The Endless “Schlep”

Kate Bahlke Hornstein is an Episcopalian woman. She and her Jewish husband  live in Cambridge, MA with their two daughters. They participated in early IFC programs in New York before IFC chapters had evolved. When they moved to Boston, Kate reconnected and became the founding Chair of the IFC Boston chapter.

In her blog submission, Kate reflects both on the meaning of being in an interfaith family and on the value of “schlepping” to do the Community’s work.

Back in fifth grade, our teacher read us the book, The Endless Steppe by Esther Hautzig. The book tells the story of a Polish Jewish girl who is forced by Russians to move with her family to Siberia during World War II. While Esther starts out being somewhat spoiled (refusing to wear any underwear that isn’t silk, as I recall) she soon adjusts to life on the Endless Steppe. Her family stays sane not only by becoming less spoiled and adjusting to their new extremely difficult circumstances, but also by holding fast to their past life and identity. I remember one passage where Esther’s proud grandmother pushes back her fingernail cuticles each night so that she can maintain her “manicure” while living in the harsh conditions of the work camp. The family also sustains itself with their religion and their belief that “thoughts are free,” i.e. no one can take away your identity.

This book made a deep impression on me, not that I could relate to Esther’s life at all! Growing up in a secular/Episcopal family  in comfortable small-town America, I could count the number of Jewish families I knew on one hand. OK, maybe more like three fingers. The harshest work I recall was when my mother asked me to trim some branches from one of our olive trees, and when I painted the outside of our church with a group of college students.

I think what I liked best about the book was the idea that there could be a culture existing within another and that you could carry your identity with you wherever you go. Esther’s family is grateful that “thoughts are free” and that their belief in God and in their own identities can persist,  even when they are forbidden to express their  beliefs.

As a 48-year-old Christian married to a Jewish man and raising my two daughters “interfaith,”
my life has unfolded in ways I couldn’t have imagined growing up. My attic now contains boxes and boxes of holiday “things”–for Passover, Easter, Christmas, Hanukkah, Halloween and a large stack labeled “Interfaith Community” or “IFC-Art, IFC-Art Supplies, IFC-Paper, IFC Art Supplies 2 and IFC-Celebrations.”

Nearly every week I am schlepping one box up the stairs and another one down, either in preparation for a family holiday celebration or an upcoming Interfaith Community class or holiday program.

Most weeks I do this good-naturedly without complaining and with a sense of excitement and anticipation of the upcoming holiday. But occasionally, I find myself tearily wondering if it might not have been easier to choose another way to do things. “This is not my holiday,” I think.  “Why should I work so hard to preserve my daughters’ Jewish traditions, traditions that are not my own?”  A harsh email or thoughtless word from someone who doesn’t know me well, and who questions my belief in raising my children with two religions, can bring me low and wondering why on earth I am doing this. “This is hard,” I think.

I see in those moments how Jews in America at one point may have quite sanely decided to assimilate. I see also why spouses in interfaith couples convert to Judaism or Christianity or choose one religion for their children.  It’s much easier to go along with holiday of the moment, of the majority, or the religion of one partner, than to risk being called different, or worse, to have one’s children thought to be so. It’s also much less work.

And then my thoughts turn to my own kids. Since they were babies, we’ve celebrated two sets of holidays, attended church and temple, and held lively theological debates around the dinner table. One of the things of which I am the most proud is the way they connect positively with both their Jewish and Christian identities.  I am proud of my daughter who in fifth grade patiently explained why she was eating matzah for lunch to a group of Muslim children. Or how beautiful my older daughter’s voice sounds when she sings from the hymnal on Christmas Eve. Or how we’ve argued around the dinner table about what actually took place at the Resurrection. I also think about when my husband and I watched “The Passion of the Christ” to see the anti-semitic content;  but what affected him the most was the realization that Christ’s suffering could have been more than a myth, but pain, as well as love for others, experienced by someone I see as an aspirational figure.

