Catholicism in Rome

Hello, friends!

Well, those were a busy few weeks! Good ones, but nonetheless, extremely busy. After having a friend visit in early November, I went up to Ireland for a trip, then my Mother came to visit for ten days, then I went to the United Kingdom for a trip. In between all of that, I went to class, took a final, and saw Pope Francis for the first time. Oy vey!

The presence of Catholicism in Rome is obviously heightened for me personally, since I attend classes that are mainly filled with priests and nuns. My walk to class in the mornings involves seeing countless collared priests heading in the same direction as me, while any trip to the restroom at my university has me surrounded by nuns from all around the world in all different types and colors of habits. I attend a very diverse university in terms of where everyone comes from on the planet.

I have looked at so many churches here in Rome that I've lost count (and never even try to remember all of their names). Most are extremely grand, echoing edifices, with various ornate details inside. I enjoy sometimes stopping in one for a few minutes, to look around, sit, think. Often I am the only one, or one of only a few people, in there. But when I think about how many of these grand buildings stand empty for much of the week in Rome alone, it is an interesting thing to think about--all of these open, empty, gorgeous buildings. A bit poetic, but it also makes me wonder what they could be used for during the week.

I get some questions from different people asking what it is like as a Jewish woman studying at a Catholic university in Rome. I would say that so far, the most important thing is that I have a much greater respect for the Church's interfaith and inter-Christian work ("ecumenism") as a result of my classes.

Especially since the Second Vatican Council, the Catholic Church has placed a very strong emphasis on reconciliation with other faiths and other Christian denominations.  For those who are unfamiliar with Vatican II, it was a meeting which ran intermittently from 1962-65 that led to a pretty revolutionary set of changes for the Catholic Church. It came about partially in response to World War II and the Shoah, with the thought being that these atrocities happened right in the heart of "Christian" Europe, and the Church should make positive changes going forward to combat religious prejudice. Not a bad ideal to work toward. The group established various councils that still exist today, including the Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue and the Pontifical Council for Promoting Christian Unity (which interestingly enough includes the office responsible for relations with the Jews, whereas all other faiths are grouped in the Interreligious Dialogue Council). So basically, the Church--about twenty years after the fact, but still--realized that the Holocaust was a major problem, and was compounded by the fact that it happened in the center of modern Christendom, so they set out to try to remedy these prejudices going forward.

Additionally, one major document that came out of Vatican II is called "Nostra Aetate," and it is definitely worth reading (it's short, I promise). It lays out fairly clearly that Catholics should never participate in antisemitism, and also says positive things about Muslims. It is truly a revolutionary document in the long history of the Catholic Church, which has at times had a speckled past with its members' treatment of other faiths (the Crusades, the Inquisition, etc.). So Nostra Aetate is a big step toward better relationships with other faiths. Sadly, though, as several people have pointed out to me, there has not been an appropriately large Jewish response to this document, due in part to the lack of a central body representing the diverse Jewish groups around the world as the Vatican represents Catholics. However, Jewish individuals have praised it on an individual and sometimes small group level, and I would like to join that group:

Dear Catholic Church, 

Thank you for Nostra Aetate. Even if it is a simple document, its words mean a lot and as a Jewish person, I appreciate many of the sentiments expressed therein. I hope we can all move forward together in this positive direction. 

Sincerely, Allyson Zacharoff

Another thing that I have come to realize is just how many people on the planet do not get married or have sex as a result of the Catholic faith. I always knew that priests and nuns pledged to remain celibate and dedicate their lives to Jesus, but when I am home in the U.S. it is easy to ignore this. How often do I see a priest or a nun back home? Maybe once a month, maybe, so it does not seem like that many people are affected by these rules. But now I am surrounded by them, and see dozens of these religious folks walking around Rome every day. Old people, young people, all ages. It is shocking to realize just how many there are out there. I wonder, though, if having church leaders who cannot fully engage in the human life of marriage and having children is wise, for both their congregations and for their personal fulfillment. I certainly do not have an answer to this, and obviously have no authority in this realm, but I am strongly in favor of these religious people being allowed to get married. I am aware of many of the arguments against this--and by chance the class readings I am doing tonight is on the very topic, but I still think it would be a good idea to allow them to marry. Also, I have fairly recently learned about Catholic people known as "consecrated virgins," who are not priests or nuns, but decide to remain celibate forever, presumably to do work for the Church. I still do not really understand this idea, so please comment if you can help me understand it better!

I also had the opportunity to visit the English College in Rome, a residence and seminary for priests primarily from England and Wales. It is a very nice building, complete with multiple chapels, a small garden, and a rooftop terrace. However, their main church was covered with paintings of various martyred saints. In Judaism, we certainly remember and honor those who have died for the sake of standing up for Judaism, but it's a different idea from that of the reverence of martyrs in Catholicism. I guess I had forgotten just how strong this reverence can be, until I saw the numerous blunt images of people being beheaded, or with their noses cut off, or being killed in any number of brutal ways. I grew nauseous after a while, to be honest, and do not think I could comfortably pray every day in a place with such images. That was an interfaith experience, for sure.

I guess, in response to those who ask what it's like to study at a Pontifical University as a Jewish woman, it's probably overall been a bit easier than I imagined. Yes, we start some of my classes with a prayer that I do not feel comfortable participating in, but some are very nice even if I choose not to participate because of their mention of Jesus. I've taken two classes with two different rabbis, so I've gotten some good Jewish time that way. And my professors are largely great with explaining things that I might not understand as well as the rest of the class...like the New Testament. (Incidentally, the same priest who kindly explained the New Testament to me also sent me a "Happy Hanukkah" e-mail out of the blue last week. How great is that? Really made me feel appreciated for who I am.) I also expected to disagree with my professors more often than I have.

One great thing: I got to see Pope Francis! I attended one of his weekly papal audiences on November 20th with my mother when she visited recently. I think I have made it clear in the past on here how much I like him, for his interfaith work and humble spirit, so it was exciting to see him in person. He kissed a ton of babies that morning, and just seemed really great. Well, now there's another reason to appreciate him: he has decided to establish a task force in response to the sex abuse scandals that came out a few years back with priests sexually abusing children in their parishes. This article says it is too little too late, but given the heavy criticism from many about the lack of an adequate response from the Church, I am glad that the pope is at least doing something about it.

Papa F, outside of St. Peter's Basilica on November 20th

There are a lot of other crazy interfaith or really not-interfaith things going on (possibly banning kosher slaughter in Poland, what?), but I will leave it here for now. A happy late Thanksgivukkah to everyone, I hope you marked this exciting dual holiday with some cranberry sufganiyot or something. And Happy Advent to anyone who celebrates that--may the Christmas music commence!

Now go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson

Feeling Othered

Hello, friends.

I wanted to write today a bit about my recent experiences with Judaism. For those who are unaware, the capitalized word "Other" is apparently now an academic term used in various disciplines to describe someone made to feel like they are not part of the group in some sociological context. It can also be a verb--for example, a group of friends all of a sudden starting to speak in a foreign language when one member cannot understand that language would be "Othering" that individual. Upfront: I think it's a bit of a silly term since it does not sound very academic at all, yet it is ultimately very useful so I will use it in this post.

