My father wasn't Jewish, but my mother was. My mother wanted to keep our Jewishness underground. Although she never defined what being Jewish meant, probably because she didn't know, she seemed to believe that it was important enough to tell me and my sisters - and then ask us to keep it a secret. She was terrified, but also, I think, ashamed. In school, the Jewish kids liked me until they found out my mother was Jewish and we weren't observant. They tended to become very cold after that. A mother of a girl I knew told me that my mother was a "self-hating Jew." Due to exposure to anti-Jewish bigotry in the culture, a lack of good Jewish role models and information, a general atmosphere of fear around Jewishness and what it might mean (other than that some people wanted to kill us) and a deeper emotional attachment to my father's family, I stuffed that part of myself away for a very long time.
In my 20s, curious, tentative, I asked a Reform roomate about going to a temple, and she said, "If you weren't raised religiously, you wouldn't be welcome in a synagogue." It was like a door being slammed in my face. In my late 30s, a half African-American, half Native American friend encouraged me to explore my heritage. She had been adopted and raised in a white family, and many of her issues around being multi-racial were relatable on a powerful emotional level. Then I read David Mamet's book The Wicked Son - Anti-Semitism, Self-Hatred, and the Jews, which blew my mind and gave me the courage I needed to begin to study.
He writes in his first chapter:
The world hates the Jews. The world has always and will continue to do so. "Why?" is the question of the nonaffiliated, for to ask the question, is, in effect, to suggest there is an answer worthy of consideration. One does not ask of the school bomber, "What does he have against small children?"; of Hirohito, "What did he have against Pearl Harbor." Neither did the victims of apartheid or Jim Crow attempt to understand their persecutors. Neither does the contemporary gay or lesbian attempt to understand the unreasoning hatred that he or she suffers and that expresses itself as right reason.
In Half/Life: Jew-ish Tales from Interfaith Homes, nineteen half-Jewish writers share the stories of their families and their personal journeys through faith and identity. Those of patrilineal descent describe encounters with Jews who tell them bluntly, "You're not Jewish." While only a few of the writers in this collection are of matrilineal descent, they too struggle with similar questions, issues, and experiences. Some were raised as Jews, others as Christian, some as both, and some as "nothing." But not one of them is indifferent to being the child of a Jew. As the editor, Laurel Snyder, writes:
....no matter how different your experience has been from every other half-Jew, you experienced half. Even if your parents chose to deal with their interfaith marriage by avoiding the topic of religion altogether. Even if you grew up in a kosher home. Even if one of your parents died when you were very young. Maybe you felt half empty, and maybe you felt half full. Maybe you felt an equal pull and tug from each half and so, like me, you sometimes felt full but split. Maybe, sadly, you got lost somewhere in the divides between your halves. Or inside cold stares from the Rachels. Maybe you embraced it all. Maybe all of these things were true at some moment, because half doesn't necessarily mean you were always wounded or always unhappy. It doesn't mean you have terrible issues to face. It only means that somewhere along the line, you had to figure things out for yourself. Even if you never focused on matters of faith in any conscious way....The history of the Jews is, whether we like it or not, a history of intermarriage and assimilation, a tradition of blending cultures and asking questions. The great strength of Judaism is that it does not fear, with any dogma or text, difficult conversations. The Jewish world has been built on a foundation of argumentation, dialogue, paradox.
These essays are lush, moving, nuanced, and tell stories that seem remarkably familiar from my perspective. Many descendants of intermarriage feel isolated - from other Jews, from Christians, or the faith or culture of the "other" parent - and, worst of all, because we theoretically don't exist - from each other. I no longer call myself "half-Jewish" because I have become whole, thank God. That doesn't mean others accept me as such, but I don't worry about it any more. It used to eat me up inside.
I invested a huge amount of emotional energy wrestling with the question: What is Jewish? When people say, "That's not Jewish." Or, "This is Jewish," what does that mean? A work of art, a wardrobe, a practice, a theology, a political opinion. What is Jewish? No one can say for sure, but everyone seems to know it when they see it. What is "Jewish culture"? Many cultures identify as Jewish, each with their own communities, languages, food, rituals, customs, and priorities. I wondered: What do they have in common? Is it looking at life in the context of an historical continuum? Is it about being part of an extended family tribe? Is it a perspective based on shared trauma? Is it a collection of stories and traditions that form a value system? How can I recognize it? Is anything a Jew does automatically Jewish by definition?