Over the past four and a half years, nearly 150 people have attended Interfaith Community Boston events. Some come once, some have attended since the beginning, but I hope everyone who comes to us will take away something of value–the belief that “thoughts are free,” and the affirmation of whatever identity they’ve chosen to preserve for themselves and their families. As a chapter member recently wrote in an email to me, “thanks for giving my child a place to belong.”

When I think about what my family has gained and the positive things we can offer to the community, I realize that loading up the car, vacuuming the rug after an IFC event, or helping a child to find a lost art project are much more than “schlepping.” In this work, I am helping preserve the identity not only of the Jewish people and those who identify as Christians, but also my own children’s sense of self.   As Esther says, “I needed my past, my beloved past.”

The Colton Family- Our Journey to IFC

Brian and Randi Colton have been members of the Orange/Rockland/Bergen chapter of the Interfaith Community since 2007. Brian writes that their family’s wonderful experience with the IFC inspired him to write this blog posting.

“I hope this encourages other families to tell their stories so we can continue to learn from each other.”- Brian

The Colton Family – Our Journey to IFC

by Brian T. Colton

Randi and I met 20 years ago in college.  It’s cliché to say we knew right away we’d be together forever, and yet that’s exactly what happened.  We both come from different religious backgrounds.  I come from a conservative Roman Catholic family, where everyone was involved at the church (including my father, who is a deacon) while Randi’s parents each practice Reform Judaism, with her father also adhering to Buddhist principles.

Growing up, major holidays were a very big part of our lives, with my family coming together for Christmas and Easter Masses and celebrations, and her family celebrating the traditional Hanukkah and Passover rituals at home.  I had been an altar boy, lector and Eucharistic minister at Mass, and was a leader of the youth group as a young adult.  Randi had been Bat Mitzvah and while her family did not regularly attend services, they did celebrate the major Jewish holidays.  When we began dating,  I attended mass occasionally but my religious practice had waned a bit; my family would invite Randi to Mass with us,and whenever we would all go together , Randi would  come.

While looking into getting married, we did participate in the Catholic Church’s pre-marital workshop for couples — Pre-Cana (called “Engaged Encounter” in our area); wealso met with a rabbi.  We were married in a joint ceremony at Bear Mountain by both a priest and a rabbi.    In the early years of our marriage, we each practiced our own traditions and supported the other.   But when we decided to start a family, we knew that the religion question was going to come up again.

We had never come to a definite decision on how to raise the kids, mostly because we presumed there was going to be family pressure from both sides to pick one religion over the other –and we wanted to avoid that. Randi and I have always believed both that positive family experiences and making your own decisions are very important. So we didn’t want to force religious beliefs that should be discovered naturally through exploration and education.  When our first son, and then our second, was born, we knew we would need to make some sort of a decision on what to do religiously.  I researched some options but nothing felt quite right for us.

Then five years ago, I discovered the Interfaith Community online and reached out to Soraya Meyers, the Orange/Rockland/Bergen chapter president.  She was immediately warm and inviting to us, and we attended an Easter/Passover gathering as a “test run”.  It was a revelation!   The judgment-and-stress-free environment made it very appealing to us. We joined immediately, and have been members since.

At the IFC, we join with the other families in a prayer circle where we can talk about whatever is on our minds.  Our kids attend classes with fantastic teachers and learn about the traditions of both Judaism and Christianity.  Randi’s mother has even attended IFC holidays with us. We’ve made some good friends in our chapter, have enjoyed attending NYC events, and look forward to continuing our involvement in IFC for years to come.

High School Choices: An Interfaith Perspective

Emily Cappo, a Jewish woman married to a Roman Catholic man. She writes about a journey she has taken that may not have been possible without the affirming support of the Interfaith Community in Westchester where they have been members since 2003.

High School Choices: An Interfaith Perspective by Emily Cappo

At a Catholic mass many years ago, my husband kneeled at the pew while I sat on the bench next to him with my hands on my lap.  Although we were only inches apart, it felt like miles.  As an interfaith Jewish/Christian couple, we could never participate in this one act together.  I didn’t like feeling so separate from him, as if we were on opposite sides of a shore, unable to meet in the middle, no matter how much we swam

Since then, we’ve managed our different faiths quite well, using a combination of compromise and consideration.  We have been members of the Interfaith Community, which has provided us with a sense of safety and affirmation for our choices. We are raising three boys, incorporating both religions into our family as best we can.  Mostly, this means we celebrate Christmas and Hanukah, Easter and Passover.  We have opted not to send them to formal religious school, hoping to teach them on our own about the history of both Judaism and Catholicism and fostering a respect for all traditions.  This has worked fine for us, until now.

