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

Going to the __________ and we're gonna get married

Hello, friends.

I'm 22. When did that happen? (Actually, it happened on February 8. I may be terrible at remembering names, but I do know my birthday!) Most of my friends are vaguely the same age: 21, 23, etc. In many cultures around the world, by this age my friends and I would already be married with multiple children.

This trend is not limited only to people in far-off places, though, places like rural Africa or islands in a distant sea. Marrying young is a trend for many traditional religious folks even in the US, whether they are amongst my friends in the Modern Orthodox community in NYC or my traditionalist Christian friends from further south. Is it for the best, though?

Some of my secular friends can't even contemplate marriage yet. "We just graduated college, for goodness' sake! Marriage?! We barely even know what to do with the next year of our lives, let alone the rest of our lives!" seems to be the feeling in that group. Then some of my more religious friends are much more certain of their desire to get married. I can comfortably discuss their desires to marry and have children, probably not immediately, but at some point in the next few years. Certainly there are some people who fall on the opposite sides (religious people who are definitely not comfortable thinking about marriage right now, and secular people who know they want to get married) but my experience thus far has shown that those with a stronger faith life are more firm and open in their desire to get married.

I think it has to do with religious community norms. Amongst Christian groups getting married is often pushed, as in Jewish communities. From early on, discussions in religious groups, religious schools, etc. often focus upon marriage and children, and what the particular religion views as the proper home life. Celibacy until marriage for strict Catholics, for example, or marrying another Jew for many Jews. I remember having a full-fledged mock wedding in Hebrew School when we were maybe 10, complete with wine and a chupah (pronounced with a "ch" like in "challah," chuh-paa, a traditional Jewish wedding canopy).

But secular folks might be missing similar opportunities to openly discuss these ideas, unless their parents decide to discuss it regularly for some reason. Let's look at TV shows as an example of a small view of secular culture. In these, the secular culture presents a lot of sex outside of marriage in its twenty-something sitcoms (thinking of "Friends" and "How I Met Your Mother," both shows I love but they do have a lot of sex in them). Then you have the middle-age sitcoms that present the kind of ideal mid-life situation: married with kids, thinking back on crazier younger days, but with stable family lives (like "Everybody Loves Raymond" or "Modern Family"). But do we present enough of a clear, perhaps less sex-crazed route for non-religious young people? Because I just don't love this view in the media, through shows like these where people appear to have sex with a bunch of people throughout their twenties, until they finally find someone they like enough to marry in their thirties. My personal views on the matter completely aside, I think there has to be an alternative other than this rampant sex model or more conservative interactions until marriage. Can't we have some balance? I wonder if this type of sex-driven relationship model (and for more info, check out any of the many articles published in the last few years about "hook-up" culture) is one of the reasons behind some failed marriages today, as religious groups also tend to frown upon divorce and thus also have a higher marriage success rate.

Maybe some secular people also feel a bit awkward like I do, talking so openly about marriage and how we want to get married, almost as though by saying "I want to get married" implies either that I do not fulfilled with just myself, or that I am confident that someone will actually want to marry me. It's different for religious communities in which everyone plans to get married, but in secular culture, I understand that it can be a little awkward to discuss.

Then there's the whole complication of whether or not people want to have children! In religious communities, again, having children is usually seen as a mitzvah (a good deed). But for some secular people (again, I am not claiming this as my opinion), without the cultural and religious norm of propagating life as being an ideal situation, they might ask why they would have children. "Interrupt my life and career, for what?" Same thing with sex in general: without a religious reason to abstain, why would people do so? I am sure there are many in the middle, but for some reason it often seems like a there exists a sharp divide between the very religious opinion of relationships, and the sexual one presented in the media.

How can we present a healthy view of romantic relationships in both religious and secular culture? Can there be a middle point between the two? Is marrying young a better option than marrying later, or vice versa? How can we teach our young men and women to have healthy partnerships in life that both fulfill their needs and still maintain respect for themselves and others? I think this is not only a religious issue, but also a cultural one. What does your religion teach about this?

Now go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson

Exciting News: Italy Edition

Hello, friends!

In what seems like the beginning of a trend, this short post will again focus on two important pieces of news out of the same country--and today that country is Italy! (Hey, I did major in European Studies, after all.)

The first comes straight from the pope, who gave a homily the other day that is getting a lot of attention. During a religious service, he used biblical references to explain why everyone is eligible to go to heaven, not just those who accept Jesus as the son of G-d. Wow. He specifically even mentioned atheists could be good people and be "saved," a point of contention in many Christian circles. (Thanks to everyone who brought this news to my attention! I love getting messages with interfaith news.) Even though the Vatican tried to clarify his comments afterward--claiming that atheists can do good things, but if they ignore the "true faith" of Catholicism it still is not good--that does not mean that the pope himself actually agrees with the official comments which show a bit of a reversal on his very accepting homily.

Pope Francis' comments really hit home with a lot of people, like me, who are not Christian. I imagine I am not the only one to harbor a fear that many of my conservative Christian friends secretly think I am "in trouble" because of my rejection of Christian doctrine. So to have a leading Christian world leader come out to say something so accepting means a lot, if only because he is again exhibiting his propensity for interfaith relations just by recognizing that there are people of other faiths out there. This recognition is critical, because ignorance and keeping religious communities isolated from one another and not talking can be dangerous. I was taught as a child to never talk about politics, taxes, or religion. As the girls I have lived with at college over the past two years can certainly attest, I break those rules regularly (sorry, Mum and Dad!). But that's what a lot of interfaith work is: opening the door to communication, broaching those difficult topics but in fruitful, respectful ways.

News like this, which is again showing the new pope's propensity for interreligious communication, has some of us hoping that he will live up to the sizable legacy that Pope John Paul II left behind. For those who might not be aware, JPII was an inspiration to many--he played a key role in trying to ease tensions between the Jews and Muslims in the Middle East, for example. For this and other reasons, he is on track to beatification (isn't that a cool word? It means to be made a saint) faster than most. Hopefully Pope Francis will continue down the same path--and so far he certainly has seemed to exhibit not only what a good Catholic should aspire to be, but also what a good person should be: unassuming, humble, respectful, understanding of other faiths. Amen!

Which brings me to my second piece of Rome news today. It is something much more personal to me, but it will certainly influence my blog writing over the course of the next year: I am moving to Rome. Yes, I graduated two weeks ago (wow, time flies) and I just found out this past week that I was granted a Russell Berrie Fellowship. What does this mean? It means I will be spending a year living and studying Interreligious Studies in Rome with nine other pro-interfaith people at the Pontifical University of Saint Thomas Aquinas. If you're thinking it sounds like a Catholic university, that's because it is, but the program I will be doing is specifically about interfaith relations.

The Pontifical University of Saint Thomas Aquinas

Classes like "The Jewish Concept of Jesus" and "Female Priesthood in Ancient Christianity and Paganism" may be on my plate for the next school year, from September-June. I imagine I will be learning a lot to share here, due to the fact that I will be (I think) the first Jewish person to ever participate in this year-long certificate program, and that I will probably be significantly younger than most of the participants (many of whom will be priests, ministers, or nuns). Plus, it will be an international group, so I may be in class with ministers from Africa or nuns from Asia. Who knows? I speak Italian, though, and I studied abroad in Italy back in 2011, so I am less worried about culture shock and more excited/nervous because this will be a very long time to live alone in another country. But this opportunity really is a blessing, and I hope to use this opportunity to make the world a better place. Plus it's nice to finally have a response to people when they ask, "So what are you doing now that you've graduated?" For all my fellow 2013 graduates still searching for your next big thing, I feel you. #solidarity. That was me four days ago.

Now go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson

The Importance of Helping Your Neighbors

Hello, friends.

Sometimes people randomly help out other people. These moments are truly magic, and it always makes my heart swell to hear about someone helping out another without expecting any reward. We're now just a few days out from when I head over to Europe for a month-long adventure (which will certainly feature visits to multiple houses of worship, and maybe even a religious service or two), so I thought I would share a recent story that really makes me happy.

