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In rabbinical school, I learned what you might call the “real” story of Hanukkah. I also learned about the “real” story of Purim – there is more beyond the Disney version which includes a violent ending to the Book of Esther, which I never knew about as a child. I also learned about other gruesome stories in the Torah like the punishment for those who built the Golden Calf (they had to drink an elixir made from the ground-up golden calf and subsequently died) as well as consequences such as being swallowed alive by the earth for other disobedience.
What I mean when I say that I learned the “real” story of Hanukkah is that I became acquainted with the historical and rabbinic ambivalence toward the holiday. For starters, unlike all other Jewish holidays (with the exception of modern day Israeli holidays instituted after the creation of the state of Israel), the story and holiday of Hanukkah is not in the Hebrew Bible. It’s part of another genre of literature called the Apocrypha. Secondly, the holiday was established by the Maccabees to commemorate a military victory in which their small Jewish army defeated the huge Greek army. This war was forged by the Maccabees against both the Jews who had become too assimilated into Greek culture and against the Greeks themselves who had forbidden the Jews certain practices of Judaism.
The Maccabees were quite zealous in their religious fervor and it makes me wonder if they would have found my family, my community and me too assimilated as well. Though many of our holidays are also a celebration of our survival, the Maccabees’ establishment of the holiday in honor of their military victory was a distinctly Greek practice. The Rabbis of the Talmud were troubled by much of this and they even asked, “Mai Hanukkah” which, loosely translated from the Aramaic, means, “What the heck is Hanukkah?”
In the Talmud, the rabbis go on to tell the story of the destruction of the Temple, the re-dedication of the Temple and the lighting of the menorah with one tiny cruse of oil that was supposed to last only one night, but lasted eight nights. For the rabbis, that was the miracle of Hanukkah. The Talmud does not mention the military victory.
Ever since my rabbinical studies of Hanukkah, I’ve also wondered culturally about how Greek Jews feel about the Hanukkah story. (I also wonder how the Greeks feel about getting a bad rap in this story.) As a former Hillel staff member and Hillel rabbi, I also thought about the Greek Jews on campus, meaning the Jewish students who were members of Jewish fraternities and sororities. How did they feel about the Maccabees’ fight against the Jews who were too Hellenized — the Jews who were too Greek?
Jews of all communities and cultures learn to preserve their heritage but are also influenced by the area of the world in which they live. Jews from just about every Sephardic country have their own foods, recipes, and songs that most of us who grow up Ashkenazi don’t know about. I love learning about different kinds of Jewish cultural practices, which to me, are not about assimilation, but about embracing the creativity and the survival of the Jewish people.
Being the eager student ready to share what I had just learned about the “real” story of Hanukkah in rabbinical school, I told it all to my family at Hanukkah. I thought they would find it all as fascinating as I had. But sadly, they were not intrigued or excited by the ambivalence in our tradition to the different versions of the stories. My grandma was actually upset. “So the story of the Maccabees isn’t real? It’s not what Hanukkah is really about?” she asked.
“Well,” I said, “it’s only one part of the story. It’s not the whole story but it is one part of it.” So she asked me what I thought the real miracle was. I told her that I thought the real miracle was when everyone in our family was lighting Hanukkah candles – even when we weren’t together, even if we were far apart – that at one time of year – we each lit the candles, and saw our own hope, joy and memories reflected in the light of the candles.
Wherever you are; wherever your loved ones are; from whatever culture or background; I hope that your Hanukkah was a chance for you to come together.
Note: All comments on InterfaithFamily are moderated. Any comment that is offensive or inappropriate will be removed.
It’s the time of year when the days are short, the nights are dark, and the joyful music and decorations abound. Wherever we go we hear celebratory music and greetings of “merry” and “happy.” I usually love this time of the year with its crisp air, sweet smells, and joyful song. But this year I am having trouble getting into that spirit.
This year I’m scared.
This year I want to be joyful and I want to spread the cheer and I want to celebrate—but I’m sad. These few months have been rough for my community, my people, my country and my Israel. Every day for the past few months I’ve seen stories of terror in Israel. People are walking up to strangers, pulling knives out of pockets and purses and stabbing them. Others are driving cars onto sidewalks into crowds, killing and injuring several people at a time.
