New flicks with celebs in interfaith relationships and from interfaith backgrounds, plus their baby news!Go To Pop Culture
Mark Zuckerberg recently announced that he is changing the mission of Facebook. He cares less about helping people count how many friends they have and more about helping people feel interconnected in communities. Exactly! This is the work of rabbis too!
As I approach my last week as Director of InterfaithFamily/Chicago, I continue to think about the idea of Jewish community. Over the past six years, I have spent countless hours sitting with couples planning their weddings (and talking about their hopes for their marriages) at Starbucks. We have conversations about how they want to raise children (those who want children) in terms of religion, culture and traditions coming from two different backgrounds. These conversations have been the joy of my rabbinate.
When couples shared their stories, they would start to remind me of one another. I was then able to play matchmaker! I could connect the couple planning a Jewish-Muslim wedding with someone who had done it the summer before. I could connect newbie couples with more seasoned interfaith families for mentoring (If you would like to be paired with a mentor, email Judy Jury, Director of Special Projects). I have recently discovered a group of men who didn’t grow up with Judaism who are expert challah bakers. I can’t wait to bring them together for a kick-ass challah baking session. If you think you fit into this category or would like to, be in touch!
Over the years, couples and families have asked if they can join “my community.” It’s been a struggle at IFF to figure out if we are a community. We have been hesitant to own that label. Our approach has been to usher people, with lots of support, into existing communities and congregations and to one another.
Each of the IFF communities (see—there I go with THAT word) has a Facebook group so that local professionals can share upcoming events and opportunities, so that the IFF staff can share articles and content of interest and so that interfaith families can ask questions and support one another. There isn’t always the level of engagement in the group in Chicago that I had hoped for. I think part of that is that being “interfaith” isn’t the main identity or the way people are thinking of themselves day in and day out. It sure feels salient when planning a wedding, or wondering about a bris, baby naming and/or baptism, but interfaith families often have other main interests.
I am a member of a few Facebook groups that get unbelievable traction and I think it’s because they represent such important parts of our lives. Like parents of children with ADHD need to discuss with each other medication and therapies. Other parents living this reality get each other on a deep and immediate level. I find oftentimes that the people in the group share a major facet of their lives in common but are extremely diverse other than that. In addition, we are part of many different groups, generally, that represent all the different identities we carry with us.
Zuckerberg believes that the world will need to connect better in order to take on international problems such as climate change. He is promoting Facebook groups and making them easier to manage because, as he says, “In order to get there, you need to build a world where every person has a sense of support and purpose in their life so they don’t just focus narrowly on what’s going on in their lives, but can think about these broader issues as well.”
As a Rabbi who has been labeled a “community rabbi” (meaning that I am not a pulpit rabbi) as part of IFF/Chicago, I am often derided by other rabbis for offering Judaism outside of community—meaning synagogue. It’s ironic, I know. And, I’m not sure who my community is exactly.
The other reason I cringe when even saying the phrase “Jewish community” is because it feels exclusive and leaves people out. We’re not a community of only Jews. How do we encompass all people who are gathered because of Judaism and are themselves diverse?
I wasn’t able to keep the amazing people who came into my life through this work as a cohesive community. And I have been unsure how to even talk about Jewish community with an interfaith lens. This has brought me to the question of whether Judaism could be practiced without a focus on community?
For non-Orthodox families, our expression and practice of Judaism doesn’t lend itself easily to community. We don’t necessarily live near each other or see each other because of our Judaism. Congregational rabbis try to encourage people to bond and offer lots of opportunities for people to get to know one another. However, lifecycle events from bar/bat mitzvahs to shivas still tend to be private (meaning our friends and family come), not necessarily the people from the synagogue.
But I think about the prayer, Eilu Devarim: “These are The Things” we do in life as people connected to Judaism. The things we are supposed to do are: visiting the sick, praying in a group, studying with others, rejoicing with wedding parties, consoling the bereaved…all acts that involve PEOPLE.
I’ve come to realize that even though I can’t easily describe what community is, Judaism is supposed to be done with community. You can’t do most of these things with a rabbi at a Starbucks. You can’t do these things with just your family at your kitchen table. However, just belonging to a synagogue doesn’t mean you’re automatically doing these things either.
