Who is a Rabbi? (In which I throw in my two cents.)

The New York Times ran an article today titled “Who is a Jew? Court ruling in Britain raises question.”  It tells the story of a 12 year old boy, an observant Jew, whose father is Jewish and his mother converted to Judaism.  However, because she had a “progressive conversion” (as opposed to an Orthodox one), the boy was denied admission to a Jewish high school in London, which did not consider him to be Jewish.

[Note:  Judaism traditionally defines a Jew as someone who was born to a Jewish mother, or has converted under the guidance of a Rabbi, which generally involves a mikveh (or ritual bath) witnessed by three Rabbis, and a ritual circumcision for men.]

The family sued, and lost, but the decision was overturned on appeal.  (The Supreme Court is currently considering the case, and should render a decision by the end of the year.)

The decision of the Court of Appeals was described as follows:

In an explosive decision, the court concluded that basing school admissions on a classic test of Judaism — whether one’s mother is Jewish — was by definition discriminatory. Whether the rationale was “benign or malignant, theological or supremacist,” the court wrote, “makes it no less and no more unlawful.”

The case rested on whether the school’s test of Jewishness was based on religion, which would be legal, or on race or ethnicity, which would not. The court ruled that it was an ethnic test because it concerned the status of M’s mother rather than whether M considered himself Jewish and practiced Judaism.

This article is directly relevant to me, and my family.  My father is Jewish, and my mother is not (although she has some Jewish ancestry).  My husband and I belong to a Reconstructionist synagogue, one that is decidedly, and proudly, progressive.  (Almost 30 years ago, the Reconstructionist and Reform movements in the United States decided to recognize patrilineal descent, if the child was raised in a Jewish home.  This decision has a number of benefits, but also a number of problems.  On the one hand, the number of children being born to interfaith families who identify as Jewish is increasing, presumably because their families are more welcomed in Reform and Recon synagogues.  On the other hand, there is a whole community of young Jews being raised with Jewish identities and presumed Jewish status, but who may not be recognized as Jewish in more conservative communities. )

Back to the current situation – this boy was not claiming Jewish status based on the patrilineal descent ruling.  His mother did convert to Judaism, but she do so in a liberal Jewish community, presumably under the aegis of a Rabbi who was not recognized as such by the Orthodox leaders of the school from which the boy was rejected.  Thus, the question posed by this article is not necessarily one of who is a Jew, rather the question at hand is “Who is a Rabbi?”  Who has the authority to perform conversions, thereby creating Jews?

Generally, the way it works is that Rabbis recognize conversions of their own movements, and those movements that are more conservative than theirs.  Furthermore, most Rabbis don’t accept conversions of Rabbis from more liberal, or progressive denominations.  (Please keep in mind that each Rabbi is different, and if you have specific questions, you should speak with your Rabbi directly.)

Ok, so now we get to my story, and perhaps more importantly, my opinion on the matter.  (You knew I had one, didn’t you?)  About four years ago, I started thinking seriously about converting, primarily because I knew that Josh and I were heading down the path to babyville, and as the mother, I felt like I needed to have my Jewish status figured out before we had any children.  (The thought of having to convert at all left me with a bad taste in my mouth, as I had been an active part of Jewish community, living in a Jewish home, and identifying as a Jew for several years.  More importantly, traditional conversions speak of shedding your old identity and family, and adopting a new one.  I’m proud of my mother’s family, and grateful for all of my cultural and religious backgrounds, not just the Jewish parts.  I had a hard time with the concept of rejecting any part of it, even if only by repeating traditional liturgy.  It just didn’t work for me.)  Nonetheless, I did a lot of studying, a lot of consulting, and even a bit of therapizing.  Initially I had wanted to have a conversion with three of the most conservative male rabbis I could find, even though Josh and I are not Orthodox, and unikely ever to be so.  It’s not that I have a problem with the observance – I have a problem with the values.  I don’t think I could ever be part of a community that wouldn’t offer the women, gay men, and lesbians, in my family every right, obligation, and opportunity as the straight men.  But I wanted an Orthodox conversion, if possible, because it would be more likely to be recognized in more communities.

The more I thought, and studied, and discussed, I realized that I couldn’t relegate such an important decision to the realm of vague worries about the future.  A step this meaningful had to be based in my values, and ultimately it was.  My affirmation ceremony was witnessed by three female Rabbis (including my own Rabbi) who I know and respect, not only for their incredible leadership, scholarship, and commitment to Judaism and the Jewish community, but also for their support of my process and decision.  It was a private affair, with only Josh and the Rabbis there, and it was very meaningful.  Ultimately, I’m pleased with the decision I made.  I know that it may mean that my daughter (and any other children we may have) may face the same challenges as the young man in the NY Times article, but such challenges won’t make her any less Jewish – if anything, I hope they will strengthen her sense of self, her awareness of her values, and her willingness to make difficult decisions for the right reasons.

Ok, time for my opinions.  As you read these, please bear in mind that I am still sorting things out in my mind, and I’m open to friendly feedback and opinions.  I agree with the decision made by the UK Court of Appeals that the school cannot reject the boy’s application; however, I disagree with their reasoning.   Like the Orthodox, I do not think one’s Jewish status should be based on their religious observance or involvement.  I don’t think someone is a bad Jew, less of a Jew, or not worthy of Jewish status if they don’t keep kosher, or do work on Shabbat, for example.  The thing is, I’m actually ok with traditional Jewish law about Jews being born to Jewish mothers or converting.  What I’m not ok with is the way in which those in power (religiously speaking) make decisions about who is a Rabbi worthy of performing conversions, and who isn’t.  From what I can tell, the decision is entirely political, and that’s a big problem.

Smicha, or Rabbinical ordination, should be not be given based on one’s denominational affiliation, personal connections, or level of observance.  It should be based on one’s commitment to Jewish life, Jewish education, and Jewish values.  There should be a willingness to accept Jews of different genders, sexualities, and backgrounds.  There should be a tolerance for the struggle, in the context of commitment.  Judaism isn’t about just one thing, and as much as there are those who may vehemently disagree with me, it definitely isn’t about unwavering commitment to halakha, or Jewish law.  As Rabbi Yitzchak Schochet, chairman of the Rabbinical Council of the United Synagogue was quoted in the NY Times as saying, “having a ham sandwich on the afternoon of Yom Kippur doesn’t make you less Jewish.”

In the meanwhile, I’m going to raise my daughter in a Jewish home, as part of a progressive Jewish community that challenges me to make decisions each day based on my values.  It’s not always easy, and I don’t always get it right, but it’s definitely worth the struggle.

Politics, identity, and raising a Jew Baby

I don’t usually get into political issues, but this time something in the news is directly related to how I think, and a parenting issue I have been struggling with.

The arrest of Harvard Professor Henry Louis Gates, Jr. has been all over the local news here in Massachusetts. My NPR affiliate posted a Facebook link to the latest update – that all charges have been dropped – and a few people responded by saying that the situation was blown out of proportion, that Prof. Gates over-reacted, that he should be grateful for the neighbor who was watching out for his home, essentially that Gates should just “get over it”.

On the one hand, I see their point, and in a different world, I might also be wondering why we all can’t just get along. But this isn’t a perfect world, and whether or not I agree with Prof. Gates’ reaction, I understand it, and I don’t fault him for it. Remember my post after the Holocaust Museum shooting? Now, the situation isn’t a perfect analogy, because I was responding to an intentional attack against an institution directly related to the persecution of my people and culture, but the underlying idea behind my reaction was the same. The news of the shooting brought my minority status to the forefront of my mind, and I reacted to the woman behind the counter as a Jew, not as your average White American, which is who she undoubtedly thought I was. Not only is Prof. Gates an African-American man who will never be mistaken for an average White American, but he has also made a life’s work of exploring and understanding the experience of Africans and African-Americans. He wasn’t responding to the police as a generic American, or as a respected and accomplished Harvard Professor. He was responding as a black man who spends a lot of time thinking about the experiences of black men, and I would guess that he was also scared. Having the police show up on your door step and ask you to step outside of your house is scary for anyone, but especially for a black man in the United States. Even in the Republic of Cambridge.

The point of all of this, as I said before, is that whether or not I agree with his reaction, I certainly understand it, and I can’t say that I would respond differently. Either way, I hope the world would not judge me based on my behavior when I feel scared or threatened.

The arrest of Prof. Gates got me thinking about an issue that has been rattling around in my brain for awhile now. Just as Gates undoubtedly sees the world as a black man (and an American, and a scholar, and a professor, etc.), I see the world from the perspective of a mother, a woman, a Jew, and a social worker, among other things. Jew and social worker – that can be a dangerous combination. Let’s start with the social worker part – I can’t tell you how many perfectly good books, tv shows, movies, and country songs (yes, I believe there are perfectly good country songs) have been ruined by my professional training and experience. I read child developmental books and websites that refer to Mommies and Daddies and I think about gay and lesbian couples, single parents and grandparents. Napoleon Dynamite killed me – I spent the whole movie wondering why there wasn’t a social worker visiting the home. Every time I hear the song “All Because Two People Fell in Love” by Brad Paisley (a country song about how the world is made a better place by the achievements of children who were born because two people fell in love), all I can think about is how many children are born to loveless pairings, arranged marriages, or are the products of rape or sexual assault. And House episodes – don’t get me started. I love the show (What health professional doesn’t? What more could we want than to be so good at our job that we can tell our patients exactly what we think of them, all while saving their lives?), but I don’t care if it is Lupus or MS or Wilson’s Disease, why are those family members sitting alone in the hallway while Dr. House and his team are temporarily killing their loved one for exactly 33 seconds in order to save him?? Where is the damned social worker? It’s a blessing and a curse, but mostly a curse, and one I can’t turn off. Fortunately, I have learned to generally keep my mouth shut, as I don’t need to further confirm people’s already lingering suspicions that I am a freak.

And then there is the Jew in me. Just the other day I was in a music class with Choochie, and the leader of the group read a book about Grandma going to the store for cheese and black forest ham. Eeek! Off goes the Jew-alert! No, I wasn’t offended (Don’t get me wrong – bacon is DELICIOUS. I just don’t eat it.), but I was aware. All of a sudden I was re-reading the other Moms’ nametags, trying to figure out who else was Jewish – a task made decidedly more difficult without last names. Sarah? Could be. Roxanne? Likely not. Miriam? Almost definitely. Then I’m thinking about how nice it would be if there was a children’s book about grandma going to the store for brisket and bagels or cheese and lactaid. And yes, there are plenty of Jewishly-themed children’s books about Shabbat or Chanukah or Pesach, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’d like to see a general children’s book that isn’t about being Jewish, but it’s about being a kid with a grandmother, and yet it’s one that Choochie will be able to relate to when she relates to things in ways other than shoving them into her mouth.

Which sent my brain off onto yet another tangent – how will I explain to Choochie why we don’t eat bacon or cheeseburgers or lobster? As I have mentioned before, Josh and I have a… unique approach to kashrut. We don’t keep kosher in a way that would matter to anyone who cares, but it’s just enough to make us annoying to friends and family who are kind enough to feed us. We do it because it matters to us that we’re Jewish, and not eating or mixing certain foods is yet another way that we make choices based on our values. No, I don’t actually think G-d cares if I eat a bacon cheeseburger or not, nor do I think that passing up a tasty lobster makes me a better person or a better Jew. It’s just another way in which I insert my Jewish values and identity into my daily life, and that matters to me. It matters to us, and hopefully someday it will matter to Choochie. But how does one explain that to a three year old?  (Perhaps I should cross that bridge when I come to it…)

All of this is just a slice of the big pie that I am struggling with – what does it mean to raise a child with a minority identity in a majority culture? Yes, with her blond hair and blue eyes, she will be able to pass, just as her father and I often have (until we say our names!), just as Professor Gates can’t, regardless of whether or not he opens his mouth. But I don’t want her to have to pass, or to want to pass. As a white woman, she will be lucky enough to reap the benefits of white privilege, but she will also grow up in a world where the benign among us assume that she eats ham for Easter and has a Christmas tree and the anti-Semites would prefer that she didn’t exist at all, or at least not in her current form. I hope that as her mother, I can teach her to find her way of responding in a thoughtful, appropriate, and empowering manner. As Prof. Gates has shown us, it isn’t always easy.

A Heavy Moment at Dunkin Donuts

It’s not often that national news affects us personally… if we’re lucky.  Usually we hear of the good, the bad, and even the unthinkable, and if it’s particularly interesting, we may even take a moment to ponder it.  But then we change the station, turn off the radio, and go back to our day.  Of course, there are those moments, those perspective-shattering experiences that alter our fundamental perceptions of the world and our fellow humans and leave us reeling for weeks, months, even years.  For the more fortunate among us, those are few and far between, destined to become only a memory, an “I remember exactly what I was doing when I learned that (insert tragedy here)”.

Generally speaking, though, there’s not much in between.  Perhaps that’s why I find it so disconcerting when I do feel rattled by something that happened in the news.  Maybe that’s why I was taken aback when I found myself in tears as I listened to the details of the shooting at the Holocaust Museum yesterday.  It was certainly not the first hate-based, anti-Semitic crime that has happened recently, and from what I’ve heard and read, the guards did a great job at managing the situation as best as possible.  People die or are killed every day, and I hear the news, but the baby is fussing or I’m reading something or cleaning something, and I don’t think twice about it.  Yet somehow the news of the death of the security guard, Stephen Johns, really upset me.  Did he choose to work at the Holocaust Museum for a reason?  Did he and his family realize what a gift he was giving to so many, Jews and non-Jews alike, by donning that uniform and putting himself in harm’s way each day so that the memory of so many men, women, and children can be honored?  Or was it just another day at work to him?  Probably both, but hopefully a bit of the former.

Anyway, I wiped the tears off my cheeks, and went into Dunkin’ Donuts for a morning coffee.  The TV in the corner was playing CNN, which was also broadcasting the story of the shooting.  A Jewish woman and her son were in front of me – he was wearing a kippah, and she ordered a coffee.  I thought about them, and the decision he made, the family made, so many Jews make, to out themselves as Jews every day.  I thought about my daughter, and our family, and I wondered what the world will be like when she is an adult, when she has choices to make about her community, her employment, her partner, and her family.  I felt a little scared for her, and then I felt mad for feeling that way.

In addition to the coffee, I ordered a breakfast sandwich – an egg and cheese on an English muffin.  As I went to the end of the counter to pick it up, I saw the employee who was making my breakfast take some bacon off the sandwich and throw it in the garbage.

Before I continue you with this story, you need a little background.  Josh and I keep kosher… sort of.  Our kind of kosher wouldn’t count for anyone who really cares, but it works for us.  We don’t eat pork or shellfish or any of the other big no-no’s, and we don’t mix milk and meat in the same dish or on the same plate at the same time.  We don’t have two sets of dishes, though, and we will, however, have a dairy and a meat item in the same meal, but we finish eating one before we eat the other.  Finally, if we are in someone’s home, and they have prepared a dish that is decidedly unkosher, even according to our standards, we will politely decline if at all possible, but we work incredibly hard not to make a big deal out of it, or hurt anyone’s feelings.  Josh and I decided a long time ago that we weren’t going to be religious about this (ha!), and that our relationships are more important than keeping kosher.  Having said that, we are incredibly lucky to have family and friends who are respectful of our quirky dietary preferences, so it’s usually not a problem.

Anyway, back to Dunkin Donuts.  So there I am, watching bacon being stripped off my sandwich.  Now, had I been at a friend’s house, I wouldn’t have thought twice about eating it.  Like I said, we try not to get religious about it.  But somehow, there in that moment, with the boy in the kippah standing in front of me, and the reporters on CNN talking about the shooting at the Holocaust Museum, I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t eat that sandwich that had had bacon on it.  I had to ask her to make me a new sandwich.  She was visibly annoyed, and I was flinching internally, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I guess in that moment I just needed to, well, be a Jew.  I know, I’m always a Jew, but one of the challenges of being a moderately-observant progressive Jew is that I often feel caught between my American culture and my Jewish culture.  And, like so many other members of minority cultures, I responded to a threat (perceived or real, theoretical or concrete) by turning inward, by putting a bit more space between myself and the woman standing across the counter from me, by focusing on my Jewish identity, a part of me that wouldn’t normally come up at Dunkin Donuts.  Or maybe it was a micro-protest, a small, almost insignificant way of standing up for myself and for other Jews, in the face of the violence and hatred that had occurred twenty-four hours ago and five states away.  Whatever it was, I sure as hell wasn’t going to eat that bacon-tainted sandwich, and I’m ok with that.

Happy Purim!