So I've written in the past a bit about being a patrilineal Jew (i.e. my father and not my mother is Jewish, which breaks strict halakhah/Jewish law), as well as being adopted from birth from a non-Jewish birthmother. For many strictly-defined Jewish communities (technically the theology of both the Conservative and Orthodox movements in American Judaism), I am not considered Jewish. Not because my mother, who raised me, is not Jewish (even though she is not), but because the woman who gave birth to me and who did not raise me in any way, is not.

Okay, I have now known about this very strict Jewish rule for over a year. I learned about all these halakhah standards--things I thought only still existed in the fictional "traditional" world of Fiddler on the Roof, and including things like men and women not even shaking hands in public--during an amazingly informative summer in New York City with a very diverse group of young Jewish college students in 2012. Some of my peers told me that, according to their definitions, I did not fit in the Jewish people. It was very shocking to be told, at 22, that no, I was not Jewish. Obviously, the opinions of these groups of Jews did not affect my self-understanding too greatly, as I always had Reform Judaism, my home tradition, to fall back on.

As I have always understood it, Reform Judaism is much more accepting generally speaking. We do not feel strictly bound by halakhah, and instead choose what practices have meaning for each of us on an individual level. This also means my movement is to an outside observer seen as more "secular," since many of us do not eat kosher or go to shul every week, for example. However, we tend to live our religion out in different ways. For me, going to Reform synagogue when I can (difficult in an Orthodox-dominated place like Europe), and studying antisemitism and interfaith relations is important to my understanding of what it means to be a Jew.

But also, on a movement-wide level, we can support things that somewhat break with traditional Jewish law in our interpretations of it. For example, my movement is generally very welcoming to families that might otherwise be excluded from religious communities--families with same-sex partners, for example. During the US Supreme Court rulings on same-sex marriage and federal benefits back in June, the Union for Reform Judaism (URJ) filled my Facebook newsfeed with supportive rainbow flags. The way this has always related to my life is in the acceptance of my mixed-faith family, with my mother being welcomed into our synagogue, and always feeling like an equal member of the congregation myself--despite being adopted from a non-Jewish birthmother.

There was literally no mention that some Jews hold onto "bloodline" definitions throughout my 18 years of Hebrew School education, at least none that I remember.

Then, about a month ago, I found that disturbing URJ web page I mentioned briefly at the end of my last post, about adoption (here it is again: http://www.reformjudaism.org/we-are-adopting-baby-boy-we-had-him-circumcised-must-he-undergo-conversion-ceremony-be-jewish). The answer to the question posed on the website of "I have adopted a baby, do I need to have him converted?" was answered by Rabbi Stuart Federow and reads as thus:

Yes, he must undergo conversion to be Jewish. The reason is quite simply that the conversion ceremony is the "naturalization" ceremony that makes one a "citizen" of the People of Israel. Without it one would not be considered to be a Jew, in the same way that one who immigrates to the U.S. is not considered a citizen of the U.S., until he or she is naturalized. Similarly, you may get rights and privileges, palimony and the like, if you were not legally married to your husband, but without the legal marriage you would not be his wife.

Understandably, it disturbed me. Why would a baby, raised completely in the Jewish faith from birth (or soon after), need to be "converted?" This conception of Judaism as a "race," in which someone belongs only if the woman who gives birth to him or her is Jewish, seems to me a strong tool for Othering. It does not fit with what I have always been told (in Hebrew School, and by the admissions folks over at the Reform rabbinical school HUC in NYC), and since I'd never undergone some "conversion," despite being heavily involved in the life of my synagogue growing up, I was pretty sure this was also incorrect. So I wrote to URJ.

The response I received was...unfortunate. Instead, Rabbi Victor Appell from the URJ said that the post was correct, citing several sources that also say that children born to "gentile" (i.e. not Jewish) parents would need to undergo conversion, but that the movement respects the right of individual Reform rabbis to interpret the tradition in their own way.

Talk about feeling Othered. All of a sudden, not only do the Orthodox and Conservative communities not want me, but here I found myself two weeks ago, sitting in my apartment in Rome, every day representing Judaism and fielding questions about my faith from all the Christian people I meet, being told that not even Reform wants me.

Well that was the opposite of a fun night. I alternatively went through the various emotions that have been bubbling beneath the surface ever since 2012--if so many Jewish people don't want me in the group, why should I fight so hard to stay in? I study religion largely for the practical implication of helping people get along and cease all this fighting over religion--do I really want to do it any more, considering how divisive religion seems to be in my own life? And even more importantly, do I want to be part of a religion that would be this excluding towards people like me?

Eventually I calmed down and wrote to Rabbi Stephen Karol, the rabbi in my home congregation. I was relieved when I received a very strongly-worded e-mail of support and reassurance back a few days later, which included the idea that most Reform rabbis would be more concerned with how a child is raised as opposed to the supposed "purity" of their bloodline. Also, if Wikipedia is to be believed at all, we also have another vote in the category of "it matters more how someone is raised:" http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matrilineality_in_Judaism#Reform_Judaism.

It is clear that I was raised in the right congregation, as both Rabbi Appell and Rabbi Karol said. Since rabbis are allowed to hold their own individual positions on this and most religious topics, I will need to be careful when looking for Jewish groups to join--even if they're Reform. I know there are divisions in every religious group, and many times even within individual congregations, but it is still never easy to have to fight for acceptance.

All of that aside, I also had a lovely experience when I was in Dublin on Friday night when I attended a Reform-style synagogue for a communal Shabbat dinner, service, and text study. It was the first time I have been to liberal Jewish services outside of the United States, and I was extremely delighted to recognize some of the melodies for the prayers (which even within the United States at Reform synagogues is not always a given...). There was a whole mixture of Jewish people there, from young children and people my age up to older folks, and we were from the UK, Ireland, the US, and maybe even some other places. I felt really blessed that they accepted me into their community without hesitation. It helped me remember why I'm proud to be Jewish--not because of all this infighting, and theological differences, and disagreements that divide us, but because when it comes down to it, we really do try to look after one another, and the world.

Now go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson

"Four Things I Learned From My Catholic Mother that Have Made Me a Better Jew," a Blog Post on URJ

Hello, friends!

For those who have not yet seen it, I wanted to share a post I wrote that was recently published on the Union for Reform Judaism's (URJ) website. It's entitled "Four Things I Learned From My Catholic Mother that Have Made Me a Better Jew" (though there are a lot more than just four things): http://goo.gl/XDhBqo

Mama Z on the left, me on the right (in Ireland, 2010)

I really appreciate that the URJ, which is my part of Judaism, was willing to publish something I wrote, especially when even some Reform Jews today are not big fans of interfaith marriage.