So, we know it’s hard to talk about “the Jewish community” as if it’s one entity you can point to, which is tangible and over there somewhere to be joined. Yet, we know we need community in order to live Jewishly. So, we’re going to have to rethink our language to catch up with our reality.
What we do have is micro-communities, like what I think we can provide through InterfaithFamily. These should be supported and honored. And while we need other people with whom to do Jewish things, many of us are yearning for these smaller groups and for one-on-one individualized support from someone who knows us. That’s why my work with InterfaithFamily has felt so meaningful.
So much of life seems one-size-fits-most. We’re wearing the same workout clothes and driving the same cars and ordering the same coffees and buying our kids the same fidget spinners, and there is familiarity in that. We belong. We are not alone. Yet, we also want to be seen as individuals under all of that sameness.
I imagine that while I am at this coffee shop with someone talking about how to navigate a discussion with our kids about death, there is a rabbi not far away meeting with a couple in her office that wants to join her congregation. Meanwhile, a couple is hosting their first ever Shabbat dinner (ask your IFF/Community about this—we’ll pay for it!). Their friends are on the floor around their coffee table because there aren’t enough chairs and they are laughing and enjoying their meal. We’re all in an interconnected web of people trying to connect and see each other and find meaning.
There are certain words that are hard to define. We use them, but when pressed to say what we really mean, we’re not so sure and so we speak in broad generalities. Community is sure one of those words. Yet, our communities are the web that connects our humanity and our Judaism.
I’ll miss you as the InterfaithFamily/Chicago director. Stay in touch.
I recently got introduced to a children’s book called Zero by Kathryn Otoshi. It’s a book aimed at preschoolers, but adults will also love it. In the book, Zero feels left out of the counting that all the other numbers get to do. They have value as counted numbers, but Zero doesn’t. She tries to impress those numbers with little success and even tries to look like them. Zero then realizes that she can convince the other numbers that if they add her on, they will count as a higher number. With Zero, they became 10, 20, 30, 100 and more. After reading this book, my kids and I were prompted to a discussion about how it feels to be left out and how sometimes we want to dress like someone else or act like someone else to fit in.
As the story of Zero unfolded, my interfaith family inclusion buzzer went right off! (This happens to me quite often.) It reminded me of a talk I heard earlier this year at Temple Sholom that was sponsored by A Wider Bridge. The talk was given by the leaders of The Aguda, an Israeli National LGBT Task Force. They shared about a tour they did in LA of one of the largest LGBTQ agencies in the world. When they asked an agency executive about where their work would be headed in the next 10 or 15 years, the executive responded that maybe they can work themselves out of a job in the decades to come. The Aguda leaders thought this was a sad answer because they believe it will take years to win legal equal rights across all areas that touch LGBTQ people in America and internationally. It might take just as long to bring about cultural acceptance including ending homophobic and transphobic discrimination. The Aguda leaders hope that when that day comes, there would be many more agencies and organizations devoted to LGBTQ people because communities around the globe would feel incomplete without the overt contributions that queer people would bring. In other words, queer people and their varied lenses of life would add essential value to leadership positions, boards and councils in all professions.
To me, the same is true when it comes to interfaith family inclusion in Jewish life. Congregations need to find ways to support couples around lifecycle events, especially weddings. They may also need to translate Hebrew so that people reading their website or sitting in services will have a more meaningful experience. Classes should be offered so that people who need a refresher or a first-time explanation have ways to learn. Rabbis need to share stories during family Shabbat gatherings that represent same-sex parents, single parents, interfaith families, gender non-confirming children and racially diverse families.
Congregations should look at membership forms, school enrollment materials and written ritual policy statements to make sure they are inclusive and sensitive. It will go far when congregants acknowledge the gift a parent who didn’t grow up with Judaism is giving to help raise children with Judaism. It is wonderful when the parent who isn’t Jewish can be referred to in the positive (rather than just “non-Jew,”) as someone who is Christian, Buddhist, Hindu, atheist, secular and so forth, along with the other parts of their identity like activist, volunteer, their profession, etc.
For families like mine, where both partners are Jewish, and for Jewish professionals, the main lesson from Zero is that we need to realize people from different backgrounds in our communities enrich our expression of Judaism. Inclusion of people who didn’t grow up with Judaism should be seen as equal to those of us who did grow up with Judaism, and the gazillions of complicated amalgamations in between help us all count more. A diverse community adds energy, creativity, beauty and depth to this ancient and always dynamic civilization of Judaism.
Thank you to Zero for reminding me of this sacred goal.
Recently, my colleague in Los Angles posted a question that piqued my interest on her personal Facebook page: “Did any of my Jewish professional friends grow up with a Christmas tree?” I knew where she was going with this. She was betting that a number of rabbis and Jewish educators had grown up in an interfaith family with a tree, or in a family with a Jewish parent or parents who had a tree for whatever reason, or they were Jews by choice who had grown up with a tree and became Jewish as an adult and then Jewish professionals. In any of these scenarios, having a tree did not deter them from becoming Jewish professionals. I had to delve into this!
So, I posted the same question with credit to Rabbi Keara and an amazing thing happened. There were over 50 comments made to my post, and they’re still coming in. I don’t think I had that many comments when my children were born or when my Grandmother, of blessed memory, died.
The amazing thing is it started with Jewish professionals admitting that they had grown up with trees and how and why that was the case and then morphed into other Jewish friends who do not work in the Jewish world writing about having trees or not having trees. And, some people even wrote that they didn’t have trees, which was as much a statement about attitudes on this subject as anything else people wrote because I had only asked to hear from people who did have a tree.
Here is what I conclude:
1. Many Jewish leaders grew up with a Christmas tree. Many interfaith families today raising children with Judaism have Christmas trees in their homes or at a close family member’s home. There seems to be a disconnect between these two realities. Somehow interfaith families don’t see their lives and reality always mirrored in the lives and reality of their clergy and educators.
2. Judaism from on high (I’m not sure who or what this is or if most people can even articulate this. It’s just a feeling or perception) seems to judge negatively Jewish families who have trees. This has not always been the case. There were times when many American Jews had trees and it was seen as typical and normative in their assimilating American Reform circles.
3. People who are active in Judaism today have amazing stories of interesting family dynamics and experiences and there could be more venues or formats for sharing our stories, learning from and seeing ourselves in one another. This would inform our way of transmitting Judaism if we understood more about the context and lens by which people were experiencing Jewish messages.
4. Symbols matter. The American flag is a symbol. We feel something when we see the flag. We feel something when we raise the flag at camp or when we see it at a sport’s event. We feel something when we see brand logos. The tree is symbolic. For many it symbolizes warmth, beauty, good memories, family time, gifts, glee and togetherness. It is all positive. If we tell those who love the tree that it is inconsistent with Judaism, they might hear that their warm family times (void of theology and religiosity, but maybe full of meaning and richness) is inconsistent with Judaism. This is confusing and hurtful. It puts people on the defensive and can lead to shame. It makes people feel they must justify the tree and argue for it lest they be seen as hurting a Judaism they are trying to perpetuate. It pits lay person against professional. It creates an us versus them.
5. If Jewish leaders said that the tree is secular (as the Supreme Court has declared—that’s why they can be erected in public spaces) or just stopped putting so much emotion into encouraging Jewish families to not have them, then there is a fear that the tree will become like a jack-o-lantern on Halloween and be deemed “secular American.” Would Jewish families who had never had a tree suddenly feel free, open and welcome to try one? I have no idea. Maybe it would happen or maybe it wouldn’t. Would Hanukkah practice be threatened by this? Is that our fear? What really is the fear?
6. This Facebook thread made me ask a question I come back to often which is, “What is the role I play as a Reform rabbi?” I do not believe I am a gatekeeper for Judaism. I do not believe I can tell people what to do in their Jewish expression as a one-size-fits-all or even most prescription. I believe I am supposed to inspire and inform, love and accept. Some things are outside the realm of Judaism. Some things are cool but are not Jewish. Sometimes Jewish leaders are afraid of what people want because we feel it will water down, taint and hurt an authentic, recognizable Judaism.
