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ByÂ Elizabeth Vocke
Almost two years ago we started talking about joining a synagogue. We knew it was time to put our daughter in Sunday school if she was going to be a bat mitzvah (which so far, is the planâher choice). The synagogue we chose for Sunday school gave us a year before we had to fully commit and join, so we waited. But this year, we had to join for her to continue to attend Sunday school.
Boy do I feel like an adult.
This is the first time Iâve belonged to a synagogue since attending with my family as a child. And, itâs the first time my husband has belonged ever since, well, heâs not Jewish.
Choosing a synagogue was not an easy decision. There are two local synagogues that we were trying to choose between. One is a Conservative synagogue that my extended family has belonged to for more than 60 years. Our name is on a Torah, and, itâs also where our daughter attended preschool. So we have a strong sense of history there.
The other is a Reform synagogue that has a much larger congregation, and in particular a much larger group of children.
In the end, this was the deciding factor. But it took us a while to get there.
Over the years, weâve visited both during the High Holidays, and enjoyed both. They are very inclusive and we felt comfortable as an interfaith family. This is great, but it didnât help us in trying to choose one over the other. We talked to friends at each congregation and weighed the pros and cons.
The Conservative synagogue is where I had family, a sense of history and connectionâ that on its own was almost enough to sway us to join. But when I compared the religious schools and thought about my own experiences in religious school, in a very small Jewish community, we saw the benefits of the larger Reform synagogue.
There were other things we considered.
I write a weekly âMensch of the Weekâ column and during one interview, I learned about our Reform synagogueâs annual Mitzvah Day. Dozens of congregants go out to organizations across the community and spend a day giving back. I loved this emphasis on community and volunteerism. Plus, there were many opportunities to get involved socially and the events looked like fun.
Iâm sure there are similar opportunities for events and social engagements at both synagogues, and ultimately, it came down to the number of children in the larger congregation.
During that first year, as I dropped my daughter off at Sunday school, I saw my own friends, watched families greet each other with excitement and saw how happy my daughter was when I picked her up. She made new friends and wanted to do play dates after Sunday school with the kids in her class.
So, we chose to stick with the Reform synagogue and have been happy with our decision. And while the fact that the synagogue we joined is a Reform congregation didnât really play into our decision, I certainly see the benefits for an interfaith family like ours.
We recently attended our first High Holy Day services as members. I was struck by the sense of peace I experienced. For the first time that day I could quiet my mind, enjoy the choir, think and just be.
Our next step is to figure out if and how the synagogue will be a part of our daily lives. For my husband, thatâs a bigger question. Synagogue has never been a big part of my life, but when I join something I tend to enjoy it more if Iâm active, so now Iâm trying to figure out if and how to get involved. Maybe Sisterhood, maybe volunteering in some capacity. Maybe next year.
For now, Iâm enjoying bumping into friends at Sunday school drop-off and reflecting on those peaceful moments I had during the holidays.
By Dr. Ruth Nemzoff
Q: I am about to have Jewish grandchildren, and I am terrified! Donât get me wrong; we love our son-in-law. He has brought out the best in our daughter and they make sensible decisions together. We have never had any complaints; in fact, we are looking forward to learning about new holidays and celebrating them with our grandchildren.
However, recent incidents where Neo-Naziâs chanting âJews will not replace usâ in Charlestown have changed my perspective. I now understand that the alt-right is spreading Jewish hatred. We had no idea that along entering into a new community, we were entering a community that lives with fear.
My family immigrated to America from England in the early 1600s because of Protestant persecution during the Catholic Restoration. Since then, we have advocated for religious freedom in America. I have never been conscious of experiencing prejudice on the same scale. I thought that anti-Semitism was a thing of the past: relevant to 1940s Germany, but not present here. Charleston has changed my thinking. I was stunned and horrified to see that anti-Semitism is still a relevant force in the United States. I am having nightmares in which the Nazis are coming for me and my grandchildren. The rise of Neo-Nazis has unsettled me. How do you, as a Jew, deal with this? How do I, as a grandparent, explain this to my grandchildren?
A: First, bâshaâah tovah, which means âmay the birth happen at a good time,â which is the traditional Jewish greeting when you announce a pregnancy, in recognition of the fact that the fate of the pregnancy is not in our hands alone.
Second, I want to thank you and your ancestors for working to support religious freedom. It is indeed a gift that we cannot take for grantedâone which we now realize must be continually guarded and protected.
Third, I want to welcome you as a friend of the Jewish people and to thank you for being excited and willing to help bring up Jewish grandchildren. I hope you will find much that is interesting and intellectually challenging as you come to know the the meaning in our holidays and customs. It is not easy to join a minority, or take up the causes which threaten its people.
