What Local Community Studies Tell Us About Interfaith Family Inclusion

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Seven years ago, the Pew Report found that 72% of non-Orthodox Jews were intermarrying. One of its many other findings – that while 89% of intermarried Jews were proud to be Jewish, only 59% had a strong sense of belonging to the Jewish people (51-2) – raises the question whether interfaith couples feel welcomed and included in Jewish communities.

Since the Pew Report, the Cohen Center for Modern Jewish Studies at Brandeis University has conducted four studies of interfaith couples and eleven local Jewish community studies, analyzed by the Center for Radically Inclusive Judaism in a recent paper. What surfaces repeatedly in both bodies of research is the feeling of being “other” that people in interfaith relationships say they experience. We believe that the impact and extent of that feeling of being “other” explains the Pew Report’s finding that interfaith families do not feel that they belong to the Jewish people, and points the way to what needs to be done to engage them.

Studies of Interfaith Families

The 2019 Beyond Welcoming: Engaging Intermarried Couples in Jewish Life study stated “we have succeeded in making intermarried families feel welcome,” and that “barriers to engagement with Jewish life have been largely eliminated.” These statements were premature declarations of victory, in part because of the study’s own statement that interfaith couples who did not feel completely welcome “emphasized their feelings of being ‘other’ and not fitting in.” (42)

The Swimming Upstream: Interfaith Families in Toronto study, released in August 2020 and largely unnoticed in the midst of the COVID pandemic, is inconsistent with the declaration of success at welcoming. It states that “Couples felt unwelcome when interfaith relationships were denigrated, when the non-Jewish partner felt pressure to convert, or when they were expected to negate or hide the non-Jewish partner’s religious identity.” (1) It repeatedly describes interfaith couples’ feelings with words like “outcasts,” “outsider,” “inferior option” and “undesirable” (emphasis added):

[T]o be accepted as part of a community with families like ours would be nice for us. We feel like outcasts sometimes. (Non-Jewish partner, survey) (14)

One partner often feels like an outsider, so it’s difficult to prioritize events/feel comfortable attending. (Jewish partner, survey) (33)

“[T]he desire to be seen in a positive light and not denigrated as an inferior option, inherently less Jewish, or dysfunctional” was what they most wished the Jewish community understood about them. (28)

Couples fear some Jewish institutions will view them and their families as undesirable or unfortunate. (41)

While the tone of the two other studies of interfaith couples, in Boston and Pittsburgh, are generally more positive about the interfaith couples’ experiences, still in Boston, in some cases, “despite the initial welcome by a congregation, couples felt an undercurrent of disapproval or being treated as outsiders rather than as integral and valued members of the community” (17) and in Pittsburgh, some non-Jewish partners worried that their acceptance might be conditional or superficial and were concerned that they or their children were thought of differently or more negatively than inmarried couples and their children (12)

The Toronto study finds that “Many interfaith couples indicated they felt pressure from family, friends, and religious leaders for the non-Jewish partner to convert to Judaism.” In Toronto and in Pittsburgh (12), expectations about conversion felt unwelcoming, judgmental and intrusive.

I wish that the Jewish community didn’t put so much emphasis on having a Jewish spouse or partner. I find it highly offensive when my husband’s siblings speak about not accepting if their children were to date someone who wasn’t Jewish. It is offensive to myself and my daughter and really turns me off of the religion. (Non-Jewish partner,Toronto survey) (28)

Families are perceived to be more welcoming than community organizations. In Toronto, “Non-Jewish partners especially appreciated welcoming messages and actions that made them feel they belonged in their new extended families.”

When I first met [Jewish partner’s] parents, it felt like I was kind of already part of the family. I wasn’t the outcast. They’re very welcoming and very friendly. (Non-Jewish partner, interview) (30)

Feeling welcomed in families but not in Jewish organizations may explain why 89% of Toronto surveyed couples engaged in some celebration of the High Holidays, but 76% did not attend services, celebrating instead in home settings with family or friends. (13)

Local Community Studies

A. Interfaith Families Connection to Jewish Community

In the Twin Cities, as one example, 48% of intermarrieds feel not connected to either online or local community, compared to 8% of inmarrieds. (52) The following average data from the local community studies suggest that interfaith families do not experience being welcomed or made to feel part of Jewish communities:

  • Fewer intermarried (25%) than inmarried (54%) respondents said that being Jewish is very much a matter of community. Fewer intermarried (57%) than inmarried (89%) respondents said that being part of a Jewish community is important or essential to what being Jewish means to them.
  • Fewer intermarried (5%) than inmarried (28%) people say that they feel very much of a connection with or very much like a part of their local Jewish community.
  • Fewer intermarrieds (18%) than inmarrieds (43%) said they feel very much connected to Israel, a traditional measure of feeling part of the Jewish people.

B. Welcoming

People in interfaith relationships generally found their local Jewish organizations and community less welcoming than inmarrieds did. Six of the studies explicitly asked how welcoming the local Jewish community was to interfaith families; 54% of intermarrieds, compared to 69% of inmarrieds, said their local Jewish community was a little/somewhat or very much welcoming; more intermarrieds (42%) than inmarrieds (25%) said they had no opinion.

In Boston, for one example, 20% of intermarrieds compared to 8% of inmarrieds said that not welcoming was a reason they did not give their children Jewish education (TA 42). In Baltimore, as another example, only 15% of intermarrieds very much agreed that local Jewish organizations were welcoming to “people like you,” compared to 46% of inmarrieds. (TA (Technical Appendices) 121) The executive summary of the Baltimore study bluntly states: “Households that include an intermarried couple tend to feel that the community is not welcoming to them, does not care about them, and does not support them.” (3)

C. What Interfaith Families Say About Welcoming and Inclusion

Several local community studies invited comments about what prevented people in interfaith relationships from participating in Jewish life. In Baltimore (82) some interfaith families “felt unwelcomed in Jewish spaces, or feared they would be, because of who they are – in some cases, this belief was a result of direct experience and in others, it was an assumption.”

