Passover and Easter: Interfaith Family Afterword

The hardest part about celebrating Easter and Passover with my extended interfaith clan in Florida is extricating ourselves from the multigenerational lovefest–and leaving behind all the leftovers when we fly home. My family gathers from England, California, New York and Washington. For three days this year we planned, shopped and cooked for the Easter dinner and the Passover Seder. When we drove to the airport to get the kids back to school at the end of their spring break we regretfully left behind the leftover brisket, roast potatoes and carrots, matzoh ball soup, charoset, and chocolate-toffee matzoh for my siblings and cousins with later school vacations. Oh, and a spiral-cut honey-baked Easter ham (from one of those “Hams R Us” stores), and lots of Easter candy.

Once again this year, my 87-year-old father was there to preside over our Seder. Each year seems unbearably precious to me, and we move heaven and earth to be there. We also illegally move giant glasstop dining tables from three condos into one, to fit all 20 family members. And my father hires a piano company to move a piano in for two weeks, so that he can play the jazz standards and Pennsylvania polkas and Irish reels that form the soundtrack to our multicultural lives. We make a joyful noise: one year we were threatened with eviction.

My sister from New York is raising her kids Jewish–my nephew is preparing for his Bar Mitzvah. (My mother is his only Christian grandparent). My brother and sister-in-law from California are raising their three kids Catholic. (My father is their only Jewish grandparent). My seven-year-old niece is attending CCD classes, preparing for her First Holy Communion, and she said a lovely grace at Easter dinner, dressed in her spring dress and tiny gold cross.

My niece, and her siblings, attend a Catholic Montessori school, and they had just taken part in the school’s reenactment of The Last Supper during Holy Week. After years of Passover in Florida with us, they understand The Last Supper as a Seder.

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About Jewish-Christian or Interfaith Seders

Why organize a Jewish-Christian Seder?

In springtime both Christians and Jews observe rituals of freedom and rebirth. The Christian Holy Week, especially the Easter Triduum, and the modern Jewish Seder both have roots in the Passover traditions of biblical Israel . Both communities see themselves as experiencing the liberating power of God first manifest to the ancient Hebrews in the Exodus. “In every generation, each of us should feel as though we ourselves had gone forth from Egypt ” is a principle held by both faiths. By joining in this ritual meal, Jews can share one of their central festivals with Christians, whose own religious heritage predisposes them to appreciate the Seder’s deep spiritual significance. Ideally, a full meal should be shared and not simply the symbolic foods. This makes it more likely that during table conversation mutual understanding will begin to replace stereotypes or misapprehensions about each other.

[Another option is for Christian communities to hold a "model" or a "teaching" seder to acquaint their congregations with this important Jewish feast. However, as the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America cautioned in 1998, "If such demonstrations are done, they should be done carefully, preferably in consultation with, or hosted by, a local rabbi."]

How authentic is an Interfaith Seder?

The usual setting for a Seder is in the home where people are surrounded by family and close friends. It does not take place in a synagogue. The traditional Seder must be adapted to a location outside the home. Also, an interfaith Seder will be conducted on an evening other than Passover. Otherwise, an interfaith Seder should follow the traditional order of the ritual set down by the rabbis in the 5th or 6th Century. In this way, participants would engage in the ritual as well as eat the appropriate food for a Passover meal. Interfaith haggadot – books that tell the story of Passover through the rituals of the seder in a multi-faith setting – are available.

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10 Tips for Stress-free Interfaith Passover or Easter Celebrations

This is a guest post by Barbara Rudnick, the Family Life Education Program Manager at Jewish Family and Children’s Service of Minneapolis.
With Passover and Easter just around the corner, many interfaith couples and families might be participating in new holiday celebrations. Here are 10 suggestions for interfaith families to have successful celebrations together:

