“Wherever you go, there’s always someone Jewish.
You’re never alone, when you say you’re a Jew.
So, when you’re not home and you’re somewhere kinda new-ish,
The odds are, don’t look far, ‘cause they’re Jewish, too!”
We probably all have heard the song at some point. Written by Rabbi Milder in the 1980s, it became a staple at Jewish summer camps and youth groups.
I even got an opportunity to speak briefly with Rabbi Milder himself about the song.
“I wrote the song in 1983. At that time, the Reform movement was publishing a new religious school curriculum (To See the World Through Jewish Eyes), and they were seeking songs to go with particular curricular objectives. I opted to write one on the theme of K’lal Yisrael, the connectedness of Jews around the world.”
And boy, was he spot on.
“Wherever you go, there’s always someone Jewish” is a song I not only very much sang growing up — swaying in a circle with friends, our arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders — but one I heard playing in my head at certain special moments when I’d run into another Jew, even on the other side of the world.
Having been ‘on the road’ for the better part of a decade, my attempts at finding a Jewish community in some of the farthest corners of the earth hasn’t always been easy.
Though I wouldn’t consider myself religious, I do find solace in finding fellow Jews abroad. Somehow, some way, I’ve managed to find my people — whether a Hanukkah menorah lighting at a hotel in Itaewon, Seoul, when I taught in South Korea for two years, a Shabbat dinner in Phnom Penh, Cambodia when I was backpacking Southeast Asia or in a trendy apartment in Mexico City. No matter where I was in the world, I managed to find a fellow Jew, and each time I did, I’d think back to Rabbi Milder’s song.
“…And some Jews wear sombreros.
And some wear k’fiahs,
To keep out the sun.
Some Jews live on rice,
And some live on potatoes,
Or waffles, falafels,
Or hamburger buns.”
Even though I wanted to fully embrace my experiences in new countries, soaking up different cuisines (non-Kosher ones, in most cases), and getting to intimately know other cultures, for me, it was very important to hold onto my Judaism as much as I could. And when you’re thousands of miles from a Long Island deli or a JCC, sometimes the closest thing to Judaism was simply a connection with another Jewish traveler that happened to be in the same place at the same time.
The first time was when I was working in South Korea. I reached out to the local expat community and met another girl. She invited me to Chabad, but it had been out of my budget at the time to travel into Seoul. Still, it was nice to know there was someone nearby to whom I could say “Chag Sameach,” and she’d know what I was talking about. That year, I happily celebrated Rosh Hashanah by buying some apples and honey, sitting on the floor in our tiny apartment at a fold-out table, enjoying them beside a bowl of spaghetti — with the man who would become my husband. .
Sometimes, I’d run into the one other Jew in a far-fetched place, like when I met up with a Jewish girl in Phnom Penh on a Friday night at Chabad. Another time I’d run into more Jews than I could imagine in one place, like when I ran into my co-worker from camp at a Shabbat dinner in Bangkok that boasted more than 100 people. In Mexico, I became close friends with a girl from Boston — who is still one of my closest friends to this day — and we shared a make-shift Rosh Hashanah meal. Another time, my neighbors upstairs in Portugal were from Israel, and we had a Purim celebration in the apartment for our kids.
“…Some Jews live in tents,
And some live in pagodas.
And some Jews pay rent,
‘Cause the city’s not free.
Some Jews live on farms,
In the hills of Minnesota.
And some Jews wear no shoes,
And sleep by the sea…”
Now, I live in a big city in Latin America where there’s a large, diverse community. My kid — who is Latina and Jewish — goes to a Jewish preschool, where we’ve been welcomed with open arms. We have been to more events at the synagogue this year than I have in probably the last 10 years abroad. I’ve learned about just how diverse the communities are in South America, and even thousands of miles from where I grew up, I can sit in an Ashkenazi synagogue (or, a Sephardic one, if I want to), and hear songs, prayers and rituals that are nearly identical to mine from home.
“…Amsterdam, Disneyland, Tel Aviv—
Oh, they’re miles apart.
But when we light the candles on Sabbath eve,
We share in the prayer in each one of our hearts…”
I can live abroad and give my daughter the somewhat “hippie” life we want for our family, but still have some familiarity, while being able to let go of my Jewish guilt for a minute.
If you happen to be traveling or living somewhere that doesn’t necessarily have a large Jewish community, all it takes is finding that one Jewish person that’s in the same boat as you. Together you can make your own traditions, create funny spins on Jewish traditional dishes using local ingredients, light Shabbat candles with whichever candles you can find in the store — even Virgin Mary ones. After all, a Jew’s gotta do what a Jew’s gotta do.
“I am humbled by the reach that this song has achieved. I continue to hear stories from adults and children who sang the song at some special place or event in their lives. Just as often, someone will tell me that they quoted the song when meeting another Jew in an unexpected place, and that the other person was just as familiar with the opening line,” Rabbi Milder told me about his catchy tune.
“I’ve composed a lot of Jewish music: some humorous, some liturgical, some ballads. A handful have become popular in the world of Jewish music, but none as widespread as ‘Wherever You Go.’ There is something about it that makes people smile,” he said. “That’s really the best reward that anyone can have for something they have created.”
Chances are, wherever you go, there will always be someone Jewish a lot closer than you think. And maybe, they’ll know Rabbi Midler’s song too — and you can sing it together.