My wife is not Jewish, so my children are not Jewish according to Halacha, even though I am teaching them about Jewish culture. I feel like my family and I may not be accepted by the Jewish community.

As the non-Jewish spouse in a Jewish family, I am worried I won’t be accepted and have felt that way in some Jewish events in the course of my relationship with my husband. (84)

In the Twin Cities, despite a general feeling that the community is supportive of their needs, “some members of interfaith families, expressed their struggles with feeling accepted and welcomed.”

A major gap is making interfaith families feel welcome, especially the non-Jewish partner. This keeps us from being more involved when one person doesn’t feel welcome. (120)

In Pittsburgh, interfaith families felt that the community could do more to make them feel welcome.

We have a mix of religions in our home, though in practice we only practice Judaism. We found that we were not always welcomed or respected at [our area] congregations. Even Reform ones. (90)

In Washington, some interfaith families reported ways that the community made them feel unwelcome. One said,

As someone from an interfaith household, it’s hard to engage with the community if I have to convince my spouse, ‘Don’t worry, you’ll feel comfortable and welcome.’ She often feels like the Jewish community is insular and skeptical of non-Jews, and that makes it hard for me to find ways to engage in the community as well. (93)

Dual Faith Families

Data from the local community studies show that 15% of the children of intermarried parents are being raised Jewish and another religion. In the Twin Cities local community study (24) and the Boston study of interfaith families (17-8), some couples expressed concern about not being fully accepted if they decided to raise their child in two religions, or include both religions in their home life and in their identification of themselves as a family. One Boston respondent said:

There are some resources that say that they’re open to interfaith couples… But, it’s framed as for folks wanting to build a Jewish home … What I hear about interfaith [is]couples where one person is Jewish, and a Jewish community accepts that because they’re going to raise their kids Jewish. We are going to raise our kids Jewish, but we’re also gonna raise them actively something else… I feel anxious about finding those resources that don’t want me to be a kind of blank… I’m not a ‘nothing’ religiously. (Non-Jewish partner) (17-8)

What Can Be Done

The local community studies typically end with recommendations for future action. The Pittsburgh study clearly states the two main lines of efforts needed to engage interfaith families:

If the community can increase its outreach to intermarried families to make them feel more a part of the community, and if the community can offer them programs that stimulate their interests and meet their needs, there may be a significant opportunity to increase their Jewish engagement and encourage their children to develop their Jewish identities. (90)

There is a great deal of data and comment in the Cohen Center’s research that supports the view that people in interfaith relationships feel less welcomed and less a “part of” than inmarried people do. What a significant segment of people in interfaith relationships say, demonstrates a persistent feeling of being “other.”

Some of their comments point the way forward. One from the Boston study of interfaith families highlights the difference between feeling welcomed as a guest and included as part of the community: “Some couples recounted being regularly welcomed when they attended activities at a synagogue but never really progressing to feel like they belonged in the community.” (17)

Inclusion requires treating partners from different faith backgrounds as equals, like the Jewish partner’s Toronto family who treat the partner from a different faith background “as if I’m Jewish” (31), or the congregation in Boston where both partners are “treated very equally as members of the community” and are “both equally members of the congregation and that is really, really important to the fact that we feel at home here.” (16)

Who’s More Inclusive: Emerging or Legacy Spiritual Communities?

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When I ran InterfaithFamily (now 18Doors), a prominent philanthropist told me more than once that engaging interfaith families was an issue that would “take care of itself over time” because “young people are inclusive.” I was skeptical, but had no way to test or even shed light on the hypothesis – until now.

The Center for Radically Inclusive Judaism (CFRIJ) recently completed a Survey on Emerging Spiritual Communities’ Interfaith Inclusion Policies and Practices, modeled on the Center’s 2019 Survey on Reform Synagogue Interfaith Inclusion Policies and Practices (to which just under 50% of Reform congregations responded). Adopting the terminology of start-ups compared to “legacy” institutions, comparisons to the Reform survey results can provide some insight into the relative inclusiveness of emerging and legacy spiritual communities.

With much-appreciated help from the Jewish Emergent Network, the Open Dor ProjectKenissa: Communities of Meaning Network, the Upstart Network, and Base and Base Hillels, the Center compiled a list and invited 72 emerging spiritual communities to take the survey; 44, or 61%, responded. While they range from well-established, with years of operation and hundreds of participants, to very new start-ups, common elements include being led by a rabbi, cantor, kohenet or other spiritual leader; gathering to celebrate Shabbat and holidays and lifecycle events; perhaps offering worship services, education programs, and mentoring; and developing relationships and building community in a Jewish context.

Interpretation of the significance of data from these surveys depends to a large extent on one’s perspective with respect to inclusion of interfaith families. The same data can be presented in ways that emphasize permission or restriction; for example, 40% of communities permit X, or, 60% of communities do not permit X. In turn, whether or not it is appropriate or advisable to permit or not permit X depends on one’s fundamental views: about Judaism – whether it is a system for those who are Jewish or also those who do Jewish; about the relative importance of maintaining boundaries, on the one hand, and engaging interfaith families in Jewish life, on the other; and about whether restriction or permission will lead to interfaith family engagement. Admittedly, I come from a maximalist inclusion perspective, believing that permission, lowering boundaries, and encouraging anyone who want to, to do Jewish – in other words, treating Jews and their partners equally – leads to the engagement of interfaith families that is badly needed.

