My name is Rachel Jurisz-Singh. Some of you know me by the name I use professionally – Jurisz – which is actually my maiden name. Yes, I am intermarried and my family is interracial too.

Growing up I never thought I would choose to marry outside of my faith. I was always involved in my synagogue and youth group. I went to Jewish summer camp and attended Hebrew school through my senior year of high school. I even chose my career path in the Jewish field, working at four major Jewish organizations in the last 14 years.

As you know, “life happens,” and I met my non-Jewish besheret (soul mate) and wonderful life partner, Bruce. We became friends, fell in love, and got married. I often joke that Bruce is a “Jew by osmosis” since he’s learned so much about Judaism from me over the past 10 years we’ve been together.

I believe by marrying Bruce in many ways I’ve become a better Jew and Jewish professional. I have made Judaism a big priority for my family and have not taken it for granted in any way. It’s heightened my awareness and sensitivity as I interact with other intermarried individuals both professionally and personally. Finally, it’s opened up my eyes to the fact that intermarriage is a reality and is becoming more common each day.

Just last week I sat around a table at my synagogue (Temple Beth Shalom in Mahopac, NY) with a group of rising leaders. Suddenly we noticed that everyone sitting at the table had either become a Jew by choice or had a non-Jewish spouse. What does that say about the reality of our Jewish community and our future?

I’m very fortunate that I grew up with a solid Jewish foundation. I have found a place in the community which welcomes and accepts me and my family. I belong to a wonderful congregation which has many young families like mine and a rabbi who sees the value in welcoming and engaging individuals from all backgrounds. I am also very lucky to work at a place like WRJ/URJ, which has a rich history of outreach and inclusivity.

However, I realize that not all intermarried individuals are as lucky as me. Many don’t feel comfortable going to Jewish events or they have had comments made to them by other Jews that were less than appropriate. I believe that many of these individuals are hungry for Judaism and want to find their place within the Jewish community. It is our job, as progressive Jews, to provide safe, engaging, Judaism-rich outlets for them.

We need to continue to “widen the tent” and accept people wherever they are at regardless of the life decisions they make. If they express an interest in Judaism, terrific! Let’s go out and engage them! I don’t think this will dilute or threaten Judaism in any way. Rather, it will only enrich and grow our Jewish community.

What have we got to lose NOT by doing this? In my opinion…everything!

Finally, on a personal note, I would like to give a huge thank you to several individuals who have enriched and supported my interfaith family and has made us truly feel at home within the Jewish community.

• Rabbi Joshua Goldstein of Temple Sha’arey Shalom in Springfield, NJ (who officiated at our Jewish wedding)
• Rabbi Robin Nafshi (who taught a wonderful URJ Intro to Judaism class which Bruce and I took together)
• Rabbi Eytan Hammerman of Temple Beth Shalom in Mahopac, NY (who warmly welcomed our family into his synagogue)

by Sara Beth Berman

“It’s like that latke that wouldn’t stop screaming,” a Davis Academy Middle School student stated, when talking about media clips in their Beit Midrash presentation today.

The Davis Academy Beit Midrash (DABM) is a monthly experience for all Davis Middle Schoolers, where they take a day out of their Judaic Studies curriculum to engage in “Torah Lishmah” — learning for the sake of learning. In the DABM, learners engage with texts, both modern and ancient, while experiencing an educational methodology that addresses multiple intelligences.

This month’s DABM was focused on our students’ Jewish December. For our Reform Jewish Day school, questions about Chanukah and Christmas — and about Judaism and Christianity — can pepper class discussions in all grades. Many of our students come from interfaith households. Their observance of non-Jewish holidays covers the entire spectrum from zero knowledge to attending mass with their Christian family members. Some of our kids have Christmas trees or Chanukah bushes.

The students started the activity by watching a video of Hazzan Matthew Klein reading Lemony Snicket’s The Latke Who Couldn’t Stop Screaming: A Christmas Story. Set off by the loud and frustrated fried potato pancake, our learners were ready to talk! The discussion was heated and excited, as the kids were finally getting their chance to ask questions about Christmas. Why do we celebrate this — or that? Do we combine holidays? How are the holidays different? How do *I* feel about being a Jew during this time of year? Why can’t I have a tree? What does going to church with your family mean to you? Would you ever wear this sweater?

They also had a chance to voice their issues and beliefs. Students talked about their experiences visiting church, how they feel when they’re wished a “merry Christmas” around town at this time of year, and how nice it is for them to celebrate Christmas with their non-Jewish parent. They aired frustrations and asked for clarity. What is the whole presents thing all about, after all?

One student said, “I am not forced to celebrate Christmas with my dad. I choose to celebrate with him.” Her explanation gives great hope. Being an educator at a Reform Jewish Day school, we’re trying to teach informed choice based on study of Jewish laws and texts. How wonderful that our students, who are Jewish, show such respect to their non-Jewish parents, as it is written in the Torah.

Interested in the conversation? Check out the Prezi, put together for use at the Davis Academy today, as an introduction to the conversation. How would you respond?

[prezi id='http://prezi.com/ev-1m2sie--p/my-jewish-december/' width='600' height='400']

by Rabbi Frederick Reeves

There is a conversation I have frequently at this time of the year. It can happen anytime I find myself at a party that has people who are not members of my synagogue and I find that, through friends and my wife’s work colleagues, December brings on a fair number of just such parties. Invariably, small talk is made, and then comes the question: “So, what do you do?” After I reply that I am a rabbi, I get all kinds of remarks. Jews tell me about how spiritual they are even though they never go to a synagogue. Passionate Christians tell me about how involved they are in their church. Secular people tell me that I do not “look like a rabbi.” Interfaith couples tell me about the terrible experiences that turned them off of synagogue life.

By and large, these interfaith couples begin talking about their experiences in the same spirit that the others are talking about their topics. We are making small talk, after all; nothing of consequence is supposed to be talked about while hors d’oeuvres are being passed. But when I hear the stories about how unwelcoming synagogues have been and see clearly the pain that was caused, the fixer in me wants to undo the damage. I want to ask questions about what happened, I want to understand their pain, and I want to assure the couple that such a thing would never happen in my synagogue. I generally either end up talking to such a couple for the whole evening, or we all realize that the couple is not at an emotional place where they wish to talk about this right now, and we avoid each other through the rest of the evening. It depends on which way the couple wants to go.

When it comes to welcoming interfaith families, following someone’s lead is an important skill that we have put into practice here at The Temple in Atlanta, GA. There is not a one-method-fits-all when it comes to welcoming. There are some families that need their difference acknowledged, and there are other families that are very happy fitting right in. However, I have yet to meet a family that did not like to be thanked, and we owe a great debt of thanks to the partner who is something other than Jewish in the family. Because that person decided to support a spouse experiencing Jewish life, their family is enlivened with Judaism. Because that person decided to participate in synagogue life, our community is enriched. Because that person decided to raise a child differently than s/he was raised, the future of the Jewish people is greater. Just as we were taught to thank people for our Hanukkah gifts, so too should we thank these people for the gifts they have given our community.

There are powerful ways to show this gratitude. Rabbi Janet Marder is famous for having done so in a High Holy Day sermon, and many of us have followed her lead. In so doing, we have been able to thank people and raise the consciousness of this gratitude amongst the rest of the congregation as well. For myself, I have found that the most emotionally resonant thanks come in one-on-one conversations – in the quiet moment with the family before going onto the bimah at a bat mitzvah, in a counseling session with a couple struggling with creating balance in their family holiday celebrations, or even in between bite-fulls of bagel after a brit milah. At these moments, we eschew small talk and cement loving bonds which unite the community together. When these couples go to holiday parties, instead of talking about their pain, they will talk about how welcome they feel. Or the weather.

Rabbi Frederick Reeves serves The Temple in Atlanta, GA.

by Julie Unger

December is a tricky month for many interfaith couples and their families. It evokes nostalgic childhood memories and family traditions that are deeply rooted; so you’re bound to have a little conflict. To respect both sides and to minimize conflict, it’s important to discuss the December holiday plans and practices early on in your relationship.

After about a year of dating, Matt and I decided that Thanksgiving would be spent with Matt’s family in Seattle, Washington, and Hanukkah/winter break would be spent with my folks in Safety Harbor, Florida. We seriously discussed this setup while we were taking a Yours, Mine, & Ours class through URJ Reform Jewish Outreach Boston. We felt it was important to spend Hanukkah with my family because we wanted to raise a Jewish family and not celebrate both holidays (Christmas and Hanukkah). It was also important to spend quality time with Matt’s family and conveniently Thanksgiving is a wonderful secular holiday to participate in.

Recently, I asked my mother in-law how she felt about us not celebrating Christmas and she said she didn’t mind, and actually felt blessed that we make the effort every year to spend time with them during Thanksgiving. She did, however, mention that she often wonders if Matt misses having a Christmas tree or receiving Christmas presents? Matt was ‘present’ during this conversation and he said he didn’t necessarily miss having a tree (they are messy and I am slightly allergic) and he still received presents from his parents every year (His mom keeps asking him for his ‘gift list’, and it doesn’t hurt that his birthday is a week before Christmas…). So, it’s not like we don’t participate in Christmas at all, we do. As a family we participate in Secret Santa every year. We just don’t participate in the religious part of Christmas. Even though we made a conscious decision to raise a Jewish family, it doesn’t mean we have to dismiss how Matt’s family celebrates Christmas; we respect his family’s traditions, in fact, it was these traditions that helped nurture the man I fell in love with almost 7 years ago.

The decision on where to travel during the holidays is easy, but it’s everything else in-between that gets a bit sticky. For 
example, are gifts from the non-Jewish partner’s family Christmas gifts or Hanukkah gifts? Do you have a Christmas tree, Hanukkah bush, or nothing? Does your significant other go to Midnight Mass with their family (a family tradition)? Better yet, do you go? Obviously, there’s a lot that needs to be discussed, and I recommend seriously and honestly discussing it. If something bothers you or makes you feel uncomfortable about your significant other’s holiday tradition, you have to talk about it. It’s imperative. If you don’t it’ll just fester and cause resentment… and who wants that during the “most wonderful time of the year”?

Julie Unger is a social media and marketing consultant for URJ Reform Jewish Outreach Boston and works a consultant helping Temple Israel of Boston to effectively engage families with young children.

Originally posted at JewishBoston.com

Erev Thanksgiving brings the annual pilgrimage to what my son nicknamed, IHOP – the International House of Prayer. My temple is a member of The Wantagh Clergy Council, a group of houses of worship from different denominations in Wantagh, Long Island. Each year, one congregation takes its turn hosting the Interfaith Community Thanksgiving Service. As we read the Gathering Prayer, the words to God “shower forth tranquility, peace and reconciliation in a world that is troubled and grieved,” which were intended to refer to Hurricane Sandy, took on a deeper meaning given the announcement that a ceasefire had been negotiated between Israel and Hamas by the Egyptian President. In the same prayer, the worship leader recited “Enlighten the hearts of the leaders of nations that they may collaborate in drawing people closer together for the good of all humanity, and in preserving the noble images of humans, which your hands have fashioned.” Amen.

This year, our host was The Church of St. Jude (Episcopal). The first thing I noticed about this small, quaint, and welcoming building was the cross on the inside wall of the sanctuary. Rather than being overpowering, the cross reminded me of a modern sculpture that, while a religious symbol (not mine), also looked as if it should be in a museum.

We were greeted warmly by The Very Rev. Christopher D. Hofer from our host congregation, who I have come to know him from previous interfaith services; he always makes me feel as if we are old friends. In announcing the service and introducing the clergy, he used first names: Rabbi Bellows and Cantor Sher became Rabbi Marci and Cantor Steve., the Reverend Garner became Reverend Ron, and so on. As a kid growing up in Brooklyn, I never thought adults had first names! I always referred to adults by Mr., Mrs., Miss or by their title. While I doubt that I will begin greeting my clergy by their first name, the idea of using first names seemed appropriate for this informal, intimate service.

Prayer books were not used. Rather, there was a printed program that included songs and responsive readings with the parts designated “Leader” and “People,” as well as a blueprint of what to expect during the service and a list of the representative clergy and their congregations.

As the joint choirs from the participating congregations entered, with the clergy singing the opening hymn the familiar “We Gather Together,” the congregation stood. At the completion of the song, the choirs went to the balcony and the clergy took their place on the bimah (altar). When the service formally began with a responsive “call to worship,” I was already in my comfort zone.

The service was peppered with responsive readings, including one in which the congregation responded with “Thank You, God,” which reminded me of the Hebrew prayer Modim anachnu lach. I felt honored when the blessing that began with “Y’va-reh-ch’cha Adonai v’yeesh-m’reh-cha” was included and it was shared by a rabbi and a reverend. Together, we spoke to God, we thanked God, we asked God to guide and teach us, and we even said, “God’s love is everlasting.” We had a reading from Matthew 6:25-35, and one of the choral songs was A Celtic Thanksgiving; as we began, “Most compassionate God, receive the prayers of this gathering,” we were making sure everyone was equally represented and God was listening.

Members of the clergy reflected on their experience and experiences of their congregation during Hurricane Sandy. Rev. Hofer held up his cell phone, using it as a timer, explaining that each speaker would be given three minutes before being cut them off.  There were audible giggles from the congregation, surely praying that their clergy would not feel the wrath of the reverend’s cell phone! The mini-sermons made references to the Bible, short anecdotes and stories about survival and how congregants offered comfort to one another during the storm and its aftermath. Cantor Sher sang a moving rendition of “You’ll Never Walk Alone” from Rodgers and Hammerstein’s musical Carousel, which includes lyrics about having hope in your heart and never walking alone. For me, these sentiments went beyond Hurricane Sandy. The lyrics, like those of the Mi Shebeirach, talk about the need in everyday life for healing. When people are in need be it spiritual, financial or social, your congregation has everyone’s back.

The Episcopal Offertory, which is much like our tzedakah, was handled on the spot with the passing of (my phrase) the silver platters. The choirs sang the Offertory Anthem “Festive Praise” as we were asked to contribute what we could, to look into our wallets and take out a one dollar bill, or even a $5 or a $10 or $20. All money collected during our interfaith service will go to the American Red Cross for its disaster relief efforts in our community.

As the service drew to a close, clergy exited to the choirs singing the closing hymn and we headed to the oneg. Although the priestly benediction was omitted, for me this meant that the next part of the service was just beginning. It was time to socialize to make new friends and get reacquainted with friends from the past – a reminder that we will never walk alone.

And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the Israelite people saying: When any of you or of your posterity who are defiled by a corpse or are on a long journey [on the date of Passover, the 14^th of the first month] would offer a Passover sacrifice to the Lord, they shall offer it in the second month, on the fourteenth day of the month, at twilight.
-Numbers 9:9-11

When we met with the parents of the Galilee Circus kids to discuss our planned trip to the US, I expressed concern as to how the Muslim performers (half of the troupe) would cope with the daily fast of Ramadan given the physical demands of performances and practices, in the midst of a heat wave.  Not to worry, the Muslim parents assured me, we have a rule that if you are in a situation which makes fasting impossible, you can make it up later on.  In other words, just as the Torah provides for “Second Passover,” a make-up date if you couldn’t offer the sacrifice on time, so Islam allows for making up missed fast days – in their case, any time during the year before the next Ramadan.  In our area, “orthodox” Muslims are a minority, judging by the fraction of women who wear the hijab (head covering).  Yet fasting on Ramadan is observed by the vast majority.  In the circus group that travelled, one of the girls wears the hijab (though her mother does not), even when performing as an aerialist and contortionist in her body-hugging circus costume.  I think that all six of the Muslim kids are planning to make up the fast days that they missed.

In Philadelphia, our visit was organized by a broad coalition of organizations, led by the Jewish Community Relations Council, Main Line Reform Temple, and the Episcopal Diocese.  We only encountered one Muslim – a young girl visiting from Saudi Arabia who was fascinated by our performance, and expressed disappointment that, as a girl, she had no such options back home.

In St. Louis we formed a joint performance troupe with our partners at Circus Harmony.  Joining our six Muslims and six Jews were five white and five black kids, from the inner city and from the suburbs, some Jewish, most Christian.  Race, class, religion, and ethnicity were all mixed up together, and forgotten in the demands – and the joy – of working and performing together; the relaxed and confident trust and cooperation among the clearly diverse troupe members were a source of inspiration to audiences.  Here, as in Philadelphia, our sponsors too were diverse, with performances at Central Reform Congregation, a Conservative synagogue, a YMCA camp, and various non-religious venues (even Universoul Circus, a professional circus with a hip-hop style).  And I was invited to speak about the circus at an Orthodox synagogue on Shabbat.

Performing at a suburban mall, we encountered a group of vivacious and enthusiastic teenage girls in the audience, several in hijab – from the West Bank, visiting local relatives.  They stayed after the show to play Palestinian geography with the Arabs in our troupe.  Later, we were invited one day for the Iftar (break-fast) meal at a large, impressive, suburban mosque, where we were graciously welcomed, and given a tour and explanation before the evening service.  One of our Muslim performers (and his dad, a chaperone) joined in the service.  Interestingly, the service is primarily taken from the Koran, chanted in Arabic.   However, our Arab performers were disappointed that they couldn’t find people to talk to in Arabic, as the mosque community is mainly Indian, Pakistani, and other non-Arab ethnic groups, for whom the Arabic worship service is parallel to the Hebrew liturgy which so many Jews recite uncomprehendingly.   I keep kosher, so I spent the entire three weeks eating salad and pizza and pasta and tuna; however, the mosque leaders knew our group included Jews, and they ordered in several kosher-catered meals just in case.  So the only kosher meat I ate on the circus tour was in a mosque.  As it happened, the day was the Ninth of Av – so I broke my fast together with our Muslim hosts.

Yes we can…  sometimes.

Originally published in Ten Minutes of Torah, a daily e-mail on a topic of Jewish interest. Sign up now to add 10 minutes of Jewish learning to your life each day!