In San Bernadino, a town not far from where I live, a town where my grandparents are buried, where my friends live and work, two people entered a regional center and murdered 14 human beings who were gathered to celebrate the winter holidays.
In the Jewish Journal last week a man published an article publicly humiliating a local Rabbi for his transgender identification, calling this rabbi and his congregation an embarrassment to Judaism, desecrating our Torah by bullying someone in its name.
And today, a public figure stated that all Muslims should be banned from entering the United States.
I see all of this in the newspaper, on the news and in my Facebook feed. And then when I recycle the paper, turn off the TV, and put away my phone, I see my two toddlers. They know nothing of these horrific and saddening acts. They see that I’m upset so they come to sit in my lap.
All my kids know is love.
In their 17 months they have received nothing but love from everyone they meet. They don’t yet know the desperation and hate that drives someone to stab a stranger or murder a group of people. They don’t know the fear that leads someone to bully and humiliate another. And they don’t yet know why a public figure stating that he would disallow an entire religious community from entering a country would be triggering and scary.
All they know is love. And I want to keep it that way for as long as possible. I want this time of year to be magical and special and joyful for my kids, and for myself too. So we spent the afternoon decorating the house for Hanukkah. And we took a walk to see the neighbor’s decorations, saying “hi” to everyone on our way. And when we put them to bed we gave them extra kisses and extra cuddles and read one extra story. Because the more love we give them, the more love they will give others, and some days it feels like that’s all we can do.
So I’m scared and sad, but I’m also hopeful. I light the candles of my hanukkiah and sing joyful songs with my family. I wish people a “merry” and “happy” holiday on the street and in the store. I sign petitions and write letters to my representatives on issues I think are important. And I give love. It’s a scary world, but the story of Hanukkah teaches us that hope can win over fear. That light and love can win over darkness.
Note: All comments on InterfaithFamily are moderated. Any comment that is offensive or inappropriate will be removed.
I have to say that I have mixed feelings about “the holiday season.” While I love the beauty of the lights and decorations, it can feel a bit overwhelming and ostracizing to someone who did not grow up celebrating Christmas.
And then what to do when someone wishes me—a Jew—a “merry Christmas”? How to reply?
I have gone through my own evolution on this front. It used to feel very important for me to make a statement that I did not celebrate Christmas, and that in fact, my own holiday of Hanukkah was coming up. When someone wished me a merry Christmas, I used to reply with “Thanks, I’ll have a happy Hanukkah.” Sometimes I’d say this good naturedly, other times more pointedly, depending on my mood. But what did this really accomplish? Maybe making me feel a little less invisible amidst all the green garlands, but it probably embarrassed the well-wisher more than enlightening them.
Interestingly, being in an interfaith relationship has softened me somewhat and made it easier for me to accept these greetings in the spirit in which they were given. For the first time, I felt like I actually had a personal way to connect to and celebrate Christmas even if it wasn’t my holiday. I would celebrate with my significant other’s family so I didn’t feel so left out. And I didn’t feel disingenuous by accepting a “merry Christmas.”
So what to say during this time? “Happy holidays” is always broad enough to encompass many celebrations. “Happy New Year” can also work for virtually everybody.
Here are my top tips for Holiday Greetings:
1. Try to accept greetings in the spirit in which they are given. If you are not celebrating Christmas, this can be hard to do, but usually the person offering a “merry Christmas” wants to be friendly. If this makes you feel uncomfortable, see #2.
2. Pick your battles. Pointing out that you or your family celebrate Hanukkah to the cashier in the busy checkout line is not likely to elicit much change on their part. However, if “merry Christmas” is encroaching in your school or work place, consider talking with someone in authority. Call them aside at a calm moment to explain how the good intentions can actually backfire and make those not celebrating Christmas feel invisible or excluded. Offer some alternatives instead.
3. Consider what is causing the sting for you. Sometimes understanding our reactions can help us manage them. I realized that part of my reaction was due to defining my Judaism as NOT Christmas. When I recognized this, I could shift my focus away from what I’m not and onto what I am, and enjoy Hanukkah and the parts of the holiday season that appealed to me.
4. In an interfaith family, know how your partner wants to handle things. Whether you are the Jewish partner or the partner raised in another faith, what feels inclusive and celebratory to you? To your partner? What feels exclusionary? The holidays can trigger people in unexpected ways, so be sure to communicate with each other ahead of time, and be there to back each other up.
5. Communicate clearly with your extended family members. How will you handle family celebrations and gifts? Is it OK for someone to wish you or your child a “Merry Christmas” if you are attending a family Christmas dinner? Is “Happy Hanukkah” appropriate for everyone at the Hanukkah party, even if some of the guests are not Jewish? Sometimes the setting and circumstances matter.
6. Be conscious and considerate. If you do not know what holiday or holidays someone celebrates, ask them, or use a more generic greeting like “Happy Holidays” or “Happy New Year.”
7. Enjoy! Amidst the craziness that sometimes engulfs the holidays, and the missteps that are bound to happen, remember what is most important to you during this season and celebrate that.
Note: All comments on InterfaithFamily are moderated. Any comment that is offensive or inappropriate will be removed.
Perhaps it is because I have been working with interfaith couples and families in an intense way for over four years as Director of IFF/Chicago, but my sensitivity alarm went off in a major way during this film.
Here are my impressions:
1. The dinosaur dad dies as well as Spot’s (the cave-boy) parents. The death of parents in animated films has no doubt been the basis of more than one thesis. It’s important to be comfortable seeing death, talking about loss and understanding memory. The death of parents in so many films for children is thought-provoking, for sure. But why does there have to be so much of it?
2. There is a theme in the movie that if you are going to really engage with life, then there will be fear. You will be scared. The important thing is what to do about it. How we react and how we cope and get through something tough shows our character.
Unfortunately, the way Arlo, Spot’s dinosaur friend, shows he can face fear is through physically fighting and warding off the predators. This is the way he leaves his mark; this is how he shows he has done something worthy and important. I wished there was a way he showed his inner strength and resolve without fighting. Standing up for oneself and defending against harm is important at times. However, more often than needing to physically harm someone else to protect oneself when standing up to bullies or navigating difficult people and circumstances, is the need to think with ingenuity and resolve.
3. The last theme I want to discuss is the one with interfaith connotations, for me. In one scene, Arlo shows Spot what a family is. He puts sticks in the ground for each family member and draws a circle around them. Then Spot does the same thing and draws a circle around his family of sticks. At the end, Spot is taken in by another cave family and Arlo reunites with what is left of his dinosaur family. There seems to be a message that each kind stays with their group. I was waiting for Arlo and Spot to join their circles and show symbolically that they have become a family because they have cared for each other. This does not happen. They go their separate ways at the end.
The cave parents show Spot how to walk on two feet, and it is clear that only within your species can you learn certain skills. The dinosaurs on all fours would not have been able to teach him this. I think this raises all kinds of questions about adoption, whether different cultures can raise each other, and whether different animals, in the most figurative way, can be a family. With my interfaith family hat on, I was hoping there would be a message of unity within diversity.
Did you cry through it like we did? Did you have a similar take on these themes? As Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav taught us, “The whole world is a narrow bridge, and the most important thing is not to be afraid.”
Hanukkah is a holiday full of fun and meaningful traditions, like eating foods made with oil such as latkes and sufganiyot (jelly doughnuts); playing the dreidel game; and of course lighting the hanukkiah (the nine branched candelabrum, commonly called a “Menorah” in English). And of course there are the traditional songs – like Ma’oz Tsur (“Rock of Ages”), “I Have a Little Dreidel” and “Hanukkah, O Hanukkah.”
In modern times, there have been some great Hanukkah songs, some for children (though still loved by adults), such as Debbie Friedman’s “The Latke Song” and others for a wider audience, like Matisyahu’s “Miracles.”
