Though every single one of my great-grandparents were Eastern European Jews, the closest I came to dating within my religion was a guy with one Jewish parent and a quasi-agnostic upbringing. I wasn’t avoiding Jewish prospects – there were none. Sure, there were perfectly lovely kids in my Jewish elementary school who grew up to be quite attractive adults, but after the playground scuffles and awkward teen years, I may as well have dated cousins as any of them. In fact, for most Jews outside of major cities, it’s often a choice between dating outside the home market or outside the faith. For me, it was a no-brainer; though it was always important to me that my dating partners, and now my husband, respect my Jewish heritage, it was never important to me that they share it.
So now I am part of the statistic stating that nearly half of all American Jews have non-Jewish spouses. For decades, Jewish leaders have been concerned that marriages like mine might lead to the eventual disappearance of Judaism if we choose our spouses’ religion over our own, a relevant concern for a group that constitutes roughly 0.2 percent of the world’s population.
It is this concern, at least in part, that has inspired rabbis across the country to team up with the popular Jewish Internet dating service, JDate, as reported in last week’s Newsweek. Though I am clearly seen as part of the problem, I can understand where they’re coming from. As Yiddish and Klezmer music threaten to vanish with my grandparents’ generation, it’s hard not to be a little concerned about the future of our culture.
Do I harbor any feelings of guilt for my marital choice? Not a one.
You see, I think the issue at hand is not that I was married in a secular ceremony rather than under a chuppah. I think the issue is what I choose to do with my Jewish identity once settled into married life. Even more to the point, I think the issue is whether I would raise my children Jewish.
With only pets for kids, the question remains rhetorical, but even before my marriage vows, even before I met my husband, my answer was, and is, a resounding yes. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that my older siblings, who are both in interfaith marriages, are raising their children with strong Jewish identities. In fact, it may just be that my nieces and nephews benefit from having a non-Jewish parent who acts as a constant reminder that we live in a diverse world, and that we can be firmly rooted in our own beliefs and cultures without demeaning others.
So, the question remains: how do we create that sense of investment in the future of Judaism?
I think we must start by accepting that a percentage of the population has permanently abandoned the notion that shared religion is a prerequisite to marriage. And then we must create opportunities to learn Yiddish and to experience Jewish music, literature and arts. Most importantly, we must create a space in which disconnected Jews – regardless of who, or even if, they marry – can fill the gaps in their Jewish knowledge, helping them get over the discomfort of having forgotten their Hebrew school lessons and inviting them to create new traditions of their own.
I may have a gentile as my partner, but I have a mezuzah on my door. The beauty of modernity is that one needn’t diminish the other.
