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âI saw Aishwarya Rai on Oprah last week. You know, the Dollywood [she meant Bollywood] actress? Stunning girl!â Then came the truth bomb: âShe told Oprah that your boyfriend already has a bride arranged for him back in India. At some point, heâs going to leave you high-and-dry, marry the girl his parents chose, and move back into their house.â
I was pretty sure Aishwarya Rai hadnât been discussing my love life with Oprah. And while my future husband didnât actually have a clandestine bride arranged in India, he also wasnât the Jewish doctor to whom my grandmother had married me off in her fantasies.
âHe seems very nice,â she said of the love of my life. âBut thatâs just how they do things.â
They. Sheâd never met an Indian person before and, on some level, I was touched by her urge to protect me, even if it was born of her own frustrating, dated brand of xenophobia.
My boyfriend and I were born at the same hospital, raised in the same town and attended the same schools. From an objective eye, we werenât some sort of star-crossed pair. Still, he wasnât white and he wasnât Jewish, and for all the many things we had in common, those two facts seemed like insurmountable differences to her. At least at first.
In the years before our engagement, I ran interference, often dispelling bizarre myths about Hinduism and Indian traditions.
âJess. Your grandfather printed out an article from the computer. It said that Hindus have 300 million gods and that they worship monkeys.Â Monkeys.â
âJess. I just watched a program about women in India. If you marry him, youâll have to get a dot tattooed on your forehead. A tattoo.Â On your face.â
Super, super false (and racist.)
Without being too pushy, I tried to create opportunities for her to see us together, to help her understand why our relationship worked, despite what she believed to be deal-breaking differences.
And hereâs where the story gets surprising: during our visits, I watched my grandmother and my husband form an extraordinary bond.
As it turned out, they shared a mutual appreciation for beautiful thingsâart, music, even fashionâand were able to talk about everything from Matisse to Mozart to Alexander McQueen. It didnât hurt that my guy had developed a masterful knack for conversational Yiddish, having grown up in a predominantly Jewish suburbâand could confidently describe an ugly dress as aÂ schmatteÂ or flowery piece of music asÂ schmaltz.Â He literally and figuratively spoke her language.
Before the wedding, we invited her to visit our apartment. It was kind of a big deal. She entered tentatively, taking in all the unmarried, interfaith sin around her. Then she stopped in front of a painting by an emerging Indian artist that my husband had acquired before we started dating; a painting that I had made a lot of noise about hating, for no good reason. She gasped.
âThe colors. The lines. Itâs soâŚsensual!â I burst out laughing, not because my grandmother had said the word âsensualâ (which was definitely hilarious), but because she had simultaneously validated my husbandâs taste in art and solidified their unexpected connection.
Over the years, my husband asked her about gallery openings in the â70s and Coney Island in the 40âs. She clipped articles for him about contemporary art exhibits and Indian actors in Hollywood. They also shared one key interestâmeâand to her delight, sheâd finally found an audience for her outsized stories about my childhood. To anyone else, she would have been bragging, but between them, she was simply affirming his good taste.
My husband was attentive to her in ways that grandchildren whoâve had the luxury of time with a grandparent too often are not. And ultimately this was what made her change her mind and deem him aÂ menschÂ of the highest order.
From birth, my grandmother and I had a special relationship. My status as the favorite grandchild was an open family secret. But by the time she passed, we all agreed that my husband had become the apple of her eyeâwe even joked about their rocky start.
Friends and strangers alike often ask about the challenges my husband and I faced marrying outside our cultures. They assume that that our parents presented the biggest roadblocks. They didnât. Not by a long shot. The older generationâmy grandmother in particularâheld longer, more entrenched views on the importance of marrying within oneâs community, and thus they had a much steeper hill to climb to reach aÂ point of acceptance.
Thereâs that word: acceptance. Too often, we use it to describe some sort of blissful, interfaith end-game. In my experience, itâs just the cost of entry. Itâs what we need from the people we care about to maintain theÂ status quoÂ in our relationships. But beyond that threshold genuine love, messy and strong, is what we really crave. And that love can grow in unlikely, even inhospitable places.