The piece actually came about when, six months ago, I was browsing the URJ website and saw a type of "question and answer" section where apparently Reform rabbis could answer questions submitted by different people. The question I saw was something to the effect of, "What does Judaism think about interracial marriage?" which seemed like a no-brainer to me, obviously we are fine with interracial marriage. But it was an odd enough question that I decided to look at the answer--and indeed, the rabbi who answered it said that of course, interracial marriage is fine...and then he went off on a small rant about how while interracial marriage is fine, interfaith marriage is not.

For the record, this is not the official ideology of liberal Reform Judaism (though it is for the Conservative and Orthodox movements), since Reform Judaism tries to welcome people in interfaith marriages. I could not let that go unnoticed, especially something so hidden in a completely unrelated section, so I wrote a comment on the post to let people know that I was not okay with it.  

My exact comment on the post was this:

"'Judaism feels' that it is best for the Jewish people when Jews marry other Jews'
Yet again, URJ, I am surprised and saddened that our movement still exhibits these feelings against interfaith marriage. It may not seem like a big deal, but when you are living the Jewish faith and chose Reform Judaism specifically for its supposed 'welcoming' nature towards interfaith couple, more traditionalist sentiments like this hurt every time."

I did not really think anything would come of my comment, but two people from the URJ actually wrote back to me very soon after (including a rabbi) and acknowledged that the answer was not coherent with liberal Judaism. As a result, they took that part of the response down and then invited me to write a blog post for them. Wonderful! Changes will not come about if people do not make a fuss when things need to change.

Unfortunately, just now, I found another something on the URJ website that bothers me: http://www.reformjudaism.org/we-are-adopting-baby-boy-we-had-him-circumcised-must-he-undergo-conversion-ceremony-be-jewish

Basically, the post says that someone who is adopted needs to undergo a conversion ceremony to be Jewish. This is wrong according to our movement's theology. In Reform Judaism, even if you are adopted, as long as one of your parents (the people who raise you) is Jewish, and you are raised in the faith, then you are Jewish.

Since I'm adopted, I've discussed this many times, including during a visit to the Reform rabbinical school, Hebrew Union College - Jewish Institute of Religion, in Manhattan last summer (making sure I would be eligible to attend their school if I wanted to--the answer was a resounding yes). Alas, it would seem that another URJ post does not fit with our theology. Rather than comment this time, I sent along an e-mail, and I expect that I will hear back soon, since I have only had lovely experiences so far with the people at URJ. I will put a follow-up comment on this post about their response when I do.

So make a fuss! Let people know when you disagree! And most of all, stick up for what you know to be true, because it might lead to some exciting things.

Now go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson

Remembering the Shoah

Hello friends.

I was fortunate enough this past week to be able to participate in a uniquely Roman event when I attended an event called "Camminata Silenziosa," which translates to "Silent Walk." The reason behind it, like most of my stories, requires some background information.

During World War II, the Nazis eventually made it down to Rome. When they arrived, they demanded that the Jews of Rome (one of the oldest, continuing Jewish communities anywhere, I believe) give them 50 kilos of gold within 36 hours if they didn't want to be carted off to concentration camps to be killed. For any North American or otherwise non-kilo-using countries, this was a completely unreasonable request from the poor Roman community. But, in a great story of interfaith interaction, the non-Jewish Romans also banded together with the Jews and donated their precious gold items--and they raised the entire amount.

But then the Nazis came anyway. On October 16, 1943, over 1000 Jews were deported from Rome to Auschwitz. 16 would return after the war, 15 men and 1 woman. So every year on the anniversary of this horrible event, the deportation of so many Roman Jews, they walk. Walk through the Jewish section of Rome, where there is the second largest synagogue in Europe, and where thousands of Jews were once confined in horrible conditions.

Have you visited the Roman Jewish section? It used to have gates, which would be locked after sundown for 350 years. The Jews were forced to finance the guards standing at these gates. Outside each gate was a church, in an attempt to convert the Jews to Catholicism as they entered or left (many of these still stand, one with Hebrew writing above its doors that was meant to appeal to the Jews). I have now visited the large Tempio Maggiore, an Orthodox synagogue, for services twice and once for a museum tour last week. Both times for services I felt uncomfortable--it's a gorgeous building, but too ornate for my taste (coming from a culture where usually synagogues seem to be pretty plain, with white walls, this one in Rome has so much decoration, which was the result of the finally-emancipated Jews, happy to be able to finally build a large synagogue in Rome, going a bit overboard). But more than that...the women's section is upstairs, behind a black wrought-iron fence. I can barely see or hear anything when I attend. But I do enjoy walking through the Jewish section (where most shops and restaurants are closed from Friday-Saturday night in observance of Shabbat).

So the "Silent Walk" (deservedly in quotation marks...G-d bless the Italians, but the walk was anything but silent) walked from the large synagogue through the (small) Jewish section, and concluded with a short presentation in the synagogue. The point of the walk in the past was to have the 16 survivors walk, but by now most have died from old age, so I believe two men were there from the original group. The group I went with was fortunate enough to briefly meet with the daughter and son-in-law of one of the survivor. Some local Jewish children sang, and the synagogue was packed.

At the Camminata Silenziosa, October 15, 2014. I have never seen so many yamulkes...

All in all, the idea of participating in a Shoah* (Holocaust) remembrance event was very moving. A great deal of being Jewish in the United States today has to do with remembering the horrors of the Holocaust. I mean, from easily age 8 or 9 I was reading books about the horrors of the Holocaust, simply because it was a part of my past, and because I knew the importance of remembering those who had died. "Never forget" is the saying in Jewish communities in the US today. But to be here--to walk the streets, see the places where these atrocities were committed, meet the people who suffered through these times--that was a whole different thing. While we lost a bit of the meaning because it was in Italian (and the acoustics were not great in the synagogue, so even though I understand a great deal of Italian it did not help much), I think just the fact that we stood in solidarity with the group was important. And there were a lot of people there. To think that the number of people there, maybe several hundred, was not even close to the number of Roman Jews killed...it was just incredible. That fact, combined with the fact that the Jewish children singing proved that the Nazis failed to wipe out the Jewish people, will really stick with me for a while.

In an interesting twist of fate, another Roman/Nazi connection came about last week, when the 100-year-old Nazi war criminal Erich Piebke died. Apparently, he was involved in a brutal murder of 335 civilians in caves outside of Rome in 1944.

He had been in hiding for almost 50 years, before he was found and extradited to Italy, where he has been living under house arrest in Rome since the '90s. When he died a little over a week ago, the Roman Catholic Church in Rome said they wouldn't bury his body. Argentina (where his wife is buried) said they wouldn't bury him. Then, when a small, splinter group of the Catholic Church (no longer accepted by the official Church hierarchy, I believe, and one that has been noted for antisemitic-leanings amongst some of its members) in southern Rome agreed to bury him (on October 15, the same day we participated in the Silent Walk), so many protestors showed up that the funeral was not allowed to proceed. On the exact. Same. Day. As the Silent Walk memorial.

Erich Piebke

He went to his grave denying that Jews were killed in gas chambers during the Holocaust.