As with many religious groups, as populations shift, sometimes Jewish congregations face dwindling numbers and financial difficulties. A synagogue near me on Long Island recently closed its doors...and almost immediately became a church. Well, one Jewish synagogue in Bradford, England, a city with a large Muslim community, recently faced a similar survival issue--a congregation still existed, but building issues (a leaky roof) and a lack of funds meant that they were facing the possibility of having to close the building. A local Muslim man decided to help the congregation raise funds, partly due to good local relations in a nearby Pakistani restaurant that was frequented by Jewish people. The Jewish people liked the restaurant so much that in the past they had helped fight the establishment of a competing restaurant.

Zulfi Karim, the 47-year-old secretary of the Bradford Council of Mosques, played an instrumental role in connecting the Jewish people with donors. "'We have so much in common,' says Karim of the two Bradford communities. 'We both have a tradition of helping each other out in business, and strong entrepreneurial, family and community values.'" The Muslim community quickly raised the funds necessary to help their neighbors out. Here's the article (it might only work if you are a Haaretz subscriber): http://www.haaretz.com/jewish-world/jewish-world-features/in-one-hard-knock-british-city-a-secret-muslim-donor-helps-save-a-synagogue.premium-1.525183. 

 The Bradford Synagogue (Image from bradforddistrictfaithsforum.org.uk)

Helping strangers and undertaking acts of kindness like this does not need to be religiously motivated. But many faiths emphasize social action and goodwill, so it is always inspiring to hear about religious communities actively reaching out to others. We may never completely agree on our religious beliefs, but I am pretty sure we should be able to agree that for many people, finding a strong religious community and a religious home can contribute to a sense of wholeness and peace. Whatever your beliefs, or lack of religious beliefs, I hope that you, too, are touched by this Muslim community reaching out to help their Jewish neighbors maintain their temple.

In other news, for those who are unaware, interfaith relations really is an active field. It may not always make the major news sites, but conferences and discussions are constantly taking place in an effort to improve religious relations. For example, there will be a conference this summer in the Balkans with young Muslims and Jews that I just heard about today (http://imic.ba/ba/?p=123). It looks truly excellent...maybe I'll try to crash it, since I missed the application deadline? :)

Stories like this are even more important when we hear things like the latest big news story out of the UK today about the first terrorist attack on British streets since the 2005 bombings in London. Apparently, two extremist Jihadist Muslims...used butcher tools to hack a British soldier to death, on a street in London, in broad daylight. This is horrific.

While some argue that Muslims in America do not vocalize their opposition to horrific acts like this enough, it seems British Muslims are quickly denouncing these crazy murderers. There are a ton of articles you can read online about the horrible killing and its apparent "religious" inspirations, but also take a look here to see how the Muslim Council of Britain and others quickly came out in opposition to these people: http://blogs.spectator.co.uk/coffeehouse/2013/05/not-in-the-name-of-islam-british-muslims-denounce-the-woolwich-attack/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=not-in-the-name-of-islam-british-muslims-denounce-the-woolwich-attack.

So try not to let the crazies win. Think about Bradford, and the way the Muslim community there helped their neighbors in an act of goodwill. Think about any interfaith interactions you may have had lately: maybe it was a brief conversation on a subway with a woman wearing a headscarf, or dinner with a very religious friend, or a religious service you attended in a tradition other than your own. But try not to let the crazies out there color your views of one religion, or of the world as a whole. We're all better than that.

Now go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson

Is Judaism Unappealing?

Hello, friends.

Many times, when I speak to someone from Reform or Conservative Judaism or when I read comments made by Jewish celebrities, they describe themselves in one of these ways:

1. "I don't really practice, I'm more of a cultural/ethnic Jew."
2. "I was raised Jewish, but I don't really practice now."
3. "My family is Jewish, but I don't consider myself anything."
4. "I practice Buddhism now, you know, mindfulness and meditation."

Why are the liberal movements seemingly losing members? After the 20th time hearing comments like this, it really started distressing me. I do not blame someone who choose an alternative path, but I rather blame us liberal Jews as a group for not finding better ways to make people want to be Jewish. I now tend to think of liberal Judaism as a place that can serve as a "religion for secular-ish people," a kind of place where someone who follows a modern, secular society can still feel comfortable in a faith setting. We're really contemporary in a lot of ways, particularly Reform Judaism--people can think what they want, be Democrats of Republicans, support or oppose abortion, drink alcohol or abstain, support or oppose homosexuality, believe in and fight for those ideas that matter most to them, and still fit. Or you can practice Judaism more, attend services every week or pray every day even, but still hold these more "liberal" opinions. As long as you feel the need to believe in a Greater Power and want to pray to G-d and participate in some really exciting, meaningful ancient rituals, you can be part of the club. But then why do people keep leaving?

Is this only a problem in my head? I don't think so. The push in URJ (the Union for Reform Judaism) for a few months seems to be towards engaging the youth, those people between roughly ages 15-35 who might not be part of a Reform community as they move through college/grad school, etc. It seems like, somehow, something is not keeping people interested. After having a Bar/Bat Mitzvah class size of maybe 50, by the end of high school my Hebrew School was down to about 15.

I know  that when I was growing up I was always more interested in going to services and attending Hebrew School than were many of my peers. Maybe it was because I am a nerd and just love learning. Maybe there's something mystical in it--I once had a kind Orthodox woman shake her head in wonder when I explained that no, I am not a matrilineal bloodline Jew, though I am very involved in Judaism. She then said, "Well...you never know. Maybe somewhere back along the line you were. And maybe you'll even become Orthodox one day...you never know what could happen, what paths life will take you down." Misty concepts of my bloodline aside, I always loved learning about Judaism for some reason.

I do not really blame my peers who left after their bar mitzvahs. A large part of traditional Jewish learning involves looking backward at our history (pretty depressing), and at the history of antisemitism (even more depressing), and at texts written in Hebrew (a language that is not really taught to many outside of the Orthodox or rabbinic schools today). We learned how to pronounce the words, but not what most of them meant, which means that we can sit in a synagogue and make the right sounds on Friday nights, but would need to look to the English on the facing page of our prayer book to have any idea what it means. I have memorized the vague meaning of some of the standard prayers, but really I am just making strange sounds along with everybody else. I can see why people wouldn't love that, it really does not make sense. Is this like the change that came to the churches centuries ago? Is Hebrew our Latin? Should we move towards all English?

We can't necessarily force students to learn an entirely different language, with different grammar rules, different structures, and even a different alphabet, when already we are fighting to convince liberal Jewish parents that they should bring their kids to Hebrew School even just once a week. But I love Hebrew. Something about the sense of its ancient foundations, its beautiful script (everyone should try to view a Torah scroll up-close at some point in their lives, it is truly beautiful). I don't actually feel that comfortable in an all-English synagogue setting, it feels empty to me, though I imagine if I were raised in that atmosphere I might think Hebrew was outdated. But I love the language.

So how do we cope with this particular problem? I hypothesize that there must be some methods of teaching Hebrew that the liberal Jewish world has not tried yet. Maybe we could focus on teaching the sounds and word meanings and not some of the useless parts, like Hebrew script (which seemed pointless, since the prayerbooks use standard Hebrew, and I remember very little of the script form now anyway). Then we could teach what actual prayers mean, word for word. Kind of a "prayer conversational" Hebrew, like how you can take "conversational Italian" and learn how to say important things like "Mamma mia!" instead of sticky grammatical rules that you usually won't need (speaking of my Italian final on Friday...).

I tried to match the letters up (remember, Hebrew goes from right to left).

I have never claimed to like teaching, so this is really just brainstorming. What else might be keeping people away? I think parents definitely need to make Judaism more of a presence in the lives of their children. Shabbat dinners seem like an easy enough way to bring it in weekly, and maybe just making sure the family either has a traditional Friday night Shabbat dinner or a Saturday night havdallah dinner (marking the closing of Shabbat). Growing up, I only had one close friend who regularly did this, but her parents refused to let her do anything on Friday nights unless it was a big event like a one-time school dance or something. It felt restricting, and I could see someone getting resentful over that. Maybe instead having that flexibility to choose either Friday or Saturday--at the beginning of the week figuring out which would work best for the whole family--and then making it special, including prayers, not just take out food and the TV. In January, I committed to doing something Jewish at least once a month. I know, it sounds small, but I am trying to work up to doing more, and I actually have done more than that most months (I went to Friday night services three times in one month, which is a personal record).

One of the issues might be timing of Jewish religious services. Think about it: if you're Christian, you go on Sunday mornings. That works out pretty well, since secular people usually sleep in then so it's not like you would miss anything important or fun. But if you're Jewish, Friday nights in the secular world is a big night, one of only two worthwhile weekend nights to see friends. Many times freshman year, when I was just adjusting to being in Virginia, I would consider going to Shabbat services on Friday night, only to find out friends were gathering to watch a movie or something. It sounds trivial, but for me, the choice came down to sitting in an unfamiliar synagogue, with people I did not know, and chanting in a language I cannot understand...or trying to form friendships with people I would interact with for the next four years. It really didn't make sense to go to temple then. (I pray on my own every day, anyway.)

Could the problem have to do with the holidays? I don't think so. I think most Jewish people (even "non-religious" Jewish people) love the holidays. I mean, first of all, we have like a zillion. You can miss work or school, and spend time eating mostly yummy (kugel, hamantaschen) and occasionally strange (gefilte fish) foods. There's singing, sometimes dancing, some games, lots of sugar, and a lot of history. So we've got the holidays down pretty well.

I think it mostly comes back to making liberal Judaism a part of our week, and about figuring out how to deal with the Hebrew issue. If children were brought up knowing what the prayers meant, and with having Shabbat dinner every week, or going to synagogue the first Friday of every month, or even just volunteering with the social action committee regularly, maybe that would help show our potentially "Lost Generation," to borrow a historic term, that Judaism has a lot of great parts to it, and it would make it a routine. By the time I reached high school, once-a-month Hebrew School mostly dealt with discussing how Reform Judaism would view several contemporary issues, like abortion, but still I got the impression from those lessons that it is up to each individual to make a moral decision. That was pretty modern, and sometimes I even look back at those books to understand some of those topics. (Incidentally, this concept reflects a religious Zoroastrian principle my roommate mentions every so often, called the "good mind," aka learn what you can, then make the best moral decision you can make, something that will not hurt others. Sounds reasonable.)

Anyone have any possible ideas about why people might be leaving Reform Judaism? I will keep pondering the issue, because I think this loss is a big problem, and I want reasons to contradict the many people who point to interfaith marriage as the culprit.

Now go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson

The Value of Pluralism

Hello, friends.

First off, sorry for the long delay--my thesis on antisemitism in Spain under Francisco Franco was due about a week ago, so there were a few weeks of craziness and then I collapsed for a while. Secondly, I know it has been a tough week for a lot of us, dealing with the fear of the bomber loose in Boston and various other tragedies over the past few days. This encouraged a lot of people to turn to religion for comfort, including me, and reminded me to post on here.

That said, I wanted to talk more about my experience with CLIP last summer, because I noticed I usually bring it up with negative associations: how it was challenging for me emotionally, how I felt "othered" in the group, things like that. These facts still remain true. I find that people are often more critical of people who claim to practice the same broad religion. For example, when my Catholic or Protestant friends disagree with the way in which the other side of Christianity practices the religion. Or when my Jewish peers in CLIP introducing me, for the first time in my life, to the actual idea that many Jewish people would not consider me Jewish because my "blood" from my birthmother (whom I have never met) rendered me a gentile.

But honestly, despite everything, CLIP was one of the most important and formative experiences I have ever had.

For those who are unaware, CLIP stands for Collegiate Leadership Internship Program. Run through the Hillel at NYU, CLIP is a Jewish internship program in New York City that combines an internship four four days a week with Wednesday seminars on career, leadership, and Judaism. I would recommend the program for anyone interested in exploring Judaism in greater depth. (http://www.clipnyc.com/)

The program places interns in internships that are appropriate to their potential career paths, for example law offices or financial firms or non-profits. I was working for the NYU Center for Spirituality, a new multifaith initiative at the university (pretty appropriate, huh?). There were fifty-one interns from many different types of Judaism, including non-religious, Orthodox, Reconstructionist, Reform, Conservative, Sephardic, etc. All fifty-one of us gathered on Wednesdays to participate in seminars, activities, hear lectures from Jewish leaders, from career experts, etc. CLIP is an excellent, strong program that I loved very much.

The pluralism aspect of the summer was fascinating. "Pluralism" in a religious context implies coexistence and discussion across different systems of religious beliefs, or in the Jewish context specifically, across the different movements.