You may be surprised by this recent anti-Semitic phenomenon, but Jews have dealt with these realities as a part of our identity throughout history. In 605 BCE, the Babylonians sent our people into exile. Then, early Christian preachers promoted an interpretation of the New Testament (Matthew 27:24-25) to imply Jews killed Christ, which has led historically to misunderstanding and calls to violence. After 300 years of prosperity and intellectual flowering in Spain, the Spanish monarchy established an Inquisition, which killed and expelled Jews. Similarly, after a period of relative freedom in Germany and Eastern Europe, the Jews were systematically killed during the Holocaust.
We know our history, and we have lived under this threat for centuriesâwhether or not it has always been as apparent as it is now, to others. We know the fragility of life and of statusâit vacillates.
There are strategies for dealing with the reality of discrimination as we try to change it. Much like black parents must warn their children that policeman might assume they are guilty of one thing or another because of the color of their skin, Jews and those affiliated with the Jews must fortify their children by teaching them their history and the nature of scapegoating; whether it be against Jews or others.
I remember when I was young, and my father told me about how children used to throw stones at him, and call him âa dirty Jew.â I asked how he felt, how he was able to put up with this abuse without being moved to violence or anger? He said: âI knew I wasnât the problem.â
You remember that your forebears were once persecuted, and out of this came your familyâs commitment to protecting religious freedom. Anti-semitism is not new: what has changed is your recognition of it. Recently, the fact that its voice has become louder in our society has made the uncertainty more apparent; anti-semitism has been present in America for a long time, recently as the 1940s and 1950s when there were zoning restrictions on where Jews could live and what clubs and businesses they could join. In current times, instead of allowing fear to move you to inaction, use your awareness to act and to protect freedoms.
Jews are commanded every year at Passover to remember that they were once slaves in Egypt, and that they must work toward freedom for others, because we know that freedom is not always assured. Our resolve is strengthened.
If you give your grandchildren a sense of pride in their identity, they will be less likely to be intimidated, and more likely to understand those who express hatred as limited by their unwillingness to understand religious perspective, and their desire to hate for the sake of blaming what they do not understand.
Your grandchildren will know that they are not sinners, nor Christ-killers, nor any other terms used against them, if you teach them what they are, and how to understand those around them. The same small-minded fear that motivates bigotry and anti-Semitism must be guarded against in all peopleâit is important to share your familyâs religious understanding with your grandchild, as well as encouraging them to explore their own perspective.
Like many Jews, you are shaken; and I cannot promise that your action alone will immediately change what is frightening. But this is a step in the right direction. If we are vigilant against all kinds of prejudice (because we know that prejudice against one group eventually was morphs into prejudice against many) we stand a better chance of maintaining our civility. We resist those who hate. All of us must work together to assure the fragile, but incredibly important ideal of E pluribus unum.
This post originally appeared onÂ The American IsraeliteÂ and is reprinted with permission.
By Elizabeth Vocke
A couple of weeks ago, as we were going to sleep, my husband said, âIâm sorry there are people out there who donât like you because of your religion.â I have to say, I was a little startled by the comment, though it was appreciated.
As a Conservative Jewish person growing up in a small town, Iâve always known there was anti-Semitism out there. If not overtly, then just this sense of being âother.â But marrying someone who is not Jewish, and raising a Jewish daughter together, gives me a new perspective.
Several years ago, there was a hate crime on a college campus. It was apparent to me that it was a hate crime, but my husband wasnât sure. He thought it was horrible, but maybe just a college kidâs prank. We fought about it and likely came to some agreement, but I was surprised by his views. He had a different world view. Not because heâs unaware or ignorantâheâs one of the most intelligent and well-read people I knowâbut because 1. Itâs something he hasnât experienced and 2. He just could not believe someone would feel and act so hateful.
Fast forward a couple years and someone made a Jewish âjokeâ in front of me. Again, he was floored and outraged. This time, not quite so shocked.
Fast forward again to todayâs political and social climate and sadly the shock is gone, but the outrage is still there, and has grown.
What does that mean for our daughter, who is being raised Jewish and in the religion her father grew up with?
Sheâs 9 now and for years I never talked to her about racism of any kind. I didnât want her to see it or know that it exists. But in Kindergarten, she had an African American teacher. I happened to be volunteering in the class on MLK Day and listened as the teacher explained the importance of the day to the kids. They listened and I listened and I was so glad to have her perspective and hear how she so freely and frankly explained why Dr. King is important.
Still, it took a while before I explained the Holocaust. Again, I didnât want to introduce the ideas. But eventually we did talk about it and she accepted what had happened as children do.
But hate is more apparent today than ever in my memory, so how do we talk about it? We are still figuring it out, but hereâs what we do.
First, we donât let our daughter watch the news. Itâs horrific and scary and not meant for a 9-year-old. We do talk to her about it as much as we feel is appropriate for her age and maturity.
Second, we use this as a learning tool. We talk about our own beliefs in respecting everyoneâs religion and ethnicity.
Third, we stress the importance of multiculturalism and just how cool it is to know people of different backgrounds.
And no matter what, we support each other 150 percent. Itâs a given that my husband stands against hate and prejudice of any kindâhe would regardless of whether he was married to a Jewish womanâbut this hits closer to home because of our marriage.
Perhaps most important, we keep the lines of communication open. We answer questions and are always available for discussion. And we donât tolerate hate or prejudice of any kind.
Shouldnât that be a given for all?
By Dr. Ruth Nemzoff
Q: I am having a family reunion. Half of the youngest generation has married people of other backgrounds. How can I use this opportunity to educate the Jewish members of my family about their heritage? And also to help those who do not currently identify as Jewish to understand how important Judaism has been in contributing to their lives?
A: I can only share my own experience in response to this question. A confluence of eventsâa bar mitzvah, a graduation, a wedding, a trip to Maineâbrought four of the seven lines of children, grandchildren and great grandchildren of my grandparents, Zelda and Shmuel, to Boston. Thus, a long talked-about family reunion was planned and executed. It involved 54 cousins of four generations from ages 2 to 88 with two in utero. I was the host for the meal.
Like so many assimilated families, progeny of a once very close extended family had scattered across the States. Though many of us had never met each other, family behavior immediately kicked in. Everyone volunteered to either bring food or to pay the expenses. Many of us, including myself, found old insecurities coming to the fore. Though my self concept is not âhostess with the mostest,â I worried whether or not my family would approve of my choice of paper plates. After all, a gracious table could mean china and silver for some in the family and for others, matching paper plates. Of course, no one cared.
We used the opportunity to tell our family history, which few of the third or fourth generation knew. My family owes its existence to the courage of two people who separated themselves from their families and all that was familiar to chance life in a strange new land. My family is also a product of world events beyond their control.
My grandfather left Russia because he heard at the market that the Russo-Japanese War had broken out. He sent a note to his pregnant wife and three children under six that he would send for them. He had already served four years in the Czarâs army and was not interested in fighting in a war which meant nothing to him. Over fifty future lives were changed by that decision, changed by a war that many of us had never heard, or knew only as a footnote in a history book. Our familyâs history is also the story of their progeny, growing up with one foot in the Old World culture of their parents and one in the new.
I used the food, too, to educate about our grandparents’ customs. It did not seem fitting to mix milk and meat at the event, since my grandparents kept a Kosher home. Their lives revolved around Shabbat and the holidays. I knew a meat deli platter would horrify the younger generation, some of whom are vegetarian, which is, after all, the new Kosher. Like Kashrut, vegetarianism adds meaning to the daily task of eating. It makes us think about what we do and how we live in the world. I pointed this out to the attendees.
Kugels, garden salad and mandel bread were the solution, a way to bring back the smells and tastes of weekly gatherings for all the aunts and uncles and their families: the grandparents and great-grandparents of many of those in the room. Planning this menu proved to be a wonderful way to manage conflict. We were able to compromise and accommodate the needs of everyone, despite their gastronomical preferences.
Food gives sustenance to families both literally and figuratively. It allows us to pass our customs on generation to generation. Food is both a way to control children andÂ to educate them. We used the food to teach the younger generation about kashrut: how it helped Jews to maintain their community, and how the lack of itâmore recentlyâis one way of demonstrating their assimilation.
There was, for the older generation, emotional memory in the food. It connected us with the past and honored our grandparents. Food was a way of including our progenitors and bringing religion and culture, into a family in which only some of them considered themselves Jewish. The food was also a way of reinforcing identity. It was a reminder of family life. But, also, of a more gendered time: a time when women were in the kitchen and men sat in the living room. In the English aristocracy, a family meal meant work for the servants. For Jewish peasants, a family meal meant the women gossiping, preparing and cleaning, creating both memories and nourishment.
We spent the day connecting and fantasizing about a simpler time, much as our grandparents would have done as they told stories of the old country. In both cases, the nostalgia glossed over the difficulties. In der haim (in the old country), my grandmother would nostalgically recall the family Shabbat, despite the fact that their life involved hunger and dirt floors. We explored the losses and gains of assimilation.
The food provided a way to manage conflict and a way to reconnect. As we collectively produced the food and cleaned up, it gave us a shared task and a way for us to act like family.
Whether family members considered themselves Jewish or âof Jewish heritage,â the serendipity of our births rested on the more than the accidental coming together or a particular sperm and a particular egg. It was a result of the kindness of Christians who protected our grandmother in the shtetl as the Cossacks came through on a killing spree. She had stayed long enough to experience the rampage resulting from the Czar’s blame of the Jews for the losing theÂ war.