With respect to membership and leadership – whether partners from different faith backgrounds count as voting members and can hold leadership positions – the emerging spiritual communities are somewhat more inclusive than Reform synagogues: 84% consider them as voting members, compared to Reform’s 79%; 80% permit them to be board members and 76% to be officers, compared to Reform’s 40% and 27%.

With respect to wedding officiation, they are very close: 74% of emerging community clergy will officiate for interfaith couples, compared to 88% of Reform rabbis, while 29% will co-officiate, compared to 22% of Reform rabbis.

With respect to ritual participation, 68% of emerging spiritual communities allow members from a different faith background to lead candle lighting, while 32% do not; the data for Reform synagogues are identical.

We added several new questions to the recent survey and found these measures of inclusive policies and practices:

  • 70% of emerging spiritual communities recognize patrilineal Jews as Jews for all purposes, 23% as Jews for some but not all purposes, and only 7% not recognizing them as Jews.
  • 80%+ of communities in which baby namings and britot take place fully include parents and relatives from different faith backgrounds, and 90%+ of rabbis/spiritual leaders will officiate at funerals and conduct shiva minyans for them.
  • 82% of communities allow children who are receiving formal religious education in another religion to participate in their education programs.

The response to one new question in the recent survey was meant to test whether the communities mean to treat Jews and their partners equally: 64% said they do not draw any distinctions in terms of leadership and governance, ritual participation, or otherwise, between Jews and partners from different faith backgrounds. That is a heartening statistic from a maximalist inclusion perspective.

However, the “acid test” of interfaith family inclusiveness is whether parents from different faith backgrounds are allowed to have – by themselves – an Aliyah at their childrens’ b’nai mitzvot. The survey found that only 41% of communities allow parents from different faith backgrounds to do so. That’s not consistent with 64% of communities saying that they draw no distinctions.

Unfortunately, the Reform survey did not specifically ask about parents from different faith backgrounds having an Aliyah by themselves, so that comparison can’t be made. But the surveys do show that 79% of emerging spiritual communities and 70% of Reform synagogues allow parents from different faith backgrounds to join with Jewish parents in having an Aliyah.

Finally, the emerging spiritual communities are similar to Reform synagogues in one other way: they are not publicizing their policies and practices with regard to interfaith families on their websites – 5% do, compared to 18% of Reform.

The bottom line from my perspective: there’s not a large difference in the interfaith inclusion policies and practices of emerging spiritual communities and Reform congregations. They appear to be more inclusive in terms of leadership positions, and not constrained by a policy against dual education, but their practices on ritual participation are largely the same. It’s too soon to say that the young people are creating communities that are more inclusive than their elders’.

There are positive signs, however. Open-ended responses in the recent survey suggest a pragmatically inclusive approach that all emerging and legacy communities might follow: allowing members from different faith backgrounds who are “mission-aligned and see themselves as wanting to build meaningful Jewish community” to serve in leadership positions; not asking families whether their children are being educated in another religion, but making “it clear that our programs are grounded in Jewish tradition and open to all who are interested;” and allowing parents and relatives from different faith backgrounds to have an Aliyah where the family can “ensure that the relatives know the prayer and want to say it with sincerity.”

We Still Don’t Include Interfaith Families

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[This op-ed was submitted to the Forward, which published an edited version, Our Continued Rejection of Interfaith Families Hurts Everyone, December 21, 2020.]

Seven years ago, the Pew Report’s finding that 72% of non-Orthodox Jews were intermarrying rocked the Jewish world. The Pew Report did not examine why interfaith couples are relatively less Jewishly engaged on traditional measures of Jewish attitudes and behaviors, but provided one tantalizing clue: while 89% of intermarried Jews were proud to be Jewish, only 59% had a strong sense of belonging to the Jewish people. (at 51-2)

It is plain common sense that people will not feel that they belong to a group that makes them feel like outsiders and undesirable. Now, as 2020 ends, that common sense is supported by research.

In August 2020, the executive summary of the latest local Jewish community study by the Cohen Center states starkly (at 3) that in Baltimore, “Households that include an intermarried couple tend to feel that the community is not welcoming to them, does not care about them, and does not support them.” Equally stark, the executive summary of the latest study of interfaith couples by the Cohen Center states (at 1) that in Toronto, while it was important to most of the interfaith couples surveyed that their family have a place within the Jewish community, couples felt unwelcome when interfaith relationships were denigrated, when the non-Jewish partner from a different faith background felt pressure to convert, or when they were expected to negate or hide that partner’s religious identity.

These recent conclusions are consistent with seven years of data from eleven local community studies and four studies of interfaith couples conducted by the Cohen Center since the Pew Report, according to a new paper by the Center for Radically Inclusive Judaism. That we still do not include interfaith families is indicated, as just one example, by the fact that the average of eleven local communities’ data shows that 5% of intermarrieds, compared to 28% of inmarrieds, feel very much of a connection with or very much like a part of their local Jewish community.

What is most striking in these studies is interfaith couples’ consistent and repeated use of terms like “outcasts,” “outsider,” “inferior option” and “undesirable” to describe how they are made to feel in Jewish communities. To feel included, they want to be treated as if they are Jewish, which means, as one said, “treated very equally as members of the community.”

The early reaction to the Pew Report included a group of two dozen “concerned Jews” proposing in 2014 to take action to counter a “disturbing trend” and promote inmarriage, and a  2015 Statement on Jewish Vitality that touted programs for raising the inmarriage rate and advocated for conversion to transform intermarriages into inmarriages. The message from Jewish leaders to interfaith couples was that their relationships were something to be prevented, and partners from different faith backgrounds could be included if they converted, but not as they were.