Unsure if our oldest son was in the best environment for his education and personal growth, we explored different options for entering high school next year.  One of those alternatives was a Catholic high school, just like the one my husband transferred into when he was this age.  Classifying that educational choice as one of the best decisions he’s ever made, my husband explained, “The school was like a family, a community. It’s not about religion; it’s about teaching morals, in a very accepting place.”  I am all for acceptance, particularly for my son, who doesn’t always have peers looking out for him, but rather, kids who have mocked, criticized, or simply ignored him.

As we toured the school and learned about the curriculum and activities, I was impressed with the facilities and academic program, but I also started to squirm with discomfort.  The students say a morning prayer, making the sign of the cross when they finish.  A large cross adorns some of the school walls.  The kids take a class in religion each year.  Bottom line, the symbols and traditions of Catholicism are ever-present throughout the school day.

But, getting back to the acceptance at this school: If my son could thrive there, I wouldn’t care what religion was part of his school day.  Truly.  But then I started to remember my husband kneeling at that pew all those years ago, and I became anxious, if not frantic.  What if my son started to strongly identify with his Catholic surroundings at his new school, completely rejecting his Jewish roots?  I didn’t want to have that feeling of separateness with my son that I momentarily had with my husband at that mass all those years ago.  What if that disconnected feeling permeated our relationship on a daily basis?  My throat tightened and my voice broke, as I shared my worries with my husband.  He tried to reassure me, explaining that the prayers were to A God, that making the sign of the cross was optional, that the classes taught the history of all religions, and that no one was trying to convert our son to Catholicism.

I knew he was right, a rare admission for me.  And, I knew I had to trust him on this one.  But, there was one other point my husband forgot to make.  If my son comes home from high school everyday with a smile on his face, my shared joy at seeing him so happy will bond us in a way like never before.   Secular high school  – or not — my son is ready and eager, and now, so am I.

An intergenerational perspective on Lent

One of the Interfaith Community’s long-standing members is a Christian who is an active member of his church. Recently the church asked him to write a commentary or reflection for Lent.

As he compiled his thoughts, he was struck by how much his involvement with the IFC and his marriage to a Jewish woman had influenced his thinking.

As he sent his reflections to the church, he also sent it to his adult interfaith daughters with this note…

 

This little exercise in Christian reflection illustrates rather dramatically  how much I have learned from being married to the Jewish woman who is your mother. I now am always aware of how Jesus carried his Judaism into the religion that became named for him.

Matthew’s Gospel has been described by some scholars as a virtual summary of the Torah, the first five books of the Hebrew Bible.  And nowhere in the book is this point made more vividly than in the verses of Matthew 5:20-25 that are assigned to us as our reading for this day.

Jews say, on the holy day of Yom Kippur, that for sins against God, the Day of Atonement suffices, but for sins against our neighbor, simply observing this day is not enough; before we experience atonement, we need first to seek forgiveness from the neighbor whom we have wronged.   In this deeply meaningful section from the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus, as reported by Matthew, takes up this theme from his own Jewish tradition and serious Jewish education, telling us, in effect: “If your brother has [any grudge] against you,” then, before you leave your gift at the altar, you must “first be reconciled to your brother … and then [that is, only then] come and offer your gift.”

Forgiveness is an act of grace, but it should not be seen as the passive receipt of absolution.  It requires an affirmative act of reconciliation with our neighbor, lifting both the veil of injury from the one who has been wronged and the veil of guilt from the person who is seeking forgiveness.  It is a deeply fitting practice for this season of Lent.

