They say that American Jewish literature is dead, but I feel it lives on in a new form. The Jewish world which my Grandfather was born into in the late 1930s looks nothing like the Jewish world I live in now. Now, in a time of Jewish identity crisis, we need literature that reflects us more than ever. We must use our diverse experiences to reckon with our past and we must create a Jewish literature that looks like us. What are we losing when we expect “Jewish literature” to be anything more than a camera with which the author conveys to the reader their own experience?