The Last American Jew.

It was an alarming image for a Jewish adolescent.

Yet in the 1980s, it was a common theme of our temple youth group gatherings.

Jewish teens in Generation X were admonished regularly about demographic trends and intermarriage rates that suggested our community could soon splinter into the dustbin of history — as early as the end of the 21st century.

At the same time, our rabbis began to share a darker take on the holiday of Chanukah, at variance with the bright and fanciful miracle of our childhood celebrations. (You know the legend:  how the day’s supply of the Great Temple’s oil lasted eight crazy nights, yadda, yadda, yadda.)

As teens, we were old enough to process the back story — how Judah Maccabee and his brothers successfully revolted against the Greek King Antiochus’ oppressive regime that was exploiting Jewish assimilation, poised to destroy our religion from within.  We were warned gravely that 20th century assimilation similarly could lead to our own extinction.

The Eighties indeed were a challenging time for American Jewry. Overt, sometimes violent anti-Semitism had almost entirely vanished, the horrors of the Holocaust still fresh in the minds of our parents’ generation. And yet, in many areas of middle America such as my old Kentucky home, we were still the “other”:  There were social clubs my family couldn’t join, classmates’ parties to which I wasn’t invited, civic organizations that excluded my parents — all because of our separate faith.  Anti-Zionism coincidentally peaked during the decade, as Israel’s war in Lebanon provoked unbalanced, disproportional coverage of the Jewish State from much of the American media.

It was easy to understand why so many Jews — particularly our youngest — took comfort by fading into the multi-colored fabric of secularized Christianity that enveloped American culture.  With Gentile discrimination so diffuse and subtle, the only remaining strident enemy in the 3000-year battle for Jewish survival was, in fact, ourselves.

But then the 1990s brought forth a modern-day Judah Maccabee: Adam Sandler.

OK, so I exaggerate a little.

What the Nineties did bring was an army of modern Maccabees, in the form of prominent, familiar, likable Jews thrust into the pop media spotlight: Jews that were both clearly identifiable and proud of their heritage.

This helped produce a dramatic sea change in Christian Americans’ acceptance of their Jewish neighbors. In the vast center of the country where few Jews lived, ignorance previously had bred distrust and suspicion.  Now, through the magic of television — and shows such as Northern Exposure, Beverly Hills 90210, Friends, and most prominently, Seinfeld — Jewish comedians, actors, and characters entered the living rooms of middle America. Rural citizens who’d never met a Jew before now “knew” dozens, and understood that “they were just like us” — maybe a bit wackier.

Just as significant was the impact on Jewish Americans.  We could now hold our heads up a bit higher, feel a little more comfortable to publicly pronounce our faith.  We were now the tellers of Jewish jokes, alternatively wry and self-deprecating, instead of divisive and mean-spirited.

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The RP: How Adam Sandler’s “Chanukah Song” Helped Save the Jews. Seriously…