The existence of each one of us was owed to the kindness of the Jewish community as Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society (HIAS) supported my grandmother when she was waylaid in Germany while my six-year-old Aunt Alice was cured of trachoma. My grandfather Shmuel had finally saved enough money working as a Kosher butcher to send passage for her and the kids. No one could deny that being Jewish was an integral part of their story, nor that each of us owes a debt to the organized Jewish community.
Zelda and Shmuel had seven children in total. The two boys won scholarships to college. The five girls settled for post-high school training. Who knows how far and how fast those five remarkable sisters might have gone had women had equal opportunity. We are indeed products of the opportunities our times give us.
What was evident as we sat and chatted, was that this family was built on Jewish values. Unlike most peasants, both my grandmother and grandfather could read. This gave them, and subsequently each of us, a leg up here in America. These values focused on family and education and involvement in their community.
My generation spanned thirty years. Our varied stories were a lesson in historiography. What is truth, what is memory, and why do they differ? Our various interpretations of our past was also a chance to reinforce a collective identity, and remind the youngest generation of their debt to Jewish values and to the Jewish community. We talked of how the lessons passed on to us influenced our life choices, why so many of us volunteered our time and so many of went into helping professions. We knew our lives depended on others.
I cannot reverse the tide of history, nor the results of assimilation. But, I think our reunion was powerful tool for educating even those family members who do not identify as Jewish that they owe a huge debt to Judaism and the Jewish community for their very existence and for some of their opportunities. My hope is that each person who attended was inspired to tell this story to their children.
You can use your family reunion to demonstrate that as marvelous, brilliant and creative as we may think we are, we are also products of our current time and place, as well as cultural-historical past.
This post originally appeared onÂ The American IsraeliteÂ and is reprinted with permission.
By Liat Katz
âA Y A M,â She writes.
âUm, Maya, I think you wrote your name backwards,â I respond.
âNope, itâs just in Hebrew,â the 6-year-old says.
Maya is learning to read and write in English, while also learning Hebrew at our synagogueâs Sunday school. That makes it confusing. And sheâs left-handed too, which makes this backwards-forwards thing even harder.
The whole figuring-out-the-Jewish thing in our modern world has been complicated. Finding a Jewish community that is both warm and accepts our two-mom interfaith family was also difficult, but I think we are starting to find a rhythm.
My wife, Lisa, is not Jewish (she is a recovering Baptist), but is completely on board with raising our kids Jewish. She took time to learn some Hebrew, she helps the kids get to Hebrew school, light candles, says prayers on Shabbat, and seems to be more knowledgeable about Judaism than I am at this point. She also makes the best latkes I have ever tasted.
For our oldest girlâs naming ceremony, we hired a Rabbi who was a humanist, gay, social worker, anarchist, vegan to do the ceremony in our home. Iâm not kidding. Of course he had no problem with the fact that were gay and interfaith. And the ceremony was beautiful. But beyond candle lighting and the occasional high holiday service, we did not have much of a Jewish household after that ceremony.
That was, until a couple of years ago, when we heard that kids absolutely have to start by third grade in Hebrew School to be on the bat mitzvah track. Aviva, our older child, was almost in third grade. And being a child of a Holocaust survivor, I felt compelled to partake in this Jewish tradition for all those that could not. Besides, though I am not very religious, I wanted to have our kids have a sense of belonging to a larger Jewish community.
When I lived in Israel, I could be a part of the Jewish communityâand feel Jewish by virtue of living in a Jewish land, speaking the language, interacting with the people. But here, in the U.S., going to temple seems to be where we need to connect to the Jewish community.
So we started shopping for synagogues to join. We started with the obvious ones for our familyâReconstructionist. We went to a few services and kidsâ services at a relatively local Reconstructionist synagogue. I looked around: Lots of gay families, check. Interfaith families, check. Even racial diversity (pretty unusual at most synagogues), check. Interesting services with lots of opportunities for activities, check. The only thing missing was, well, warmth. Being Gay-friendly did not make them friendly-friendly. Nobody really spoke to us, looked at us or acknowledged us, or each other, either. Not the place for us.
We checked out Reform synagogues. The communities were nice, but huge. And somehow it wasnât what I wanted. Why didnât I like it? The people seemed nice, there were a few other gay families, a bit of diversityâŚbut I realized it wasnât like the services I grew up in. The tunes to the songs were different, and the prayers were mostly in English.
So it turned out that this non-traditional family that had babies in a non-traditional way, wanted a synagogue that was moreâŚtraditional.
Looking online for a Jewish community, I stumbled upon Kehilat Shalom, a small Conservative synagogue that was about 15 miles away from our house. The Rabbi looked nice. And the midweek Hebrew class was held online, which meant we wouldnât have to drive anywhere after school every week.
I contacted the Rabbi and got a lovely response. We went to a service. No gay people, but the people were warm, asked us genuine questions, and invited us to various groups.
The services were mostly in Hebrew, and the tunes were as I remembered them. The sanctuary was beautiful, and bathed in natural light. I closed my eyes and exhaled. We enrolled our older daughter in Hebrew Schoolâand the mid-week Hebrew school class with a special Skype-type program was so helpful and you know, just like the ancient Israelites had planned.
And as I dropped her off for Sunday classes, I went in to Rabbi Arianâs office to chat. Yes, he is knowledgeable about all things Rabbinic and Halachic, but he is also surprisingly, human. I got to know him and his great wife, Keleigh. And they got to know our family. They invited our family to their house, and we invited them to ours.
Of course, I did panic when we invited the Rabbi over. What do we cook? What plates do we use? We made pizza. Vegetarian pizza. My kids started to play a pretend restaurant game and offered the Rabbi a ham and cheese sandwichâhe took it in stride.
And one Fall afternoon, there came a surprising new edition to the litany of endless childhood questions that often makes this mommy feel inadequate. In addition to my daughtersâ questions like: Why donât we have aâŚChristmas tree?âŚa daddy?âŚa beach house? they now, also ask me:âWhy donât we have a Sukkah?
As I got to talk with the Rabbi more, I began to understand conceptions of God and faith in a more relatable and fulfilling way. I discovered that maybe I want more than just Jewish culture in my life. And as the Rabbi got to know us and others in our community, he became more interested in LGBTQ issues.
In fact, he recently did a talk entitled, âReflections on Ten Years ofÂ LGBT Inclusion in Conservative Judaismâ at synagogue. And after he took a tour of civil rights sites (and the Names Project) in Atlanta, he wrote in a weekly Shabbat email and blog post: âThe unspoken but very real question: what if anything is the connection between antisemitism, racism, and prejudice against the LGBT community? What is the role of religion in both creating and fighting prejudice?â
Maya is slowly learning to spell both in Hebrew and English. Aviva continues to connect via computer to her teacher and to class, and now she also connects to Judaism through an overnight camp. And as I connect to a Rabbi, a God, and a community that are both thoughtful and inclusive, I realize that our life is even more diverse and warmly Jewish than I ever expected it could be.
This article was reprinted with permission from Kveller.com, a fast-growing, award-winning website for parents raising Jewish and interfaith kids. Follow Kveller on Facebook and sign up for their newsletters here.
Liat Katz, a clinical social worker, is a graduate of New Directions, a writing program offered by the Washington Center for Psychoanalysis. Her work has been published in Lilith, The Washington Post, Washingtonian, and the narrative medicine websites Pulse and KevinMD. Of herself, she says, âI write to make sense of the world I see through the lens of a mom, a clinician, a patient, a wife, and a person just muddling through life.â Liat lives in Rockville, Maryland with her wife, two daughters, four cats, and a bunny.
âŚwith Grandparents with Grandchildren of Interfaith Marriages
ByÂ Rabbi Richard Address, D. Min.Â
In my travels to congregations and Jewish organizations for Jewish Sacred Aging, many issues seem to emerge organically in discussions of family dynamics. More often than not, concerns about caregiving and end-of-life issues are quickly raised. Not unusually, as situations get unpacked, another issue emerges: that of how to grandparent our grandchildren who are products of interfaith marriages.
This issue is no longer representative of a small cohort of families. Indeed, as baby boomers age and become grandparents, we are beginning to see the impact of the gradual rise in interfaith marriages among our own children. How many of our friends have confronted their children when it comes to the question of âHow will you be raising your children?â Those childrenâthose names of those childrenâare part of our claim on immortality. Is it our name, our legacy that is at stake? Or is it something else – a sense of time passing, a loss of control and a sadness that the world we expected will not be ours?
Every clergy person who does weddings has walked this walk with families. Indeed, some of those very same clergy have dealt with this in their own families. The time has come for our community to begin a serious dialogue on this issue. Opportunities for discussions and support for grandparents who are dealing with this issue need to take place and include those grandparents who already are having the conversation and adults whose children are engaged and about to be married.
There are an increasing number of clergy who are now performing interfaith ceremonies. Often during premarital counseling, the issue of how one will raise children comes up. Rarely, in my experience, however, are there opportunities for a conversation with the potential grandparents on their feelings and concerns. We all wish our children to be âhappy.â We take pride in the fact that we have raised independent adults, responsible for their own choices. We also are observing that our adult children are more and more choosing marital partners from diverse cultural backgrounds.
How is this growing cultural and religious pluralism given voice within the framework of the larger family system? Could greater opportunities for dialogue and honest sharing of emotions lead to greater harmony and understanding? Hiding those feelings surely can and does create barriers and in the end, donât we all wish to nurture and savor these very primal family relationships? Arenât these relationships ever more meaningful as we age?
I recently sat down with a grandparents whose children married partners who are not Jewish. Not atypical, this couple was in a second marriage and so we add the issues of âblendedâ relationships and the boundaries that come with this reality. We discussed some of the issues that these grandparents, both active and involved within their Jewish community, faced when dealing with their married children and their grandchildren. I asked them if they could suggest a brief checklist of issues that would be good to keep in mind. Some of the issues they raised were:
These questions and concerns are being discussed and considered by an increasing number of grandparents now. Itâs time for our community to create meaningful and non-judgmental opportunities for these issues to be raised. Our most important social connection remains family. How can we have an open conversation and honest dialogue? To repress emotions leads only to anger and discomfort and in an age which is so fraught with uncertainty, letâs open these doors to a pathway to âshalom bayit.â
By Jordyn Rozensky
When I asked my partner who is not Jewish if we could start visiting synagogues in hopes of finding a formal Jewish home for our worship and community, he agreed immediately. Â His first step was to clear Sundays on his calendarâuntil I reminded him that while church meets on Sundays, Shabbat services are Friday nights and Saturday mornings in the Jewish community.
We started our search with Reform synagogues within a 20-30 minute drive. We wanted a synagogue with leadership that included women, whether in the form of a rabbi, cantor, executive director or board, and we were hoping for a community where a young(ish) couple like ourselves could find community.
I turned to a rabbi friend of mine to ask how to visit a new synagogue when youâre thinking about membership. His advice:
âFolks should set their first visit inÂ accordanceÂ to what they think they will use as members. If they don’t plan on going to Shabbat services regularly, going to Shabbat services is not a great first visitâtoo much potential for alienation.Â
Â If they are looking forÂ religiousÂ school, go to the education director.Â
Â If they are looking for fellowship, contacting the membership committee, the sisterhood or the executive director is a good start.Â
Â If the rabbi is really important, make a meeting.Â â
Still a bit overwhelmed with the idea of setting up meetings, we began our research at home with a list of values we needed in a Jewish setting. Well aware that this was just the tip of the iceberg, we placed disability accessibility and inclusion, LGBTQ equality and inclusion, and the full welcoming of interfaith families at the top of the list.
Knowing that inclusion and equality is more than a yes or no answer, we put together a list of questions for the synagogue. Youâre welcome to use the questions in your own search for a synagogue, but I also encourage you to think beyond these questions and identify issues that may be important to youâsuch as how a synagogue embraces social justice or the environmental policies of the synagogue.
We also came up with a list of questions that needed to be answered that touched on more of the tachlis or details:
Armed with these questions and a better idea of what we were looking for, we were ready to start our search. From here we found several synagogues in driving distance of our home that appeared to share our values.
Weâre excited for our next steps: sitting down with leadership, observing a Shabbat service and imagining ourselves as active members of the synagogue.
By Jordyn Rozensky
For some of us in interfaith homes, December can highlight sticky situations. There are questions of how to balance traditions, how to keep in-laws happy and complicated questions about religion. But December also offers a unique opportunity to embrace new traditions. In my own interfaith home, for example, each year we trim a tree made out of blue tinsel, which we fondly call our âHoliday Neutral Tree.â
Recently I met up with friends to honor Christmas and Hanukkah by baking a batch of Hanukkah themed Christmas cookies and talking with a 10-year-old and a 5-year-old about the holiday traditions in their family. (Spoiler: Thereâs not much of a dilemma here). In case youâre interested in trying this at home, hereâs what youâll need:
Step one: We started our afternoon by chatting about our favorite aspects of the holidays as we set out our ingredients. As the oven preheated to 400 degrees, I asked the 10-year old his favorite part about Hanukkah. âThe presents. And family.â I asked the same question about Christmas: âThe presents. And the tree.â
Step two: We grabbed a large bowl and started mixing. First, we combined the butter and sugar. Next, we carefully cracked the eggs and stirred in the vanilla. Finally, we took turns adding and mixing in the flour, baking powder and salt.
Step three: While the dough chilled, I turned my journalistic attention to the 5-year old. His answers were much like his older brotherâs. One of the main things I noticed was that neither of the boys seemed too confused or upset about the holidaysâin fact, the only concern about Hanukkah and Christmas happening at the same time was the fact that there were fewer days dedicated to holidays this year!