- Robin Anthony Elliott

Interfaith? It depends on your age (part 3)

We know from following other broad societal changes, that we each see our lives from many perspectives, including the prism of our own particular generation. We were reminded of this very powerfully this summer when the Interfaith Community’s office was blessed with the talents of three terrific interns. They were bright, able, and fun.
A special bonus was that all three young women were, themselves, the children of Jewish-Christian marriages.

Each had very different experiences growing up in interfaith families – though none like that of children from Interfaith Community families. Nonetheless, all three of these 20+ year olds take comfort in their Jewish/Christian roots and all three are still exploring their religious identity. And all three appreciate the IFC approach.
We had some wonderful conversations with them. And we invited them to help us launch this year’s blog entries. They inspired us to focus on the theme of generational perspectives: being “interfaith” at different ages and stages; hearing a variety of voices from IFC’s cherished multi-generational family tree.

The three interns were: Samantha Moreno, now a junior at Columbia College, who was raised Jewish in Texas; Jessica Lechtenberg, a May graduate from Drew, who was raised on Long Island with virtually no religious identity; Alia Goldfarb, now a junior at Brandeis, who grew up in Switzerland with her American father and Swiss mother and had a very different experience from either Sam or Jess.

We have previously posted reflections by both and Jess and Sam. Here is Alia’s story .

***

I am not only from an interfaith family, but I am also a dual-citizen having grown up in Switzerland with a Swiss mother of Protestant background and an American Jewish father. The streets of Basel, Switzerland where I grew up — like those of many medieval cities in Europe – are constantly filled with the sound of ringing church bells;  and from K-8th grade, religious classes are a required part of the curriculum at public schools. While these days a student can decide which classes he/she would like to attend, the default is still Protestantism, as Judaism is the religion of a tiny minority. Basel has only one synagogue, a large and strikingly beautiful  building, Orthodox in affiliation, with a community of about 200 people. (There are only a few thousand Jews in all of Switzerland.). Additionally, the part of the city I lived in until I was 11 is mostly Islamic. Needless to say, the polyglot education, multiculturalism and complex religious diversity in all of Switzerland has formed its citizens in a very unique way.

My mother grew up in the largely Protestant city of Basel, surrounded by a mostly Protestant and partially Roman Catholic environment. While her parents –my Swiss grandparents –were never deeply religious, they still hold Christmas and Easter celebrations. In the 1970s, my mother –a young female white dancer living a bohemian lifestyle —  studied African folklore while living in Africa for 4 years and Daoism, while learning Acupuncture in China. Then she married her first husband, a Brazilian soccer player and percussionist, who comes from a deeply Catholic family. Not that religious educational institutions are automatically racist, race did appear to be an issue when my half-sister, who is very visibly of mixed-race and color, faced racism in her Protestant school. To my mother this was a sign to turn away from all religious institutions once and for all; she now floats around in some form of agnosticism.

Later my mother married my father, who, originally from Queens, New York, grew up in a fairly traditional Jewish family. His older brother found the ultra-Orthodox side of Judaism to be his path. My father, on the other hand, took that as his cue to discover whole new worlds in Hinduism and Buddhism. For years he had completely ignored his Jewish upbringing. This continued  until my family moved to the one Jewish area in Basel. There he suddenly rediscovered that Judaism is not limited to Orthodox practice, rather it can be seen much more liberally.

At this point, I was about 11 years old and didn’t really think about religion much. I sort of knew why we celebrated Christmas, I knew the stories of the monkey statue(Hanuman) standing in our living room and why I should rub the belly of the Buddha  which has a special spot on a small altar in our garden. I also understood that my father originally came from a completely different background, but I didn’t really understand how any of that (Judaism) related to me at all. All I knew was that, because my uncle didn’t approve of my father’s marriage to a non-Jewish woman, I couldn’t meet my cousins and his wife would never talk to me.

