Chaplains leading the way?

Hello, friends.

I often brag to my friends at college in Virginia about how very interfaith Long Island is. "We got both Christian and Jewish holidays off from school growing up! Everyone knew about all the Jewish holidays, not just Hanukkah. Of course everyone up north would marry someone of another faith!"

Before anyone starts to criticize these statements, I need to clarify that I know these are exaggerations. Gross exaggerations. I know that. I also know that there are many different parts of Long Island, and that the Island (which in terms of population, if we include Brooklyn and Queens, falls somewhere around the same number of people that live in Switzerland) has great variation. But I was fortunate enough to be raised in an excellent area where the essence of these statements is true. Wherever there is a Christmas tree up here, there is a menorah. The school choruses sing both Christmas and Hanukkah songs. Still, sometimes, when I am at college and feeling like the only Jew for miles, I begin to doubt whether I am remembering my childhood all too positively.

But then I came home for winter break this year, and two exciting things happened. They might sound trivial, but to members of an interfaith family, they had an enormous impact.

The first happened back on Christmas Eve. Our close, immediate family--consisting of four Jewish members and three Catholic members--were at our local Catholic church for my maternal grandmother's funeral mass. It was a sad day, made somewhat easier by the fact that the church was beautifully decorated for the holiday season. My Mom had spoken with the priest prior to the service, in order to clarify what parts my Dad and I could be involved in, and she was told that we could read during the mass. The priest thus knew we were Jewish. After my Dad and I read aloud in a church for the first time ever, the priest gave his homily. He spoke about how we had reached the darkest time of the year, when the least amount of daylight brightens the northern hemisphere, using it as an analogy for the sadness we felt at my grandmother's passing. He then continued, "But there is light, too, at this time of year, when we light our candles, our trees, our wreaths...our menorahs."

My father and I immediately turned to one another and mouthed, "Menorahs!" In a setting where we might have felt out of place, mourning alongside my mother in a church, the priest made us feel included with just that one word. He certainly did not detract from the Catholic meaning of the service in any way; he simply acknowledged that our family exists. That we are a legitimate, loving family unit that supports every member in whichever faith he or she ascribes to. I thanked him afterward, it had such an immense impact on me.

The second thing happened this week, as soon as I stumbled out of bed on Monday morning, when my Mom called down to me from her study. "Allyson! I got a 'happy birthday' e-mail from the Rabbi!" My Catholic mother. I have never even received a birthday e-mail from the Rabbi. Perhaps he is just starting to do this in 2013?

My Rabbi knows my Mom fairly well. As I was growing up, she was heavily involved in my religious education. She took me to Hebrew School, met with the Rabbi and Cantor during my Bat Mitzvah preparations, even learned to read Hebrew when I did. She was present for it all. My Rabbi knows that she is Catholic, but she is still, in her own way, a member of our Temple community. Whereas when the Rabbi joined our synagogue in 2002 he would not perform interfaith marriages, he has since changed his stance, hopefully after seeing families like ours that work.

Just as the priest did on Christmas Eve, the rabbi made my day by helping legitimize the way we live our lives, as a family of different faiths but one love. I am truly, truly inspired by both of their actions this past month.

Now, go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson