Connecting Interfaith Families to Jewish Life in Greater Cleveland by providing programs and opportunities for interfaith families to experience Judaism in a variety of venues, meet other interfaith families, and to connect to other Jewish organizations that may serve their needs.
A great way for Jewish professionals and volunteers who work with and provide programming for people in interfaith relationships to locate resources and trainings to build more welcome into their Jewish communities; connect with and learn from each other; and publicize and enhance their programs and services.
By now hopefully you’ve had a moment to read about Jane Larkin’s RoshHashanah parties, which I plan to crash if I am ever in Texas for the Jewish New Year. This year my family started a new Rosh Hashanah tradition, too, although we hardly invented it; it was just new to us. At a family program at Ruthie’s Sunday School, the Rabbi taught us about the Sephardic tradition of the Rosh Hashanah Seder (which you can read about here on InterfaithFamily). I had never heard about this tradition, but figured it was worth a whirl. It was not only fun, but it brought with it a great chance to explore our hopes for the New Year in a new way. And it had the added bonus of being a very tasty addition to the celebration, as well.
The Rosh Hashanah seder is a seder of word plays, so the order is a series of foods that you eat, each of which has a word play that expresses our hopes for the New Year. For example, the Hebrew, or Aramaic, word for beet is related to the Hebrew word for beat, so when we eat it we can think about beating our swords into plowshares, or beating a path to free ourselves from our enemies. They are word plays that force a chuckle or a smile but also beautifully represent hopes for a sweet, peaceful and fulfilling year.
The spirit of the Rosh Hashanah seder is lovely, and the eats are good (more details on what we ate at the end of this piece). But it also offered something else to my family. As a parent of young kids, it is hard to find space to connect to the holiday. I derive joy and spiritual connection from watching my girls discover their Judaism, but sometimes it is hard to find time to remember my own Judaism. My time in the synagogue is a mix of reading, reflection, and making sure Chaya is coloring only on her coloring sheet, and not the synagogue furniture. The chance to extend the day’s observance to the intimate setting of our own home, where my kids can vacillate between the table and playspace, gives us all another inlet for observance. So our first Rosh Hashanah seder was a wonderful addition, and hopefully the first of many.
And in case this all sounds nice, but like too much to coordinate, here’s a shortcut to our seder:
We used the Sixth & I Historic synagogue seder book, which can be downloaded here (IFF’s Benjamin Maron also recommends another book in this 2012 article).
Here’s what we ate:
Dates straight out of the container. These were Chaya’s first dates, and she loved them, so I’d suggested getting them without pits to prepare for 2-year-old-date-inhalation.
Pomegranate straight from the fruit, although our Rabbi had the chocolate-covered ones, which would be a big time saver in a pinch.
This week, our faithful, energetic, tremendously creative, and incredibly smart editor, Lindsey Silken, is getting married. We know this is the parenting blog, and not the wedding blog, but as two experienced married folks, we thought we’d take this special opportunity to offer some advice to Lindsey and her betrothed. Following are a few things we, InterfaithFamily parenting bloggers Jessie Boatright and Jane Larkin, have picked up in our collective 21 years of marriage.
Jessie and Eric, 2005
Our Wedding Advice Greatest Hits
We thought we’d start off with a few of our favorite tips about the big day. So here they are, in no particular order:
1) Stand up straight! It’s a small thing, but a little good posture goes a long way, especially given that there will probably be more pictures taken of you on your wedding day than just about any other day of your life.
2) Don’t forget to eat. Better yet, assign someone to remind you to eat. You’ve likely spent hours picking out menus and cakes. It is easy to get so overwhelmed with all of your guests and the joy of the day that you’ll forget to try anything you so painstakingly selected. So take a break to have a few bites or, better yet, sit down and enjoy a whole meal.
3) Once the big day arrives, there will be only one to-do item remaining on your list: have a great time! Let the event coordinators worry about the details, enjoy your day.
Getting Serious – A Few Thoughts about Making the Most of Marriage
Jane and Cameron, 2002
1) If interfaith couples have anything to teach inmarried couples, it is the importance of not making any assumptions about religion or traditions. Since Jewish tradition is wide and varied, don’t assume that anything is a given. Talk, talk and then talk some more. Or, in Jewish tradition, wrestle, dialogue, disagree, and then figure out the path that works for your family.
