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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Three Secrets to a Long-Lasting Marriage that the Relationship Books Don’t Tell You

My 14th wedding anniversary is this month. And now that I’m mere days away from passing the Seven Year Inch Deadline–twice over–I finally feel qualified to share the Three Relationship Tips No One Ever Tells You (or, to be honest, agrees with). But, I’m going to do it anyway. Because, like “Hooked on Phonics” says, “It worked for me!”

Tip #1: Never Compromise

My husband is a math teacher and an engineer by training. So he approaches all aspects of life like an engineer. And this is how he did the math: When you compromise, two people are left unhappy. When you don’t compromise, one person, at least, is happy. So how do we come to a final decision if compromise is off the table? At our house, the person who feels most strongly, wins.

To take a small example, my husband is obsessed with knives not being put in the kitchen sink with the rest of the dirty dishes. He is convinced that if that happens, he will stick his hand in the soapy water and instantly get sliced to ribbons, ala Jaws. I have been putting knives in sinks for close to decades now, and that has never, ever happened. I have never heard of it happening. I don’t think it will ever happen. And yet, because my husband is obsessed with the topic and treats us all to a lecture when his edict isn’t obeyed, I now leave our knives on the edge of the sink (where, for the record, I actually think they’re more dangerous. But, not as strongly as he believes otherwise).

To take a larger example, I believe it is important for our kids to learn to speak Russian and get a Jewish education. My husband isn't particularly passionate about either subject (and can easily play Devil’s Advocate for both). But, I am. So I win. The same metric applies to every issue in between. For the record, the person who doesn't get their way doesn't have to formally agree with the other. He or she is perfectly welcome to continue pointing out the flaws in the plan (and to deliver an “I told you so,” should said plan fail). But, they do have to go along, not interfere, and, if it concerns the kids, keep the grumbling limited to their spouse in private, in order to present a public united front.

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Interfaith Dialogue Troubled Even Before Israel Dispute

For Jews, Christians' Letter to Congress Was Last Straw

Frustrated by what he saw as hostility toward Israel, Rabbi Eric Greenberg recalled how a few years ago he presented Christian leaders in an interfaith dialogue with a study highlighting historic Jewish ties to the Holy Land.

Sitting across the table, one of the church leaders replied that, according to the prophets, the Jewish people sinned and lost their right to the land.
“And I thought, after all these years, what have they learned?” said Greenberg, director of interfaith affairs at the Anti-Defamation League, in a recent conversation with the Forward. “It was eye-opening.”

The back-and-forth illustrates the rocky path charted by the interfaith roundtable since it was launched eight years ago. The squabbles erupted into an open split after 15 mainline Protestant Church leaders wrote a letter to Congress on October 5, calling for an investigation into Israel’s use of American military aid.

Jewish organizations abruptly pulled out of an upcoming roundtable annual meeting after hearing about the letter to Congress.

Rabbi Steve Gutow, president and CEO of the Jewish Council for Public Affairs, said there is a need for a pause in the dialogue in order to reexamine how both sides can work together in the future.

“It is very difficult now to go into the room and breathe the same air,” said Gutow, one of the leading Jewish participants in the interfaith gatherings. He stressed that in any case there is importance in finding ways to continue interfaith dialogue.

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You Don't Have to Be Wrong for Me to Be Right

Finding Faith Without Fanaticism

by Brad Hirschfield

How can we create a world with less violence and division? Can we make room for other cultures and beliefs without negating our own? Is there a way to balance commitment and openness without sacrificing one to the other?

These and other critical questions are explored in a powerful new book, You Don't Have to Be Wrong for Me to Be Right: Finding Faith Without Fanaticism by Rabbi Brad Hirschfield (Harmony, January 2008). Addressing some of the key issues of our time, the book reveals how to be passionately committed to one's faith community while remaining open to other religious traditions. Drawing on his own experience as a former activist on the West Bank who saw first-hand what extremism can do, Rabbi Hirschfield examines our fears of the "other" with humor, insight, honesty, and thoughtfulness. Never dismissing another's beliefs or treating difference as a zero sum game, he appeals to the common wisdom found in all religions, offering hope and a new perspective to the American spiritual, social and political landscape.

Grappling with his own conflicts — as an Orthodox teenager growing up in a non-religious home, leading a prayer service at the Reichstag for Jews and non-Jews alike, going to Moscow as the only rabbi participant in a Muslim sponsored initiative, and many more — Rabbi Hirschfield presents diversity and inclusiveness in a new light. Using personal stories, Biblical texts, and other references, he asks us to stretch, leaving our preconceived notions and convictions at the door to make room for new foundations. With so much divisiveness in the world, You Don't Have to Be Wrong for Me to Be Right offers a concrete and accessible approach for mending fences among people.