(Chris Ware/Lexington Herald-Leader/MCT)

"Will you go to homecoming with me?"

Few questions could make a teenage girl happier during the early part of the school year. But this time, it only made me anxious. The 2011 homecoming dance had been scheduled on Yom Kippur, the holiest day on the Jewish calendar.

My school had good intentions. In fact, the principal even did his research and knew that Jewish holidays span from sunset to sunset. He figured that homecoming wouldn't interfere with the holiday because the dance would start after sundown.

But my principal is not a 16-year-old girl.

On Yom Kippur, Jews typically fast in order to begin the new year fresh and pure. How was I supposed to fast while styling my hair, getting a manicure/pedicure, applying makeup, purchasing a boutonniere, choosing accessories for my dress, preparing my house for 16 teenagers, and then taking a multitude of pictures?

Welcome to my world.

When people learn that I am Jewish, it usually prompts one of two reactions: "You don't look Jewish!" or "Where's your hat?"

I've grown accustomed to these responses because I live in Pleasanton, where there are fewer than 10 Jews in the entire junior class.

Don't get me wrong. I love explaining the concepts of "potato pancakes" and "Jew hats" (actually called yamikas) to my friends. I love telling stories about my bat mitzvah, and the unique experiences I've had, like attending Jewish camp in Oregon, or experiences that I will have, like traveling to Israel next summer. It's fun to be a Jew.

It's fun until it's not. Not everyone is supportive. My teachers assign tests and essays on important Jewish holidays and my friends don't understand why I don't fit most Jewish stereotypes. Even our softball league has been a source of stress, scheduling games on Passover night.

Most of these slights and offenses are inadvertent, but not all.

My sister and I have both been driven to tears by ethnic slurs. I can dismiss these as signs of ignorance, but I have to wonder: Are my Christian friends teased about their religion? Do they have to explain themselves to others? Fight for their holidays?

Being a Jew is easy ... until it's not.

In elementary school, I didn't understand why there were Santas and Christmas trees in the cafeteria, but no menorahs or dreidels. It also confused me that my peers were calling winter vacation "Christmas Break," when I was celebrating Hanukkah.

I wanted to spend time with my friends, so I attended their youth groups. One of the events, a party in sixth grade, was advertised as light and nonreligious. And it was ... until it wasn't.

The party became a sermon. Then it became a history lesson, explicitly focusing on how the Jews killed Jesus. The minister then preached that if I did not accept Jesus in my life, I would not be allowed into heaven.

This was too much for this impressionable 12-year-old, not yet stable in her religious values. I left the room in tears.

In an attempt to comfort me, the minister approached me outside, and said there was nothing I could do about my situation. "It's not your fault you're Jewish," he told me.

It's not your fault you're Jewish -- like I was plagued with a doomed religion. If you've ever wondered about the right time to say "oy vey," this would be it.

As teenagers, we just want to be accepted -- by each other, our parents, teachers, and by people at school we don't even know. But many of us overlook the fact that we also need to accept ourselves. Judaism has taught me that.

Maybe I won't be accepted into that minister's version of heaven, but I have accepted myself. That's more important.

Growing up Jewish in a Christian community isn't an easy journey, but it has made me strong. I now cherish being different. I take delight in my otherness. I am proud to say that nobody will ever be as Jamie as I am.

The Life in Perspective board is made up of teens who write for the features sections. Jamie Altman is a junior at Amador Valley in Pleasanton. Reach her at lip@bayareanewsgroup.com