2) Pick something you really like doing as a couple, and remember to keep on doing it. Whether it is dancing into the wee hours of the morning or a shut-in board game night, it is important to keep coming back to a space that is uniquely yours throughout your marriage.
3) There is never a “perfect time” for anything. There is no perfect time to go back to school, or to have children, or to buy a home. You will always be able to find an excuse to delay big (and small) decisions. Sometimes you and partner will know when the time is right; other times you’ll need to “Just Do It.”
4) Bring Shabbat into your lives. Starting a Shabbat tradition is a way for sacred encounter to enter into your relationship. It is also a tangible way for you to start to build your Jewish home together.
5) It’s okay to go to bed mad. It’s hard to look at an issue clearly when tempers and emotions are high. Even a bad night’s sleep can help you see a situation from a different perspective or deal with a problem in a calmer fashion. Another trick: count to 10 before responding to a temperature-raising comment from your spouse, in-laws, or parents.
6) Your spouse may have some habits that you think you will be able to change after marriage. Most likely that won’t happen, so learn to live with them and laugh about them. When you find these lovable behaviors nagging at you, recite to yourself American theologian Reinhold Niebuhr’s Serenity Prayer: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, The courage to change the things I can, And the wisdom to know the difference.
7) Have your families read Jessie’s “A Charge to the Families.” There are some lessons in it that will help them support your partnership.
8) Lastly, remember that marriage is a journey, not a destination. There will be many peaks and an equal amount of valleys. If you remember that you and your spouse are a team that is at its best when it works together, you will have an easier time navigating the smooth surfaces, as well as the bumps in the road. Marriage’s treasures are not revealed all at once, but rather all along the way.
Best wishes for a life together that is filled with joy, happiness, strength, support, teamwork, and love. Mazel Tov!
Happy Labor Day weekend! Every year, I anticipate Labor Day weekend with both a smile and a bittersweet taste in my mouth. It always brings some kind of fun celebration, but in so doing it marks the end of summer (a particularly big deal for those of us who live in New England). Unlike last year, when the Jewish New Year collided with the start of the school year, we still have a few weeks to go before Rosh Hashanah. But for parents of school-aged children, Labor Day marks a transition into another kind of new year. A new year of earlier school day wake-ups, school uniforms to keep clean, and new groups of teachers, parents and children to get to know.
We have had a lot of fun this summer. It was Ruthie’s first summer at real “big kid” day camp, and a huge developmental period for Chaya. We had a great vacation in Maine, and a lot of weekend adventures. We made wonderful memories with family and friends.
As I prepare to for this last summer weekend, I thought I’d take a moment to count some of the blessings of the summer, and think about how I might carry them into the next three seasons. Here are some things I’ll remember:
Every once in a while, its okay to stay up late to sit around the campfire, or run around like crazy monkeys with a gaggle of cousins.
Every once in a while, it is good to go to bed early to make up for the late nights.
Try not to sweat the sand in the bottom of the backpack. It is a measure of how great the day has been. And as long as you are careful it won’t ruin your plumbing.
Similarly, relish the mud on your face. Cake some more on, while you are at it.
Never underestimate the power of a breath of fresh air.
Don’t let the rain scare you from going outside.
Every nook and cranny can be a stage for singing “Let It Go,” as long as you have a vision for it.
Those are a few of the gifts from our summer. What are yours?
The night before I left for my family vacation, I paid a shiva call to a friend who had just lost her sister. In the middle of my visit, a rabbi friend-of-the-family led those present through the first night’s shiva minyan. Before we began the Mourner’s Kaddish, the rabbi explained that this night was a very special Shabbat. It was Shabbat Nachamu, the Shabbat of Consolation. After the somber observance of Tisha B’Av, Shabbat Nachamu begins seven weeks of consolation, of shifting from mourning to comfort as we clear our minds and prepare for the New Year. It was a beautiful frame to put around this heartbreaking time, and gave those of us present a sense of purpose in being with my friend’s family in that moment. It also fortified me as I prepared for my annual trip to the Maine lakes, a trip that my Mom organized for 29 years, including 2012, the year she, like my friend’s sister, lost her life to cancer.
