“In high school, I noticed the cliques and all that, but fortunately I did not let the cliques bother me. I was nice to people who were nice to themselves.”
—Terica, 20, TN
Mixing it Up: Shared Bonds Trump Religious Differences
Originally Published: Oct 18, 2007
Revised: Dec 14, 2007
Before winter holidays in third grade, I remember standing in front of the cubbies hearing everyone ask each other: "Christmas or Hanukah?" Because having more always seemed better, I proudly responded, "Both."
I was immediately hounded by my friends. When I explained to them that we celebrate Christmas for my mother and Hanukah for my father, they were surprised. I left feeling excited at their idea that I would get twice as many presents (I didn't), but was still confused why I was so special.
I've since realized that while they were accepting in the remarkable diversity of their classmates, they didn't know how to react to my mixture of their religious labels.
And I wasn't sure how to react to it, either. I knew my parents were different—my father is a large, red-haired, bearded Jew and my mother a blue-eyed, blond-haired Dutch woman—but I didn't realize that set me apart, too. After all, I look just like my dad and few people would doubt me if I said I was 100% Eastern European Jewish.
I also never felt left out. My Jewish friends and I could laugh about eating while our parents fasted on Yom Kippur. My Christian friends and I excitedly compared Easter egg hunt winnings. Any friends who fit into neither category were from immigrant families, so I fit there, too.
When my father's mother died, however, my dad, brother, and I began to go to synagogue so we could say Yarzheit, the Jewish weekly memorial prayer for deceased family members.
My mother bit her lip at us leaving every Saturday, but never complained. For her, "Christianity" meant family tradition. She always said our family Christmas was better named a pagan (an ancient cult of nature) holiday, as we all sat around a tree. But when I decided to convert to Judaism so I could have a Bat Mitzvah, she did seem to worry that I was rejecting her heritage.
Of course I wasn't. I am still just as proud of my Dutch background as I am of my Jewish lineage, but I understood that it could hurt her to see me associate more formally with my dad's traditions.
Although there were a few touchy moments between me and my parents because of my mixed faith, I have never seen them argue over their differences. They often say they are more similar to each other than to many other Americans of their same religions because both were raised by Holocaust survivors. The likeness in experience, if not in faith, pulls them together.
Although there is the occasional misunderstanding (he asked me out "for a bite" on Yom Kippur), we have found that our similar upbringings give us enough shared experiences to bond and enough differences to find interesting.
I must admit, however, our shared lack of orthodoxy—neither of us is very religious—makes the situation much easier than it could be. Ultimately, we are dedicated to each other and to making our relationship work. That's what holds us together, interfaith or not.
Being in or a product of an interfaith relationship is a challenge. But every teenager has to figure out who he or she is. I may have had another dimension to the problem, but the goal is the same—to find a way to be comfortable with myself by accepting who I am and becoming who I want to be.
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I was immediately hounded by my friends. When I explained to them that we celebrate Christmas for my mother and Hanukah for my father, they were surprised. I left feeling excited at their idea that I would get twice as many presents (I didn't), but was still confused why I was so special.
I've since realized that while they were accepting in the remarkable diversity of their classmates, they didn't know how to react to my mixture of their religious labels.
And I wasn't sure how to react to it, either. I knew my parents were different—my father is a large, red-haired, bearded Jew and my mother a blue-eyed, blond-haired Dutch woman—but I didn't realize that set me apart, too. After all, I look just like my dad and few people would doubt me if I said I was 100% Eastern European Jewish.
Point of Pride
Growing up, my mixed heritage was a point of pride. After studying the Revolutionary War for two years and getting sick with jealousy as I watched the pretty Daughters of the American Revolution girls parade their memorabilia in front of the class, I was thrilled to talk about my grandparents immigrating to the United States through Ellis Island. I even got to read to the class my interview with my mother about becoming an American citizen.I also never felt left out. My Jewish friends and I could laugh about eating while our parents fasted on Yom Kippur. My Christian friends and I excitedly compared Easter egg hunt winnings. Any friends who fit into neither category were from immigrant families, so I fit there, too.
When my father's mother died, however, my dad, brother, and I began to go to synagogue so we could say Yarzheit, the Jewish weekly memorial prayer for deceased family members.
My mother bit her lip at us leaving every Saturday, but never complained. For her, "Christianity" meant family tradition. She always said our family Christmas was better named a pagan (an ancient cult of nature) holiday, as we all sat around a tree. But when I decided to convert to Judaism so I could have a Bat Mitzvah, she did seem to worry that I was rejecting her heritage.
Of course I wasn't. I am still just as proud of my Dutch background as I am of my Jewish lineage, but I understood that it could hurt her to see me associate more formally with my dad's traditions.
Although there were a few touchy moments between me and my parents because of my mixed faith, I have never seen them argue over their differences. They often say they are more similar to each other than to many other Americans of their same religions because both were raised by Holocaust survivors. The likeness in experience, if not in faith, pulls them together.
Interfaith in Love
The same is true of my own relationships. I have never dated a Jew (by coincidence, not preference), but I have also never dated anyone without a similar upbringing as mine. My current boyfriend of over a year—my longest and closest relationship—is from a preppy, Christian (albeit Unitarian) New England family and has a mother who makes some of the best Christmas cookies I have ever eaten.Although there is the occasional misunderstanding (he asked me out "for a bite" on Yom Kippur), we have found that our similar upbringings give us enough shared experiences to bond and enough differences to find interesting.
I must admit, however, our shared lack of orthodoxy—neither of us is very religious—makes the situation much easier than it could be. Ultimately, we are dedicated to each other and to making our relationship work. That's what holds us together, interfaith or not.
Being in or a product of an interfaith relationship is a challenge. But every teenager has to figure out who he or she is. I may have had another dimension to the problem, but the goal is the same—to find a way to be comfortable with myself by accepting who I am and becoming who I want to be.
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Your Comments
This interesting...
Posted by: secretshelties on Dec 16th, 2007 9:45am
This is interesting because my mom said that i am not
suppose to marry anyone who was not a Christian. So, I keep
wondering what would happen if i were to find someone and
didn't know their religion and never asked and he asked me
out or something. Luckily i have never come to that point
but just i thought would you with the Bible or marry/ go out
with him anyway, or convert him?
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very cool
Posted by: jchill23 on Aug 4th, 2008 2:38pm
I liked this a lot. I'm a cradle Catholic, and though there
are certain things about my faith I don't agree with, at
heart I will always be strong in my faith, and my boyfriend,
whom I love very much, is an atheist. It's hard, but at the
same time, our differences do make us interesting.