Hanukkah music rose to a whole new – and much funnier – level on December 3, 1994, when Adam Sandler performed “The Chanukah Song” on Saturday Night Live‘s Weekend Update. The original song was followed up by “Part II” (1999), “Part 3” (2002) and a new updated version this year. In all four songs, Sandler sings about celebrities who he claims (often, though not always correctly) are “Jewish,” “not Jewish,” or “half-Jewish.” To learn more about all four of Sandler’s songs check out the Wikipedia entry on “The Chanukah Song” which includes a listing of the celebrities mentioned in the songs, the truth about whether they are or aren’t Jewish and links to covers and spoofs. Here’s the latest version.
Starting around 2010, a new kind of Hanukkah song became popular: The Pop Song Haunkkah Parody. Even though it’s been a few years after the first really popular parodies started circulating around the internet, I still remember most of the words to each of the parody songs – though I couldn’t even remember who sang the song originally, let alone the words to the original song. So, in keeping with the number eight for the eight nights of Hanukkah, here are my eight favorite Hanukkah Pop Song Parodies (in chronological order):
1. The Fountainhead’s “I Gotta Feeling Hanukkah,” the 2010 parody of The Black Eyed Peas’ “I Gotta Feeling.” The Fountainheads are a group of young Israeli singers, dancers and musicians who are all graduates and students of the Ein Prat Academy for Leadership.
2. The one that really brought Hanukkah song parodies into the big leagues was “Candlelight,” a 2012 parody of Taio Cruz’s “Dynamite” by The Maccabeats, Yeshiva University’s all-male a capella group.
3. “Eight Nights – Hanukkah Mashup,” a 2012 Hanukkah parody/mashup of three songs: “Some Nights” by Fun, “Die Young” by Ke$ha and “Live While We’re Young” by One Direction. StandFour is another all-male a capella group, composed of four former members of The Maccabeats.
4. The B-Boyz “(You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (To Dreidel),” a 2012 parody of The Beastie Boys’ “(You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (To Party!)” by three young brothers – Ben, Jake and Max Borenstein.
5. The Maccabeats again with “Burn” – their 2013 version of Ellie Goulding’s song. They didn’t change the words, but they made it into a Hanukkah video.
6. “Chanukah Lights,” The Jabberwocks of Brown University’s 2014 song, which is a play on Kanye West’s “All of the Lights.” The Jabberwocks are Brown’s oldest, all-male a capella group.
7. Six13’s 2014 “Chanukah (Shake It Off)” parodying Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off.” Six13 is an all-male Jewish a capella group from New York.
8. And the Maccabeats yet again, with 2014’s “All About that Neis,” a parody of Meghan Trainor’s “All About the Bass.”
I can’t wait to hear and watch what these groups and others have in store for Hanukkah 2015. And I hope to see more women (of the six groups whose parodies I listed above only one, The Fountainheads, included women) and girls coming out with some awesome parodies.
What’s your favorite Hanukkah song or song parody? Please share a link so we can all enjoy.
This time of year, I often find myself answering questions about the “December Dilemma.” As an intermarried-child-of-intermarriage, people want to know how I handle this tricky season, when Christmas and Hanukkah compete for our attention, and pine trees threaten to darken our doors. After all, I’ve been experiencing this for two generations myself. Haven’t I learned something in all that time?
I do have an answer, actually, but it’s a radical notion—that in fact, there’s no such thing as the December Dilemma. Or rather, that this is a problem we’ve created for ourselves, out of anxiety and insecurity.
If this is the case, the obvious solution to our problem is to release that anxiety and turn our attention to enjoying our own distinct holiday, to making Hanukkah a resonant, meaningful season. Just as we do with Passover or Sukkot. When we aren’t measuring ourselves against jingle bells and candy canes.
But how do we do that?
For years I tried to make Hanukkah appealing to my kids. Since they often spend Christmas with their Catholic grandparents, and receive copious gifts as a result, my instinct was to try to match that particular kind of childhood joy. I didn’t concoct a Jewish Santa, but I did spend money. I bought and wrapped loads of presents, filled bowls with gelt and dreidels. I bought twinkly lights shaped like stars of David. I wanted Hanukkah to outshine Christmas in my children’s memories.
You know what? It didn’t work. Not because the presents weren’t appreciated, but because that’s not the point of Hanukkah. That store-bought abundance* didn’t feel organic or authentic to anyone. Eight days is a long time to slog through that brassy sort of cheer, and also, only Santa is Santa. Pale comparisons are just that. No menorah will dim the presence of a tree in the corner, or the inundation our kids feel from the outside world—the endcap displays at Target, the aisles of red and green candy at the grocery store. Every year we all feel a little let down by Hanukkah. Don’t we?
So last year, I asked myself a question—why does this holiday matter? I asked myself what there was to love about Hanukkah. If it isn’t a runner-up week of gifts and gelt, what’s the actual point? I tried to remember what had mattered to me about Hanukkah, as a kid. What were my best Hanukkah memories?
When I did, I found that every single one was a memory of the dinner table or the kitchen. Of my dad grating his knuckles year after year, making latkes. Of my sisters and brothers teasing each other when we unwrapped boring gifts like dried fruit or clothes. Of the smoke alarm going off. Of drinking wine and idly spinning dreidels on a crumb-covered tablecloth, as we caught up with each other’s college-age lives.
You see, the beauty of Hanukkah is this—if we actually celebrate it, it affords us eight consecutive nights to slow down and focus on the little things, the personal, the mundane. Hanukkah forces us to look into each other’s eyes every night for a week, and connect. To wait until the candles have burned down to wash the dishes or check email.
This is a miracle, honestly, in today’s world. What other holiday accomplishes that sort of slowdown? There’s no pressure to perform Hanukkah. There’s no long synagogue service or requirement that you take time off school or work. You don’t have to dress up or make a fancy meal. You only have to spend an hour every night loving your family and friends fully. Being aware of them.
So last year, we did something radical at our house. We opted out of the December Dilemma. We didn’t spend money. We didn’t throw a party. We didn’t travel. We didn’t compete with Christmas at all, and the result was mindblowing. It was actually a little bit painful to register the shock in my kids’ faces when neither my husband nor I hurried away from dinner to make a phone call or wrap up a little work.
We skipped cub scouts and book club that week. We didn’t go the gym. If homework hadn’t been done by dinner, it wasn’t going to get done. For eight nights, we prioritized only each other, and it was moving to see how deeply that resonated with my kids—to see that they totally got it. We played dumb board games and ate popcorn. One night we watched a movie together, and I know it sounds cheesy, but I can’t remember a calmer, happier week in our household. The kids have been talking about it ever since. They can’t wait for this year.
Here’s the thing—you can only lose a battle you choose to fight. Christmas won’t stop being Christmas, whether you have a tree or not. Christmas won’t stop being an abundant overblown season of candy wrapped in tinsel. If the way we measure joy is in candy, Christmas wins every time.
But that’s only one kind of currency, and if we measure joy in calm pleasure, in togetherness, in slowness, in conversation and low-stress fun, Hanukkah resonates differently. It matters. It becomes real.
Think about light—there are fireworks in the world, and then there are fireplaces. Both are illuminating. But they meet different needs. If you measure the cheery glow of a fireplace against the bombastic blaze of fireworks, you’ll be disappointed. But if you stare deep into the hearth, accept it on its own terms, and warm your hands, you can’t help but see its distinct beauty. You can’t help but recognize how much you need it.
*the author would like to recognize that plenty of Christians struggle with this issue too, and that for many people, the real spirit of Christmas has nothing to do with the “holiday shopping season.”
We tend to ask our children the same questions over and over which are super hard to answer. Educators and parents ask, “What are you thankful for?” This questions is asked repeatedly around Thanksgiving time. Children say, “my parents, my home, food, friends and toys.”
Ask your child now. What did he or she say? A parent volunteer told me that when the librarian asked the kids this question, my 6-year-old said, “the solar system.” That was an unusual answer. I’m not sure where that one came from. Maybe there was a poster of outer-space or a book nearby that caught her eye?
There is nothing wrong with this question but it is very hard to tap into real feelings of gratitude, appreciation and thanks and then to be able to articulate those feelings. Sometimes I ask my kids what makes them happy and that seems easier for them to talk about. Gratitude has to be cultivated and modeled.
As we move into the Hanukkah and Christmas season, I asked my 6-year-old and 8-year-old what they know about these holidays. You would think that being children of two rabbis and living in a heavily Jewish suburb would sway or weight their answers some. Yet, they love their idea of Christmas even though they have had limited personal experience with it (much to their chagrin).