When I arrived at the lake, I sensed so many things that were missing, so many things to mourn. The plastic bins she packed neatly with games and crafts were missing, replaced by a mish-mash of last-minute items I had thrown into canvas bags. There was an empty seat around the campfire, and no easel set up on the dock, waiting for a sunset to paint. When I think of my mom in Maine, I see her smiling in the oversized neon green and blue plaid shirt she inherited from an old high school friend of mine, and her laughter echoes off of the lake. There are so many ways in which she is not there, and I mourn them all each year that I go up without her.
Sisters discovering a new farm for picking blueberries together. Credit: Eliza Berman
But this year I carried the rabbi’s words about Shabbat Nachamu with me, and tried not to look back quite so much. There were consolations and small comforts all around me if I opened my eyes to the present. The beauty and tranquility of the lake are gifts that live on. My Dad, siblings, and our kids and partners are still a family: a family that treks hours through weekend summer traffic to be together, to cook hot dogs on an open flame and then to find a new stone to overturn – a new farm to visit, or a new craft project to undertake. I can see a paintable sunset and relish it, even if I can’t paint it like my mom could. My nephew, whose entire life began after my Mom died, is making his way fiercely in the world and reminding me of how much of life remains for all of us to discover.
And then I found another new joy that surprised me. My girls are becoming friends. Not in the way it’s been, where I can get Ruthie to distract Chaya with a book while I change my shirt, or where the girls sit beside each other at the table but interact on separate mental planes. A real friendship is blossoming between them, one which is uniquely theirs, and in which I am only a supporting character. While we were on vacation, they created their own games together, skipping rocks in the pond side-by-side and enlisting my sister and me for hours of “beauty salon” activities. They sought each other out to try new jokes and held hands in the backseat of the car. And there was nothing as consoling as this friendship, which has to be one of parenthood’s greatest gifts.
One of my favorite Jewish notions is that of sacred continuity – that we must remember our past in order to best be in the present and plan for a better future. Shabbat Nachamu is a bridge from a recollection of loss to an appreciation of what is around us. During my week on the lake, I made a small pilgrimage over that bridge. And with the New Year approaching, I will carry the clarity I found in Maine and continue to seek out consolation and joy.
My little Chaya turned two this month. Two is a lot of fun. She is developing language at lightening speed, and even though I feel that Eric and I already know her better than anyone else (except, I must admit, her sister Ruthie), it feels as if I get to meet her anew every time she throws another new sentence together. She is just learning how to make a joke, and she loves figuring out how to make us laugh. She is firmly committed to figuring out her place in the world, which sometimes means she shows a glimmer of a “terrible two’s” tantrum, and can be a bit bossy, but overall is just a fascinating study in human development. And on that note, in honor of her birthday, I wanted to share a little story of a deliciously 2-year-old thing she did at Shabbat this month.
A few weeks ago, we were stuck in the throes of a typical Friday night. The girls were both exhausted, and attempting to eat their way through the kitchen cabinets in a race against my ability to get a balanced dinner on the table. Eric was home just a few minutes past his planned arrival time, which was hardly a disaster but meant the dog still needed to go out and the table wasn’t really set. I could hear the sound of chaos in our dining room, and was trying to figure out how to transition us into a peaceful welcoming of our Friday night.
I decided to try something different. Instead of attempting to commandeer everyone into their seats at a nicely set table, I waited until everyone was in the general vicinity of the dining room, made my Shabbat-commencing-confirming eye contact with Eric, and lit the match for the candles. Aha. I had everyone’s attention. I lit the candles, covered my eyes, and began to say the blessing.
Just as the blessing came out of my mouth, Chaya started to dance. I gave up on peeking and just uncovered my eyes. We all looked over at our smallest family member, who was watching the candles with a huge grin on her face, dancing to the melody of the blessing.
It may be a little trite, but this two-year-old was trying to tell us that Shabbat is something about which we should be dancing. More than that, it felt like a bit of a parenting victory. I often feel like when I start a ritual I never know how long it will take to stick, or even if it will stick. This goes across the board, from something as big as Shabbat or as small as teaching the girls to put their clothes in the hamper when they’re dirty. When Chaya danced, it felt like I wasn’t teaching her about Shabbat – she got it, and in her own way, even better than what I tried to teach her.
