I hope you didn’t miss me too much during my brief hiatus. Lots of things happening lately, and I couldn't think of a good topic to blog on until now.
But enough excuses. Today we have a touchy subject.
One consequence of assimilation is intermarriage. In this context, intermarriage means when a Jewish person marries a person who is not Jewish. I have seen statistics that suggest that up to 50% of married Jews are married to a non-Jew. That’s… a lot.
As American Jews, we are pulled in two directions. On the one hand, we want to fit in, meet a diverse group of people, have friends of all “types.” We champion the freedom to choose, to meet and marry the person of your choice. And yet, we also work toward the preservation of our culture. We are saddened by the decline in synagogue membership, in religious participation, in Jewish education among our children.
Intermarriage is one of the main problems on both sides of the argument.
We feel we should be able to marry whomever we wish. We feel we shouldn’t exclude someone or distance ourselves from them just because they are of a different race or religion or culture or ethnicity. Thus, if Adam wants to marry Christina, and Christina is a lovely young woman with a good education and a wonderful family, we want to wish Adam the best in his new life. And if Adam’s parents or grandparents or community is against his marrying Christina, and we see how in love they are and how great their life together will be, our instinct is to tell his family and his community to stay the heck out of his way and let him marry the woman he loves and make beautiful babies with her. Intermarrying is both a result and a catalyst of assimilation, and if assimilation is the goal, then let the mazal tovs and the well wishes commence.
On the other hand, if Adam marries Christina, their children won’t be Jewish. There’s a good chance that Adam will not continue practicing Judaism. Christina’s parents might not like it if Adam tries to take their grandchildren to synagogue or wants to host a Passover seder. And Adam might hate it every year on Christmas when they travel to Christina’s family’s house and gather ‘round the tree to open presents. And Adam’s parents, who opposed the union from the start? What will they say when Christina doesn’t want to come for Rosh Hashanah dinner and wants to baptize the children?
It’s not that Adam is doing anything wrong by exposing his children to Jewish rituals. And it’s not that Christina is doing anything wrong by immersing her children in Christian practices. The problem is that Adam isn’t Christian and Christina isn’t Jewish.
I would venture to say that intermarriage really isn’t only a Jewish problem. Plenty of other religious traditions, cultural traditions, and ethnic traditions strongly encourage children to marry within their faith, culture, or ethnicity. It’s not xenophobia or racism. It’s not out of desperation to preserve a waning population. It’s because the most successful marriages are based on similarity of worldview, similarity of background. It’s not true, usually, that opposites attract (Arnold Schwarzenegger’s marriage to Maria Shriver notwithstanding).
When Jews speak out against intermarriage, though, because it is a small population rebelling against a large one, it looks like racism. It looks like those poor Jewish children are being isolated, kept from experiencing another world. But when that poor Jewish child escapes his “cage” and goes off to marry a lovely non-Jewish girl, he might find out, too late, that his parents were right. That, or he might simply be lost to Judaism, another victim of assimilation or attrition.
In my own community, I am familiar with quite a few intermarried couples. The main problem that seems to come up is when the Jewish spouse wants to get more involved with Judaism and the non-Jewish spouse wants nothing to do with Judaism. In many of these cases, the Jewish spouse eventually loses the argument, especially if the non-Jewish spouse doesn’t want their children attending services or Hebrew school. I know a few couples where the non-Jewish spouse becomes equally interested in Judaism and even expresses interest in converting. Those are the lucky few, unfortunately.
(That’s not to say that even if you marry within Judaism, life will be smooth sailing. I know plenty of couples where one spouse wants to be more religious than the other. In those cases, there is quite a lot of tension, where one wants to come to services often and the other doesn’t, where one wants to keep kosher or keep Shabbat and the other doesn’t. And the issue can be just as divisive as when one spouse isn’t Jewish. Or more so! But that’s a topic for another time.)
I want to ensure that my boys (and, G-d willing, one day, girls) marry Jews, love Judaism, and bring up lots of Jewish babies. I want to ensure that Judaism continues on into future generations. How can we do this? By exposing them to Jewish ritual throughout the year, by making Judaism an everyday presence in their lives, by saying the Shema at night, lighting Shabbat candles every week, and putting a mezuzah on their door, by giving them a Jewish education, by teaching them to read Hebrew, by helping them to learn the prayers, by giving them opportunities to make Jewish friends, meet Jewish girls (eventually), and by showing them that Judaism is a privilege and not a burden. If only it were as easy as it sounds.
