(Jewish Group) When you're a Mexican Jew, Halloween and Day of the Dead are complicated

Growing up with one foot in Mexico and one foot in the United States, I am no stranger to the idea of straddling two cultures. In religious studies, we call this idea liminality. Vampires, centaurs and even Jesus Christ (as both divine and human) are all liminal beings. To be liminal is to be half and half — not quite one, not quite the other.

Though born in Mexico, I grew up in the Northeastern United States with my mother. The changing of the seasons from summer to fall was marked by a kaleidoscope of changing leaves, the smell of apple cider and hayrides through rows of corn. I loved the crisp smell of the air as fall rolled in — it was my favorite time of year.

In Mexico, when the end of October rolled around and the sugar skulls and rainbow tissue-paper banners began to proliferate, I remember asking my father why we did not provide offerings to ancestors or feast in the cemetery the way other members of our Yucatan community did. My father replied that it was because though we were Mexican, we were Jewish first — and while we could participate in some cultural aspects of the festival (like enjoying a delicious pan de muertos), Jews saw this festival as idolatrous, and therefore off-limits.

None of this, however, stopped Halloween from always being my favorite holiday. I did not get Día de los Muertos — but nobody was better at U.S. Halloween than me. My costumes were elaborate and specific. I threw parties starting from the age of 10, with crafts such as painting pumpkins with glitter and turning Oreos into spooky spiders. When I grew too old for trick-or-treating, I donned my floor-length bat mitzvah dress and told the little girls at the door I was a princess while doling out candy bars (full-sized, of course).

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