I doubt Chaya is going to dance every week, or even that I can transition our house from chaos to commonality every Friday like I did that week. But I am thankful for a two-year old who teaches me to see things in new ways, and whose gifts to me will always outnumber what I give to her.
I love a good wedding, which almost all of them are, in my experience. Last weekend I had the privilege of being a guest at a really powerful wedding, with a ceremony that was not only joyous but also left me with strong food for thought about the power of marriage, partnership, love, family, and community. I especially loved the way the ceremony charged family and friends to play a role in the couple’s marriage, so much so that I thought I’d share it with you.
Keeana and Marc’s wedding was special because they are a lovely couple – they are both remarkable people who are head-over-heels for each other in an infectious way. They are connected to and with their faith and their clergy in way that made it impossible to not feel spiritually connected to their ceremony. And the fact that five of their friends came together to form a choir just for their ceremony, or that Keeana’s mother, a reverend herself, led the final step of the ceremony, only sweetened the pot.
But what I really loved were the three “Charges” of the ceremony.
As I understand it, the Charge is the officiant’s chance to tell the couple about the responsibilities they are taking on as a married couple. In a Jewish wedding, I think these charges tend to be a bit more understated. In Keeana and Marc’s Christian wedding, the Charge was not only explicit, but it was said three times in three different ways. First to the congregation, then to the families, and finally to the couple themselves.
In the first charge, the pastors from Boston’s Bethel AME Church (who happen to be married to one another), told the congregation that the couple’s goal for their ceremony was to celebrate their love, to encourage unmarried guests to think about getting married, and to remind married guests about the power of marriage. This is such a lovely way to attend any wedding – to remember not only to notice the wedding dress and to listen to the couple, but also to reflect on your own relationships as you participate.
The second charge was the one that really stood out to me. I can never do it justice verbatim, but following are the Cliff Notes. The reverends took pause from the flow of the ceremony to speak directly to the bride’s and groom’s families. They reminded them that Keeana and Marc were standing before them and before G-d to enter into a holy partnership, and that moving forward their primary relationships would be with each other and with G-d. Because of the sacred nature of the commitment they were making to each other, the officiants implored the families that the best way to support these two individuals going forward would be to support them as a couple. This included supporting their ability to (and perhaps need to) forge their own path as a unit, sometimes stepping aside to let them stumble together. The reverends promised that if the families supported the couple’s partnership, they were gaining a respective son and daughter, and that respecting the partnership was the way to be close to the adult child who they raised themselves.
This was not striking because it was a revelation to me – Eric and I have always felt great support for our marriage from our parents. As a parent myself, now, I feel like I am one step closer to understanding the potential challenge of this charge (although not nearly close enough to really get it!). After nine years of marriage, I am unmeasurably appreciative of the ways in which our families have supported our marriage journey, even when we’ve made choices that have been very different from those our parents made (or might have made for us!). The way Keeana and Marc’s pastors laid out the charge reminded me that this is never something to be taken lightly, that it is work, and that it is sacred work. And while this post may read as more about marriage than parenting, the truth is that all of this only becomes more important when children are in the mix, and the dynamics present and decisions to be made feel even more complex than before.
So it reminded me, especially on the eve of our anniversary this week, to say:
Thank you to Mom and Dad and Mom and Dad!!!
(and the rest of our families, too, of course), and to remember that the successful union of two people is all the richer when we have our friends and family holding up that union.
The final charge, to the couple, was a lovely statement about love and commitment. And all of the wedding guests will remember the way that two pastors emboldened them to maintain a passionate marital bed, but that is for another kind of post for another kind of day.
So Mazel Tov to Keeana and Marc. Mission accomplished in helping me reflect on the power of love and marriage. Thanks to you two, too.
Boatright Family Rules (Draft Form). Rule # 10 says "Be Kind to Other People"
Shavuot came at an interesting time in our parenting journey this year. In addition to cheese blintzes, the main event on Shavuot is a commemoration of when the Jewish people received the Ten Commandments and the Torah. It is a holiday to renew our commitment to the Torah, to study on the Ten Commandments, and to celebrate the many stories and mitzvot that the Torah contains. This celebration of the rules that G-d gave to us at Mt. Sinai fell at a time when the role of rules in our family is at the forefront of our interactions.