Something particularly meaningful for me that brought all of this together happened on Wednesday afternoon when I met with a very sweet retired Roman couple, that (I think) I will be teaching English to this year as a type of side-job. When we eventually got onto the topic of what I'm doing in Rome (studying at a super-Catholic university) the question obviously became "Are you Catholic?" After giving that explanation (No, but my Mom is, I'm Jewish like my Dad) they mentioned the situation with Piebke, as well as the memorial of October 16th. I do not think that they are Jewish, so it meant a lot that even non-Jewish Romans were aware of the Jewish happenings in their city. Seems like, whatever its difficult past, maybe Rome is doing pretty well on the interfaith front today.


Never forget.


Now go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson

*For those who are unaware, "Shoah" is the favored term in the Jewish community for representing the atrocities committed against the Jews during World War II. It is generally interchangeable with the word "Holocaust."

A Need for Sensitivity in the Land of Pasta

Ciao for Now, USA

Hello, friends!

Well, the time is officially almost here: on Wednesday, I finally make my journey over to Rome to study interreligious studies for a year at the Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas. The past few weeks have been fairly busy. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out which things absolutely need to come along in my suitcase (Splenda) and which I can probably leave behind (both pairs of my way-too-high high heels). I managed to navigate the less-than-user-friendly Italian consulate system and finally managed to get my "visto" (good through next July). And I've reminded myself numerous times that no matter how nervous I may get in the next few days, I really do remember how to speak Italian fairly well and so won't be completely lost in my new home for the next year.

But what about the things I'm not realizing? I've now been fortunate enough to move to Europe twice (in 2011 for a study abroad semester in Florence, Italy, and in 2012 for an internship with the Welsh Assembly in Wales, UK), so I'm feeling a little bit too calm for my own good. A little too confident in my ability to handle a move across the pond. I've intentionally spent this summer trying to appreciate how much I love the place where I grew up--Long Island, with the beautiful light on the East End when the sun sets, the look of the beach when it's hazy out. I don't think I've fully succeeded. I predict the adrenaline will kick in as soon as I leave my parents behind at security (and immediately remember ten absolutely essential American products I forgot to pack).

Me in the Colosseum in Rome, Italy back in 2011

There are a few things about this move that should really be getting me a little more nervous than I am. The first is that I've never gone away to Europe for this long, a whole year. Sure, I've lived abroad, but always with an end date in mind, and that date only a few months in the future. Which brings up the second new thing for me...I have not purchased a return flight. I mean, I'll be home for Christmas and New Year's for two weeks in December, and I vaguely plan to come stateside for part of July next year, but past that, it's a little up in the air. Some people may know my ideal next step would be to continue on to get my Master's in the UK in interreligious or Judaic studies. If that miraculously works out, what will I end up doing next summer? Working for a Jewish community in Scotland? Helping out at an interfaith organization in London? Bumming around the states?

The third thing that has me a little uncomfortable is the lack of a liberal Jewish community in Rome. As religion has grown more important to me over the past few years, I've realized that living in a place like Rome for a prolonged period of time probably wouldn't be ideal. I loved my college, but living in a place where I did not find my religious community made me realize that in my "adult" life I ideally hope to live in a place with liberal Jews. Which really means some places in the US or the UK. I figure that this course of study in Rome is so important to and fitting for me that I'm willing to forsake my earlier pledge to live near liberal Jews for this year, but it would be so easy to then say that again if something else comes up next year, and then the year after that, and on and on. If it's important enough to me, though, at some point I'll have to make the decision about whether or not I need a liberal Jewish community in my life constantly. I have certainly valued being home this month, because I was able to spend both Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur with my family and my home synagogue for the first time in four years. We shall see.

So what do I expect this coming year? I expect to be hit a little bit with culture shock, given my current (unwise) lack of nervousness. I expect to field a lot of questions from other students at my Catholic university, since I will be one of, if not the only, Jewish person in the group (which I am always happy to answer, yet can sometimes be tiring when there's no one else there who can fully understand my perspective). I expect to miss home, family, and friends, as I always do, but also to adopt the sense of independence I so value whenever I live in a city. And I expect to start figuring out what to do with the rest of my life...or at least with the next few years.

So for now, arrivederci! The next time I post, it will be from Rome. It might take me two or three weeks to get settled enough to write, but never fear--I imagine I'll have a lot of comments once I really get entrenched in the city that houses the center of Catholicism. And I'll do my best to avoid too many kitschy Italian phrases in my posts (okay, maybe just a few).

Now go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson

Intentionality in a Less-Religious World

Hello, friends.

What governs your daily actions? How do you decide that you will attend church every Sunday, for example? Or decide if you're going to use birth control? Or abstain completely from eating meat? What guides your actions?

I have been thinking lately about "intentionality," by which I mean people doing things purposefully, making decisions about their daily actions based upon a guiding sense of principles that are pre-determined by them (as opposed to just going with whatever they are feeling in the moment). Now, these principles can be religious (for example, "I am an Orthodox Jew so I will not use technology on Saturdays") or they can be secular (for example, "I will spend time meditating once a week on ways to help the less fortunate"). But sometimes I wonder how intentionality forms for those who might not very strictly follow a religious doctrine (I'm including myself in here).

In today's technological world, we become used to having access to almost anything, right away. Obscure pieces of knowledge can be found with just a few clicks on the internet, almost any TV show or movie can be located online, Skype/text allows us to communicate with distant friends without a second thought. But what does this instantaneous-results culture do to our relationships and morals? What happened to intentionality? In relationships, is just writing the token "happy birthday!" on someone's Facebook wall once a year enough, when the only reason we know it's someone's birthday is because the website reminded us? Or shooting out a text once every few months just to say "hey"? There are certainly some relationships that can function on this, but I worry about whether as a culture we are moving away from commitment. From saying, "It is a value for me to purposefully call my friend/grandma/favorite professor on the first of every month."

Religions clearly involve a level of intentionality. For example, we intentionally went to synagogue when I was growing up on Yom Kippur every year. It did not matter that we only went to temple for service that one day, but we did it. My father and I also fasted all day, then had bagels for dinner (a typical Yom Kippur meal to break the fast). We did it with purpose. Other religions have similar mantras that guide them: for example, some Catholics might choose to not use birth control because of the theology of their religion. It is a very real-life decision, based on a guiding sense of principles that a person adopts before they are faced with the situation. But what about outside of religion? I don't only mean atheists or agnostics, I mean also questions about life that might fall outside of the specifics of religion.

I think there's value in trying to adopt a set of principles in advance. This may be a simple result of the way my mind works (my number one "strength" on the popular self-assessment StrengthsQuest, a type of personality test is "futuristic," after all), but I see a lot of good in giving thought to things in advance, and trying to live my life intentionally. Whether that's as simple as making sure I reach out to my close friends one a regular basis, or making a resolution (as I did in January) to try to do at least one Jewish-related activity a month.