This is the same fear that happens when a parent, let’s say, suggests that there could be more choice in Hebrew School such as having a tutor, or coming one day a week or trying other alternatives. The educator fears that “everyone” will want a private tutor, so no changes are made. If there is a feeling that everyone wants something different than what is offered but the Jewish professional deems that desire “bad” or “wrong” or for “people who just want an easy way out,” then the people will make their own decisions and they won’t chose institutional Judaism. They will do it on their terms in ways that work for them. At a certain point the people decide and Judaism adapts and changes. If our communities are inspired, literate and invested, we should have no fear. We can trust.
I for one don’t get to decide if you have a tree, don’t have a tree, put a star on your tree or make s’mores latkes (this I recommend). I decide what my Jewish practice is and I work on this daily. I decide to hear you and try to understand you. May your holiday traditions be meaningful and lead to our defining what we are dedicated to (as the word Hanukkah reminds us to do). May I refrain from putting my judgment or my assumptions on your customs and allow you to define what they mean to you.
Osmosis is a subtle or gradual absorption or mingling. Sometimes we joke that you can’t learn something through osmosis. Learning is active and involves studying and practice. Well, when it comes to prayer, I can assure you that the best way to learn the words and melodies is by just sitting in services and even passively hearing them.
I’ve written before about my children being terribly behaved in services. My children either feel too at home in Temple (my husband is the Rabbi there), or something about being in the spotlight as the rabbi’s kids makes them nervous. Or, they’re just high-energy, fidgety kids who struggle with sitting still when they’re bored. This is a continuing issue that we are working on.
Thus, we get into synagogue and my kids tend to run around. Once in the sanctuary, they sit and talk, sit and move, and they want to draw. A mess ensues all around us. They want to get up to get a drink and go to the bathroom, repeatedly. They want to run into Daddy’s office. They want to do anything but sit nicely with the prayer book open and participate. The more I try to encourage them in the positive or threaten them with the negative, the more energy I put into wanting them to have good behavior, it seems the more they embarrass me. It’s actually a huge source of stress for me around going to the congregation as a family.
For those who know me, I’ve been advocating for community to be focused on things in addition to communal prayer. I think that Friday night worship or Saturday morning services may be continuing a model that needs to be revamped more than tweaked or edited. No “Blue Jeans Shabbat” is going to fix what can feel like irrelevant, Hebrew-heavy, long, rote, sometimes cheesy experiences. Yes, there are vibrant, engaging worship experiences out there. People flock to them, seek them out and live for them. But, I’ve had a conflicting personal love-hate relationship with liberal Jewish worship lately.
I think that especially for people newer to Judaism, interfaith families and those who are not following along in the Hebrew and who are not familiar with the prayers and music, it can feel overwhelming and challenging to make Jewish prayer our own.
So, consider all of that with what I’m going to now say. My 7-year-old, who is not paying attention in synagogue and who may unconsciously sense my own stress and discomfort with communal worship, knows the main prayers in Hebrew, in tune. She gets most of the words slightly wrong, but she’s got the basic idea. When I asked her what the V’ahavta means, she said, “It’s a prayer to God.” She knows it’s central, important and about connecting with God. And, I’m happy for her that it works for her and proud that Judaism is a source of roots for her.
We go to synagogue once a month for the early, shorter family service and that’s how she’s learned this. Through osmosis. I am looking forward to her refining her pronunciation as she hears the correct words over and over.
I have had the pleasure of watching Shaboom!, the new video series that BimBam Productions has created. InterfaithFamily/Chicago recently helped launch the video series at a few viewing parties around town. In all cases, the kids enjoyed the debut eight-minute video and the parents did as well. It’s catchy, colorful and has a great message. Everyone learns how to say one value in Hebrew and experiences how to apply it to our lives with realistic scenarios.
This is the first of the video series (you can see more below).
Here are my eight thoughts about this eight-minute video:
1. It’s important to learn Jewish values in Hebrew. The first video teaches the mitzvah (mitzvah literally means commandment, and is also thought about as ritual and ethical sacred deeds) of hachnast orchim—welcoming guests. Do other religions and cultures teach this same value? Absolutely. However, Judaism has our own texts about this value, quotes on it and vocabulary for it. We could teach our children to be good hosts. And, we can teach them to do the mitzvah of hachnasat orchim. I do believe there is a difference. When we talk about the latter, we feel connected, grounded, deeper, more spiritual, perhaps, and urged to do it in a different way than talking about a more universal idea of graciousness.