Sadly, these messages are surfacing again. Rabbi Jerome Epstein, emeritus CEO of the United Synagogue, emerged to say that “It’s time for the Jewish community to make a big push for Jews marrying Jews.” The Cohen Center released a study of the impact of Birthright Israel that “emphasizes the news that participants are much more likely to have a Jewish spouse or partner,” in the words of one Birthright lay leader. Len Saxe is quoted as saying that they focused on marriage because it is a good indicator of attachment to Jewish identity. But they could have focused on trip participants being more likely to raise their children Jewish and otherwise engage in Jewish life.

Highlighting that participants are more likely to inmarry makes it appear that inmarriage is Birthright’s goal. Jewish communal leaders are tone deaf on this score, not getting that suggesting that inmarriage is the goal necessarily, unavoidably makes interfaith marriage the inferior option. Jonathan Tobin is just so wrong when he says that “It’s no insult to the intermarried to recognize that [speaking about endogamy] is absolutely vital to the Jewish future.” Prioritizing endogamy leaves the partner from a different faith background feeling undesirable and the Jewish partner feeling that their marriage is a failure. Thus, we still have interfaith families feeling like they don’t belong.

One bright light at the end of this difficult year is the nearly universal positive response to the interfaith relationship of Doug Emhoff and Kamala Harris, Rabbi Emily Cohen writing that “maybe now the Jewish community will be able to see such families as normal, sacred and essential.” But as Alicia Chandler’s article title succinctly says, We Can’t Kvell Over Kamala Harris’ Jewish Husband While We Demonize Interfaith Marriage. I can’t imagine Kamala Harris tolerating being considered an “inferior option” as a marriage partner. No partner from a different faith background should be made to feel that way in any liberal Jewish community.

My Experience as an Intermarried Rabbi

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Guest Post by Rabbi Ed Stafman

At 30 years old, I married my wife – the daughter of a Presbyterian minister. I considered myself an atheist and secular Jew. Because religion was unimportant to me, it had little bearing on who I would marry. My family put no pressure on me about my intention to marry the woman who would become my wife.

At age 38, when our first child was turned five, I felt that she should have a Jewish education, despite the fact that I despised my own [Orthodox] Jewish childhood education. We lived in an overwhelmingly Christian city and with my wife’s family being so strongly connected to the church, my failure to give my daughter a Jewish education would likely have led to her becoming Christian by default, and that was unacceptable to me, although I didn’t understand why at the time. My wife was very gracious and supportive. So, we joined the local Reform synagogue and enrolled our daughter in the religious school there.

As time when on, we became more involved in the synagogue. I taught seventh grade religious school (I was able to read a week ahead of the kids!). The synagogue became a center of our social lives and a source of friends and community. I served on the Board for many years, eventually as President, attended URJ biennials, served on the URJ’s Social Action Commission, and the like. But Jewish spirituality was not a big part of the draw.

In my mid 40s, I serendipitously found myself at a Jewish Renewal spiritual retreat. I had found my spiritual home. For the next several years, I attended as many of these retreats as I could.  When I returned home, the first phone call I got was always from my wife’s mother, a [Christian] spiritual director, who wanted to know what happened and everything I learned.  As time went on, I began to meet rabbinic students and faculty of ALEPH’s Rabbinic program and became more and more drawn to Jewish learning and later, to perhaps ultimately becoming a rabbi.

When application time rolled around in 2000, Rabbi Marcia Prager, the Dean of the ALEPH Rabbinic Program, explained to me that the application process vis-à-vis intermarried students was holistic in its approach, and that while intermarriage was a factor, they look at the whole person, his/her circumstances, whether they would serve the Jewish community well as a rabbi, etc. She was very clear about one thing: it was highly unlikely that any congregation would hire an intermarried rabbi and she didn’t want me to harbor false hopes.  At the time, I wasn’t all that interested in becoming a congregational rabbi, so I was not bothered by this probable limitation.

I had considered other rabbinic programs at the time, but I was told by HUC, RRC, and Hebrew College that because I was intermarried, I could not be accepted, and I was not about to get divorced after 16 years of a good marriage or to be dishonest about it. While HUC and RRC did not explain their reasoning, Rabbi Art Green of Hebrew College Rabbinic School explained to me that their philosophy was out of concern for families that might be struggling with a child intermarrying and wanting them to work it out among themselves without the child being able to point to the rabbi and saying “the rabbi’s intermarried, why can’t I?”. I was persuaded by that argument at the time, but I suspect that, in the last 20 years, there are fewer and fewer families having those difficult conversations. Both of my children are in long term relationships, one with a Jew, one not. Should they decide to marry, I wouldn’t think of debating them about the religious status of their chosen partner.

In any event, I was accepted into the ALEPH program and spent the next eight years in it, part time at first. I was the third intermarried person in the program. (One had since been divorced and a couple more entered during my time, at least one of whom subsequently divorced). Throughout my time in the program, my commitment to living a Jewish life deepened significantly and it was not always easy being married to someone who did not share that driving force. However, my experience in that regard was not much different from colleagues who were married to secular Jews who did not want to be so Jewish! Along the way, there were several spouse support groups, mostly consisting of secular Jewish spouses, but my wife fit right in. None of the spouses thought they were marrying a rabbi all those years earlier and these second career decisions required adjustments and flexibility. Often overlooked by those thinking about intermarried rabbis is the impact on the marriage, where it is bound to pose challenges. Happily, we worked through the challenges, owing to my wife’s graciousness.  She joined me in many Jewish practices and events. I would later note that next to me, she knew the liturgy better than anyone else in the congregation. She attended services regularly, played the piano during services, and her Pesach brisket rivals any.  However, although she explored it, she determined that conversion wasn’t in the cards for her.