The most recent examples I have of intentionality in my own life involve two healthy habits I've adopted for myself: giving up diet soda (a former vice of mine) ten days ago, and trying to eat more vegetarian meals. These are small things to do, but nonetheless difficult for me while making some kind of small impact. Diet soda is not healthy, and eating less meat is good for the environment. So even though these new decisions may not hold very long, the idea of not only dealing with life as it comes but also trying to take control of my actions, is important.

Is intentionality important to you? I know this post is a bit heady and theoretical, but I'd be interested to hear your thoughts on intentionality in the comments below.

For now I will leave you with "Shanah tova," a Hebrew wish for a good new year. Tonight is Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year, when most Jewish families celebrate with nice family dinners and apples dipped in honey (for a sweet new year). So maybe join me in making a Jewish New Year's resolution to live your life more intentionally--whether that means giving up something you know is not good for you, or deciding to put aside the texting for one day and calling a friend who lives far away.

Now go out and love one another. And Happy New Year to all!

<3,
Allyson

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Living the Interfaith Life

Hello, friends.

This past week was one of those weeks that seem to just happen to me, where I have a ton of religious experiences that come from all over the religious spectrum. But I love it! So I figured I would just give a quick update on all of the goings-on in my life right now.

My religiously diverse week started last Sunday, the first day of the Interfaith Youth Core (IFYC) New York Interfaith Leadership Institute (ILI). What that looooong series of titles really means is that I managed to secure a spot at an interfaith conference geared at college students that happened to be hosted at NYU (where I worked last summer).

Now, I've mentioned the IFYC in posts past, but they bear another shout-out. The IFYC is a national organization that uses a grassroots approach to spread awareness of interfaith relations on college campuses. ILI's, like the one I attended, seek to bring together college students and professors who are involved in interfaith work in order to receive training in proper ways to engage people in interfaith relations, and to share best practices from their schools. Since I have already graduated from college, the conference did not always apply to me--free time to "discuss new event ideas with our school delegation" did not really make sense in my case--but I did meet some really interesting people.

For example, I met four individuals who belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (aka Mormons). How cool is that?! I imagine there are Mormons on Long Island, but I somehow have never met anyone who identifies as such. We had a good time asking mutual questions about faith, and I learned a whole bunch, including that Mormons generally abstain from drinking alcohol, abstain from drinking coffee or tea (because of the addictive nature of caffeine), and wear a special type of undergarment almost all of the time. So interesting! Other than those few things, along with the fact that they have interestingly large families (even though birth control is not actually forbidden) and that many of the young people go on missions for two years to purposely try to convert people to their religion, they seemed very similar to most people I know.

At the conference, one of my favorite activities was something termed "Speed Faithing." Basically, we could choose to attend three, very quick, information sessions on different religions, during which time there was a ten minute presentation on the religion followed by a ten minute question and answer session. I went to Jainism, Islam, and Hinduism. All very interesting! I did not know that Jains are vegetarian and try not to harm any living creatures, like spiders (okay, I knew nothing about Jainism before the session, let's be honest). Another thing I really liked about Jainism is a belief in the religion that they do not claim to have the ultimate truth, it's kind of an acknowledgment of humility, that they try to do the best they can, but that doesn't mean their religion is definitely the only right one. I appreciated that, especially in such an interfaith setting.

We also participated in some interesting learning activities in our smaller break-out groups, such as acting out scenarios of difficult interfaith discussions we might face. Our room of participants was actually very small, so we had a tight group of people that really bonded and learned from each other. Oh, and we had some fun, too...

Just for the record, the Catholic gentleman lying on the floor is a priest. Meanwhile, I was trying very hard not to look too awkward lying on the floor [cue big smile].

The conference lasted Sunday-Tuesday.

In the middle of all that, on Monday night, I attended a wonderful reunion of participants from the Jewish internship program I did last summer (CLIP). It was truly excellent to catch up with some people, see how people had changed (or not) in their faith practice, hear about trips abroad, and just have a nice time with people who know a lot about me from our very deep discussions last summer. After the very amusing happy hour, I wandered around Manhattan with one of my good Jewish friends from the group for a few hours late into the night, discussing/debating religion and Judaism. Even as I write that I realize that it sounds crazy, but that is actually what we usually end up doing, and we always have a great discussion. This one in particular involved analyzing my own religious practice, thinking about other faiths, and the ethics for Jewish people of entering a church.

Then today, our family attended mass at the local Catholic Church. This particular church visit was driven by my Jewish father and I (as my mother so ironically pointed out this morning), because my father knows the priest, Father Vetrano, in a non-religious context and I have met with this priest in the past to discuss interfaith relations. So we went to mass, and when the "greet your neighbor" part came around (a tradition in many Catholic parishes during which time attendees shakes hands and say 'hello' to the people sitting around them) the priest came up to my father and I and said, "Shalom my brother and sister." Then we had lunch with him afterward. All in all, a very interesting morning.

I should also mention the other thing that happened at church today. During the announcements, all of a sudden I heard them say my name--because I will be giving a lecture on interfaith relations at the church on August 27th! This has been in the works for a while. Father Vetrano asked me to speak about my interfaith experiences and my interfaith plans for the future as part of a lecture series they have at the church. I am very thankful to have the opportunity to share my experiences with a larger group of people. If anyone is around Southampton, New York on Tuesday, August 27th at 7 p.m., feel free to come by! Luckily, during the ILI this past week, we talked about how to better craft our personal stories in order to be more effective, so that was a good warm up. For anyone who knows about my story (and if you've read other posts in this blog, you probably have a pretty good idea), the lecture will be a time when I bring everything together, maybe relate a few crazy things that have happened to me, and just generally think about what it all means for me and for everyone else going forward.

I'm in a church bulletin! I'm in a church bulletin!

I hope some of you took my challenge from the last post seriously (to attend another faith's religious service), and if not, give it a shot this coming week. I know that soon many people will be getting back to school or work and real life, so now would be a good time to try out something new. You could always come to my lecture! If you've never been in a church, that could count for fulfilling the challenge. ;)

Now go out and love one another.

<3,

Allyson

Interfaith Marriage in America Today

Hello, friends.

Guess what?! One of my college roommates is getting married. *commences celebration* I was so excited to hear her news, and I am still so incredibly excited (we had an hour-long discussion about seating arrangements not so long ago...), and you will all just have to forgive my excitement, as she is one of my first friends to get engaged. I'm thrilled! And guess what the kicker is...Ready for it? She's entering into an interfaith marriage.

As I have mentioned before, interfaith marriage/family is something I was blessed to experience growing up. With a Catholic mother and a Jewish father, I had the best of both worlds: we celebrated Christmas and Chanukah, Easter and Passover, learned from one another's traditions, and all in all just made it work. But since entering the "interfaith" world more widely, talking about these issues more purposefully and with intentionality, I've learned that not all interfaith marriages work out so smoothly as my parents' has (they're celebrating their 25th anniversary this year!). But why? How? What? Not everyone smoothly transitions into a life involving sometimes conflicting faith beliefs and traditions? (That last one was sarcastic.)