By knowing the Jewish approach to a value, the Jewish sensibility around it and the Hebrew words for it, it helps us live a life where we can point to the positive things we do that are specifically and particularly Jewish. Sometimes as a liberal Jew, it is hard to know what I “do” that is Jewish and this is one way in.
2. The show depicts racial diversity in the Jewish world. One spark is brown and one is pale. They are both Jewish and teaching about Judaism. This normalizes and makes visible people in Jewish communities and in Jewish families who have different color skin and different racial make-ups. It isn’t the point of the show and it isn’t talked about or an issue. This is simply Judaism. Children growing up today with Judaism in their lives know that you can’t “look” Jewish in terms of physical appearance.
3. Jews believe in angels. The main characters are invisible sparks (we’ll get to that next) but they also have wings. The word angel in Hebrew is translated as messenger and there are many messengers throughout the Bible.
As Rabbi Elliot Dorff reminds us, “the existence of angels is a Jewish notion,” and “if we do not make …angels idols, or pray to them as if they can replace God, then talk of angels is a helpful personification of the workings of God in our lives.” (My People’s Prayer Book, vol. 7, Woodstock, VT: Jewish Lights Publishing, 2004, pp. 69-70).
The angels in these videos are named Rafael and Gabi from Gabriel or Gabriella. There is a special prayer for protection in Jewish tradition that is said at night and includes the words:
In the name of Adonai the God of Israel:
4. Jewish Mysticism Teaches That Sparks Are Invisible: These cute little characters who have wings are known as invisible sparks in this show. This hearkens to the mystical notion of tikkun olam (repairing the world) which teaches that when God created the world, God’s light shattered into millions and billions of sparks or vessels that are spread all over. When we do mitzvot (good deeds), we free the sparks and send them back to a broken God who gets unified in the process. You never know if your good deed is the last one needed to bring complete healing and redemption to God and the world. I actually love the idea that God is fundamentally broken like we are and that we are partners in the task of repair. We yearn for God and God yearns for us.
5. We Are Attached to Screens: In the video, one spark teaches the other about welcoming guests by showing her to turn off her television when a friend comes over. Similarly, the mom and son in the Ploney family has to turn off the video games they are playing to hear the doorbell. Children as young as toddlers are staring at a screen for much of their day. We have to be taught to put it down or turn it off for human interaction. I am attached to my phone and I do see the toll it takes on my eyes, my posture and my level of distraction. Being aware is the first step to change, right?
6. Ploney is Used on Purpose: Ploney is used in the Talmud as a kind of John Doe. By calling the family the Ploneys, it is a clear reference to Talmud study.
7. Shabbat is Important: The family is coming together to welcome a relative from Israel to their Shabbat table. Shababt is about family, screen-free time and being connected. The reason the Jewish world spends so much money and resources on getting people together over Shabbat for dinners and services is because we still believe one hundred years later as Ahad Ha’am the Israeli poet wrote, “More than the Jews have kept the Sabbath, the Sabbath has kept the Jewish people.”
8. There are Layers to Jewish Learning: When I first watched the video, I was upset because I got the references I have mentioned here but figured many parents and kids who watch this won’t. I felt it reinforced the secret hand-shake of Judaism with insiders and outsiders. I worry that Judaism is hard to get into and that learning is often presented in such a pediatric way with coloring sheets that adults with little Jewish literacy or current connections to Jewish institutions don’t have many opportunities for real study to get to the good stuff.
But I realize that good family programming touches the viewers on different levels based on their age and life experiences. And I realized that the show is perfect because it shows the way Judaism approaches study. “Pardes” refers to different approaches to biblical understanding in rabbinic Judaism or to interpretation of text in Torah study. The term, sometimes also spelled PaRDeS, is an acronym formed from the same initials of the following four approaches:
So, this eight-minute video can be taken on any of these levels. Now that you’ve read this, how do you watch it? What will you say to your children?
Here are Shaboom videos 2-5. Stay tuned for 6-11!