At 5, Ruthie is in a period where her primary developmental focus is to test the boundaries of the world around her. This manifests itself in a constant engagement with Mom and Dad’s rules, as she uses her (of course exceptional) intellect to try to sneak around rules, to push the boundaries set out for her, and sometimes to ram head-first against a decree that Eric and I think is completely non-negotiable. As we try to support her through a series of transitions–the end of the school year, the beginning of an unknown summer camp, and the anticipation of kindergarten–what I hear in her words is a complete disdain for rules, but what I see in her behavior is a need for structure even more than she’s needed before.
So in the middle of a somewhat involved parenting moment, Shavuot rolled around. I was lucky to take the girls to two wonderful Tot Shabbat services the week before and after Shavuot, where they (and I) got two different perspectives on how to celebrate the holiday. And my mind was soaking it all up, particularly when we talked about the Ten Commandments. I spent a lot of the week of Shavuot thinking about those rules, and about what they provided to the Jewish people. While the commandments are not simple to follow, they are reasonable. They give us a framework to use in relating to one another and to G-d, and a lens for understanding “right” and “wrong.” For the most part, they do not confine our every movement, but they do give us enough direction to frame the way we interact with the world.
So Shavuot seemed like a great way to hit a reset button and try to redefine the role of rules in our family. A wonderful parenting expert recommended to us that we rein in the rule-pushing by restarting with a set of family rules that the four of us make together. The weekend after Shavuot, Ruthie, Chaya, Eric and I sat down to make 10 family rules.
They are not exactly like the Ten Commandments, in that they did not come from G-d, or even from a single authority figure, but they came from all of us thinking collectively, in our case an important step for helping Ruthie feel like she has a role in defining her world. Unlike the Ten Commandments, they are not steadfast–they reflect a moment in time, and hopefully we can conquer these 10 as we all have some mastery and our family changes.
But they do apply equally to all of us, just like the Ten Commandments. And I hope that they show Ruthie that rules do not confine her every movement, but provide enough direction to guide her in interacting with the world, and hopefully even to find a feeling of safety within that. And for us, Shavuot marks a new start on rules, just as it has for the Jewish people for more than 3,000 years.
A couple of months ago, a friend invited us to Friday dinner for their little one’s birthday. I could tell in her invitation that, since it was his birthday, she was looking forward to hosting. I paused for a minute – it takes real effort to make Shabbat dinner happen, but it is a tradition I try not to skip as much as possible. So what’s a girl to do when a non-Shabbat observing friend invites you over on Shabbat?
We are not just a part of a multi-faith family – we live in a multi-faith world. And we have assembled a web of friendships that are wonderfully different in terms of religious upbringing, practices, and beliefs. Finding the time to maintain those friendships can be a challenge, especially on top of working full-time, keeping our girls engaged in school and activities, and trying to carve out some good old-fashioned family time.
I’ve written a fair amount about Shabbat and how much and why I like it. It is a heartbeat in our comings and goings, a moment to pull out of the crazy hecticness of the week and breathe before the onslaught of weekend activities. When we are in the right headspace, it offers somewhere between a moment to a whole evening to spiritually connect to ourselves, to one another, to the world, or to God. On top of that, the candles add a classiness to the table, and breaking bread and sharing a drink is a lovely way to start a meal.
When my friend invited me, I paused for a moment, thinking about whether I should give up Shabbat that week, or decline and recommend another time so that we could be around our own table on Friday night. Seeing the puzzled look on my face, she expanded her invitation:
“How about you come over, but bring candles and challah, and we can do Shabbat at my house?”
And so we did. And it was just lovely. The night before, I put our candlesticks in a bag by the door, and Ruthie put her Gatewaysblessing sheets in the bag. We picked up a challah on the way over, and Ruthie and Chaya relished in showing the rituals off to her friends. We had a fun, yummy dinner, celebrating Shabbat, blowing out birthday candles, and connecting with our friends in their home. It reminded me of Jane Larkin’s piece about celebrating Shabbat on vacation, and I thought about how lucky I was to be able to take Shabbat on the road, but just down the street, without the hassle of packing up the car or getting on a plane.