So I was very excited to learn more about interfaith marriages when, a few weeks ago, a good friend of mine recommended I read a new book, 'Til Faith Do Us Part, by Naomi Schaefer Riley, a woman who herself entered into an interfaith marriage. It only just came out in 2013 and it takes an in-depth look at the rise in interfaith marriage in America, both statistically through a study the author did and through stories about specific families.

Let's just say, I finished the book in about a day (though I've kept it checked out of the library waaaay past its due date...oops!). Many people might have found the large number of statistics a bit dull, but I devoured most of them, and really want to try to remember as much as possible from this book for use in my studies in Rome and beyond.

I was a bit disheartened by the somewhat negative tone of the much of the book. Now, the (Jewish) author clearly knows that interfaith marriage can succeed--based on her marriage to a man raised as a Jehovah's Witness (who stopped practicing). But her words seem to put a lot of negative spin on the issues, from the very first issues arising about planning the wedding (one clergy member, two, or a justice of the peace?) to choosing the religion of children (one, both, or none?) and death practices. Even the title itself implies that divisiveness is the order of the day in interfaith relationships, rather than compromise and a desire to learn. I certainly do appreciate a lot of what she said: after reading her book, I see that interfaith can clearly pose challenges. Some such marriages end in divorce, or lead to both members moving away from religion, which may result from the marriage specifically or just arise from individual decisions.

But there are so many things to celebrate in an interfaith families, things that are difficult to experience in as real depth in a same-faith family. A living, breathing appreciation of diversity. A deep knowledge of another faith (remember, I was accepted to study at a Catholic University in Rome, for which an advanced knowledge of Catholic theology was required, something helped by knowing about my mother's faith for my whole life). The ability to understand that no one has to be "right" in matters of faith, that we can all be "right" in different ways (which brings to mind the title of a book You Don't Have to be Wrong for Me to be Right, by Brad Hirschfield, a book I have not read but love the title). Here are some of what I though were the most interesting bits:

• "About 20% of couples married before the 1960s were interfaith matches. Of couples married in the past decade, 45 percent were." p. 6
• "One woman I spoke to, who was brought up Catholic, recalls her thoughts on dating when she went off to college: ‘To limit yourself to only people of your own religion seemed bigoted…There is a whole world of people that I don’t know.’ To write them off as potential partners before she even met them ‘seemed rude.’ The language is revealing. It’s as if our society’s institutional rules about hiring an employee or admitting someone to college have morphed into rules for dating.” p. 13
• "We often tend to imagine interfaith weddings as having two officiants—that both the bride and groom’s traditions are represented equally, perhaps symmetrically. The New York Times wedding announcements do seem to mention a disproportionate number. But weddings with religious leaders from different faiths are rare: only 4 percent of interfaith (and, surprisingly, 2 percent of same-faith) couples employ them. Instead, interfaith couples are much more likely to have used a civil official (43 percent vs. 31 percent for same-faith couples).” p. 62
• “Americans are mostly reluctant to raise their children in more than one faith…According to my survey, about 80 percent of same-faith couples raised their kids in one faith and about 20 percent raised them in no faith. A plurality of interfaith couples, about 40 percent, agreed to raise their children in one faith. About a third are raising their kids with no faith; and another 20 percent are trying to raise them in both.” p. 99

So for those who choose to seek a partner in the same faith, is there a legitimate, non-discriminatory-seeming way to limit oneself to members of the same religion? Or should that even be a goal in today's multifaith world?

All of these discussions about interfaith marriages get me thinking about my own views on marriage. One of the biggest issues I see with interfaith marriage is the threat of loneliness when wanting to attend religious services. In our family, we sometimes all go together--to temple, to church. But over the past four years in Virginia, and this summer even at home as I start attending more often, if I want to go to services, I often end up going alone. And it's hard. It's tough to be the only person there under 65. It's sad to be alone when everyone else is sitting there with family. And while many people in congregations are usually welcoming, it's just not the same feeling to attend temple alone, maybe because growing up Jewish meant I had a strong community, where I knew a lot of people at temple, and a lot of people knew me. So would I be willing to do that for the rest of my life, if I were to marry someone who was not Jewish? To maybe spend many Friday nights alone in the synagogue, without my significant other?

I don't have that answer yet. But with all of these statistics and ideas swirling around, and as I leave the disappointing college dating scene behind and head out into the wider world, it will definitely be something I keep in the back of my mind.

Now go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson

P.S. Can I just point out, the author of this book spent a few pages detailing how much she dislikes the "kitschy" element of mixed-religion cards/paraphernalia (like a Christmas-Chanukah card). I LOVE THESE TYPES OF THINGS mainly because I LOVE Christmas. Send me a card with Santa spinning a dreidel and we may just be friends forever. Because it's less about a specific statement about religion, and more about celebrating that some families are diverse. They sell cute cards here, for anyone who feels a strong desire to bombard me with interfaith love while I'm in Rome...www.mixedblessing.com

A Challenge for Everyone

Hello, friends.

Have you been inside a church? What about a synagogue? A mosque? How about a gurdwara (Sikh house of worship)? I recently had lunch with a friend of mine, and we got onto the subject of Jewish people visiting churches. I remember mentioning to a few young Orthodox Jews last summer that I have been to church, and they appeared shocked. But why?

Temple Adas Israel, Sag Harbor--the oldest synagogue on Long Island

For me, attending church was never a conflict of interest. I pray in a synagogue, I pray in bed, I pray on the street...why can I not pray in a church? Through the years, our family has never been regular attendees of any religious service--we did not go to temple every Friday night, nor church every Sunday morning. But we would go on major holidays, generally to mass on Easter and temple on Yom Kippur. For my part, I would participate in the mass as I felt appropriate: I avoided prayers mentioning Jesus, for example, but happily participated in the more general prayers referring to "G-d." Have you heard of the Our Father prayer? It is a good staple prayer for some Christians, I learned it from a childhood friend who was Christian, and I remember it today and still say it if the occasion arises and I am surrounded by others saying it (at least the first part). Here is a link to the prayer, for those who are not familiar with it: http://www.catholicplanet.com/catholic/our.htm. Saying this prayer--which does not conflict with my conception of Judaism--does not threaten my religious life, but enhances it. I even say prayers written by recent rabbis, they're not necessarily in "official" prayerbooks, but respected men and women wrote them, and I agree with them, so I say them.

