On a Shabbat in August, Governor Rick Perry of Texas hosted a National Day of Prayer, and Jews were not invited. The event, held in Reliant Stadium in Houston drew about 30,000, and was broadcast on Christian cable channels.

Left off the invite list again, why did this seem so familiar?

Prior to the event, the Anti-Defamation League released a protest letter signed by over 50 Houston area clergy and community leaders. In part it said:

"This religious event is not open to all faiths, as its statement of beliefs does not represent religious diversity...Governor Perry has a constitutional duty to treat all Texans equally regardless of race, religion or ethnicity...We believe our religious freedom is threatened when a government official promotes religion, especially one religion over all others."
During the twelve minute address to the crowd, Perry who apparently is contemplating a run for president is quoted in the Huffington Post as saying:

"Father, our heart breaks for America. We see discord at home. We see fear in the marketplace. We see anger in the halls of government and, as a nation, we have forgotten who made us, who protects us, who blesses us."

I don't think that many Jews, regardless of denomination, are that forgetful. We know why we're here. What we have forgotten, though, is where a certain brand of American anti-Semitism can come from.

I too had forgotten, until Perry's call of Christians to prayer, jogged my memory.  That's when it hit me. This current politico-Christian co-dependence reminded me of my school days behind the Orange Curtain of ultra conservative Orange County, California. In the 1960's, the county's mix of right wing politicians, and evangelical churches challenged my Jewish identity.
In the heart of that county was my home in Anaheim, the city of Tomorrowland-- as long as tomorrow did not include public schools, labor unions, or sex education; three things the local papers railed against regularly.

As a teenager I even questioned if that Christian and conservative tomorrow land included a place for my Jewish family.

And I had reason to wonder.

Creating an atmosphere where only the right dare breathe, (and Jews only take short breaths) were bedrock right politicians like State Senator John G. Schmitz (who revealed later that he fathered two illegitimate kids) and Congressman James B. Utt (who wanted the US out of the UN and civil rights legislation nixed), clergy like Melodyland Christian Center's Pastor, Ralph Wilkerson, and even right wing cause donors like Knott's Berry Farm's founder Walter Knott.

Some now may worry that even though Perry did not talk about politics at the Houston event, as a public servant he violated the concept of separation of church and state. In Orange County in the 60's that crossing of boundaries bothered no one.

In public elementary school, I remember we had a program of Christian education called, "Religious Release."  Every few weeks students would be allowed to leave school to attend a class of religious instruction that was taught in a trailer parked adjacent to the school. During that time, I remember whiling away the time by playing games with the remaining few students.
When the release students returned, I also remember having a small plastic crucifix that the student had received as a gift, pushed in my face.

In high school, Christian outreach continued on the public dime. I recall time being cut from my public high school classes, so a Christian rally could be held in the school gym during school time.

Acts to make Jews feel isolated and unwanted were not limited to school. My wife, who also grew up in Anaheim, remembers having the shape of a swastika burned into her front lawn.
Meanwhile, our Christian neighbors attended church, prayed for salvation, and John Schmitz joined the anti-Semitic John Birch Society.

But why dust off all these unpleasant memories? That was all in the way-back-when. Right?

Edmon J. Rodman has written about making his own matzah for JTA, Jewish love music for the Jerusalem Post, yiddisheh legerdemain for the Los Angeles Jewish Journal, a Bernie Madoff Halloween mask for the Forward, and what really gets stuck in the La Brea Tar Pits for the Los Angeles Times. He has edited several Jewish population studies, and is one of the founders of the Movable Minyan, an over twenty-year-old chavura-size, independent congregation. He once designed a pop-up seder plate. In 2011 Rodman received a First Place Simon Rockower Award for "Excellence in Feature Writing" from the American Jewish Press Association."