That loveÂ grew for my grandmother as she got to know my husband, and I was more than happy to relinquish the title of favorite grandchild when she discovered it.
This article was reprinted with permission fromÂ Kveller.com, a fast-growing, award-winning website for parents raising Jewish and interfaith kids.Â Follow Kveller on FacebookÂ andÂ sign up for their newsletters here.
Jessica Melwani is a freelance writer and editor. A recent suburban transplant, she lives outside New York City with her husband and their two awesome, ridiculous boys. When she isn’t in the car overcoming her fear of highways and left turns, you can find her binge-watching British crime dramas or sometimes evenÂ blogging.
By Jared David Berezin
When our eyes begin to burn and tear up my wife and I look at each other and laugh. Thatâs when we know the horseradish is ready. We also bake our own homemade matzah, and the unleavened flat bread resembles pita or injera (Ethiopian bread). Preparing Passover-friendly food from scratch and arranging the seder table is a ritual my wife and I enjoy as much as the seder itself.
For many people, Passover is a journey that begins well before the first cup of wine (or grape juice). Some have been to dozens of seders in the past. Indeed, some of our seder guests may have attended a different seder (or two!) earlier in the week, while others have never been to a seder before. Regardless of a personâs experience or faith, everyone comes to the table with conscious and unconscious expectations, desires and concerns.
Ever since I can remember, Passover has always been my favorite holiday. As a restless kid, I could attend the Passover âserviceâ (our familyâs seder) without dressing up and going to synagogue, which also meant not having to sit still for an hour. My grandparents would host our family seder, and as they grew older my mother and aunt assumed the responsibility. Our family seders were always quick, predictable and familiar. I loved being surrounded by family, food and singing. As a teenager Iâd just bring my guitar; it was always nice being able to simply arrive and have everything already prepared and laid out on the table.
Hosting Our Own Inclusive SederÂ
In my twenties, I became more curious about Judaism, particularly its intellectual and social justice elements. A few years later I met the love of my life who was raised Christian and has developed a dislike of all organized religion. Amidst my growing curiosity of Judaism and my love for my girlfriend (now my wife), I began to dream of more inclusive and meaningful Jewish moments and celebrations. I wondered what it would be like to host our own seder, one that could be welcoming for our friends of various faiths and (dis)comfort levels when it comes to religious activities.
Initially, I tried to formulate a highly-strategic seder and haggadah that would satisfy the needs of every person who might happen to join usâfrom Conservative Jews to Buddhists to atheists. I soon realized that although itâs important to be aware of oneâs audience, I found myself drowning out my own individual spiritual beliefs and values. The early drafts were too distant from my vision of an inclusive experience; I had to accept that if I wanted to try new things, my guests and I would simply have to wander through the newness together. Fortunately, the story of Passover centers on faith and risk.
When in Doubt, Look AboutÂ
When I worked in marketing years ago a colleague would often say, âWhen in doubt, look about.â I searched online and read through all of the haggadot I could find, along with any Passover-related information on InterfaithFamily.com and other websites. I wanted to learn how others approach the holiday, along with any stories and songs that I hadnât heard before.
I also reached out to several friends to hear about their seder experiences, as well as my dear friend, Rabbi Lev Baesh, a longtime champion of interfaith marriage and inclusiveness, who is a consultant with InterfaithFamily. My wife and I had performed music the year prior at a seder led by Lev. He interpreted the Passover story in many different waysâsocial, political, economic and psychologicalâand helped me understand how themes from an ancient tale can become relevant and inspire urgency among people of different faiths and backgrounds.
Our Interfaith-Humanist-Vegan Seder ExperimentÂ
What emerged from my research and spiritual searching was a heightened awareness of my own values, questions and priorities. The result was the creation of an imperfect and ever-changing Interfaith-Humanist-Vegan seder that my wife and I have hosted for the past four years. Most of the guests at our seder tend to be interfaith couples with one Jewish partner as well as couples and friends of other faiths. Every year we invite at least one person who has never attended a seder before.