Because I have tweens in my house (today that means 7- and 9-year-olds), I have pop songs playing in the soundtrack of my brain all day. As I write the title for this blog, I am thinking of Demi Lovato’s “What’s Wrong with Being Confident?” My question is: What’s wrong with saying “Jewish community?”
You’ll hear some Jewish leaders talk about the Jewish community as if it’s one enterprise that needs saving and fixing. Even here at InterfaithFamily, we want the people we work with to feel connected to the “Jewish community,” to feel part of it and to know how to access it. We are open to the idea that “Jewish community” can be your dining room table with friends or a synagogue sanctuary or a soup kitchen with volunteers if it’s sponsored by a Jewish organization. However, I have a problem with the language.
If we start with the word Jewish then some of the people at these events automatically may feel other or not included. Jewish modifies the word community. It is a community in this case because it’s Jewish. I don’t believe we can have an inclusive community—a community that respects, honors, sees and appreciates everyone—if we start with what some of the people are not.
Can we start with community and modify that with Judaism? A community is made up of the people coming together for a shared purpose. Maybe they are coming together for comradery around Shabbat or for social justice inspired by religion or for prayer or holidays. Judaism is a civilization that everybody can experience, learn about, try, be inspired by, commit to, carry on, speak about and support. Some of the people who take part in Judaism will be Jewish by upbringing and continue to make the choice to engage and affirm. Others will be Jewish through a conversion process, meaning that they made a decision to identify as Jewish. Others in the community cast their fate with the larger Jewish enterprise and are aligned with their Jewish family through marriage and partnership but do not call themselves personally Jewish.
I want people to engage with Judaism: a living, dynamic civilization with a land, language, history, texts, foods, cultures, music, rituals, traditions, customs and more. I want people to engage with community around these aspects of Judaism because Judaism is done with people. I hope people will call themselves Jewish with pride and raise children who see themselves as connected to Judaism and as the next link in the chain of tradition. But, if we keep saying “Jewish community,” I feel we are putting the emphasis on the wrong thing. We become ethnic and exclusive more than open and diverse.
Maybe you say that people know that the phrase “Jewish community” means a community gathering for the pursuit of Jewish living and learning more than a community of Jews. I say language matters and by catering to inclusion, we will emphasize that each person who shows up to engage with Judaism is equal and good enough—and a blessing.
As I have admitted before, I see the whole world through an interfaith family lens (see my past blog post HERE). I am so uber-saturated in this work that I am always thinking about the experience of the partner who isn’t Jewish who is connected to someone Jewish and what it means to have interfaith families as full members of congregations. So, when I was on a four-hour flight to meet with the other seven rabbis who direct InterfaithFamily offices around the country, I saw an ad that stopped me in my tracks. It is the new Kraft Macaroni & Cheese ad (which might understandably be torture to watch mid-way through Passover!).
The tag line is, “It’s changed, but it hasn’t.”
What does mac & cheese have to do with supporting interfaith families exploring Jewish life, our tag line at IFF? When interfaith families are truly part of a community doing Jewish (notice I don’t say Jewish community—this will be the subject of my next blog post), will the community and the experience of Judaism change? Will there be anything recognizable about Judaism in the generations to come? Will the recipe have changed so much that it becomes a different thing altogether? To continue the food analogy, will interfaith families be a sweetener and add something healthier for the overall enterprise of Judaism?
I hope that when interfaith families are members and leaders of their communities, everything will change for the better. We will frame liturgy and worship in new ways, cognizant that we need to give meaning because many people there are still learning (yes—this should always be the approach, but interfaith families dictate this approach). We will continue to adapt and change liturgy as it feels outdated and offensive to our diverse communities.This has been the Reform tradition since the beginning. We say what we believe.
Much of prayer is poetry and isn’t literal but is evocative. Our language will change and it should feel palpable. Those who visit a congregation’s website should sense change and it should feel inspiring and positive. We can look to the experience and narratives of those who didn’t grow up with Judaism to enrich the context and lens by which Judaism is now taught and lived.
What do you think? When interfaith families are truly part and parcel of a community, do you sense that their inclusion changes the community over time? Can you point to the changes? Is it so normative at this point that we have a diverse community that we take this fact for granted and have moved past it in some way? As always, more questions than answers and lots of right answers.