Along the rabbinic school path, I had a student pulpit, which changed my thinking about congregational work. In 2008, a few months before I was to be ordained, an ad came across the rabbi listserve, reading: “Outside Magazine Says Bozeman, MT is the #1 Place to Live in the U.S. and We’re Looking for a Rabbi. Any questions, call Josh at #######.” It looked like a great opportunity, but the caution of the Dean from eight years earlier was still ringing in my ears. I called Josh to inform him that I was considering applying, but that I wouldn’t waste everyone’s time if being intermarried was a dealbreaker. After consulting the search committee, he told me to go ahead and apply. I ended up being hired for a few months as a student rabbi while I awaited ordination, and then spent ten years serving that community, ultimately retiring and becoming rabbi emeritus two years ago. I later heard from search committee members that they thought that by calling Josh, I was trying to game the process and gain an advantage by letting them know ahead of time that I was intermarried so that they would look upon me more favorably, since they were 60+% intermarried!

During my tenure as rabbi, I’m not aware of any negative issue that ever arose because I was intermarried. I suspect there were a few whispers in the local Orthodox community, but they too were mostly intermarried families, so it wasn’t a major issue. Being intermarried had the advantage of giving me credibility with non-Jewish spouses when I told them how much they were welcome, and to talk about conversion in a way that they knew was non-judgmental.  It increased my credibility in the outside — and especially the interfaith — community, which in turn, lifted the congregation. In the progressive Jewish world where the role of Rebbetzin has all but been eliminated, people expect the rabbi’s wife to have her own identity.

At 66 years old and having lived this journey through rabbinic school and a ten year pulpit, with its trials, failures, and successes, I believe that Rabbi Marcia Prager was correct: the decision to admit an intermarried rabbinical student must be a holistic one. The ultimate question ought to be whether the applicant is somebody whose ordination will, on the whole, lift up, inspire, and advance the interests of the Jewish people, local Jewish communities, and individual Jews. Do we want to turn away those who would be good rabbis by those standards but who intermarried many years before and came to fall in love with Judaism later, simply because his/her spouse declines to convert? In this world of evolving Jewish life, there are many factors to consider and, in my opinion, no one factor should be wholly determinative. How long has the person been married? How strong is the marriage? What are the non-Jewish spouse’s thoughts, concerns, feelings, and what will his/her role in the rabbi’s professional life look like? Is the spouse actively practicing another religion, which could pose a more significant problem? What kind of work does the applicant want to do? If congregational work is the calling, does s/he want a small more rural congregation where most people are intermarried or a congregation in a large Jewish metro area that might have different expectations? How will the applicant and his/her spouse deal with the personal and communal challenges that arise? It’s important to consider that many of these same questions can be asked of an applicant married to a secular/uninvolved Jew, who will often face the same challenges. If we are going to tell spouses of interfaith families that they are welcome in our congregations, it seems hypocritical to say that intermarriage automatically disqualifies an otherwise committed rabbinic applicant.

* * *

After some 25 years of law practice, Ed Stafman spent eight years in the ALEPH Rabbinic program. After ordination, he served as Rabbi of Congregation Beth Shalom in Bozeman, MT for ten years, where he is now Rabbi Emeritus. He is a past president of OHALAH, the Association of Rabbis for Jewish Renewal. He was elected to the Montana House of Representatives, District 62, in the November 2020 election.

Seminary Admissions: Modern-day Discrimination

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GUEST POST BY SUSAN RIZZO

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a dentist.  Why?  My dad’s best friend was a pediatric dentist.  He had a cool office with ceiling-mounted television screens above each chair and video arcade consoles in his waiting room.  I figured there couldn’t be a better job!  Here I am in my 40s, having long ago chosen education over dentistry, and now ready for a career change (preferably one that doesn’t involve my putting my hands in another’s mouth).  Since being nominated to participate in the Wexner Heritage Program last year, I am very interested in helping shape the Jewish future.

Life-long Reform Jew that I am, I started with the website of Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion (HUC-JIR), the movement’s main seminary, to learn what it takes to become ordained.  I learned there about the “extraordinary five-year journey” which promised to “expand my intellectual curiosity, nurture my search for spiritual meaning, and fulfill my aspirations to implement tikkun olam, the healing of the world.”  Apart from some issues of practicality (distance, expense, etc.), I am ready to be signed up for what sounded like the adventure and career of a lifetime!

The (non-exhaustive) list of program requirements for HUC-JIR seminary programs includes:  Bachelor’s degree.  Check!  GPA of 3.0 or higher.  Check!  Year of college-level Modern Hebrew.  Check!  Readiness for graduate school.  Check!  (I’m going to assume completion of two prior master’s degrees constitutes readiness.)  Commitment to and leadership experience within Reform Judaism and K’lal Yisrael (Jewish peoplehood).  Check and check!  Ability to think analytically and express oneself clearly in speech and writing.  (I’ll let you be the judge.)

Wow, I could be a rabbi or cantor!  Except, no.  “Current policy states that applicants who are married to or in committed relationships with non-Jews will not be considered for acceptance to this program.”  That’s right, my most amazing partner of nearly 18 years, with whom I have raised a Jewish family for more than a dozen, is not himself Jewish.  Apparently, that’s enough to disqualify me from applying to an HUC-JIR rabbinic or cantorial program. Not only does this seem counter to the values espoused by Reform Judaism, but per their website, HUC-JIR “does not discriminate on the basis of disability, race, color, religion, national origin, ancestry, genetic information, marital status, sex, age, sexual orientation, veteran status or gender identity and expression” (all emphases added).

I decided to invite HUC-JIR to help me see how precluding my candidacy based on the religion/ancestry of my spouse does not violate their own equal opportunity and non-discrimination policies.  Emails to Cantorial, Admissions and finally the Equal Opportunity Coordinator resulted in my having a phone conversation with the Associate Director of Recruitment and Admissions, who suggested that a policy change might be on the horizon.  That was late 2018.  As recently as last month, no change had yet been implemented, so I reached out again – this time to the new HUC-JIR president.  He thanked me for my feedback, conceded that others have expressed similar concerns, and assured me of the school’s on-going commitment to religious pluralism.  He also pointed out that rabbis and cantors serve as exemplars to the Jewish community and, therefore, have to be held to high personal standards.

