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