Our accompanying interfaith-humanist-vegan haggadah, which I also revise each year, includes original writing as well as a patchwork of borrowed text, images and songs. The introductory pages of the haggadah recount the Passover story, and explore questions such as âWhy Celebrate if the Story Isnât True?â and âWhy a Vegan Passover Seder?â These questions, and others in the haggadah, offer a way of inviting everyone to explore and question the Passover rituals and their purpose in our lives in new ways. Rather than dump my ideas and beliefs on my friends, I try my best to steer conversations and lead rituals that allow me to learn from them, and all of us to learn from each other. For example, rather than declare what the various items on the seder plate signify, our haggadah asks: âWhat do you think the items on the seder plate represent? How might they connect with oppression, slavery and freedom?â These open-ended questions for which there are no âcorrectâ answers allow guests of all faiths to contribute their perspective and enhance everyone elseâs understanding.
An Incomplete HaggadahÂ
I think the best conversations and learning occur when people are present and looking at one another. When a haggadah has all the information we need, everyone is looking down at their booklets for hours. In contrast, our haggadah is intentionally sparse and incomplete. Before the start of the seder I ask each of our friends, individually, if theyâd like to read a short excerpt of text that I provide. The readings include writings from intellectuals, feminists, rabbis, writers, activists and philosophers of all faiths, and I âscheduleâ them to read at different points in the seder. Itâs fun to pick out certain readings that relate in some way to each of my friends. As the seder progresses and friends share the words on their respective slip of paper, we all in a way become pages in a âhaggadah,â and together we make the seder complete.
Music adds a fantastic quality to any evening, and itâs a huge part of our seder. At the very beginning of the meal, rather than jump right into the Passover story, we all sing a song together. The first year we sang David Crosbyâs âMusic Is Love.â Itâs easy since the repeated lyric is almost a chant: âEveryoneâs sayinâ that music is love, everyoneâs sayinâ itâs love.â My wife and I scatter percussive shakers, drums and a couple acoustic guitars around the room for folks to play, and of course, everyone brings their voices.
In addition to familiar seder songs, such as the African-American Spiritual âGo Down Mosesâ and Dayenu, there are a host of secular songs that touch upon various Passover themes: slavery, oppression, freedom and of course the need to continually ask questions of ourselves and our world. And on the ânight of questions,â I canât help but want to sing Bob Dylanâs âBlowinâ in the Wind,â a song with questions in every verse.
Thinking About Hosting Your Own (Alternative) Seder?
For those who want to embark on your own journey of hosting a seder (or any holiday) in a new way, keep in mind that certain aspects of your alternative rituals and ideas may stir strong reactions (positive or negative) among some of your guests. Inspiration can look and sound different for each of us.
As I was planning my first seder, I remembered Rabbi Lev Baeshâs sage words: âJust remember that Moses had lots of whining to deal with in the story.â Humor is critical! Iâve laughed at myself many times during our seders, particularly when Iâm taking myself too seriously, and laughter creates more laughter and openness. Dig into both the rich traditions of the past and present. Experiment. Do what feels right, and see what happens.
These types of homegrown celebrations take effort on our part, otherwise they wouldnât exist. I think thatâs part of the magic and meaningfulness: the effort, creativity, and time it takes to create a relevant and inclusive Jewish experience. My favorite moments during our seder are when I find myself wandering through the desert behind my guests who have taken the conversation in new directions.
A piece of logistical advice: A seder can be held any evening during Passover. Scheduling ours toward the end of the holiday week allows us to join my familyâs traditional first or second night seder, and our Jewish guests can do the same. Beyond avoiding scheduling conflicts, setting an atypical seder date sets the stage for something new and different, and prepares your guests for a different kind of seder experience.
If you decide to create your own kind of seder, itâs important to remember that if youâre inspired and engaged, those around you will want to participate and be inspired too. Togetherness, making connections, and generating meaning is really what itâs all about. And remember, whatever happens, thereâs always next year!
For more information about Passover and the seder, check out our Guide to Passover for Interfaith Families