I do hold myself to high standards, both personally and professionally.  Does my having intermarried somehow mean I can’t be a model for the Jewish community?  I reject that premise, both because it offends and because it really does not seem grounded in the present reality.  Has anyone noticed how many self-identified Reform Jews intermarry?  A LOT!  Do we not think congregants deserve to be led by a reflection of themselves?  The implication seems to be that my having intermarried means my having not chosen a Jewish life, but clearly that’s not true.  Not only was I chosen by my temple’s clergy to participate in the Wexner Heritage Program; I am presently matriculated in the Spertus Institute Master of Arts in Jewish Professional Studies program; I serve on four committees at my temple, including one I chair; I sing in various temple choirs and am right now co-constructing our temple’s first summer lay-led service; our two children are enrolled in our temple’s religious school and will become b’nai mitzvah next year.  Yet somehow none of that “counts” because having intermarried makes me an unfit model?

Shockingly, HUC-JIR isn’t the only non-Orthodox seminary that won’t admit intermarried candidates.  One self-ascribed “pluralistic” seminary I recently talked to “reassured” me that my husband “would likely convert, knowing how important it was to me.”  That’s not the point – he shouldn’t have to!  My husband’s religion (it happens he only practices Judaism, even though he never converted) has zero bearing on whether I’d make a good rabbi or cantor. The Reconstructionist Rabbinical College seems to know this; they decided to admit and ordain intermarried candidates in 2015.  It’s time the Reform movement, which I’ve called home since birth, caught up!

At the end of the day, discriminating against intermarried Jews violates Reform Judaism’s proclaimed emphasis on liberalism and evolution.  A half-century after the rabbinate opened to women, it’s time it opened to all Jews, regardless of race, sexuality, gender identity, or marital status.  It’s time that the Jews in the pews see ourselves reflected more fully on the bimah and that we stop being intermarriage “shamed.”

* * *

Susan Rizzo is a life-long member of Reform synagogues, including most recently Temple Sinai in Rochester, New York, where her family have been active members since 2012.  Her husband is not Jewish but participates extensively in temple life.  Their two sons have recently begun training for their 2021 joint b’nai mitzvah.

Will Our Post-Corona Vision Include Engaged Interfaith Families?

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[This essay originally appeared in eJewishPhilanthropy and is reprinted with permission.]

As any regular consumer of Jewish media in general – and eJewishPhilanthropy essays in particular – knows, there is an ongoing extensive discussion about the massive disruptions caused by the Coronavirus pandemic and the opportunity to re-envision the Jewish community.

Strikingly missing to date from that discussion has been any mention of a goal to increase the engagement of interfaith families in that post-pandemic community.

The leaders of organizations working with Jewish professionals, reporting on what they hear from the field, most recently identified a concern among Jewish non-profit CEOs that initiatives around inclusion not be deprioritized, as well as their interest in having the full diversity of the community considered. But the only marginalized groups mentioned are Jews of color and multiracial members of our community.

Regrettably, it is necessary to ask Jewish leaders at this time: Are interfaith families part of the diversity of the community that we want to be included?

Thought leaders, including Sid Schwarz, Steven Windmueller and Cindy Chazan,  have noted the huge production of Jewish content available online in response to the pandemic. But aside from ongoing efforts by 18Doors, no extensive content or experiences have been developed with interfaith families in mind – with any focus either on making content accessible to them, or marketing to them in targeted ways.

This is an opportunity that could be seized after the pandemic ends that could lead to engaging many more interfaith families.

Thought leaders have also noted that the fear and isolation stemming from the pandemic have generated increased interest in spiritual community. The Pew Research Center reports that many Americans, though fewer Jews than other groups, say their faith has become stronger.  There is reason to believe that partners from different faith backgrounds are likely to be even more interested in spiritual expression than their Jewish partners.

This is another opportunity – to make Jewish spiritual community attractive to and accessible by, that is, inclusive of, the partners from different faith backgrounds in interfaith relationships. Will that be part of our re-envisioned “New Normal”?

I don’t mean to suggest for a moment that there are not very pressing immediate concerns around health, people in need, the survival of organizations and job security for their professionals, and more. But thought leaders are calling for planning, starting now, for the future, and for thinking expansively about making Jewish life and communities compelling when the pandemic is over.

One thing that has not changed and must be taken into account in that expansive thinking: given a 72% rate of intermarriage among non-Orthodox Jews, no form of liberal Jewish activity can thrive in the future unless increasing numbers of interfaith families engage in it.

There is much that can be learned, from the current discussion of the disruptions and opportunities arising from the pandemic, about how to engage interfaith families, in addition to the importance of providing targeted online content and capitalizing on revived interest in spiritual community. The lesson about mutual trust that Cyd Weissman draws from the pandemic provides important guidance on how feelings of inclusion can be cultivated among interfaith families. Weissman says that if we develop relationships in which we demonstrate trust in people, by cultivating their needs, voices and creativity, they will trust us. I say that if we consider and treat partners from different faith traditions as equals, we can demonstrate trust in them and cultivate their needs, and, as I’ve argued before, make them feel that they belong in Jewish communities.

As Jewish leaders – including the private family foundations widely recognized as the “power brokers” in formulating the response to the pandemic – move forward with the planning that will inevitably happen, I urge them to prioritize changing the trajectory of efforts to engage interfaith families Jewishly.

Interfaith Inclusion at the Biennials

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[Portions of this essay appeared in eJewishPhilanthropy on February 4, 2020 under the title “Reconceptualizing Conversion.”]