And I eventually found my way to an online group of self-identified "Halfies" who discussed similar issues. Many complained about the binary view "you're either Jewish or you're not," or the reflexive response "we don't let Nazis decide who is Jewish," or even "you're like little children who think Judaism is a game." Many "Halfies" complained about the treatment of mixed families in Israel. Many expressed sadness and frustration about trying to find accepting Jewish communities in the United States. But since many didn't transition into being "really" Jewish, they couldn't help each other complete that journey. While synagogues often provide resources for interfaith couples, they assume one partner is "really" Jewish, and that their children are being raised as Jews. Or, they provide support for converts, but when I tried to get into one of those groups, they rejected me because I wasn't "really" a convert. I enrolled in an Intro to Judaism class, at which the rabbi told me I wasn't Jewish, while another rabbi told me I didn't have to convert. I found myself between a rock and a hard place.
In the book Resistance of the Heart: the Rosenstrasse Protest in Nazi Germany , by Nathan Stoltzfus, the Nuremberg laws defined "mischlinge" - children of intermarriage raised outside of Judaism - as "racially" Jewish by the Nazis even if they'd been baptized as Catholics or Lutherans and their Jewish parents or grandparents had fully assimilated into German culture. Mischlinge inhabited a twilight zone in which they sometimes could gain short-term acceptance as Germans, at least in the early stages in what was to become The Final Solution. From this book, I came to appreciate why the term "half-Jewish" is inflammatory to many people in Jewish communities.
Some notes on the Wansee Conference, a meeting of Nazi officials in 1942, regarding the status of descendants of intermarriage (emphasis mine):
Persons of mixed blood of the first degree will, as regards the final solution of the Jewish question, be treated as Jews....exceptions will be made...if their marriage has resulted in children (persons of mixed blood of the second degree)....Persons of mixed blood of the first degree who are exempted from evacuation will be sterilized in order to prevent any offspring and to eliminate the problem of persons of mixed blood once and for all. Such sterilization will be voluntary. But it is required to remain in the Reich.... Persons of mixed blood of the second degree will be treated fundamentally as persons of German blood, with the exception of the following cases, in which the persons of mixed blood of the second degree will be considered as Jews...[if]:The person of mixed blood of the second degree was born of a marriage in which both parents are persons of mixed blood.The person of mixed blood of the second degree has a racially especially undesirable appearance that marks him outwardly as a Jew. The person of mixed blood of the second degree has a particularly bad police and political record that shows that he feels and behaves like a Jew....If no children have resulted from the marriage, the person of mixed blood of the first degree will be evacuated or sent to an old-age ghetto...possibilities must be considered with the goal of the legislator saying something like: ‘These marriages have been dissolved.’
But I also came across this, somewhere on the website of some Orthodox person:
On the question of the children of Gentile father's and Jewish mothers, classical rabbinic sources are divided, and a debate persists for centuries. Some sources--including the Mishnah--argue that such a child is a mamzer, a Jew, fully obligated in mitzvot, but forbidden from marrying Jews of untainted lineage. (A mamzer can legally marry only another mamzer or a convert, who also lacks pure Jewish lineage.) Others maintain the Jewishness of said matrilineal child, while either lowering the level of lineal taint--such as forbidding a daughter from such a union to marry a kohen--or claiming that no taint exists whatsoever. Rabbinic stories about such matrilineal children are suffused with a sense of liminality and conflict, with rabbis at war amongs themselves (and sometimes even with themselves) as to how to treat such children. Finally, some classical rabbinic sources may open the possibility that that the child of a Gentile father and a Jewish mother is in fact a Gentile, though if this person were to convert, they would be free of any lineal taint of mamzerut.
I am not certain what that means, but I feel that, since Jews have long been persecuted had been walled off from most of European society for hundreds of years, it is not surprising if a defensive and insular culture developed in some (by no means all) circles. I don't judge.
In Betraying Spinoza: The Renegade Jew Who Brought Us Modernity, author Rebecca Newberger Goldstein investigates the religious and historical context in which 17th century rationalist Baruch Spinoza formed his ideas. Spinoza was born into a Portuguese community in Amsterdam, a descendant of refugees of the Inquisition. The Dutch tolerated the Jews as long as they kept to themselves. Those whose families had converted to Christianity in Spain or Portugal struggled to reclaim their Judaism, much of which had been forgotten or altered under Christian oppression. Many still had extended family at risk in Portugal. Goldstein reasonably suggests the combination of persecution and community tension propelled Spinoza toward a philosophy free of an identity imposed at birth.
Unlike the Jews of Eastern Europe, who looked for revelations of God in Torah law, the kabbalists (Jews under Muslim rule during "the Golden Age of Spain") were more inclined to speculate about the relationship between the Eternal and the temporal. Therefore, she concludes, it is no accident that the mysteries with which the kabbalists were concerned - why the universe exists, and why there is suffering - were also issues of great concern to Spinoza. He argued that humanity is only free when it abandons arbitrarily acquired definitions of self for universal truths. For him, these truths were discoverable through the rigorous application of logic. He equated God with nature. He believed the universe created itself. Superstition (his word for religion) makes us believe we are more cosmically significant than we are, and we hold to it in order to ward off our fear of mortality. He held that the elements of the world exist because logically, they must. He theorized that mathematical proofs uphold the universe. Salvation occurs when we reject external definitions, identify with this cosmic intelligence, and thus achieve a broad view that leads to recognition of immortality within the whole.
For these views he was excommunicated at the age of 23, but his Christian friends still considered him to be a Jew. Goldstein reinforces the Hotel California Theory of Jewish Identity: "You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave." Is it possible to stop being Jewish, even if one converts to another faith? She asks if a struggle with Jewish identity is itself an indicator of Jewishness. With these questions, Goldstein implies a comparison of the Sephardic flight from the Inquisition to the state of Judaism today in the wake of the Holocaust, particularly within the dominant Ashkenazic community of the United States. Perhaps this offers some insight regarding the gray region in which we descendants of intermarriage often find ourselves precariously balanced.
I don't blame anyone for their fear, their anxiety, their hurt, their distrust of outsiders - I know they come by it honestly. I did not have a particularly pleasant experiences when I tried to find teachers, a synagogue, an avenue into living Jewishly, but I know Judaism is not monolithic. I didn't know what I was doing, how to do it, what I was looking for, and it seemed no one else did either. There are few sign posts for stray alley-cat Jews such as myself. I went to a Reform synagogue for a couple of years, which mostly felt like a place for white collar professionals, intellectuals, and political activists to congregate, campaign, and socialize. After scoping around a few other places, I put aside the notion of finding a synagogue until I knew more. I was uncomfortable with and intimidated by the gender segregation and pedigree-check at an Orthodox learning center. I read dozens of books by various rabbis and others, on Jewish history, on the holidays, on Hebrew, on related sociological phenomena, on Jewish environmentalism, on ritual, etc. etc. I took online classes dealing with the specifics of prayers and blessings. It would have been nice to know where to look for the right materials. What I wanted to know, what interests me most, is how to become closer to God, and to live a spiritual life.
What would it look like to envision God as an abstract representation of ethical standards and values, such as the ideals of kindness, compassion, love, mercy, service, honesty, altruism, and respect for life? What would it look like if we agreed every life has meaning and value, and is worthy of respect? What would it look like if we resisted the reptilian urges toward greed, deceit, selfishness, and materialism? What would it look like if this set of beliefs and attitudes are, themselves, our "God"? What are the ingredients of an effective religious practice? Hopefully they are activities that make life worth living, help us recognize our potential, and support us in bringing our best qualities forward. Hopefully they bring us into the rhythms of time, and sustain us through ups and downs.
My first glimmer of the heart and soul of Judaism came in reading and acting upon the contents of The Handbook to Jewish Spiritual Renewal by Rabbi Dr. Arthur Segal. The emphasis is on self-understanding, humility, the intention behind ritual, the ethical philosophy of Judaism and the role of the individual in relation to humanity, to the planet, universe, and God. Over the past year or so, I have been editing Rabbi Segal's commentary on Derech Eretz for publication. This is a section of Talmud specifically addressing proper behavior toward one's fellow human being. For me, this is the height of everything I've wanted to learn - a clear and accessible definition of what it means, in concrete terms, to be a good person, to live a spiritual life. Hopefully, we will be ready to publish in February.