Shalom, Christmas

Music is such an important part of our family's life. My parents met each other dancing, and they danced their entire lives together. My father-in-law is a Cantor, and my husband, daughter, and son are all musicians. We are surrounded by music.

So, sometime in early November, when my children start asking when the radio station is going to be all-Christmas, I bristle. I tell them that if it starts before Thanksgiving, I just can't listen to it. Christmas music should be special. For me, it brings back all kinds of December memories, so I'd prefer that it not start in mid-November. When I hear The Little Drummer Boy, I think about the living nativity. When we sing O Come All Ye Faithful, it reminds me that my Dad wouldn't let us put the baby Jesus in the manger until late on Christmas Eve. We Three Kings is a reminder that the Three Wise Men shouldn't be placed around the nativity until January 6th - the feast of the Epiphany. Rudolph and I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus bring back memories of singing along with Mitch Miller. I try to make all of these connections for my children, at least letting them in on the memories, even if the religious ones don't resonate with them.

Singing Stille Nacht

Our family has built a musical Christmas tradition that feels familiar to all of us. It is a week away. I am deep into the prep at this point, and as much as I may whine about it, I enjoy it. I turn on a sappy Hallmark channel movie or sing along to Christmas carols, as I clean the house from top to bottom. We host an annual holiday party with a typical crowd of about 100 (and invite 200). It’s a real mix of Christians and Jews. Everyone comes together, in our interfaith home, to celebrate the season. Our house is decorated with snowmen, carolers, ornament trees, and menorahs. It is comfortable for everyone, and it brings them joy. My Jewish husband plays the piano, and our family and friends join us to sing Christmas carols and a few Chanukah songs. 

Lots of Little Ones - All Grown Up Now

Many of my brothers, sisters-in-law, nieces, nephews, spouses, and children come. When my parents joined us, they danced during their favorite songs. The year Mom passed away, it was bittersweet when we sang, Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer. Another year, my very dear friend stepped up to the piano to belt out Santa Baby" with me. Did you know that there are lots of Jews who love to sing Christmas carols? One of my vivid memories from this day is of my Jewish sister-in-law and my father-in-law, the Cantor, singing Stille Nacht (Silent Night) at the piano.  There are a few people who have made it every year - for 24 years. Many have come for at least 20! Each year, there is someone who joins us for the first time. Our friends' children have grown up coming to our party. This year, a little girl who wore her velvet Christmas dress at age 4, will bring her boyfriend at age 19. Now, our children invite their high school and college friends to join us. When, in November, people start asking "When is your party," you know you've created a tradition.

Getting Ready Many Years Ago

Our children enjoy preparing for the big day, and they look forward to inviting new friends. My daughter even postponed her Birthright Israel trip, because it would overlap our holiday party. One boy, after coming for the past 8 or so years, visited a few days after the party to make gingerbread houses. He was surprised that we were playing Christmas music. "I thought you were Jewish," he said. "We are, but haven't you been coming to our holiday party for years?" He responded, "Yes, but I thought you just did that for the Christians!"

You know what? I think we're doing it right.

Twice Means Tradition

When my parents were growing up, they were part of the melting pot generation. Their parents believed in being American - not Italian, not German. That may be the reason that we didn't have a lot of family tradition. It could also be the fact that there were so many of us! 

For our first Christmas, my husband surprised me with a fully-decorated Christmas tree. Since I was a bird watcher, he found enough bird ornaments to cover the entire tree. It was one of those special moments. Then, once our daughter was born, it seems like she said the phrase, "We always do it that way," from the moment she could talk. Tradition has always been important to her. When she was about 2 1/2, she laid under our Christmas tree and basked in the glow of the lights. Yes, it was a beautiful moment --- one that gave me pause. 

We were beginning to build our own family traditions. I knew that what we did at age 2 1/2 was going to be the beginning of traditions that would last a lifetime. If you know me, you know that I tend to do things all the way or not at all. So, if I was going to have Jewish children, I was going to have Jewish children - not half-Jewish. That year I made the decision that it would be the last year to have a Christmas tree.

However, I can't lie to you. As I walk through my neighborhood at this time of year, I do have Christmas decorating envy. I so enjoy walking about the neighborhood to see the lights. The trees peeking out through the windows of my neighbors' homes delight me. We did have lights for a couple of years. About a year after we moved into our home, my husband decided that he was going to have lights. He made the columns on our front porch look like candy canes. The lights could have landed a plane! If you give a Jew some lights at Christmas...he'll go overboard! Although that was probably the last time we had lights, our wonderful next-door-neighbors had loads of beautiful white lights across the front of their house. Because of the way our houses are placed, their lights always wandered close to our trees. I always hoped that they'd find their way on to our trees. They never did! When our daughter was about 3 years old, and our son was a newborn, we spent most nights driving around town looking for lights. Now, every time I see Christmas lights, I think of my daughter's tiny voice, "Yights, Mommy, more yights!"

Our decorations at this time of year include menorahs, snowmen, stockings, and two ornament trees. My kids enjoy the decorating more than I do; it's the tradition I enjoy.

I suppose I've overcompensated for the lack of Christmas decorations by buying menorahs (we're up to 10), special candles, and even an oil menorah. The glow of the candles each night warms my heart.

Decorating is a major part of this holiday season. As an interfaith family, we built our own traditions and figured out what works for us.

Giving Thanks for My Interfaith Family

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Other than being thankful for friends, family, and the blessings of the year, there is no religious aspect to the holiday. You spend time with loved ones, and there are no expectations other than a good meal and good conversation.

Our Thanksgiving tradition has changed over the years. For the past 5+ years, my nephew and his family have joined us around our table. For the past couple of years, a second nephew has joined us. We almost switched it up this year to join my husband's family. However, tradition prevailed, and my husband and daughter spent Wednesday evening and most of Thursday cooking. After everyone arrived, as is our tradition, each of us took a moment to mention something that they are thankful for. Then the Catholics said Grace Before Meals, and the Jews said the Hamotzi. The meal was fabulous, the political conversation was exciting, and the joy of just being with family was precious.

This weekend, the celebration continued. Much of my husband's family was in town to celebrate a milestone birthday for my father-in-law. All but a few of the immediate family came to our house for dinner on Friday. Once again, great food, heated political conversation, and the joy of being together were what it was all about. Just as I sat down to eat, my father-in-law, the Cantor, said, "It's Friday, isn't it?" With that, I, his non-Jewish daughter-in-law, reached behind me, pulled out some candles, lit the candles, and recited the blessing for Shabbat. Then, I poured a glass of wine and asked my father-in-law to say the  prayer over the wine. He sang the Kiddush, a blessing that was truly a blessing upon all of us to hear him sing, as we were about to celebrate his 90th birthday.

Finally, on Saturday, we celebrated his birthday with a party. It didn't dawn on me, as it often has in the past, that just about everyone who was there is Jewish. We were all simply people coming together to celebrate the life of a man who connects all of us in some way. There was a big college football game on in the background. Many alumni and a current student were cheering on the team. Renewed acquaintances, cousins who hadn't seen each other for yours, and old friends all greeted each other with warm hugs. Afterward, as a family, we sat and talked for hours.

In all of these moments this weekend, there was no interfaith. It was just family.

Now What?

Once we celebrated our daughter becoming a  Bat Mitzvah, we pondered, "Where do we go now?" Nearly 10 months had passed. There were times when I walked into the building, and, once again, finally, I felt at home. There were other times when, although I didn’t feel like an outsider, I felt like I was on parade. People were watching me, watching my husband, wondering what we were doing there. When I saw the Rabbi, I didn’t know if I should hate him or feel sorry for him. More than anything I felt sorry for us and the rest of the congregation.

I knew that I was tired of talking about the place and everything that happened there. I wasn't Jewish, and I was deep into the politics of a Jewish congregation. I couldn't help but wonder whether this would ever happen in a Catholic Church. I wanted to be done with the whole situation. I was tired of being defined by it. If we chose to stay, could we move forward? If we left, would we forever wonder what would have happened had we stayed? After everything I had done to make sure my children had a Jewish religious identity, would it be lost if we left? Or could we be happy and move on?

We left.

Now what?

After spending years deciding that our children would be raised Jewish and determining how best to raise them that way, we were at a crossroads. We had a Bat Mitzvah behind us, and we wanted our son to receive as solid a religious education as our daughter did. Would he understand the holidays? What would happen when it was time for his Bar Mitzvah? Would he be able to follow a service? Would he be able to lead the service, like his sister did? 

We began shopping for a new congregation. That's easier said than done for an interfaith family. I had just about become comfortable walking into my children's religious school and feeling like I belonged there. I was finally able to join my family for services and not feel like there was a Scarlet C (Catholic) on my chest. Not all congregations were welcoming of interfaith families. Some were happy to add you to their membership rolls, but that didn't mean that the non-Jewish parent would feel at home. That did not sit well with my commitment to actively participate in my children's religious life. I had finally learned the prayers and songs that our Reconstructionist congregation used all of the time. We were surrounded by Reform and Conservative synagogues. If we joined one How long was it going to take me to feel like I belonged? Sigh.

Rather than join a congregation, we decided to remain with our kehillah - our informal Jewish community - until the timing was right.

So, we were faced with a conundrum. When you make the decision to leave your congregation, what do you do for the 3rd grader who is just about to begin his formal religious education? You start a school. Why not?

Why did we want to start a school? We wanted to provide our child with:

• An ongoing religious education
• Friends who are Jewish
• Religious continuity
• Community
• A religious lens on the world
• The same education that his older sister had

We were very fortunate to find a teacher who we knew and who was willing to work with a group of parents who had very strong opinions. :) However, the teacher we wanted wasn't available to have class on Sunday morning or in the evening during the week. The best option was Sunday evenings. Location? The local grocery store's upper room. (The irony of it being the upper room is not lost on this Interfaith Mom.) The parents who collaborated on the curriculum decided to invite all of the families to arrive early each Sunday, grab dinner in the prepared foods section, and eat dinner together prior to class. It was wonderful! The kids became fast friends, the parents had plenty to talk about, and our religious school community was born.

Each week, the students started the class with a service. Many of the parents even attended the service. Our daughter became an aide in the school, along with the other older kids. We had built a community of peace.

Apple Picking for Rosh Hoshanah

We also had our extended community of adults whose children were beyond religious school. Our adult community joined us during our annual Chanukah celebration. In fact, they hosted us. Each family brought a menorah, and we lit them together. We joined together to celebrate the High Holy Days. The adults attended our school Shabbat service. They made our children feel like they were part of a religious community.

I am sure that these parents who we dined with each week in the upper room and the larger adult community who supported us never had any idea of their long-term impact on our interfaith family's life. If it wasn't for them, it would have been easy to throw my hands up and say, "Hey, I tried." Instead, I say, "Thank you."

Embracing What Joins Us

At our daughter's Bat Mitzvah, we celebrated the similarities among our friends and families rather than emphasize the differences.

Family

As the youngest of six, I am very fortunate to have nieces and nephews who are close to my age. So, our daughter was raised with first cousins who are like aunts and uncles and second cousins who are her contemporaries. Her first cousin was like a second mother to our daughter when she was a baby. Dropping her off at her cousin's house was the easiest part of being a working mom. My niece and her family have included us in all of their family celebrations. Our relationship with her family has been integral to our children's' connection to my side of the family. My niece and her husband are the epitome of what it means to live the golden rule. They have always been kind, loving, and supportive, and they expected nothing in return. So, at our daughter's Bat Mitzvah, we asked my niece to select and read a passage from the Catholic Bible that had the same theme as our daughter's Torah portion, the golden rule.

Friends

Our neighborhood was unofficially a 55-and-over community in its early days. We were the babies. So, when our daughter was about 6 years old, and we found out that we had new neighbors with children, we ran over to the playground, hoping they'd show up. Our children quickly hit it off with their children. And the mom and I became fast friends. When my neighbor mentioned that her mother-law's native language was Arabic, my mind began to race, "Oh no, what if when they find out our kids are Jewish, they decide that our children cannot play together?" I waited several meetings before broaching the subject. As it turned out, my new friend had figured it out, and it was okay. Now, our kids fondly refer to the dad as Baba. He even came to our congregation to talk to my book club about Islam and forever changed, in a positive way, a Jewish group's view about Muslims. (That's a future blog post!)

When my husband was rushed to the ER in the middle of the night, it was this friend who came out on an icy night and slept on our couch until I came home. It was she who sat with me for 10 hours at the hospital. They are wonderful examples of doing to others as you would have them do unto you. At our daughter's Bat Mitzvah, we asked them to select several readings from the Quran with the same theme as the Torah portion - and read them from the bimah.

We wanted to remind our friends and families that our similarities are so much greater than our differences. Our goal was to embrace what joins us.

Happy New Year!

This week began the holiday season for Jews around the world. For many interfaith families, the holiday season begins with Rosh Hashanah (the New Year) and goes through to Passover with a mix of Jewish and Christian holidays in between. Celebrating Jewish holidays is different than celebrating Christian holidays in many ways. Jewish holidays start the night before the date of the holiday and revolve around either attending services or being with family; some holidays do not include attending services, in which case, the holiday is celebrated at home. The High Holy Days are celebrated in Synagogue, and in my husband's family, we have a family dinner on Erev Rosh Hashanah (Erev is the "night before.") 

Apples and honey help to usher in a sweet new year

I've been celebrating the High Holy Days with my husband's family for 30 years now. During those first years, my father-in-law was a congregational Cantor, so, we didn't have a leisurely family meal. After dinner we dashed off to services. I still have a vivid memory from those first evening holiday services -- arriving at Temple to see the congregants mulling about at the steps to the building. When the service was over, they stood outside talking as well. This never happened at my church. Maybe it's because we went to Mass every week, so we saw other congregants regularly. Sure, there were those who attended Mass only on Christmas and Easter but not our friends. Some Jews attend weekly services for Shabbat (each Friday/Saturday), but most do not. Many, especially those with grown children, only pass through the doors of the Synagogue for the holidays. Spending time together before services start is a way to catch up on the past year. It's community. 

Something that shocked me early on is that you actually need a ticket to attend Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services. As a result, it is a common to join a congregation just before the High Holy Days. We joined our Synagogue a few weeks before the start of the holidays, when our son was a newborn and our daughter was 3. It bothered me so much that there was a children's service, separate from the adults. In my Catholic upbringing, everyone attended Mass together. (Our Church never had a crying room.) However, only 1 Mass per year was any longer than an hour, and we never went to it. A typical Rosh Hashanah service is 3 hours long. The highlight of the service is thesounding of the Shofar. One of the first things my husband did was to sound the Shofar.  

Sounding the Shofar at Tashlich on Rosh Hoshanah

When we left our Synagogue - 7 years ago now - we started a Kehilat, a community of prayer. That was in July. Since the Jewish calendar revolves around the High Holy Days, our new community needed to begin planning for our own High Holiday services as soon as we formed. Unlike a Catholic Mass, which needs a priest, a Jewish service can be led by a lay person; my husband was asked (or offered) to lead services. He spent the two months meeting with our liturgical committee and pouring over the prayer book to design the services. Once again…I knew he was Jewish, but not this Jewish. For 5 years, my husband acted as Rabbi and Cantor for a "congregation" of 100 or so. They came back year after year to enjoy the service that he and the liturgical committee put together. These services were bittersweet. Our reason for being together was sad, but being together was a sign that we were committed to being part of a Jewish community. 

Prayer Book Prepared for High Holy Day Services

The uniqueness of our Rosh Hashanah service revolved around its location. The service was held in a park - rain or shine. We had hot mornings, cool mornings and one with full-blown thunderstorms. Through the 15+ years I have attended services as an interfaith mom, these outdoor services were the highlight of my journey. Services are often, for lack of a better word, generic. They are nothing like the spiritual connection to G-d that I had as a Catholic. Although our service was in the park, everyone still dressed as we would for services in the Synagogue - suits, dresses, heels. However, we each carried a lawn chair with us. Sitting on a lawn chair in a pavilion surrounded by trees and a lake gave the new year an inspirational start. My husband takes great pride in bringing meaning to services - through music and teachings. He never discussed the service with me prior to it happening, so I entered the "room" just like anyone else in the congregation. It was always interesting to hear my own husband give the D'var Torah (like a homily/sermon) and to hear his spiritual side emerge. As much as we discussed the logistics of having an interfaith family, we never discussed the spiritual side. As a result, this was eye-opening. 

Our View During Services

At the conclusion of each morning Rosh Hashanah service, we joined together for lunch in the park. We ate together as a community -- one that began as a result of much angst. This holiday service was a milestone each year. We wondered if we would ever join together again in the building from whence we came. Spoiler alert - we've been back at our Synagogue for 3 High Holy Days as of this year.

After services, we join others by a stream, lake, or creek for a lesser-practiced tradition of Tashlich. For a Catholic, it is reminiscent of Confession but with a much more positive spin. You bring a piece of bread to the water, tear off pieces representing the wrongs of the year that you'd like to cast aside, and toss them into the running water. This casting away of your sins gives you the opportunity to start the new year with a fresh slate. 

Tashlich by the River

Tashlich at the Lake

L'Shanah Tovah!

The Break Up

Momentarily, it will be Erev Rosh Hashanah. I wish all of you a sweet new year. 

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Once I realized how I was feeling about the day-to-day of being an interfaith mom, I decided to reach out to our Rabbi. In preparation, I wrote what would become, many years later, the beginning of this blog. I thought it was important for him to know what my journey had been and where it had taken me.

I shared my journey with the Rabbi, when we sat down for breakfast on Halloween morning. He read through everything I had written and asked me many questions along the way. We developed a plan. I was going to focus on my spiritual side; I was going to explore the possibilities.
My husband was the VP of the Synagogue Board. I was in bed and didn't hear him arrive home from a board meeting. The phone rang just after midnight. Next thing I knew, he was standing at the foot of the bed. "That was the doctor's office. He wants me to go to the hospital." He was having a heart attack.

A week later, I was offered a part-time consulting project that turned into a 5 year commitment and the experience of a lifetime. I was fulfilled professionally and, to some extent, personally. There was no time to explore my spiritual side. And, the feelings I expressed in my previous post disappeared, until…3 years later.

My husband had a heart attack. That next 6 months is a blur. My mind and heart were focused on him and our children. It was 18 months from when our daughter would become a Bat Mitzvah, and our son was 9 years old.

My husband was not yet ready to tell people what had happened; however, my daughter had a class Shabbat that Friday night. So, along with the kids, I went to services. The Mi shebeirach (a prayer for healing) had a new meaning, and I was just about able to keep it together while we sang this blessing. Here I was - a Catholic mother with two Jewish children, wondering what was going to happen to her Jewish husband.

Somehow, my husband continued his work on the Synagogue's board as soon as he could. Besides being reminded by the Rabbi that he had a Bat Mitzvah to live for - and a Bar Mitzvah not too long after that - I think my husband's place on the Board was one of the things that kept him focused on his recovery. It started with phone calls. Then he started going to meetings. Then he was there all of the time. He had been nominated to be President. His passion for the Synagogue consumed him.

He became President in early June. Within a matter of weeks the beloved Rabbi's contract was not renewed, and there were members of our Synagogue community who were unhappy. Without going into detail, I'll simply say that my husband was treated very badly by some in our community. It still pains me to think about it. I came from a background where politics such as we were embroiled in is unheard of. Priests come and go, and the community has no input. As a result, the parishioners are generally not surprised when change occurs, and they welcome the incoming priest and his fresh perspective. So, I did not expect the venom and meanness that came our way.

One of the low points of this experience was the Congregational meeting just after it happened. I had taken the kids to a swim meet – trying hard to keep their lives as normal as possible. We drove past the Synagogue to see how many cars were in the parking lot. Cars were parked along the main road, the driveway, and there was a full lot. However, there were POLICE CARS parked out front. I was afraid. We had been receiving harassing emails, and we had contacted the police. Had someone come to blows? Was my husband at risk? No, they were just there to keep an eye on things.

My husband spoke at the Congregation meeting, and he was well received. gave a chronological order of events that night to explain to the Congregation all that had transpired leading to this point. They gave him a standing ovation. At that point, I don’t think he gave a damn. On the other hand, I was so proud of him. I was beginning to understand what all of this had meant to him. I was beginning to appreciate him again – for the Jewish man he is rather than for the man I thought he should be.

Three weeks later, the Rabbi said the equivalent of he goes or I go. My  my husband resigned his post as President. For him, I think this decision and the way he was treated were worse than his heart attack.

However, now that this had all come to pass, we had no house of worship where we felt welcome. With a Bat Mitzvah less than a year away, we remained members during that year. However, for services we gathered with others of like mind. I was frustrated. For the past four years, I gave my husband over to that congregation. And he had been tossed back to me – with a new perspective on what it means to be Jewish. I had given up my own religion to raise my children as Jews. Now, the rabbi who I trusted with my deepest thoughts about my own spirituality had been the one who used my husband as his scapegoat. After all I had sacrificed, we had nothing of a spiritual home. Just as this happened, our daughter was to begin her Bat Mitzvah training. For my husband, this was supposed to be one of the highlights of fatherhood. Now, so much of the joy had been sucked out of the planning. It was not fair.