A few weeks later, another friend who isn’t Jewish invited us over on Friday night.
“We’d love to,” I said, “Do you mind if I bring Shabbat?”
“Great,” she said. And our Shabbat tour continued, to a similar but also wonderfully different effect.
My family is one of the many families who benefits from the amazing PJ Library, an extraordinary program that mails free Jewish books and music to 125,000 homes throughout the country. Ruthie enjoyed the program for three years, and last year Chaya got her very own subscription. It is a real gift to have colorful, modern media to use to talk to the girls about different aspects of Jewish life. This week I’d like to talk about Chaya’s current favorite, Tikkun Olam Ted, and how reading it has reminded me how to boil big ideas down into bite size pieces for my young kids.
The book, by Vivian Newman, is about a little boy named Ted, who “is small. But spends his days doing very big things.” Ted got his nickname because of his interest in helping to “fix the world and make it a kinder, better place.” For each day of the week, Ted takes on a different task. What is brilliant about the book, aside from the adorable, colorful illustrations by Steve Mack, is how Ted’s big things are completely age-appropriate for a preschooler. Ted does not heal the world by going to a soup kitchen, running a blood drive, or spending a day with Habitat for Humanity. He does things that any kid could easily do in the course of their daily life – he recycles, he does yard work, he feeds the birds and he remembers to turn off the lights.
Reading this book, I am reminded of my own eagerness as a parent to teach my girls big lessons, and to endow them with a sophisticated toolkit of ideas and approaches to having a full and successful life. I dream of raising them to know how to make good choices, to be resilient, to pursue their passions, and to try to fix the world because doing so is meaningful for them. Before I had kids, and throughout my first pregnancy, I often schemed about how I would engender these traits in them, but I spent more time thinking about a Bat Mitzvah-age service project, or the feminist literature I might sprinkle into a 16-year-old’s Hanukkah gifts, than what the building blocks might be for a two-year old.
But it is a long time before those Bat Mitzvahs, and that toolkit will be even stronger if I can start now. Reading Tikkun Olam Ted aloud to my girls reminds me of the significance of the things that they can do independently now, and that those are probably as important as that adolescent reading list. Sure, I’ll keep bringing them to political events with me, and telling them of the bigger things Eric and I do to fix the world in our adult way. But I will also remind them how turning off the faucet really matters, or how re-using yesterday’s sandwich bag actually has a ripple effect on the health of our planet. Judging by how frequently Chaya hands Newman’s book to me, I think she’s already starting to grasp the connections.
Yesterday, as we were putting the final touches on our seder menu, a violent and horrible tragedy occurred at not one but two centers of the Jewish community in Kansas City. Today is a mournful day for those lost, and not necessarily a day of answers or political rhetoric. But it is the day of our first Seder, and it is impossible not to think about how this impacts our celebration of freedom. So here is my humble attempt to acknowledge the weight of this crime on this most important of days.
The most important thing to say is that I mourn for the three innocent victims of this senseless shooting. My heart goes out to their loved ones as they try to face this new and bitter day. I grieve for all of the people in Kansas City who witnessed this evil; especially the parents whose children have now witnessed the worst of human behavior firsthand, and who I imagine have been forever changed. I quiver a little bit more knowing that the place where these events took place is very similar to the place where I work, as the randomness and horror feel that much closer to me. I am deeply saddened, saddened as I am by every senseless act of violence, and saddened as a Jew, an American, and a human being.
It is premature to try to make meaning out of something so unthinkable, but I also feel like yesterday’s events cannot go unrecognized at my Seder table. They bring a wave of solemnity, as I will be thinking about the people in Kansas City and elsewhere who have family members missing from their own tables because of violent and unexplainable crimes. They also demand a recognition of of good fortune, that we have one more day to celebrate life with those we love the most. While we may be thinking of those we have lost, we must celebrate the joy of the present moment. They remind us of the need to constantly strive for a better world, that the work is not over, and it will never be completed by a single generation. On Passover, I am reminded that we are all members of the community of the human race, and that the price of our freedom is the responsibility of looking out for one another. For today, that means sending a little bit of extra love to Kansas City, and a challenge to think even harder about what we might do tomorrow to repair the world.