 

St. James R.C. Church, Setauket--where we held my grandmother's funeral mass

Now, apparently visiting a church, for the strictest of Jews, is off-limits. Why? For one thing, Judaism prohibits idolatry. Some Jewish people feel that entering a church, some of which have sculptures of Jesus, or saints, would go against this stricture (though most Christians would reject that the imagery in churches is idolatry, I would imagine because they do not consider these symbols actual gods but instead representative imagery). I imagine it would even be offensive to many Christians if they were aware that some Jewish people consider their practice "idolatrous." But I suspect a lot of those who resist do so more out of discomfort rather than religious rules. Instead, some strict Jews (again, remember: I'm speaking about the most conservative; my liberal Jewish friends and relatives find it shocking when I mention that some Jews won't enter a church) might only enter a church for non-religious purposes: to view an important painting, for example, but will not attend during services. Which would mean missing a Christian's friend wedding if it were to take place in a church. But since I'm obsessed with weddings, that clearly will never be an objections you'll hear from me. All joking aside, for me, G-d knows what is in my thoughts and heart; the location of the prayer matters less to me than the meaning of the words I pray. Here's some more information on the Jewish perspective of the topic: http://www.myjewishlearning.com/ask_the_expert/at/ask-the-expert-jews-church.shtml

I guess I had never realized that some people had never been in a church. I could better understand some of my friends from further south, where temples are scarce, never having entered a synagogue. But especially when speaking with people of other faiths, my comfort level in a church and my awareness of Christian religious services can be very helpful. On the other hand, I have only been to Catholic and Jewish services, so perhaps I overreact in my shock at others' lack of experience in various religious settings. I attended services that my family attended (and only Catholic or Jewish weddings by chance as well...so far).*

But I want to. I want to attend a Muslim mosque.** I want to visit a Quaker meeting house. And a gurdwara. And a ton of other religious houses. Because doing so does not shake my commitment to Judaism--my go-to prayer tends to be the Shema (http://www.jewfaq.org/prayer/shema.htm), regardless of the situation or location. But when I meet someone who believes otherwise than I do, if I know at least a little bit about their religious life, I can meet them on a more even, educated playing field. People choose their religions for a reason, and feel strongly about them for a reason, just as I do about Reform Judaism, and I want to understand peoples' passions. It does not have to threaten my beliefs.

So, regardless of your religion, I challenge you to push it as far as you feel you can and attend some type of alternative religious...something. Maybe go to a church if you've never been or head to a nearby synagogue. See if a local mosque or meeting house will allow outsiders to attend services. If you really feel uncomfortable about this, maybe try attending an event held by another group--for example, a social event at a religious location, and listen to how people discuss their faith. Bring along a friend, drag along a sibling, convince your spouse. Make sure to do a quick Google search before you go to make sure you know of any religious differences--if you attend a synagogue, men should put on a yamulke upon entering, for example (liberal congregations often have a box near the door). But give it a shot--even if you mess up, if you go with an open heart, most people will welcome your interest.

Now go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson

*I have attended Orthodox Jewish synagogues in Italy, and since women sitting behind a barrier (like an actual fence) during services goes against the very core of my being, I guess that was kind of attending a different type of religious service, not something anyone in my family would attend.

**In all fairness, I wanted to attend with a friend in college one month but was told I would not be so well-received by those praying there...perhaps it was just that congregation, or perhaps it was because more generally visitors are not welcomed in mosques, though I would imagine the former.

Let's Talk About: Gay Marriage

Hello, friends!

Why don't we get a little controversial today, hmm?

I spent a lot of my past few years in college asking questions: "Why do you choose to go to services every week?" "What does your faith say about sex outside of marriage?" "What are your views on gay marriage?" I spent a lot of time "seeking first to understand," as our favorite man Stephen Covey said, before I ever sought to be understood. Okay, to be honest, I did not "seek to be understood" often enough.

Perhaps that was my fault. But I didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable--so I sat there and listened to various friends explain why alcohol was frowned upon in some religious groups, why gay marriage is not okay with them, their views on abortion. Opinions I often disagreed with, sometimes very strongly. I asked, and listened, and learned a lot, and (tried to) mostly keep silent if I disagreed. This blog is by all means not about pushing you to agree with my opinions (unless, of course, I can convince some more people about the importance of interfaith work, but you know what I mean), but in this post I wanted to explore a situation I recently dealt with on an individual level, and it does involve sharing my opinion. Bear with me.

Sitting in my car one night last week, I heard the end of a song on the radio, and I was shocked. It sounded like a hip hop song supporting gay rights. What?! This was on mainstream radio! I was shocked and a little excited, so I shut off my car and ran into the house to start looking for the video, and I found the song, called "Same Love," as in "All love is the same love." Here is the official video:

I am not going to lie: it touched me. To hear a somewhat mainstream artist sing about this, bluntly address a lot of the hate that exists in our society, and try to fight it, meant a lot to me. The video also tells a love story. I'm sure it makes a lot of people uncomfortable because the story involves two men, but if it were about a straight couple of two races for example, living out their lives together, getting married, supporting one another in illness, it would engender an emotional response, maybe even tears from a lot of people. I loved this video.

I decided to post the video as my Facebook status. Several times I put it up, then immediately deleted it. And why? Because some of the messages in the video seem to attack Christianity and conservatives: comments like "We paraphrase a book written 3,500 years ago" and "The right-wing conservatives this it's [being gay] a decision." I am so intent upon trying to not hurt peoples' feelings, that sometimes I let that overcome my desire to share my own opinion, and to share something that really had an impact on me. Clearly, the video makes some gross generalizations--not all Christians oppose gay marriage, and not all conservatives think one can decide upon their sexuality. I am not claiming this song is perfect. But the singer was apparently raised attending church, and so if we look at it from his perspective, he is commenting upon an institution he knows about, for better or for worse.

So I'm not going to hide. I am sorry if anyone was offended by the video, but I am not sorry I posted it. I like to spread the news when something really touches me, as this song and video did, and I was honestly shocked that none of my friends had shared the video earlier (it came out last fall). It's a love story, simple as that.

I'm wondering, though, how we can talk about these controversial issues in ways that people feel like everyone gets an equal say, and no one feels attacked. Because inherent in some conversations about gay marriage with very religious people might be the thought that their opinions are backwards, hateful, unfair. Granted, some are, but I have never met someone who said anything hateful about gay people or anybody (I could not be friends with someone harboring such blind hate in their hearts). My friends often cite passages from the Torah or Bible that lead to their opposition of the practice of same-sex relationships. I do not agree with their viewpoints, but I respect their religious convictions...and I wish they could see some of my side of the argument. I rarely brought them up, though, for fear that my friends would think that I was judging them for their judgment of homosexuals.

But I also am not sure if religious folks fully understand just how hard it is to hear about opposition to gay marriage--imagine if we said something like, "I oppose people being allowed to get married in a church" or "I do not support the right of heterosexuals to get married, let's make it illegal." It goes against the very fiber of my being to deny someone the same rights that I and many other are granted, to get married simply because we happen to like members of the opposite sex, and it's like "Why would my marriage in a church affect you?" And it wouldn't. That's a large part of what makes it hard to hear your opinions, because to some extent, it is very hard for us not to think of it as discrimination, or to understand why we cannot at least offer the freedom. We're not forcing anyone to take advantage of it. But once I've spoken with many of you who do oppose it, I at least understand why you feel that way. That doesn't mean it's not hard to hear it.

Then I have spoken with other, very liberal people who could never imagine being friends with people who oppose gay marriage, and that is not right either, to dismiss someone so completely without even listening to them. It seems black and white, but things rarely are.