Conflicting views about conversion were at the core of what was said – and not said – about interfaith inclusion at the recent biennial conventions of the Conservative and Reform movements.

With 84% of new households that include non-Orthodox Jews being interfaith, it clearly is essential to engage more of those couples if any liberal Jewish activity is to thrive in the future. Experts agree that people engage with a group if they feel included – that they belong. But many Jews think that if partners from different faith backgrounds want to belong, they can and should convert.

Holding up conversion as a condition to inclusion – a persistent view expressed at the biennials – is a bad strategy that will push more couples away at the outset. Instead, we should see conversion “for the right reasons, and at the right time” as an incidental possible future outcome of an approach of full inclusion without condition that will bring more couples in.

That interfaith inclusion was more of a focus at the United Synagogue/Rabbinical Assembly gathering represents a sea change. In the past when I would try to interest Conservative rabbis in InterfaithFamily’s work, most were standoffish because of our position on conversion: when I said it was a wonderful personal choice but if promoted too aggressively would turn people away, the typical reaction was “not good enough.”

With membership declining, attributed by most to the movement’s less than welcoming response to interfaith families, attitudes are changing. Over the past two years, the United Synagogue partnered with InterfaithFamily on a survey about welcoming interfaith families in Conservative synagogues, the subject of a well-attended biennial session.

The most striking development occurred when Rabbi Wes Gardenswartz delivered a passionate statement that Conservative rabbis should be permitted to officiate at weddings of interfaith couples who intend to raise their children Jewish. Rabbi Eliot Cosgrove advocated in response for standing by the sociological and halachic value of inmarriage, and positioning the Conservative movement as the movement of conversion. Acknowledging that many might not convert, he said it is not the movement’s responsibility to serve everyone or to risk standing for nothing.

Rabbi Gardenswartz had this to say about conversion:

It would be great if Christopher [the hypothetical partner of Rachel] would convert.  Conversion would clearly be our preferred option. We would move heaven and earth to encourage him to convert if he were open to it.  But here is what he says…. I love Rachel for who she is.  I want to be loved for who I am.  Maybe in time I might choose to convert, but I want to do it for the right reasons, and in the right time.  The right reason is that this is something that I want to do, that I am drawn to.   The right time is when I feel ready.  I don’t want to do it to make her parents happy, or to make clergy happy, or as a condition to a wedding.  I am happy if our children are raised Jewish.  I would be partners with Rachel in their getting a Jewish education. But I am not ready to convert to Judaism unless I feel it is something I want to do because it feels right to me.

Half of the room enthusiastically applauded after each rabbi spoke, reflecting the movement’s sharp division. Rabbi Gardenswartz noted one outcome of saying no is couples might go to “the fabulous Reform rabbi, of the thriving Reform synagogue, the next town over.” But the situation wasn’t so rosy at the URJ Biennial.

Out of more than 100 learning sessions, only four were focused on interfaith families. At one, I presented the results of a survey the Center for Radically Inclusive Judaism (CFRIJ) conducted of interfaith inclusion policies and practices at Reform synagogues. One key takeaway was that leadership positions continue to be largely restricted to Jews; in only 43% of congregations can partners from different faith traditions serve as board members, and in only 21% as officers. Second, while ritual participation has opened up, with 70% of congregations allowing parents from different faith traditions to have or join in an Aliyah at the b’nai mitzvah of their children, it is not clear how many congregations allow partners from a different faith tradition to recite the words of the Torah blessings. Many congregational leaders clearly view conversion as a requirement for full inclusion in leadership and ritual.

Shortly before the Biennial, CFRIJ announced a grass-roots campaign to have Reform congregations propose a resolution at the 2021 URJ Biennial calling for full inclusion of interfaith families and partners from different faith traditions. One rabbi strongly objected, saying that if partners from different faith traditions can do everything Jews can do, Jewish identity would be meaningless and no one would convert, and that it’s like citizenship, where aliens have certain rights but can’t vote.

As I said at the learning session, addressing what inclusion means, maintaining high boundaries and applying the citizenship analogy – essentially, requiring conversion as a condition to full inclusion – is a recipe for decline. At another biennial session, on supporting “Jewish adjacent” members, two partners from different faith traditions detailed their extensive Jewish engagement in both their families’ lives and in their synagogues. Questions from the audience commented that they were more Jewishly engaged than many Jews, and wondered how they felt about conversion. Both indicated that for their very personal reasons, it wasn’t the right time, but it might be in the future.

The most striking development was Rabbi Rick Jacobs’ speech, As Numerous as the Stars of Heaven. After stating that “Jewish life was meant to expand and grow” and urging the Reform movement to enlarge the size of its tent, the speech focused almost entirely on embracing Jews of Color, and ended with a call to action to address antiracism. I am all in favor of embracing Jews of Color, but the impact of doing so is dwarfed by the potential numerical gain available from embracing partners from different faith traditions.

Rabbi Jacobs did make a passing reference to “so many people out there who are Jewishly adjacent… and they are part of this family of ours.” But instead of saying “There are millions of North American Jews … looking for a place to belong,” I wish Rabbi Jacobs had referred to millions of “North American Jews and their partners from different faith backgrounds.” When he said, “It is time that we make every person who comes under our tent feel like they already belong,” I wish he had said “that means partners from different faith backgrounds, too.”

The leaders of liberal Judaism are missing opportunities to explicitly prioritize engaging interfaith families, the defining challenge of our time. Another takeaway from the survey was that congregations do not talk effectively about their interfaith inclusion policies and practices either among their leadership or with their congregants, with only 18% publishing them on their websites.  We need to rise above the lingering ambivalence that conditions inclusion on conversion and instead embrace full inclusion as our goal.