Step four: After the dough was mixed, chilled and ready, we rolled it out on a floured surface and began cutting the shapes. Our cookie cutters were the shape of a menorah, a Star of David and a dreidel. My next question: Do other kids at your school bake Hanukkah and Christmas cookies? Both boys looked at me and shruggedâif other families were struggling around balancing the holidays, it didnât seem to trickle down to fifth grade or pre-school.
Step five: We placed the cookies in the oven and set them to bake for 6 to 8 minutes. While we waited for them to cook (and then cool), we paused to learn a bit about latkesÂ and check out the Christmas tree. During this moment of perfect synergy, I turned to the parents: âI think celebrating Christmas and Hanukkah together is pretty normalized in your family. The kids seem to be pretty OK with how this all works out!â
Step six: As we mixed together the ingredients for the Hanukkah cookie glaze, I learned more about how the holidays work in this family. âWhen we first married, we spoke about how important Christmas was as a tradition. Ultimately, thereâs not a lot of religion or church in how we celebrateâbut there is a lot of tradition. If you think about it, celebrating tradition is as Jewish as it gets.â
Step Seven: We coated our cookies with glaze and got to decorating. Hereâs where imagination took overâand our Hanukkah cookies turned in Hanukkah, Christmas, Valentineâs Day, Halloween AND Star Wars cookies. There wasnât a lot of dilemma, just a lot of love, a lot of tradition and a whole lot of sugar.
By Kelly Banker
I am 8 years old. My siblings and I are huddled in my parentsâ bedroom, awaiting the precious sound of the Hanukkah bell. We have just come from an evening of lighting the menorah, dancing and singing in a circle and haplessly spinning a dreidel. Now here we are, eyes closed and ears open for the sound of that beautiful bell. My dad looks at us and slowly raises his hand, cupping the bell gently. He shakes the bell three times and the magic settles upon us. We giggle nervously as my mother slips out of the room to see if the Hanukkah Fairy has visited our house.
We wait for what seems like an hour, but is more likely about 10 minutes. Each minute crawls by as we stare intently at my fatherâs face, trying desperately to see if he is giving us a clue about where we should look, about what to expect. Finally, the long-awaited knock comes and my mother is at the door, beckoning us out into the hallway to search for the presents that the Hanukkah Fairy has left for us. We tear through the house, searching every nook and cranny to find the impeccably wrapped gifts, signed with a sweet note from the Hanukkah Fairy herself.
As each of us find our present, we sit in a circle on the green rug in the living room, running the fringe through our fingertips, waiting. When everyone has found their gift, we sit together in a circle and open our presents all at once. Together we exclaim, âThank you, Hanukkah Fairy!â And âHappy Hanukkah!â The angelic-looking doll, who we understand as a stand-in for the real Hanukkah Fairy, rests on a table nearby. With her tightly curled blonde hair and blue eyes, she watches us as we thank her for bringing us such sweet gifts.
Fast forward to 16 years old. The Hanukkah traditions of my earlier childhood have worn away slowly, and at this point have dwindled to lighting the candles for one or two nights, perhaps with some singing that reminds us all of our younger days. The magic of lighting the candles remains, though. No matter how few or how many nights bring us together for the lighting of the menorah, I am always left with a sense of wonder that I cannot explain. I am awestruck by the beauty of the blessing, the solemnity of it, the gathering of voices and the soft glow of the menorah lighting up the dark night.
I was at least 18 years old when I learned that, in fact, the Hanukkah Fairy is not a staple of Jewish practice, but rather a very creative concept devised by my intermarried parents. You can imagine my shock and laughter when I found out from more observant Jewish friends that they had never heard of the Hanukkah Fairy, and that in fact she sounded like a blend of the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Hanukkah and Christmas. I remember that moment of learning; I remember feeling an immediate surge of pride for my parentsâ ingenuity. They created a ritual that became meaningful for our family that in many ways merged their two traditions.
My father was raised Catholic, but no longer identifies with any religion. My mother is Jewish and identifies as such, but more in an ancestral sense than in a practicing sense. As such, my childhood was typical in many ways of interfaith families: We celebrated Christmas, Easter, Hanukkah and sometimes Passover, and for many years we attended a local Unitarian Universalist church. We were raised to have a deep respect for all religious traditions yet without a true grounding in any particular one. The open approach to religiosity in my childhood, far from being a limitation or barrier, has in fact been transformative for me as an adult.
For the past several years, I have slowly begun to delve deeper into spiritual practice, first through an exploration of Goddess traditions, and then through a connection with earth-based Jewish practice, primarily in Renewal Jewish communities. I love every moment of this choice. Had I been raised with a more dogmatic approach to one or both traditions, I feel that my relationship to God and Jewish practice would be different; more difficult, perhaps, to return to. Now when I light Shabbat candles, or sing the Shema or make Havdalah, I feel intimately connected to the tradition because I enter it from a place of consent, agency and pure joy. Every time I engage in Jewish practice, I feel that I am returning to myself, to God and to my ancestors.