We love Mo Willems books in our house! My little one just brought home one of his gazillions of titles called, I Really Like Slop. As I have written before, I now see the world through interfaith family lenses. When we read this story, all I could think about was interfaith couples at Passover! How in the world did I make that leap?
The book tells the story of Piggie presenting her friend Gerald, the elephant, with a pot of her slop. Gerald looks at the smelly concoction with trepidation. He asks some questions about the make-up of the slop. Piggie begs him to try some. She explains that it’s part of Pig culture! Gerald touches his tongue to the slop and chokes and gags. Piggie asks Gerald if he likes it. Gerald explains that he does not like it, but he does like Piggie. And he is happy he tried it.
As are all of Mo Willems’ books, this story is precious and even poignant. It made me think about someone who didn’t grow up with, let’s say, gefilte fish, being presented with it for the first time at a Passover seder. This person is no doubt sitting with a significant other at their parents’ house, surrounded by family and trying to fit in and make a good impression. This person is trying to avoid any cultural faux pas. They may be worried that the haggadah (the book read during the Passover meal) will be read aloud going around the table and that there will be unfamiliar words and transliterated Hebrew to navigate (on four cups of wine, no less). And, now this person is presented with this foreign, kind of smelly food, with a gel-like substance wiggling around on top.
If you were brought up with this food and don’t like it, it is easier to dismiss it. But, for a newcomer, how does one politely excuse themselves from trying it? (Especially if is homemade. This usually makes it a lot better than if it’s cold from the jar—although some people love that. Who am I to yuck your yum, as my child’s feeding therapist implores.)
What Piggie and Gerald teach us is that we don’t have to like our partner’s cultural things. They don’t have to become ours. We don’t have to feel comfortable eating the food or donning certain garb. We don’t automatically have to feel comfortable with the language, traditions or dances. Maybe after experience and time, we will come to like things. We will make them our own. But, maybe we never will. And, that’s OK. Showing respect, asking questions, learning about and even trying aspects important to our loved ones is what matters.
Happy prepping for Passover!
Naming things gives us a connection to them. Even little children name their lovies and their toys. We label and name to organize things in our minds and to recognize things. How surprising it has been for me as a mother to have a child who says she knows she is the gender not typically aligned with the anatomy she has. It made sense to me when she explained that she wants a name that goes with how she looks and feels. She started using her new name and slowly it has stuck.
When I officiate at a baby naming ceremony, I often explain how important names are within Jewish tradition. Our biblical ancestors’ names told their stories—Avraham, Father of a People; Miriam (from sea water), when she was alive, the people had water. Within the narratives of our ancient scroll, names changed when roles change. Jacob becomes Israel, for instance. The rabbis during the rabbinic period in the first centuries of the Common Era, spoke about having a crown of a good name, meaning your total reputation.
They helped us understand what Jews can believe about heaven. When you have been a good person and touched people who want to carry on your name and your memory, that is eternal life. Passing on the name of a loved one to the next generation is a way we enable this person, of blessed memory, to continue to impact the world through deeds done in their name. Sometimes elderly family members will say to the younger generation that they are their Kaddish (the prayer said to remember loved ones who have died). This means that they are looking to the ones living to carry on their memory.
A friend from childhood who has become a lawyer ushered my family through our minor name change process on Thursday, March 3. It was a profound moment when she reminded me that I named her children within the Jewish tradition and now she was naming my child in this way.
After the high and emotions of leaving court that day with a new name for my child, I drove into the city to help another family bestow Hebrew names on their three children ranging in age from 7 to 13. The mom in this family is Jewish and the father is Catholic. They have raised their children with the hopes of literacy, knowledge and comfortability within both religious realms and traditions. They have celebrated Jewish and Catholic holy days. These kids feel close to both rabbis and priests and both sides of their family. They know that they will have to wrestle like Jacob and discern what they believe about Jesus. They also know that they can turn to both traditions in times of joy and in times of need. They are enriched for this way of living and learning. They are not confused but full of joy. Their parents have a depth of compromise and respect for each other that is inspiring.
