I grew up in a Baptist church in a rapidly growing southern
city. The church was widely known for its progressive and intellectual, if not
liberal, approach to scripture. The
church had been lead since its inception by bold, outspoken ministers.
Theologians with Doctorate degrees from prestigious universities. These
powerful men were among the city’s first to stand up for integration and to
speak out against the war in Vietnam, never shying from controversy. But in my
childhood memory, it was always accepted as a socially appropriate answer to
the inevitable southern question of, “Where do you go to Church?” I don’t
remember my family using the word Christian to describe ourselves. If the
subject came up, we said that we were Baptist. But it was undeniably a
Christian church. The progressive stands on social issues were firmly founded
in Biblical scholarship.
My wife did not grow up in a Baptist Church. She grew up in a
Synagogue. The technical term for our relationship is “interfaith marriage”
since neither of us converted to the religion of the other. A mixed marriage.
In the south. I can’t say that I ever felt persecuted or judged because I
married a Jew. I did become more keenly aware of our society’s insensitivity
toward all non-Christians among us. I
noticed the billboards dooming my wife and children to hell a little more than
I probably would have otherwise. And I felt my wife’s quiet discomfort at
Christmas time. The discomfort that
comes when you are bombarded with songs, and lights, and ribbons and bows that
say that you are an outsider.
You don’t belong.
But mostly I have experienced curiosity. People either had
questions about how we raised our kids or about what insight I might have into
Jewish beliefs. I became the person you
could safely ask without worrying about the insensitive nature of the question.
The most common question I have been asked in regard to our
children goes like this:
“How do you raise your children? Aren’t they confused?”
People started asking this before our oldest daughter could even speak. I’d answer, “Yes, she is. I always seem to lose her around the part that can only be explained in Hebrew!”
Once she was about five, I began to answer rhetorically, “Does your child find it confusing that there are three Gods which are really one God and that’s why we say the Trinity because there is The Father, and The Son, and The Holy Ghost? Oh and that the Holy Ghost is not really a ghost but a God, but not different from the other two Gods because there is only one G-d? I mean, really! Do we really think five year olds understand any of the gobbledy-gook that we throw at them? Virgin births, snakes with apples, and scary stories about earth destroying floods ordered by the God who loves us unconditionally?”
“How do you raise your children? Aren’t they confused?”
People started asking this before our oldest daughter could even speak. I’d answer, “Yes, she is. I always seem to lose her around the part that can only be explained in Hebrew!”
Once she was about five, I began to answer rhetorically, “Does your child find it confusing that there are three Gods which are really one God and that’s why we say the Trinity because there is The Father, and The Son, and The Holy Ghost? Oh and that the Holy Ghost is not really a ghost but a God, but not different from the other two Gods because there is only one G-d? I mean, really! Do we really think five year olds understand any of the gobbledy-gook that we throw at them? Virgin births, snakes with apples, and scary stories about earth destroying floods ordered by the God who loves us unconditionally?”
When we adopted our younger daughter from China these questions seemed to stop. We added just one too many dimensions to our family dynamic for anyone to even be able to decide which question about raising kids in a virtual mini United Nations was the most pressing one.
So folks moved on to seeking out my deep and vast knowledge
about Judaism. Ha ha. There are two
questions that seemed to be foremost in the minds of most Christians. The first one is easy and could be knocked
out quickly. But I might have occasionally dragged it out a little by not
giving the simple answer first. It depended on my mood and if I was looking to
have a little fun. The conversation might
have gone like this: Random Christian or RC as I’ll refer to them for the rest
of this post would ask, “Do they believe in Jesus?”
STOP right there. I
have to interrupt this conversation example to say that it is OK to use the
word Jew. Many of my
Christian friends and family try to avoid using that word. FYI, Jew is not a derogatory term. You don’t have to say “she is of the Jewish
faith” or insert the word “they” like in the question above. It is perfectly OK
to say “Do Jews believe in Jesus?” And referring to Jews as “The Jewish” is
just wrong and clangs on my ears!
RC: "Do They believe in Jesus?"
Me: "Jesus was a Jew." (Occasionally someone might argue this point)
RC: "Do They believe in Jesus?"
Me: "Jesus was a Jew." (Occasionally someone might argue this point)
RC: "But do they Believe in him?"
Me: "You mean that he was a skilled Jewish carpenter?"
Me: "You mean that he was a skilled Jewish carpenter?"
OK. So now I try to explain the simple truth. I explain that Jesus is not a part of Judaism. I say that asking that question is like asking if Christians believe in Mohammed or Buddha.
RC: "But do they believe that he existed? That he rose from the dead?"
Me: "They have no opinion on that. The Torah ends way before Jesus was around."
RC: "So they don't believe in Him?"
This is where I typically give up and just say, "no".
The other common question asked of me is, “What do they believe happens when you die?”
As Christians, we seem obsessed with this subject. We seem
to spend more time worrying about what happens after we die than what happens
while we live. Why is that? I have to admit, that when my future wife and I were dating, as soon
as I had enough nerve built up I asked this question myself.
“We don’t talk about it”, she said, very matter-of-factly.
This was not the answer I expected. I pressed for more, “But what do you believe?” She answered the same as before, but added that we should not live our lives a particular way because we get some sort of reward at the end of it. We should live our lives in a way that makes the world a better place because that is the right thing to do.
“We don’t talk about it”, she said, very matter-of-factly.
This was not the answer I expected. I pressed for more, “But what do you believe?” She answered the same as before, but added that we should not live our lives a particular way because we get some sort of reward at the end of it. We should live our lives in a way that makes the world a better place because that is the right thing to do.
It was clear that she was not going to answer this question
any differently. This was her answer. I’m
not sure if she was taught this or if it was something that was just understood. I think her
mother did say to me at some point that life should be lived according to G-d’s
will because he created us and that is enough in itself. And you know what, it
is enough. But doesn’t G-d always do more than enough?
At Passover we sing a song called Dayenu. The refrain that
repeats over and over is that G-d always does more than enough. If he had only
delivered us from slavery, that would have been enough. But he then defeats the
pursuing army, gives us commandments and delivers us to Israel. He never stops
giving.
So I’m still a Baptist on a journey with a wife who is still
a Jew. My kids are not confused. When they were young children we assured them that G-d was
the creator of all things, that he loved us all, and nothing could separate us
from that love. Isn’t that what little
ones want to hear and find comfort in?
As they have grown they have been exposed to both faiths.
They have been taught that no single religion has a monopoly on G-d. The
creator has worked in the lives of different people in different ways. My children are free to question and learn
and find the beliefs and values that are genuine to them. To me, that seems
like the opposite of confusion.
In my “about “section on this blog I talk about perspective. And I respect that we all come to this place with our own experience and circumstance. But I do have to say this. Don’t tell me that the beautiful, sparkling, altruistic, social justice-loving souls that are my wife and kids will be condemned to eternal hell fire by a
loving G-d.
The G-d of Love, Mercy, and Grace would never command this, let alone allow it. Peace be with you all.
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