When I asked them what they think about when I say the word, “Christmas” they beamed with joy, lit up and said, “presents!” Now, my pastor friends and practicing Christians may be cringing. These are not the holy parts of this holiday. In addition, these are children who have lots of stuff. They are not lacking for presents. However, the idea of getting a gift is ever thrilling.
They don’t have much first-hand experience with a religious and/or a cultural Christmas. (Hopefully their experiences will vary and multiply as they get older and they will come to value volunteering during the time of darkness and need for so many, and will be inclined to cherish the priceless and precious gifts of time and presence more than material things). Their ideas about Christmas fun come primarily from TV and I’m not sure where else.
Then I asked them to tell me about Hanukkah. They said lighting the menorah and presents are what come to mind. My children don’t like latkes. Or matzah ball soup, lox or noodle kugel. I know, it’s just wrong, but I’m being as honest as possible here. They do like Elf on the Shelf, Christmas cookies and the lights, beauty and magic of Christmas.
When I reminded them and gave hints, they were able to conjure up details about the miracle of the oil lasting and about the re-dedication of the Temple. They know the role of the shamash, or helper candle that lights the other ones. They know how to play dreidel and play it with zeal. They love games! They love getting together with friends and family over Hanukkah. They sing Hanukkah songs and enjoy going to synagogue where each family lights a menorah and it glows with warmth and love.
I don’t think my children are more spoiled or more materialistic than others. They love life, and they love surprises and being playful. They love their friends, feel connected to their family and enjoy school and learning. They generally are into things.
Am I worried that my children—who I hope will look to Judaism to give them order, meaning, sacred purpose, connectedness, hope, values, inspiration, pride, and so much more—love aspects of Christmas? No, not one bit. I do want them to be literate in tenets of Christianity too. I want them to know more about Jesus. They will learn history as they mature and will have context and gain perspective and understanding. I don’t want them to feel threatened by Christianity and Christmas. I want them to be able to ask their own questions and take Christian theology and beliefs seriously. I want them to understand that there is religion and there is culture and there is secularism, and how each of these aspects inform a person’s expression. I don’t ever want Hanukkah and Christmas to compete.
I think that making a child raised with Judaism feel badly about liking Christmas is not a great approach. It won’t create closeness with Judaism. The main thing is to keep asking our children what they think and teaching our children as much as we can so that they can create well-rounded notions of these two holidays, central to our American psyche. Knowledge is good. Not being shamed for loving parts of another religion’s holidays is good.
Let’s stop asking rote questions and expecting rote answers. Your kids will tell you what they honestly know and think and it will open your eyes to their little developing souls.
On October 22, 2015 we gathered with friends and colleagues at Hebrew College in Newton, MA, to honor InterfaithFamily’s Founder, Ed Case, and Combined Jewish Philanthropies of Boston‘s President, Barry Shrage. In addition to recognizing the incredible work they have done to change the landscape of the Jewish community, we took a moment to discuss some of the top issues facing interfaith families today and to celebrate the people who help make our work possible.
Enjoy the photos of the event below (thanks to Meri Bond Photography), along with a video capturing the impact InterfaithFamily has made on individuals, couples and families, and tribute videos to Barry Shrage and Ed Case. To see the full photo gallery, go here.
As an avid follower of the hit show, New Girl, I couldn’t pass up an article in Us Weekly about its star, Zooey Deschanel, converting to Judaism. The headline revealed that she converted for her husband, producer Jacob Pechenik. “The things we do for love!” began the article, which went so far as to say that she “made a grand gesture” by deciding to join the Jewish people for him.
I know that many people within the Jewish community frown upon the idea that someone converted “for” someone else. We often have an idealized kind of conversion in our minds: Someone discovers Judaism on their own, learns about it and seeks a community, studies toward conversion until they are immersed in Jewish life and ultimately take the plunge into the Mikveh (ritual bath necessary for conversion by Jewish law). They might speak of having a “yiddishe neshama,” a Jewish soul that has found its rightful home. We especially love it when this conversion candidate far surpasses what Jews who grew up with the tradition know or practice.