1.  This is not necessarily a good time for a first meeting. Celebrations and life-cycle events can be stressful. They can bring out the best and worst in people. Try to arrange a time before the event to meet each other.
2.  Talk before the celebration. Ask what you can do to make this a comfortable situation.
3.  Appropriate humor can be a wonderful tension-breaker; however, religious and/or ethnic jokes would not be a good idea.
4.  Educate yourself about the event. Know what to expect and what will be happening. Understand the significance of the celebration. And dress appropriately!
5.  If you are the host, be supportive, warm and welcoming. Ask about dietary restrictions, etc.
6.  If you are the guest, be positive and let your host know how happy you are to be part of this special time. Inform your host about dietary restrictions, etc.
7.  Make sure that things read or said in a foreign language are written in transliteration and translated so all attending can understand and feel included.
8.  This is a wonderful opportunity to share parts of your religion or culture and learn about practices and customs of others. This is not a time to discus conversion and other sensitive religious issues.
9.  Arrange a time to talk after the event.
10.  Respect the beliefs of others! Keep an open mind.

Do you have any tips? Add them in the comments. And remember to write to AskBarbara (askbarbara@jfcsmpls.org) with any questions you have about interfaith relationships!

The Catholic girl who was too Jewish

‘So, how Jewish are you?”

That’s what he asked, leaning in provocatively while I sipped my gin and tonic. It was our second non-date. He had asked what my background was. I had proudly told him my mix.

I said, “well… I’m like Jew-lite.”

He nodded, pursed his lips and ordered another drink. He was intrigued, which made me all the more put off and embarrassed for having just called myself that.

I have both the blessing and curse of being from an interracial/interfaith household. My mother is Mexican/Catholic, and my father is an Italian Jew. My dad calls us “Jew-lite” or “convenient Jews,” the kind that celebrate major holidays and their status as an excuse to cut off the Jehovah’s Witnesses mid-speech when they come knocking.

When I was a little girl, it occurred to me that not everyone was so lucky to celebrate two facets of religious opinions or cultures. It also occurred to me that while everyone else knew exactly what they “were,” I was torn between which “side” best represented me.

I often wear both my crucifix and Star of David together on a delicate white gold chain my mom gave me. It draws attention and questions like “Are you confused? Because you’re wearing conflicting religious symbols…” or “How can you be both?” I know that religion is passed down through the mother, but I refuse to consider myself a shiksa. I grew up acknowledging both sides equally and I claim them both — to not do so would be disrespectful to my parents and denying a piece of myself.

Neither of my parents is particularly staunchly religious but they did name me in the synagogue — Peninah Shoshana. When I was growing up, the general consensus in our household was that my sister and I would be educated about both religions, and we could either choose which one suited us best or find a mutual blending point.

My sister (aka: Super Jew) from an early age firmly identified herself as Jewish. She has a beautiful traditional name (Sarah), big curly hair, and a prominent nose — she fits every stereotype. She also has excellent Jew-dar, as we call it, and can spot a fellow Tribe-member from a mile away. She has never doubted or waivered in her conviction that she is Jewish. The Catholic side never once fazed her.

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How One Interfaith Marriage Saved the Jewish Community

On February 23rd the Jewish community will come together to celebrate Purim by listening to a reading of the Megillah - the Book of Esther. It’s a joyous affair where children dress up as characters from the story to celebrate the courage and heroic deeds of Queen Esther and her uncle Mordechai, and many adults drink until they can’t tell the difference between Mordechai and Haman (Boo! Hiss!). Some synagogues and Jewish community centers will also stage carnivals, and everyone will have a good time.

But the holiday is about more than carnivals and costumes. It’s also a story about a successful interfaith marriage. The Jewish community was on the brink of annihilation, but when Ahasuerus, the King of Persia, found out his wife was Jewish, he cast his lot with the Jewish people and we were saved from destruction.  

Purim reminds us of the importance of embracing our Jewish heritage, and it also offers an opportunity to reflect on the state of inclusion for the thousands of interfaith families around the world. Many institutions still put up barriers, treating intermarriage like treason. This is counter-productive to Jewish growth – we need to engage these families, not keep them away. It’s time we welcome interfaith families into the Jewish community, where their presence will add to the strength and diversity of the Jewish people.

