Because I was raised as a Christian, it naturally was Christmas-time
that made me more seriously consider the actions and
reactions of non-Christians during the season of winter holidays.
Still, the topic of Jewish-Christian
differences has really been much in my mind during the last year and a
half as I dated, committed to, moved in with and eventually bought a
home with my new partner. You see, he is Jewish. (If you are a true
Southerner, you’ll whisper that last word.)
I suppose I have always kept it tucked in
the back of my mind that interfaith relationships were less of a concern
in same-sex scenarios. And they are, to some degree. We don’t as
automatically think about “bringing up baby,” baptism, bar mitzvahs
and schooling. Culture in this country won’t let us legally wed, so
“church or synagogue?” is not such an immediate question.
But the questions of religion, faith and
values are nonetheless there. Worthy of awareness, introspection and
discussion, if not resolution. It’s that last part that bothers me,
because we don’t sit comfortably with diversity in our culture, no
matter what lip service we try to pay to it.
For my part, because I care about Bill, I
want to protect him from bullies and bigots and such. So, early in our
relationship I would be sure to work the fact that he is Jewish into
conversations so new acquaintances didn’t inadvertently offend him.
What a way to fight prejudice—by helping warn those who might offend!
Ironically, it was Bill’s father
who—also inadvertently—gave me a great nugget of wisdom on this when
he shared with me the writings of Alfred Connable, who was speaking
about religion and about Algernon Black, the founder of the Ethical
Culture Society. Mr. Connable, pondering Black’s own writings and
views, said, “I much prefer that people of unconscious prejudice air
their fears, however hostile or jocular the manner.”
Exactly.
My grandmother thought she had committed
a grave social faux pas by asking Bill, “What faith are you?” In a
follow-up phone call to my mother, she said, “I knew he was Jewish,
but it slipped my mind and I asked him!” Well, I’m glad it slipped
her mind—because Bill is the Bill who loves me whether or not he is
Jewish. And what’s wrong with asking what faith someone is? She’s a
Baptist lady and we were visiting her on her Sabbath and we had been
discussing religion a bit. Natural enough.
I’ll continue to see and hear and
ponder Christian/Jewish differences, and I am glad for the new
awareness.
I keep remembering something else Mr.
Connable noted in his writings that Bill’s Dad shared: He said the
Jewish community gained converts—he and the children he would
eventually have with his Jewish wife-to-be—when it welcomed their
interfaith marriage more than the Christian community seemed to.
I thought about this at Christmas when
Bill and I visited my sister and her family. How would Bill feel at
Christmas Eve church services? Why did my sister have to ask if he ate
ham? (I suppose she thought he might keep kosher?) Would my opinionated,
oft-prejudiced father say something against Jewish people?
Whatever is said or done, I’m not going
to walk on eggshells around Bill. But I will continue to be fascinated
by both the similarities and differences of Jewishness.
Especially by the fact that in the United
States (and most probably elsewhere), Jewish people live day to day in a
superimposed Christian culture. Their core beliefs are often treated as
“alternate.” Being gay, I can empathize a bit with anyone who has
been made to feel like an outsider.
Again, it was Bill’s father who
unwittingly offered wisdom on the subject when during our Thanksgiving
visit he shared a 30-page text—the account of his Eastern European
immigrant great aunt, as told to her daughter in 1961.
Anuta’s life story seemed fraught with
forced change and mandatory adaptation. Still, her telling is
uncharacteristically adaptive, strong and positive. It is insightful
wisdom from someone who came halfway around the world—albeit because
of religious persecution—to escape to a world that was truly foreign.
Bill’s ancestor came to a place that
didn’t quite have a nice, clean, even, comfortable spot for her. But
she didn’t need absolute resolution. Anuta survived and flourished and
made her place her own. Her story brought wonderful lessons for me, at
just the right time. And I hope Bill’s presence will always bring such
great lessons. I am thinking our commitment ceremony will include
aspects of many cultures and religions. We are together, and that’s
all the resolution I need.
B. Andrew Plant is an Atlanta-based
writer who works in public relations for an insurance company. He is
happy to be in the midst of his last marriage. He can be reached at AtlantaWriter@mindspring.com.
Copyright 2003, B. Andrew Plant.
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