So, I stood with a priest who has become a friend and mentor as he baptized the children with water and anointed them with oil. I blessed them. We spoke about the loved ones for whom they were named and what their names in Hebrew mean. This was a ceremony of symbolism, metaphor and meaning.
Last year InterfaithFamily launched a social media campaign called #ChooseLove. As InterfaithFamily/Your Community Directors, we discussed whether our rabbinic colleagues would think we were suggesting that couples should choose love over religion, which was not our intention. Thursday, March 3 was a day when I understood what it means to choose love. Love rises above expectations and assumptions. It envelopes fear and uncertainty. It sweetens disappointment and loss. We don’t always have control over the circumstances of our lives, but we can choose to have compassion at all times.
Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haolam, shehechehyanu, v’kiy’manu, v’higianu laz’man hazeh. We praise You, Eternal our God, Sovereign of all: for giving us life, sustaining us, and enabling us to reach this joyful time.
I have a confession to make: For a while now, I’ve been pretty anti-Jewish prayer. I know that may sound startling coming from a rabbi. But I’ve kind of been dreading Friday night services lately. All that rote Hebrew that many people aren’t following and don’t understand what they’re saying. Now that I’ve been working with interfaith families, I am especially aware of the barrier that Hebrew creates and have wondered about all different ways to get over that wall. Many in the Jewish world think that some of our prayers (especially ones that have the words “v’tzivanu,” like the Shabbat candle blessings) can only be said by Jews and this poses other problems for those in our families who want to join in and are not sure where they fit.
Friday night services can have highs and music definitely helps get into the mood of the often universal and timeless themes in the liturgy. Sometimes it’s nice to just be with others and feel a sense of camaraderie, joint mission and shared purpose. It’s good to put my phone away for an hour and move at a different pace. Taking a deep breath, being in a beautiful space and hearing words from our tradition can be good for the soul. But, actual liturgy or communal prayer has been my nemesis for a while.
In fact, I was wondering if we could start a congregation with no prayer. There would be no Friday night or Saturday morning “services.” We would come together when we were up for it and looking forward to it for experiences of meaning. A bar or bat mitzvah service could involve a few major words of our faith tradition like the Shema or our Kaddish because a couple of prayers are transcendent. Their sound and their words are wholly evocative and needed. But, the core of the life cycle event would be to read from the sacred Torah scroll, to interpret the ancient text, to share who this child is at this moment and to celebrate a coming of age. To say words that feel compelling, engaging, inspiring and relevant. This is what has been going on in my heart and mind lately.
And then I was invited by A Wider Bridge to help lead Friday night worship at the Creating Change Conference in Chicago. I was invited because InterfaithFamily/Chicago works for inclusion and our mission aligns with the mission of this massive conference. I was invited because I am a proud ally for LGBTQ people within the Jewish world and non-profits in this realm. I was honored to help plan a service with Rabbi Shoshana Conover from Temple Sholom and Judith Golden from Congregation Or Chadash. But all did not go smoothly, and you can read multiple news stories about the drama and trauma that happened that night at the conference. I am still not sure what to do when you find that you agree with a group on so many grounds but have a major schism of belief in an area that is fundamental to your world view. But, the political pieces aside, I have to report that something happened to me in that service.
There was no guitar. Judith sang with emotion and feeling and it was participatory. I. Was. Moved. I felt it. I think other people in the room felt it (and maybe that’s why we, the prayer leaders, felt it). We sang for purpose. We sang for freedom. We prayed for help from the Source above. We were in the moment. We weren’t thinking about what we need at the grocery store. We were there together. A new group. People from all over the world and from all different backgrounds. Pluralistic. Egalitarian. The beat was contagious. Clapping and moving, smiles and swaying. Maybe because each of the prayer leaders desperately, and with all of our hearts and souls, wanted every person in that room to feel supported and part of it and included and loved—the vibe went out and it reverberated back.
I got my prayer mojo back. Now, how to keep it?
I had a few takeaways from this experience, and here’s what I suggest might make prayer more meaningful for me and possibly others:
Thank you Creating Change for reminding me that I love to pray with other people. I’m sorry there was so much tumult. I’m sorry there was so much pain. I pray we will all know peace.