Showing posts with label Jewish population. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jewish population. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Community
When I think about a community, I think about a group of people who live in the same general region and who have something in common, who rely on each other, help each other out, and share friendships, social opportunities, and generally support each other. Community functions to give people a sense of belonging, to offer assistance during illness, when a new baby is born, to provide services for the dead. Community is often built around a religious institution or place of meeting, but it can also be based on other shared interests or simple geography.
In Judaism, community is essential. There are prayers that can only be said in the presence of 10 Jewish men, a minyan, prayers that are said daily. Weddings, funerals, and other rites of passage require the same presence of a minyan. Many laws can only be observed properly in the context of a community, since one needs a place to procure kosher meat, kosher baked goods, and the various types of clothing and religious items such as Torah scrolls, mezuzot, tefillin, and other ritual items commanded in the Torah.
Thus, Jews seek each other out.
We belong to a small community of Jews who are brought together under the roof and wings of our local Chabad rabbi and rebbetzin. It is Chabad’s singular purpose to bring Jews together, provide services to the Jewish community, and generally increase the holiness of the Jewish people wherever Jews may be found.
The past two days, we celebrated the holiday of Shavuot. Yesterday evening, our Chabad hosted an event at which we heard the reading of the Ten Commandments, as is traditional on Shavuot, and ate a dairy meal, also traditional on Shavuot. It was here that I witnessed something that strikes me as odd. We are not one community. We are three.
I say this is odd, because if we are “the Jewish community of Oceanside,” that implies that we have some familiarity with each other, that we have interacted on some level at some time. But there were people at the Chabad house last night whom I have never seen before, but who clearly were familiar with and to the rabbi and rebbetzin, and who knew other people there, also whom I had never seen before.
What happens is this: There are the cohort who attend services regularly or semi-regularly on Saturdays. There is the group made up of Hebrew school students and parents, who may either not attend services or who attend services at other area synagogues. And there are those who generally show up only for major events, such as this Shavuot dinner, the Passover seder, the High Holy Day services. That’s why I say we are three communities.
Last night was the first night where I felt like we three circles had a chance to interact and overlap. The rebbetzin went around encouraging us to introduce ourselves to people we don’t know, and our kids played together even though they’d never met. Certainly these people must have been at other events, but I felt like those other events were in more formal settings, which didn’t foster this kind of mingling. It was nice to see that “the Jewish community of Oceanside” didn’t consist solely of the 10 or so families I was most familiar with! Indeed, I would venture to say that last night was packed!
I feel that in a more traditional Jewish community, such as a more insular Orthodox neighborhood, this “three communities” phenomenon would not be so obvious. It seems like it reflects American society in general, where we have our school circles and our work circles and our social circles, and they mostly don’t overlap or interact. If we see someone we know in the supermarket, we might explain that, “Oh, that’s a friend from work,” or “Yeah, that’s the mother of my son’s friend,” and those two people may never have met and never will meet. They aren’t part of the same community, the same circles.
But if we are a Jewish community, shouldn’t we be a Jewish community? Shouldn’t we all be at least vaguely familiar to one another? We are all from the same circle. We all attend Chabad of Oceanside at least some of the time. I think as the community continues to grow and find cohesion, we’ll find the circles melding into one great group. As it should be.
In Judaism, community is essential. There are prayers that can only be said in the presence of 10 Jewish men, a minyan, prayers that are said daily. Weddings, funerals, and other rites of passage require the same presence of a minyan. Many laws can only be observed properly in the context of a community, since one needs a place to procure kosher meat, kosher baked goods, and the various types of clothing and religious items such as Torah scrolls, mezuzot, tefillin, and other ritual items commanded in the Torah.
Thus, Jews seek each other out.
We belong to a small community of Jews who are brought together under the roof and wings of our local Chabad rabbi and rebbetzin. It is Chabad’s singular purpose to bring Jews together, provide services to the Jewish community, and generally increase the holiness of the Jewish people wherever Jews may be found.
The past two days, we celebrated the holiday of Shavuot. Yesterday evening, our Chabad hosted an event at which we heard the reading of the Ten Commandments, as is traditional on Shavuot, and ate a dairy meal, also traditional on Shavuot. It was here that I witnessed something that strikes me as odd. We are not one community. We are three.
I say this is odd, because if we are “the Jewish community of Oceanside,” that implies that we have some familiarity with each other, that we have interacted on some level at some time. But there were people at the Chabad house last night whom I have never seen before, but who clearly were familiar with and to the rabbi and rebbetzin, and who knew other people there, also whom I had never seen before.
What happens is this: There are the cohort who attend services regularly or semi-regularly on Saturdays. There is the group made up of Hebrew school students and parents, who may either not attend services or who attend services at other area synagogues. And there are those who generally show up only for major events, such as this Shavuot dinner, the Passover seder, the High Holy Day services. That’s why I say we are three communities.
Last night was the first night where I felt like we three circles had a chance to interact and overlap. The rebbetzin went around encouraging us to introduce ourselves to people we don’t know, and our kids played together even though they’d never met. Certainly these people must have been at other events, but I felt like those other events were in more formal settings, which didn’t foster this kind of mingling. It was nice to see that “the Jewish community of Oceanside” didn’t consist solely of the 10 or so families I was most familiar with! Indeed, I would venture to say that last night was packed!
I feel that in a more traditional Jewish community, such as a more insular Orthodox neighborhood, this “three communities” phenomenon would not be so obvious. It seems like it reflects American society in general, where we have our school circles and our work circles and our social circles, and they mostly don’t overlap or interact. If we see someone we know in the supermarket, we might explain that, “Oh, that’s a friend from work,” or “Yeah, that’s the mother of my son’s friend,” and those two people may never have met and never will meet. They aren’t part of the same community, the same circles.
But if we are a Jewish community, shouldn’t we be a Jewish community? Shouldn’t we all be at least vaguely familiar to one another? We are all from the same circle. We all attend Chabad of Oceanside at least some of the time. I think as the community continues to grow and find cohesion, we’ll find the circles melding into one great group. As it should be.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Passover In The News
On Tuesday morning, we were watching our local Fox station’s morning “news” broadcast. I use the term “news” lightly, because these news people have to be the least professional newscasters on morning television. They spend most of the time bantering, advertising a local product, restaurant, or service, and asking asinine questions during “interviews.” We watch it because they do the weather and traffic pretty often, and it’s nice light fare to accompany our scrambled eggs.
I mention Tuesday specifically because it was the first day of Passover, and apparently a producer thought it would be a great idea to do a series of segments on Passover throughout the morning show. I caught one of them, I think the second of the series. The reporter was talking to someone – she didn’t say why they chose him – at a local New York-style deli called DZ Akins. I’ve never been there, but I have it on good authority that it is quite tasty. It’s a Jewish-style/kosher-style deli (but NOT kosher), so maybe the news show figured it would be a good place to get the low-down on Passover.
They were discussing the Seder plate. The interviewee mentioned a few of the items – the shank bone, the horseradish, and then the charoset. The reporter then attempted to pronounce “charoset,” to bouts of hilarity and little success. The man explained what charoset is made from – apples, walnuts, etc. – and mentioned that it represents the mortar used by the Hebrew slaves while building the Egyptian cities. He then moved on to gefilte fish. While this is a fairly traditional food served at many Jewish feasts, including the Passover seder, it is hardly part of the seder plate. He tried to describe what gefilte fish is, and then the reporter attempted to pronounce “gefilte,” to more bouts of hilarity and still little success. The interviewee then felt obligated to add that a lot of people don’t like gefilte fish.
Then it was back to the studio.
The fact that a religious Jew really wouldn’t have been watching TV on Tuesday morning notwithstanding – the first day of Passover being a “chag,” or holiday requiring rest much like the Sabbath – this segment left me open-mouthed. First of all, while San Diego County’s Jewish population isn’t exactly enormous, surely the station or the reporter could have thought to contact a rabbi – I can think of a few Chabad rabbis who would have been happy to appear, as long as it wasn’t on a chag – to explain Passover and the Passover symbols in more detail and with more authority. I don’t know who it was they were interviewing, but he wasn’t even wearing a kippah.
This brings me to the larger problem. When your religion is the subject of a few somewhat humorous news segments, even in the interests of education and not ridicule, you realize just how small you really are. I had always taken for granted that people knew what a Jewish person was and the holidays they celebrated. It hadn’t really occurred to me until recently that people might view me askance for my Jewish practice, or find the names of my ritual foods a source of hilarity.
I did find myself reticent on the subject of my religion with some of my tutoring students from my local city, though. None of them is Jewish, and I got the feeling most of them don’t realize there are any Jews in their midst. When I told them I wouldn’t be seeing them on Tuesday, they naturally asked why. I said I had a holiday, but I was reluctant to tell them which holiday. For some reason, for the first time in my life, I didn’t want people around me to know I am Jewish. It’s certainly not that I am ashamed. Rather, I think, it was because I knew I would then have to explain and educate, and sometimes I just don’t feel like doing that. It’s been a long time since I was surrounded by people who don’t know what Passover is. Indeed, my student today asked me what holiday I had been celebrating, and I told him Passover, and he said his teacher said it wasn’t Passover that day. I told him Passover is eight days long and it most certainly was on Tuesday and still is, which prompted the very reasonable question of why I could work today but not last Tuesday.
See? I was right. I had to explain. And I didn’t want to. Besides, I was supposed to be teaching long division. (Yes, really.)
I think my next post will discuss what it means to keep kosher for Passover. Stay tuned!
I mention Tuesday specifically because it was the first day of Passover, and apparently a producer thought it would be a great idea to do a series of segments on Passover throughout the morning show. I caught one of them, I think the second of the series. The reporter was talking to someone – she didn’t say why they chose him – at a local New York-style deli called DZ Akins. I’ve never been there, but I have it on good authority that it is quite tasty. It’s a Jewish-style/kosher-style deli (but NOT kosher), so maybe the news show figured it would be a good place to get the low-down on Passover.
They were discussing the Seder plate. The interviewee mentioned a few of the items – the shank bone, the horseradish, and then the charoset. The reporter then attempted to pronounce “charoset,” to bouts of hilarity and little success. The man explained what charoset is made from – apples, walnuts, etc. – and mentioned that it represents the mortar used by the Hebrew slaves while building the Egyptian cities. He then moved on to gefilte fish. While this is a fairly traditional food served at many Jewish feasts, including the Passover seder, it is hardly part of the seder plate. He tried to describe what gefilte fish is, and then the reporter attempted to pronounce “gefilte,” to more bouts of hilarity and still little success. The interviewee then felt obligated to add that a lot of people don’t like gefilte fish.
Then it was back to the studio.
The fact that a religious Jew really wouldn’t have been watching TV on Tuesday morning notwithstanding – the first day of Passover being a “chag,” or holiday requiring rest much like the Sabbath – this segment left me open-mouthed. First of all, while San Diego County’s Jewish population isn’t exactly enormous, surely the station or the reporter could have thought to contact a rabbi – I can think of a few Chabad rabbis who would have been happy to appear, as long as it wasn’t on a chag – to explain Passover and the Passover symbols in more detail and with more authority. I don’t know who it was they were interviewing, but he wasn’t even wearing a kippah.
This brings me to the larger problem. When your religion is the subject of a few somewhat humorous news segments, even in the interests of education and not ridicule, you realize just how small you really are. I had always taken for granted that people knew what a Jewish person was and the holidays they celebrated. It hadn’t really occurred to me until recently that people might view me askance for my Jewish practice, or find the names of my ritual foods a source of hilarity.
I did find myself reticent on the subject of my religion with some of my tutoring students from my local city, though. None of them is Jewish, and I got the feeling most of them don’t realize there are any Jews in their midst. When I told them I wouldn’t be seeing them on Tuesday, they naturally asked why. I said I had a holiday, but I was reluctant to tell them which holiday. For some reason, for the first time in my life, I didn’t want people around me to know I am Jewish. It’s certainly not that I am ashamed. Rather, I think, it was because I knew I would then have to explain and educate, and sometimes I just don’t feel like doing that. It’s been a long time since I was surrounded by people who don’t know what Passover is. Indeed, my student today asked me what holiday I had been celebrating, and I told him Passover, and he said his teacher said it wasn’t Passover that day. I told him Passover is eight days long and it most certainly was on Tuesday and still is, which prompted the very reasonable question of why I could work today but not last Tuesday.
See? I was right. I had to explain. And I didn’t want to. Besides, I was supposed to be teaching long division. (Yes, really.)
I think my next post will discuss what it means to keep kosher for Passover. Stay tuned!
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