Iowa as comfortable as a cardigan sweater

I often joke to people that if I ever write my autobiography, I will call it “A Jew in Hog Heaven.”

I moved to Iowa five years ago because my husband wanted to return to the Midwest. I had fled after college, because after living eight years in California and 13 years in Illinois and Missouri, I wanted to live near the ocean again and have the East Coast experience. By the time we moved back, I had gotten all that out of my system.

When I went to my 10-year high school reunion not long after moving to Iowa, people asked where I was living. When I told them, the common response was a derogatory “Iowa? Why?”

My response? Iowa is like your favorite cardigan sweater. It might not look attractive to people who aren't familiar with it, but it's warm and comfortable, familiar and reassuring. Sure, we grow corn. Sure, hogs are everywhere. But I can still find beef in restaurants. I don't have to eat pork loin at every meal. I can even find Passover food at Hy-Vee.

As I mentioned before, I'm Jewish. I grew up on the North Shore of Chicago, a very ritzy area that has a lot of Jewish people.

When I read University of Iowa Professor Stephen Bloom's recent account of Iowa, I grew very angry. I recognized some of the stereotypes, but they describe my experiences in other states, not Iowa.

I have lived in central Missouri, coastal South Carolina and Georgia, Los Angeles County and Portland, Maine. And I can honestly say I felt more out of place in Los Angeles County than I do in Eastern Iowa.

I was 8 years old when I moved to Chicago. But for five years, I lived in a town called Hawthorne, Calif., which if you're not familiar with Los Angeles, is near Compton. My school was incredibly racially diverse, but I was one of three Jewish children.

At holiday concerts, my mother had to force them to sing Hanukkah songs. I remember a kid coming up to me in first grade and telling me I was lucky that my birthday was in December, right before the savior's. I had no idea what she was talking about.

When I moved to Chicago, I was in a school that had the Jewish holy days off. It was like moving from Rome to Jerusalem. For the first time, I knew what it felt like to not have to explain myself.

All that changed when I moved to central Missouri. My roommate, from a small town in southern Missouri, had a poster with a bloody cross. I walked in one day to four of her friends asking me why Jesus wasn't my savior.

My point is this: Bloom says it's rural Iowa that is backward, trumpeting only Christ. This is not the case. You will find people like that everywhere: in mid-Missouri, Los Angeles County, and yes, Portland, Maine. This country, even Iowa, is made up of people who would be the first in line to act as Christ's soldiers regardless of where they live.

Bloom told the Washington Post's Sally Quinn that “he wonders if his piece would have caused such a stir were he Christian.” I didn't even know Bloom was Jewish when I read the piece.

Iowa has its problems, but for Bloom to continue to whine and rant about feeling out of place here makes me sad. People here wave to you on the street, ask how you are doing and will bring you food if you don't feel well.

If you make your preferences clear, and are confident in who you are, people will respect you. If you continue to act like a xenophobe, though, what do you expect?

Francie Williamson is a content editor at The Gazette. Comments: francie.williamson@sourcemedia.net