This is a great image, and I have worked with dozens of such Jews-to-be over the years as a rabbi. It is incredibly gratifying to study with someone who is so drawn to our tradition. But it is not the way everyone comes to join our community. Since our earliest history, individuals have joined and strengthened our people because they fell in love. Abraham heard the call of God and became the first adherent to this new faith. But God didn’t speak directly to Sarah; she trusted her husband that this was a revolutionary way to live and a God worthy of uprooting her life.
She followed her husband.
Countless others followed, building up what we now know as the Jewish people. We would not exist were it not for all of the individuals who loved someone who was part of this community. Were they lesser? Would we challenge their commitment?
I work with so many interfaith couples in which a partner is considering conversion but battles with this notion that one might only be converting “for” someone else. My reply is, “Wow, you would consider converting to our tradition because you love this person that much? That is a beautiful thing.” I would never suggest or urge someone to make this commitment, but if they think it might be the right step for them, I hope they don’t get stuck on an image of what an “ideal” Jew-by-choice is like.
If they are passionate about this move, I want to support them without questioning their motives. I have to admit that I do have an ideal scenario in my mind. This person hopefully studies and begins to practice Judaism… along with their Jewish partner who, often times, may not know too much about Judaism either. Together, they discover meaningful practices along with a vibrant community that speaks to the home and life they are creating together. That process may feel spiritual, but it might also feel practical or logical. That is for each Jew to determine, and people who convert shouldn’t be held to a different standard than other Jews.
Of course, conversion is not for everyone. We have finally arrived at a moment in contemporary Judaism in which many communities and leaders view “fellow travelers” who have not chosen to convert as having an important role as members of the Jewish community. Anyone who enters the door to Jewish life should be welcome, no matter what their status. And, of course, no one should be coerced into converting. Ideally, everyone who decides to make the commitment to become Jewish is doing so on their own terms, even Zooey. But let’s not judge people’s decisions when they do follow someone into our tradition… let’s celebrate the fact that they love someone that much.
Have questions about conversion? Check out our conversion FAQ.
I know this will embarrass you (and definitely make you cry) because that’s who you are, but in the spirit of this month of Thanksgiving, I wanted to say thank you.
Thank you for…
…saying yes when I was 7 and came home from a visit to Hebrew School and declared that I wanted to go back and learn Hebrew. I often imagine what the conversation was like between you and Dad that evening, but you had the courage to let me follow my heart and we joined a synagogue so that I could. There’s no way you or anyone could have known the impact that decision would have on all of our lives. Since you were never really moved by your family’s Catholicism or any sense of religion, I bet it was scary and uncomfortable at first, but you put me first and have always encouraged me to follow my passions.
…participating in my Jewish life, learning the prayers and the music the best you could, showing up for everything, being so proud of me at my
…influencing the person and the rabbi I am today. The odd rude person has asked me through the years if I ever was frustrated that you hadn’t converted or even that you weren’t Jewish. Once I got over my offense at the question, I always answered that so much of who I am is due to the person you are and I wouldn’t change that even if I could. When I became a rabbi, I made sure that your name was on my ordination certificate, transliterated into Hebrew because both you and Dad created me and saw me through those many years of study, struggle and triumph in order for me to reach that particular life long dream. You are the calm voice in my head, reminding me of what I can achieve, telling me sometimes to relax, urging me to stand up for myself, reminding me how proud I make you.
…enduring any ignorance that might have come your way: the people who didn’t understand how you could have a daughter who is a rabbi or those who simply didn’t include you, or even ignored you. You never let it bother you because you knew who you were and you showed me by your example how to be strong in a world where not everyone is accepting or kind.
Thank you for all the ways you choose love, by loving me, accepting me and always being my champion and my most fervent supporter (along with Dad, of course). I wouldn’t be who I am; wouldn’t be doing the work I love; couldn’t live the happy life I do—without your example of a strong woman, your humor, your quiet confidence, your effortless style and your soft heart. There will never be enough words to express how grateful I am for all that you are.
So thanks Mom, for being you.
P.S. Writing this made me cry—thanks for that too!