As someone who is now engaged in rich and informed Jewish practice, I look back at the Hanukkah Fairy fondly. I feel proud of my familyâs invented tradition with such a lovely blend of Jewish and Christian practice. I feel so much gratitude that my parents decided to invent this blended ritual for my siblings and me, and that they chose throughout my upbringing to give us the agency to make our own decisions about whether and how we wanted to participate in spirituality. That precious, sweet sound of the Hanukkah Fairyâs bell rings for me now and always as a reminder of that profound familial tradition and the blessing of coming from an interfaith family committed to action, choice and knowledge.
Kelly recently earned her BA from Carleton College in Religion and Womenâs Studies. She currently works as a resident organizer at Moishe Kavod House and as an intern at Mayyim Hayyim. She also teaches Hebrew school and yoga at local synagogues. Kelly has also worked as an advocate for survivors of sexual violence and as a doula. She loves movement, running in the woods, poetry and the moon.
By Steven Fisher
This is the story of how a Jewish couple added to and became part of our changing America. But more important, this story is about what I learned when my wife, Robina, and I were introduced via our son to a religion, culture and traditions that we thought were so different from ours. Itâs also a story about love, respect and acceptance.
On October 17, 1971, I married my high-school sweetheart. Nine years later, after two miscarriages and years of fertility treatments, our son, Jared, was born. Because we didnât want Jared to be an only child, we continued our fertility treatments and suffered another devastating miscarriage of triplets that nearly cost Robina her life. We then looked into adoption to complete our family.
While on a business trip, Robina called to tell me we had 24 hours to make a decision about adopting a little girl.Â A month later, we received a birth certificate for Judith. After completing a mountain of paperwork, we were on our way to Paraguay, South America, to bring home our little Latina daughter, Elana Judith.
Fast forward to 2006, whenÂ Jared arranged a lunch date with Robina. During lunch, Jared began the conversation with the words every mother wants to hear: âI met a girl.Â I think sheâs the one!Â Her name is Jaina, sheâs a teacher and sheâs IndianâSouth Asian, not Native American.â
Like any Jewish mother, Robina wanted our son to marry a nice Jewish girl. She was shocked and disappointed, and it showed in her expression during lunch. That evening we discussed the situation and decided to stay neutral and take a wait-and-see approach, not wanting to drive our son away.
Their relationship grew.Â Jared learned to eat vegetarian Indian food and experienced the Hindu religion and culture at Jainaâs family home and temple.Â Jaina, for her part, ate latkes and matzo brie and came to our house for Passover and Hanukkah, and attended High Holiday services at our synagogue.Â Their love grew, and in 2008 they became engaged.
Planning a wedding is difficult any time, but blending cultures and religions is a real challenge. Jaina wanted a traditional Hindu wedding, and we wanted a Jewish ceremony.Â In the end, it was decided that there would be no combined ceremony; instead we would honor both religions and traditions and have two separate traditional ceremonies with one reception to be held after the Jewish ceremony. What we learned from the process of planning these weddings was that although we came from different religions and traditions, we had so much in common.
Our families worked together on every aspect of both ceremonies and the reception. The year leading up to the wedding was crazy!Â We were immersed in Indian cultureâwe ate Indian food, learned about the Hindu religion and discussed the differences and similarities with Judaism. We attended services at both a Hindu and Jain temple, we attended Punjab ceremonies at peopleâs houses and even attended a Hindu funeral.
Jainaâs family joined us for Passover dinner, and we had our first Hanukkah party together.Â At this first party, Jainaâs niece and nephew, ages 4 and 6, surprised us by singing the dreidel song. They had learned the song at school, and from their mother learned it was a song for the holiday they were going to celebrate with Jaredâs Jewish family.
As the wedding planning evolved, we learned how the bridal party reflected the diversity of Jared and Jainaâs friends. It was made up of friends white and black, Indian and Hispanic, Hindu, Christian and Jewish. It was a snapshot of ourÂ changing America.
Today we have beautiful granddaughters. You may wonder, âWill the girls be raised Hindu or Jewish?â The answer is they will be raised learning and respecting each religion and culture, as they are part of both.Â They will learn about the mezuzah on their front door and the Hindu shrine in their house.Â Jewish and Hindu traditions will be celebrated with both families watching them with pride. Although we are not social friends with Jaina’s parents, we have become family!
Jared and Jaina are my inspiration. Together they live a life of acceptance. They are an example of how America and the world could be if we looked past our differences and embraced our similarities with understanding, respect and love.
Steven Fisher is in sales and lives in Deerfield, IL with his wife of 45 years.