Gefilte fish just doesn’t cut it anymore. As part of a wholly Jewish life, it was enough to carry generations. But our food, it turns out, is too flimsy a foundation.
It wasn’t long ago that many Jewish mothers and fathers didn’t need to think much about their Judaism. But they kept kosher, went to synagogue, married Jewish and sent their children to cheder (supplementary religious school). They were deeply, unquestionably Jewish.
For many, being Jewish may have seemed to be more about food than faith, more about tradition than learning. It was woven through them; it defined them.
Times are different and being Jewish is now an act of will; it has become a choice.
Consequently, many are not choosing to engage or commit. Like it or not, the Jewish people is contracting.
According to the 2000-01 National Jewish Population Survey, 47 percent of American Jews are now intermarrying. That means that, yes, more families now include Jews. But studies show that fewer families (particularly those in which the Jewish partner is male) are choosing to create Jewish households.
American synagogues are struggling to attract members and to draw in those members throughout the year with innovative services and educational opportunities.
National and local community leaders huddle regularly in efforts to reach more Jews — the unengaged, unaware and disenfranchised. Dozens of organizations claim this kiruv (outreach) as their primary goal.
The result is twofold: There is “gefilte fish Judaism,” which is dense with symbols and thin on depth; and then there are the stories of those who choose to be engaged — a multicolored, mixed bag of Jewish journeys.
Those stories are the thrill of modern American Judaism — the many paths we travel to find meaning in our faith and identity. Perhaps as a result, more adults across the denominational spectrum are involved in Jewish learning.
This engagement is the direct consequence of our struggle to stay Jewish. Having choices means grappling with slippery questions. My eight-year old, who doesn’t doubt her young faith in God, asked me last week, “Why do we have religions?”
That is, as far as I can tell, her version of the question that has been tapping my shoulder for 25 years: Why be Jewish? Without Judaism, we can still be good people, and live fulfilling and meaningful lives. So why choose a particularly Jewish life?
For me, the answer that repeatedly arises is as obvious as it is elusive: It is the simple act of embracing what I already am. I was woven with Jewish fiber. My Jewish soul is central and solid and permanent.
That Jewish legacy can be exhausting and tiresome, but it is mine — as it was my parents’ and my grandparents’, reaching all the way back to the beginning.
The moment I chose to claim my legacy as a Jew, I became the beneficiary not only of a delicious menu of Jewish food but also of a well of Jewish wisdom and rich Jewish history. And then, magically, it became mine — fluid and modern and particular.
I am still learning about my roots, in my own way. I yearn to study our traditional texts and fit it into my already formed view of the world. The piles of books beside my bed grow higher as I discover more Jewish thought, Jewish stories, Jewish questions and Jewish journeys.
Choosing to be Jewish is an act of receiving what is already mine, of celebrating my particularity, feting the rainbow rather than the melting pot. It’s a movement not to reject another culture but to find my place within the massive tent of my people.
The Chronicle would like to showcase our community’s stories of Jewish journeys. In an occasional series on our op-ed pages, we would like to share your reasons for living a Jewish life.
So, please send us your short essays, 500-700 words, about the trigger that sent you on your Jewish path — whatever it may be. We want to hear stories of authentic Jewish life, dramatic and subtle, from throughout the community; these stories are an important part of our collective narrative.
Later this month we will celebrate Chanukah, which marks the Macabbees’ victory over the Seleucid empire and the rededication of the second Temple in Jerusalem.
Chanukah literally means “dedication” but it also is connected to the word l’chanech, to educate, or chinuch, education. As we enter this holiday season, may we rededicate ourselves to our Jewish educations and celebrate our personal and meaningful Jewish journeys.
Chag Chanukah sameach . Happy Chanukah.
Loading ...