I thought that I had spent these past four years having meaningful, interfaith discussions--and I did. But I think there was something missing in them, because I didn't have the courage or chutzpah to speak up, to voice my opinions. It was out of an attempt to keep the peace, but that was at the expense of really having full, well-rounded discussions where everyone had the opportunity to contribute. I forgot about the second part of Stephen Covey's idea: "Seek first to understand, then to be understood." I want to be understood.

In the end, the current debate about gay marriage in our country comes down to one main thing for me: freedom. The main opposition I see today to gay marriage comes from conservative, mainly Christian, religious groups. That is not right. Our country is founded on religious freedom, and guess what? My movement of Judaism strongly supports gay marriage, they have released numerous official comments in this regard. So what this means is that, right now, my religion is in some way being subjected to the opinions of another religion, and that is just blatantly wrong. Allowing freedom for homosexual couples to get married does not need to affect religious people--they can still choose to only marry heterosexual couples, only allow same-sex couples into their groups, exclude homosexuals from participating in their rituals. But by keeping gay marriage banned, our country is preventing those religions that support it from enjoying the full exercise of their religion. G-d willing, with a few more successes like the one we had this past week in the Supreme Court, this imbalance will be rectified. And hopefully our lawmakers can find a way to put many of their religious assumptions aside--from whichever side of the argument they fall on--and make decisions that can really benefit all Americans.

Now go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson

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The Trees Were Red

Hello friends,

I went to visit Dachau Concentration Camp two weeks ago during a visit to Munich, my first ever visit to a concentration camp, and I wanted to share my impressions here:

All I could see was red.

Red on the gravel crunching under my ballet flats. Red on the tall trees towering above the open fields. Red smeared across the doorways of religious monuments at one end of the compound. Red everywhere.

Not literally, of course, but the taint of the horrors that happened at Dachau and other camps like it chilled my blood. I happened to visit on a hot, cloudless day. Objectively speaking, the entire place could look lovely--big, open area, two rows of tall, full trees towering over the middle main road of the compound. But it was the little things that really got to me. The entry gates that read "Work will make you free," one of the lies that Nazis thought up to convince people to work harder, or the nondescript sign down a small forest path that read, "Execution Range with Blood Ditch." Birds chirped around me, I stood alone, and saw this stone, almost unnoticed, on a forest path.

 On the ground at Dachau Concentration Camp, outside of Munich, Germany

To give a brief description of the layout of the camp (Dachau apparently was the model used to design most of the other camps), we walked in through the gates down at the bottom right of the image below and stood in a big open area (3). This was where the prisoners would be lined up and counted, etc. On this end now stands a museum building (5), a monument in several languages, and a black metal memorial sculpture made to look like barbed wire but if you look closely includes images of humans in agony. As you turn to face down the main central road of the camp, flanked on both sides by trees (1), extending out on either side are where the barracks once stood (2). Now, only two have been recreated, but the outlining foundations of the others extend back a long way.

Layout of Dachau, from http://www.scrapbookpages.com/DachauScrapbook/DachauCampMap.html

At the opposite end (6, 7, 9) are the locations of several memorial locations, like a Jewish building, and Christian buildings from various denominations. All in all, they are pretty stark, to be honest. The horror for me lay in looking out across the enormity of the place and its emptiness. The camp was meant to hold 6,000 (mostly political) prisoners, but when it was liberated in 1945, it had 30,000.

View from a window in the recreated barracks

Number 11 is where "Barracks X" aka a gas chamber and crematorium stand. I stood in a gas chamber. I stood in a gas chamber. Red, everything, everything was red in the feeling, in the darkness, in the chill horrors of what the camp was built for. Whether or not the gas chamber was ever used is up for discussion, but the hatred palpable in the design of the building where they stood was horrible. There was a room for prisoners to wait in. Then one for them to strip of all their clothes, and where they were told they were going to take "showers." This led into the gas chamber, complete with fake shower heads to keep prisoners calm. Then the next room was for storing dead bodies. Then the ovens. One room after another, systematic, treating the people like they were not even human, just numbers to be processed through the huge chain of murder.

A pile of dead bodies outside the Dachau crematorium

How could people have done this to one another? This is not only about antisemitism, or religion in general, or color or politics. It's about all of that. It's about how a group of people, yes, led by one madman, but how an entire group of people undertook an operation to try to rid Europe and ultimately the world of "undesirable" types. Yes, this included Jews, and yes, that means the Holocaust (or "Shoah," as Jewish circles often refer to it) holds particular weight for me. Why would someone ever want to kill me, simply because I pray in Hebrew? Or if someone were to abstain from eating pork or doing something on Saturdays? It's hard to comprehend. But the murders extended beyond Jews, too, to the disabled, to Catholics, to the political opposition, to Gypsies, and others.

Which makes interfaith efforts today all the more essential. As I have written before, the old adage of not talking about religion just doesn't hold for me. I have had many tough conversations, sometimes even with friends, when we disagree vehemently on critical issues. Sometimes I honestly wonder if my very religious Christian friends think I am doomed to some bad fate because of my religion. But we talk about the issues. We come to the table acknowledging that we respect one another and our mutual faith choices, and then we talk about it. I'm not advocating walking up to strangers and saying, "Hi, I'm Jewish/Christian/Muslim/etc. Let's chat!" (*ahem* Not that I've ever done that before *ahem*) but if you see an opportunity where maybe you don't understand something someone says about their religion, or maybe someone doesn't seem to understand your views, open the door. I often find asking questions is the best way to explore these topics, by simply saying to someone, "As a religious individual, what is your view on this topic?" with no expectations usually of even discussing my views unless they ask. It can be hard to listen, but also essential.

So remember the horrors of the Holocaust as you go about your day today, tomorrow, this week. Jewish people really focus on the idea of "never forget" with regard to the Holocaust, but I fear that we do. We forget that 12,000,000 died just a few decades ago. Twelve million. We go about our days, myself included, and herald the strides that are being made, that the new Pope came out and supported people of all faiths and even those with no faith, that Muslims in Britain vehemently responded in opposition to the crazy man who killed a solider there just a few weeks ago supposedly because of his mistaken sense of Muslim duty. But the Holocaust was not so long ago, and even today people are persecuted for their beliefs in places around the world.


The number 12,000,000 did not mean as much as it did when I stood in Dachau and realized just how large a camp for 6,000 people was, and it put some things in perspective. I visited the camp as part of a three-week backpacking trip through Europe this month, and many times I visited Jewish sites in the places we went. The museum in Amsterdam. A memorial in Berlin. The Jewish section in Prague. Places devoid of the strong Jewish presence that existed there before the Shoah. Maybe the Nazis did not kill all European Jews, but those Jews that remain are mere shadows of the vibrant communities that once existed there. Perhaps I'm cynical because of all of my research into contemporary antisemitism in Europe, and I am sure that many Jewish individuals happily live in various European nations today, but many times all I can see--in Dachau, in Berlin, everywhere in Europe--is red. Here's to hoping that with the right efforts from people of all faiths, some day that red will no longer symbolize death, but love.

Now go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson