“Do you speak or are you learning Hebrew?”
“No.”
“Do you go to a Jewish day school?”
“No…”
“Are you planning to take a gap year in Israel?”
“Um, no.”

Talks of Sukkah-building plans filled the air, kippahs dotted heads, and people were very aware of when the sun was setting on Friday night. Among the Israeli flags and tzitzit was me, feeling very out of place.

I was at a planning committee meeting for a Jewish Life on Campus Fair in Northern New Jersey, and we opened by playing a get-to-know-you bingo game. Each box had a Jewish custom written inside, and you would check off a box by writing down the name of someone who could relate to it, thereby meeting other members of the committee and learning about them. I struggled to relate to, well, almost all of the boxes. Personally, I participate in Jewish practices and rituals, but I feel more connected to Judaism through our history and heritage rather than through prayer and scripture. So, as I was surrounded by people who seemed to connect more through prayer and scripture, I felt like I wasn’t “Jewish enough.” The standard was high, and I didn’t even come close to it.

But in another situation, having dinner with my friends during Passover, I felt completely different. My friends and I, a few of whom were Jewish, got together during Passover week and went out to dinner. I made an effort to avoid bread or anything else I couldn’t eat, though the other Jewish people didn’t necessarily share this concern. I suddenly felt like the most religious person at the table, “too Jewish” compared to the people around me.

So what am I? Not Jewish enough or too Jewish? I realize now that I was asking myself the wrong question. It’s not what, it’s who. Who am I?

I’m a cultural Jew. I don’t go to temple every Friday night, but through Jewish activities like BBYO, I’m very involved in Jewish life. I observe holidays and know the stories, but I see them mostly as metaphors, and I end up volunteering at my synagogue a lot. My family lights Shabbat candles, not all the time but frequently, and I’d love to go to Israel someday.

I’m not too Jewish or not Jewish enough. There’s no standard to meet, and I don’t need to compare my Judaism to that of others for it to be meaningful. My Judaism is my own; it doesn’t matter if I’m the most religious person in a room or the least. And I’m proud of it.