Jamaica Kincaid Is Still Jewish

The author, publishing a new novel this week, talks about conversion, suffering, and life in Vermont

 “I need socks,” Jamaica Kincaid said, standing in the doorway of her clapboard Vermont home, barefoot and clutching her laptop. She went upstairs to fetch a pair and asked that I wait in her living room, which was cluttered in a cozy way, the walls filled with books and every surface covered with tchotchkes—menorahs and tropical-colored paintings and miniature brass sculptures. It was the kind of room that would make it difficult to leave the house. Beside the couch was a tall table with an array of crudely made ceramic artifacts—a pizza, a duck, and more than a dozen uneven baskets, as if a summer-camp bunk was waiting for their creations to dry.

Kincaid returned, still barefoot, but with a pair of Smart-Wool socks in hand. She wore black stretch pants and a pinto-bean-colored headscarf. “I was up all night long, working on a sentence,” she said. She hadn’t finished it yet.

Kincaid, a novelist and a former writer for The New Yorker, recently finished her first novel in 10 years, See Now Then, out this week. Kincaid bristles at the notion, implicit in the way the book is being marketed, that 10 years is an unusually long time to wait between books. She does not write every day and dislikes the notion of committing to a novel as one does a job. The desk in her office is strewn with papers in a manner suggesting that she doesn't spend very much time there. “If I had a book every year, I would keep it to myself,” she said. She says she still marvels at the fact that she’s a published author. When she moved to New York from Antigua in 1965 to work as an au pair for a family on Madison Avenue, she never expected to be able to publish a book, and certainly not 13 of them. “It’s harder now for an unconnected black woman like I was,” Kincaid said. She famously got her first assignment, for Ingenue magazine, by walking into their office from off the street and pitching an interview with Gloria Steinem. That opened the door to pieces for The New Yorker and The Village Voice and the parties and readings of New York’s literary scene, of which Kincaid was a fixture. It’s a time she remembers fondly, and hasn’t fully abandoned.

See Now Then is about the failing marriage between a writer and a composer living in a small New England village. The writer, Mrs. Sweet, is black and from the Caribbean, and her husband, Mr. Sweet, is white and comes from a princely faction of New York “entitled to doormen, no matter what.” The book’s premise appears to be borrowed from Kincaid’s own life: In 2002, her 20-year marriage to the composer Allen Shawn ended in divorce. Kincaid continues to live in the Bennington home they shared.

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An Extended Love

Originally published on InterfaithFamily By Heather Subba

Cultural and religious differences were not a prominent concern of mine when I married my husband six years ago. As a new bride brimming with love, floating on hope, and overflowing with pride, I thought that we only needed love and that everything else would take care of itself. But the truth is, no matter how much I wish love answered all questions and easily solved all problems, bridging cultural and religious gaps takes strength, courage, communication, effort, dedication, patience, understanding, and empathy.

As a partner in an interfaith and intercultural marriage, I have to continually ask myself if I can open myself up to living in a way that's different from how I am used to living and if I am non-judgmental enough to adapt to change. On the surface, I would like to believe it's easy to change, but adjusting to a communal culture has made me realize that I'm not as flexible in my way of thinking as I had once thought.

The adjustment comes in the form of extended visits. My husband's parents come to California from their native Nepal for long stretches of time. They typically stay with us in our apartment for six months or more. Showing hospitality remains a central priority in Nepali culture. In spite of social and economic means, Nepali families always stay together whether visiting family members or friends. For me, communal living falls to extremes; it is both an amazing blessing and a great personal and cultural challenge.

To navigate the complexities of our differences, we are always trying to find the balance between what works best for each of us.

One challenge relates to food during holidays. When I hosted a recent Hanukkah party with a variety of guests, I struggled between preparing latkes, a lox platter, and noodle kugel or making rice, vegetables, and dal (a bean soup). The truth is that either way would not have suited our family and guests. If I gave up the Jewish foods, I would not have honored my own tradition and I would not have passed on my culture to my young son, but if I neglected my in-laws' preferences, I would have forsaken their needs. Ultimately, I made the latkes, lox platter, and kugel at my husband's urging and my mother-in-law made the Nepali food. Similarly, on Thanksgiving, we did not make the typical American dishes due to taste preferences and we served mainly Nepali food. These seem like trivial episodes, but constantly negotiating how to fulfill everyone's preferences requires adaptability, understanding, and willingness to compromise.

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