Now, prior to May 2012, my Jewish world consisted of Reform/Conservative Jews (in my town, for all intents and purposes, this meant basically the same thing growing up), and then a vague understanding of what I considered "extremist," yes maybe even "crazy," Orthodox Jews. I had never met someone who identified as an Orthodox Jew (except briefly in Italy, which did not really count). If you had asked me before last summer if anyone still lived like the Jewish people in Fiddler on the Roof, I probably would have laughed and said "No way!" That would be very wrong. There are still people who will not dance with members of the other gender, or will not drive to temple on Friday nights. People who would not consider me Jewish because my birthmother is not Jewish. I did not really believe it, though, until I had met some people like this last summer. And it turns out they are not crazy. At least, my Orthodox friends are not, and I have learned a great deal more about Orthodoxy over the past eleven months.

This points to a critical part of pluralism: meeting people who embody the "other." It was vital for me to talk about religion with very religious Jewish individuals, those who try to follow the laws of the Torah as closely as possible. We all spoke fairly candidly, so that I felt comfortable asking about gender roles in Orthodox Judaism. About homosexuality. Sex. We covered these and more topics throughout the summer, in both formal and informal settings. Many of us said that, while we appreciated some of the formal Wednesday programming, we really learned the most from one another in our informal discussions and bonding opportunities. Going on a Shabbaton (a weekend trip that includes the Jewish Sabbath from Friday-Saturday) to Pennsylvania early in the program really opened my eyes to the level of disagreement we had in the group. But by using sensitive language, we all managed to really talk about our differences in inspiring ways, rather than putting one another down for our varying beliefs.

In the same vein, I got the impression that I was able to help change some perceptions about both interfaith marriage and Reform Judaism. About how having a Catholic mother did not make me any less of a participant in my Jewish community than were my Hebrew School classmates, or how "Reform Judaism" does not just mean "lazy Jews" and that we have a defined theology just like the other movements. Meeting people different from ourselves inspired many of us to learn more about our individual movements in order to better explain them when people approached us with questions. I know I learned a lot about all of the other movements, as well, and I am very happy to have friends now all across the Jewish spectrum. If you had asked me a year ago if I would ever be friends with someone Orthodox, I do not think I could have even thought about where I would even meet someone like that. But CLIP was the place.

The experience even encouraged many of us to reconsider what we want our own faith experience to look like now and in the future. I think many people grow up in one particular tradition and follow it their whole lives, without really questioning it. Others just ignore religion and live a secular life. But then there seems to exist a large contingent of college students who explore their faith in more depth, possibly because they find themselves in a new religious environment or community. I certainly have not loved my Jewish experience down here in Williamsburg, because of the lack of a familiar Jewish community. I have attended a few services at the closest Reform synagogue, about thirty minutes away, but do not love it. But this has gotten me thinking about where I could be happy living after college (somewhere with more liberal Jews).

Even while I have not had a strong Jewish community while in college, I have researched antisemitism in Europe a great deal, and developed a really strong passion for combating religious prejudices. So how could I go forward with my faith? Is being Reform enough for me, when many Reform Jews do indeed practice the religion very little? In an ideal situation, how would I participate in Judaism going forward? Keep kosher? Observe Shabbat fully? Not eat bread for eight days during Passover? These are all things that no Reform Jews I have ever met actually do (at least not all of them, and I am pretty sure not even any of them). The theology of Reform Judaism, however, really fits for me: militantly egalitarian, my movement accepts equal participation by men and women, homosexuals are often welcome in Reform communities, interfaith families are generally accepted into the community. And yet I want more, in terms of community involvement, in terms of Judaism in my daily life. For this and other reasons, I have internally considered exploring other movements, but I am still exploring this. We shall see.

I have spoken to fellow 2012 CLIP participants, and I know that some of them have similarly struggled to find where they want their religious compass to rest. Some traditional religious folks moving towards more liberal movements, some more secular folks moving towards Orthodoxy. It seems we all got to thinking, when we saw that there are different, yet still truly beautiful, ways of practicing Judaism.

I am 100% sure I would never have had such an excellent experience of Judaism in any other setting outside of the excellent pluralistic programming in CLIP. Maybe eventually I would have made Orthodox friends by chance, or thought about the possibility of starting to observe Shabbat more strictly, if I had not been in the group. But CLIP combined informal experiences with the education necessary to make sure that we were not just experiencing these different Jewish individuals without having the requisite background to truly understand more about the theology and practices. We had rabbis from different movements come speak to us one day, for example.

One concern I have about pluralistic programs, though, is that Orthodox groups might be less supportive of communities like this, out of a fear that their young congregants might then be tempted by the more liberal movements of Judaism like mine, and then leave the community. And yet...the value of interacting with members of different Jewish movements is just so critical, I cannot emphasize how excellent it was. I learned so much from my Orthodox friends. I wish there were more programs like this, and that growing up I had been exposed to pluralism much earlier.

I will forever be grateful to both the experiences I had during CLIP, and the continuing friendships I gained last summer. I feel affection for everyone in the group, and I was over the moon when I heard that two CLIP participants from our group last summer got engaged. We really formed lasting close connections, and I look forward to the time when we finally get to have a reunion with the group soon. Pluralism can work: it is not always easy, but it really does help us all understand our own faith in more depth. Try it! And remember to keep an open mind...you never know what you might find out about the world, and yourself.

Now go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson

#BeBlue

Hello, friends!

I've been writing this blog for just about three months now...and guess what? We've reached over 700 unique visitors! That's completely crazy. Thank you to everyone who is here for the first time and to those who have read every post I have written so far. It was very humbling to reach that number, truly. Every time someone unexpected walks up to me and says, "I read your blog" or "I shared your blog with some people today" or "I agree with the ideas on your blog," I feel honestly shocked, but also very blessed.

What I hope this means is that there are a couple of hundred people out there in cyberland who believe what I believe: that the main way we can prevent religious conflict in the future is to discuss our religious differences and similarities in open, engaging, and respectful ways. We are not always going to agree. We are not always going to like the opinions other people hold. In some cases, these opinions may go against the very essence of our moral codes, may make us twitch to hear said aloud, and we may find ourselves reevaluating whether or not we can continue to associate with people who could believe something so contrary to our own ethics. But we need to keep talking, keep seeking to understand before seeking to be understood, because by the nature of our different faiths, there exist beliefs that stand in direct conflict with those of other faiths.

I am sure that for many of you who spent any time on Facebook last week, when the Supreme Court heard some critical arguments about the legality of gay marriage, you probably saw many of your Facebook friends changing their profile pictures to the red equal sign in support of legalizing gay marriage (like I did for the two days). Whether or not you agree with the viewpoint that gay marriage should be legalized, I imagine it got a lot of us thinking, as we noticed who decided to openly demonstrate their support (or, in some cases, opposition).

Facebook proselytizing aside, the point of interfaith discussion is not to agree 100% of the time. It is certainly lovely to meet someone else and say, "Wow! You agree with me? How great!" But it also vital that we grow by exploring other beliefs, by trying to understand other points of view both to better solidify our own beliefs, but also to be more empathetic when dealing with people different from ourselves. It can be very easy to spot someone who has not had their beliefs challenged, or who has never engaged in truly open interfaith discussion, because they do not follow the mantra "Seek first to understand, then to be understood."

I recently mentioned to some friends that it's pretty ironic, but when I'm down here in Southern Virginia, I feel like I need to defend a more liberalized viewpoint, for example, being pro-gay marriage. But then I go back home to the North, where many people consider themselves much more "open" to other viewpoints, I often feel like I need to defend a more conservative religious viewpoint, like anti-gay marriage. Certainly not because I agree with the anti-gay viewpoint, but because holding one belief does not automatically render someone a bad person. Everyone is made up of a variety of beliefs and opinions, and we will rarely agree with someone completely on every issue. Most of the religious conversations I have, especially about topics on which I disagree with someone, are with the intent to have as much knowledge as possible so that I can defend their viewpoint to other people. I know some things would be deal breakers for me, but for a lot of my friends I disagree with on certain issues, I can see why they believe what they believe, given their backgrounds and life experiences. I just don't agree.

I try to think back to my mindset in high school. If you had asked me then if I could ever be friends with someone who opposed gay marriage, I would have been horrified and adamantly shouted, "Of course not! How prejudiced and bigoted and no way could I ever compromise my morals to that degree that I could associate with someone who thought that way!" Now, though, I cannot help but feel sadness when I hear some people I know saying those exact same words. There are many reasons people could oppose gay marriage, and no one I have ever spoken with about this have said anything horrible enough for me to "unfriend" them. Many, many people on this planet believe that the Torah or the Bible was written exclusively according to something G-d said. Those who do not believe this, or, like me, believe that G-d inspired the Torah but then man added in their own prejudices over the centuries, will never convince very religious people otherwise.

And we should not try to. We can present our viewpoint in the attempt to have others understand us, as well (our intent to understand should not lead to ignoring the second part of that phrase, "Then seek to be understood), but not with the the sole purpose of changing someone's mind.

 And so too should the very religious not try to convince us that their mindset is right. I'm sure some of you have gathered how frustrating I find it when yet another middle-aged man hands me a Bible, or there is a huge sign in our Student Center that says "I can tell you if you're going to Heaven!" or, like last Friday, when there is a man with a ten-foot high wooden cross on my campus and a sign reading, "Jesus died for your sins." The implication here to a non-Christian, or at least to me, is that these Christians believe that because I do not worship Jesus as the son of G-d, that I have erred by choosing the wrong faith. That I am a bad human being and undeserving of G-d's love, because clearly I am praying to the wrong concept of "G-d." That being anything other than Christian is wrong. Maybe it's because I'm Jewish, and we purposely try to dissuade people from converting to Judaism, but it always feels like an attack. Even the Dalai Lama, when he visited my college in October (and answered my question about interfaith relations for fifteen minutes!) said that he would recommend staying the religion in which you were raised, which leads me to believe that he might think like I do: in the end, there is no one "right" religion, we just have to live the best lives we can. I do not think we get to Heaven or the afterlife or whatever you call it and G-d says, "Good job Jews! You had the right beliefs. Everyone else, you all fail." I just don't think it works that way.

I hope that most religious people eventually evaluate their consciences, and try to think about other points of view rather than blindly trying to push their beliefs on others. What if they had been adopted by a non-Christian? They would probably believe just as wholeheartedly in another faith's mantra (just as my birthmother was Christian, yet I have been raised Jewish because that was what my parents decided when they adopted me). It almost seems random. Or what if they were gay, and as a result their religious community would only accept them if they remained celibate? There are an infinite number of scenarios that can challenge our beliefs, and I think self-reflection like this is healthy. But please stop trying to give me Bibles, you proselytizers of the world, or I might start waving the Torah in your face and see how you like it.

So back to the positive: the title of this post actually comes from the subject line of an e-mail I just received this afternoon from the IFYC (Interfaith Youth Corps). Basically, the IFYC is a group that seeks to mobilize young people and encourage them to seek out interfaith situations in order to better understand people of other faiths. I received the e-mail because this Thursday, April 4, people throughout the country will be wearing blue to show their support for interfaith engagement. What a great idea! The idea is that we are better together, better when we all work together to make the world a better place, rather than ignoring the differences, which can lead to misunderstandings and fighting. You can also sign the "blue" pledge here: http://www.ifyc.org/node/8888



I hope some of you will join me in showing support by wearing blue on Thursday. I know it does not actually do something, it's not like donating to charity for example, but it shows solidarity, and maybe it will encourage someone to engage in an interfaith conversation. But even if you don't wear blue, I hope that you join the fight for greater interreligious understanding. Maybe bring up that awkward subject with someone you know you will probably disagree with; it will probably not go wonderfully every time--believe me, I know. Or share this blog with someone new, someone you think might appreciate a new perspective (and add your e-mail to the box at the top so you receive a message when the blog is updated). Most importantly, if you come to these issues with an open heart, and a true desire to seek a greater understanding of your fellow human beings, then you cannot do any better than that.

I have also added a poll on the left side of the blog, right under my bio, that will be open for a week. If you have a minute and feel comfortable sharing where you fall on the religious spectrum, I would love to know just how interfaith our readers are. And, as ever, please feel free to comment on this post, whether you agree or disagree: I am always open to discussion, and engaging with different view points.

Now go out and love one another. And wear blue on Thursday.

<3,
Allyson