Only after my father rediscovered Judaism in his own way, did I learn about it as well. I became very curious about the Jewish traditions and wanted to reconnect with my Orthodox family members. Growing up with so many different cultural and religious influences, I am always seeking and questioning to find the right path for myself. I never seriously considered converting to Judaism, however I now know much more about Judaism than any other religion and would consider myself partially culturally Jewish.  As Karma has its way with me, I am currently attending Brandeis University, a largely Jewish institution. To be honest, I really don’t know what to call myself, as I draw from everything I have learned thus far. These days I celebrate all major Jewish holidays, as well as Chrismukkah, Easter, Holi (Hindu festivities), wear a Hamsa, a Star of David and a Buddha, have friends of all faiths and so forth… I am a true ‘interfaith’ child and hope to spread the word on how great it is to have such a rich background!

Interfaith? It depends on your age (part 2)

We know from following other broad societal changes, that we each see our lives from many perspectives, including the prism of our own particular generation. We were reminded of this very powerfully this summer when the Interfaith Community’s office was blessed with the talents of three terrific interns. They were bright, able, and fun.
A special bonus was that all three young women were, themselves, the children of Jewish-Christian marriages.
Each had very different experiences growing up in interfaith families – though none like that of children from Interfaith Community families. Nonetheless, all three of these 20+ year olds take comfort in their Jewish/Christian roots and all three are still exploring their religious identity. And all three appreciate the IFC approach.
We had some wonderful conversations with them. And we invited them to help us launch this year’s blog entries. They inspired us to focus on the theme of generational perspectives: being “interfaith” at different ages and stages; hearing a variety of voices from IFC’s cherished multi-generational family tree.
The three interns were: Samantha Moreno, now a junior at Columbia College, who was raised Jewish in Texas; Jessica Lechtenberg, a May graduate from Drew, who was raised on Long Island with virtually no religious identity; Alia Goldfarb, now a junior at Brandeis, who grew up in Switzerland with her American father and Swiss mother and had a very different experience from either Sam or Jess.

We posted Sam’s story last month. Here is Jess’ story….

My father recognizes himself as culturally Jewish only. While raised religiously Jewish on the outskirts of Boston, Mass., he no longer affiliates with this faith and instead considers himself an atheist. My mom was born and raised in West Virginia and attended Catholic parochial school. This made her an outcast in her area as no one was Catholic except for the other students (about thirty kids per grade). Because of her upbringing, my mom’s faith is still rooted deeply in Catholicism; but this was never something she iterated to me. Growing up, I did not have a religious identity, at all. I understood that that if I wanted to believe in God I could, but the topic was only raised when the winter holidays came around. I would spin my dreidel, eat my matzah ball soup, and put cookies and carrots next to the fireplace for Santa.

It was not until the eighth grade, at age thirteen, that I felt that something was missing. I felt confused and needed more than a lullaby or a simple Bible story of Noah and his ark at bedtime. I needed to know what prayer was and why I couldn’t hang out with any of my friends on Sundays because of this “day of rest” business. When one of my friends gave me a Bible for Christmas, I awkwardly thanked her, put it on my desk at home and waited for the dust to collect on this weird sacred text that I had never felt any connection to. And there it sat. Finally in March of the following year, I opened it. I remember this only because this was the first time I ever, voluntarily went to church and I went without either of my parents. It was after this first sermon that I had a grasp on what I was trying to grasp. The sermon discussed the idea of “faith” and how essential it is in the scheme of any spiritual journey. Needless to say, I was hooked on this God thing and have been asking questions ever since.

For me, it was only in high school and then more fully in college that I was able to open up to other faiths beyond what I had learned – and to become aware that “interfaith” children like myself do have our own “interfaith community.” I graduated in May from Drew University where I was fortunate to be able to live in Spirituality House” — collective housing where you are obligated to discuss the two things you are otherwise discouraged to speak of in mixed company: politics and religion!

Though I have never been formally baptized, confirmed, bat mitzvahed, or blessed, I did feel called to work for the Interfaith Community. Growing up, I never had a place where I could ask questions about my ‘religion’ or what religion is to me, I wish that there had been outlet like this when I was growing up to help me answer these questions.

Interfaith ? It depends on your age….

We know from following other broad societal changes, that we each see our lives from many perspectives, including the prism of our own particular generation. We were reminded of this very powerfully this summer when the Interfaith Community’s office was blessed with the talents of three terrific interns. They were bright, able, and fun.

A special bonus was that all three young women were, themselves, the children of Jewish-Christian marriages.

Each had very different experiences growing up in interfaith families – though none like that of children from Interfaith Community families. Nonetheless, all three of these 20+ year olds take comfort in their Jewish/Christian roots and all three are still exploring their religious identity. And all three appreciate the IFC approach.

We had some wonderful conversations with them. And we invited them to help us launch this year’s blog entries. They inspired us to focus on the theme of generational perspectives: being “interfaith” at different ages and stages; hearing a variety of voices from IFC’s cherished multi-generational family tree.

The three interns were: Samantha Moreno, now a junior at Columbia College, who was raised Jewish in Texas; Jessica Lechtenberg, a May graduate from Drew, who was raised on Long Island with virtually no religious identity;  Alia Goldfarb, now a junior at Brandeis, who grew up in Switzerland with her American father and Swiss mother and had a very different experience from either Sam or Jess.

We begin this series with Sam’s story….

Growing up I never really felt like I completely fit in either religiously or racially. For my mother her Judaism was as much part of her racial identity as her faith. She grew up  in a small town in Southwest Michigan where she always felt she was part of a minority; so she wore Judaism as a badge of honor. Therefore when the small-town Jewish Girl moved to Texas and fell in love with a Mexican-American Catholic Boy, she was adamant to raise to her children Jewish. My father, the Mexican American Catholic Boy, who as a child served as an altar boy, had lost some of his faith by time he reached adulthood. Yet for him his badge of honor was the Hispanic heritage, which was often intertwined with his Catholicism. I always like to think that part of their bond was the shared feeling that it was them against world. They found, though, one of the most difficult obstacles for them was their family. Neither set of parents attended their small wedding officiated by a Justice of the Peace, and it took quite some time for either to get fully accustomed to the other. (To put it into perspective my parents dated for 10 years).

I was born a year after my parents got married and provided a new test for their relationship. They decided I would be raised Jewish, with a traditional baby naming as my first inclusion in the Reform Jewish Community, but I would also participate in Christian Holidays with my father and his family.

But, growing up was not always that straightforward for me. As I grew older, I attended Sunday school every week and then Hebrew School twice a week. During the Holidays I would get presents for both Hanukah and Christmas, sometimes attending church with my father. During Passover I would go to Seders with my mom and sometimes, especially as I got older, we would have Seders at our house. The thing was my parent’s tended to keep their spheres separate. I’ve never been in a church with my mother beyond a tourist trip. My dad made concessions for special events and was fantastic during my bat mitzvah period, where he didn’t mind getting involved. To be honest, my bat mitzvah was an amazing turning point because not only was my dad present, but his family happily joined in, as well as many of my non-Jewish friends. I finally felt at peace with my dual identities.

But then my family moved (for the fifth time), and joining a new, larger congregation proved difficult. My mother and I would go for the High Holiday services but never made a big effort to get more involved. I attended Sunday school for one year, but something was missing for me. Maybe I missed the sense of community I had or maybe I was just struggling with something inside, but I couldn’t get more involved.

When I  got accepted into Columbia College at Columbia University in New York City,  my mother’s hopes that I would get more involved in the Jewish Community shot through the roof. My freshmen year I tried to get involved once in a while by going with a friend to Hillel for Friday night services and Hanukkah, but once again I felt like an outsider. Everyone seemed to know each other from Jewish youth groups or summer camp. I drifted once again.

When I read about the Interfaith Community, it piqued my interest. The idea that children were raised with both religions equally and with both parents involved seemed amazing to me. After being involved for about two months, I’ve seen what makes the IFC so special. It allows children (and parents) to have a sense of community that also has deep religious roots. I feel that the biggest issue growing up was that at times both of my religions seemed very superficial because it became a game of showing, not an act of believing for parents. I feel that by creating a group where both parents are given equal weight so that children are not scared of offending one or the other, will hopefully enable the children to have confidence in their faith no matter how different it may be from others.

Samantha Moreno, Summer 2011 Interfaith Community Intern