As a now secular Jew growing up in the South, I have a unique outlook. New Orleans is a heavily Catholic city with Mardi Gras every year shutting down main roads for about a week and seafood restaurants bringing in much more revenue for a curious stint of Fridays lasting 40 days after. This contrasts with my home life as Mum grew up in London in a very religious family with a Welsh mother and a Yemeni father. One way in which my family culture was different from New Orleans culture is how we treat guests.

     Ever since I can remember, my family has always been hosting guests. Nearly every Friday night, Shabbat dinner sees our table seated with guests from all different backgrounds, from a French tennis player who attends a nearby university to a movie producer and his seven-year-old daughter who were passing through town and needed a place to stay for a week. A large part of Jewish tradition is the emphasis on taking care of travelers, and my house has always been a place for travelers to call home. My family has embraced this Jewish value to such an extent that frequently I am not informed that guests will be staying at my house and only learn of their presence upon arriving home from school, opening the door and introducing myself.

     Another difference is religion. The incredibly diverse culture of New Orleans has removed the taboo around asking questions about personal religious beliefs, so I am accustomed to explaining my own, and for that I am glad.

     One day last year, while looking for my kippa, I began to think about why I wore it. The first thing that came to mind was the spiel I gave to the non-Jews who asked about it. I would explain that I was Jewish and that a kippa acts as a symbolic reminder that God is above me.

     Generally, that was why other Jews wore kippot; however, that wasn’t why I did, so I kept thinking. This reminded me of fifth grade, when I attended a Jewish boarding school and began wearing a kippa. There, wearing a kippa acted as a symbol to myself and to the world that I was religious and implied that I subscribed to all of the traditions and beliefs that such a description entails. Over the years of practicing orthodox Judaism, kippot became part of my identity: how I viewed myself and how people viewed me. I became “that kid with the hat.”

     Reflecting upon this last year, I realized I no longer subscribed to the culture of orthodox Judaism; therefore, it would be inappropriate for me to portray myself as though I did. Furthermore, my best justification for continuing to wear a kippa was convenience: I had been wearing one so long, it would be a hassle to explain to other people why I had stopped. So, I decided to stop wearing one. Though at first I was not sure I had made the right decision, a few months of awkward conversations with acquaintances concerning the change in my religious expression reaffirmed my decision, and I gradually became comfortable with my hatless new normal, one with keen interest in science rather than in synagogues.

     The evolution of my theological beliefs and the differential culture in which I was raised furnished me with a platform from which I am able to think from religious and secular perspectives. Since losing my kippa I have redoubled my pursuit of a scientific understanding of the world, with efforts such as conducting computational physical chemistry research last year and teaching myself calculus. Such endeavors have widened the breadth of my experience, providing me tools to achieve a more nuanced understanding of the complex world in which I live. Though I am currently secular, my journey has not ended and I continue to evolve.