tour itself, it was focused on art and fashion, but it was the people that often interested me more.

I didn’t know what I would witness on this trip, and I became uncomfortable when, two months before we were to leave, I learned that the US State Department had advised exercising increased caution when traveling to France because of a risk of terrorism and potential civil unrest. This warning was not exclusive to France but, being a New Yorker, I was reminded that this is a different world post-9/11 and post-10/7.

From the start, our tour guide, very in tune with her travelers’ needs, began to recognize us right down to each of our dietary requests. She remembered mine was to have no pork products. That sparked a very impromptu question, made up of three simple words: “Are you Jewish?”

“Yes,” I replied.
“Me too,” she said.

Suddenly, we had a connection as Jewish women and mothers. Our bond gently grew throughout the week, as we talked about family, lifestyles and, given that time of year, children’s graduations.

Another “I’m Jewish” moment came one lunch hour while I was sitting with my fellow tourists at a local crepe shop. We passed our menus back to the waitress and, as we awaited our meals, the conversation turned to the love of everything Christmas. It was a joyous conversation about family traditions, popular movies and the how/when/why of celebration. I looked around and realized that I was the only one who didn’t observe the holiday.

I took a deep breath, paused and told the table about “Latke-fest,” my family’s open-house Hanukkah event, where we make a variety of pancakes for the guests: vegetarian, gluten free, sweet potato and traditional.

I spoke about my family’s modest Passover seder and our yearly viewing of not “Elf” in December but “Rugrats Passover” in April. (If you are older than a millennial, look it up.) One woman responded by mentioning her experience as a guest at a seder and recalling the Haggadah; another spoke about an equivalent “fest,” made up of pierogi and unique fillings that celebrate her Polish heritage.

Later on, while traveling with the coach bus through the city, there were visual and verbal reminders of what it is to be Jewish in recent history and in 2025. I listened to our guide speak about meeting the author of a recent biography of Gabrielle Bonheur (Coco) Chanel in which he explained the complex relationship Ms. Chanel had with Jews. I saw graffiti prompting people (in French, of course) to “release the hostages now.” Once again, whether in politics, art or fashion, my Jewish roots sprouted in the forefront of my mind as we watched the streets of Paris go by.

Most surprisingly, at the Musée de l’Orangerie where we viewed the work of the Impressionists, I was introduced to the work of Chaim Soutine. From what I learned (and read in the accompanying captions next to each piece), he was a Jewish artist whose paintings of the 1920s were described with the emotion “anxious.”

For example, the painting Arbre Couché was described as “tortured landscape(s) . . .  with a treatment that made . . . the world pitch unsteadily in the grip of instability . . . ” None of the other artists’ work displayed in that gallery seemed this worrisome, as if being Jewish at this time held an anxiety all its own.

Throughout the week, our trip was filled with famous landscapes, attractions and world-renowned sites. My French was not very good (considering 100+ days of working with the language learning app Duolingo) so I went with polite English. Our leader reminded us to say “fromage” whenever we took a group picture — I was good with that. But, throughout the journey, maybe one of the strongest takeaways was how my Jewish values, traditions, indeed my identity, was explored 3,600 miles from home. I guess, like taking my passport, I carry that identity with me, no matter how far I roam.

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Lauren is a member of the Hadassah Writers’ Circle, a dynamic and diverse writing group for leaders and members to express their thoughts and feelings about all the things Hadassah does to make the world a better place, to celebrate their personal Hadassah journeys and to share their Jewish values, family traditions and interpretations of Jewish texts. Since 2019, the Hadassah Writers’ Circle has published nearly 650 columns in the Times of Israel Blog and other Jewish media outlets. Interested? Please contact hwc@hadassah.org.