A Three-Generation Yes or a Three-Generation No? Guest Post by Rabbi Wes Gardenswartz

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The Center is honored to publish with permission a statement by Rabbi Wes Gardenswartz, Senior Rabbi, Temple Emanuel, Newton MA, delivered at the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism Biennial, December 9, 2019 – 11 Kislev 5780.

Background: I was asked by the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism to participate in a panel to discuss interfaith marriage. The views in this statement are mine alone. I do not purport to speak for our synagogue, our board, or my colleagues.  This is from me, not from Temple Emanuel.  These are words from my heart, and I recognize  and totally respect that reasonable people can reasonably disagree.  We are deeply blessed to inhabit a religious tradition, and a thriving community, that can handle difference, diversity, and complexity with love and with mutual respect.

Rachel and Christopher walk into my study.  Rachel grew up at Temple Emanuel, a Conservative shul in Newton, MA.  She went to our religious school. Had her Bat Mitzvah here. Remained active in USY.  She always assumed she would marry a Jew.  She only dated Jews. She just didn’t have any mazal in finding a partner.  In fact, often when she told the Jewish men she dated that Judaism was important to her, all too often what she got back in return was disdain.  They would share their bad religious school story.  They could not understand how any adult could take this stuff seriously.

One day, when not even looking, not on an app, not on a blind date, just in the ordinary course of life, she meets Christopher.  Christopher is not Jewish, but he does not see himself as connected to any religious tradition.  He is thoroughly unchurched.

Rachel and Christopher become friends, and then more than friends.  They have a connection that is organic and deep. They fall in love.  While Christopher is not Jewish, he deeply respects Rachel’s Jewishness, and he wants to support her.  They would like to get married, and now Rachel, who has known me for 23 years, and her fiancé come to ask me to officiate at their wedding.  They are both 33 years old.

It would be great if Christopher would convert.  Conversion would clearly be our preferred option. We would move heaven and earth to encourage him to convert if he were open to it.  But here is what he says.

He says: I love Rachel for who she is.  I want to be loved for who I am.  Maybe in time I might choose to convert, but I want to do it for the right reasons, and in the right time.  The right reason is that this is something that I want to do, that I am drawn to.   The right time is when I feel ready.  I don’t want to do it to make her parents happy, or to make clergy happy, or as a condition  to a wedding.  I am happy if our children are raised Jewish.  I would be partners with Rachel in their getting a Jewish education. But I am not ready to convert to Judaism unless I feel it is something I want to do because it feels right to me.

I think Christopher’s position is perfectly reasonable.  I believe officiating at their interfaith wedding is the right thing to do at the Jewish level and at the human level.  Let’s take them in turn.

Why is it the right thing to do at the Jewish level?  Because whatever response we offer Rachel and Christopher is a three-generation response. Don’t miss this point. If you remember nothing else of what I said, remember this:  No is a three-generation no.  Yes is a three-generation yes.

If we say no, what will happen? Does anyone seriously think that Rachel and Christopher will not get married if I say no?  Of course not. There is a 100 % chance of them getting married.  Perhaps they will get married by a justice of the peace; or by a friend or sibling deputized as clergy for the day; secular contexts devoid of Yiddishkeit.   Secular contexts which will not lead into a future of Jewish engagement, especially since their rabbi said no.

The best case, for their Jewish future, is that they will be married by the fabulous Reform rabbi, of the thriving Reform synagogue, the next town over.  That is good for them. Good for their Jewish future. Good for the Reform synagogue.  Bad for us.  Rachel and Christopher will join that Reform synagogue.  When their children are born, they will be educated at that Reform synagogue.  And then it is inevitable, as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, that at some point Rachel’s parents will send a note to our executive director saying:  We are joining the Reform synagogue where our children and grandchildren are members.  Feel free to release the high holiday seats we have had for the last thirty years.   A no is a three-generation no.  A three-generation no will hollow out our communities.  It is already happening. We know this.

Walk into most Conservative shuls on a Shabbat morning. You see a lack of young people. We don’t have engaged young adults.  We need Rachel and Christopher. We need Rachel and Christopher’s children.  We need Rachel’s parents.  If we want Rachel and Christopher, their children, their energy, no is not the way to go. It makes no sense to say you are welcome into our shuls, after you are married by somebody else, when the very fact that our clergy will not marry them makes them feel not welcomed.

What happens if we say yes?  Yes is not a guarantee.  But yes is better, and here is why.  If I officiate at Rachel and Christopher’s wedding, then I will meet with them six times, six one-hour sessions, before the wedding.  That creates connection. That creates relationship. If they live in Boston, they will join our shul.  When they have children, they will attend our schools.  If I say no to their wedding, what they hear, and what they feel, is no. I don’t get the six hours with them. Panting after them after the wedding which I spurned to say, hey, I can put up a mezuzah for you, is not going to work.

But saying no to Rachel and Christopher is also the wrong human move.  For me, this is the beating heart of this whole matter.

Our biggest problem is not intermarriage.  Our biggest problem is the loneliness epidemic in America.  Too many of our children are lonely.  Too many of our children come home to an empty apartment.  Too many of our children have nobody to share their day with.  Too many of our children have nobody to share their life with.  Too many of our children have looked but have not found.   Too many of our children have been dancing at other people’s weddings but not at their own.  Too many of our children have wondered and worried will my day ever come? Rachel’s day came. She found her mensch.  She found her match.  She is genuinely happy.  I am genuinely happy for her. No asterisks. No qualifications. Happy that at long last she has a companion to walk with in life. I want to be there to celebrate with her.

Now I know that many here disagree with me, passionately.  And that is fine.  The last thing I am trying to do is impose my views on anybody.  I just don’t want to have anybody’s views imposed on me.  I don’t want New York deciding these intimate and crucial issues for me.

Let rabbis in the field decide.  The very fact that we are having this conversation suggests multiple points of view and abundant good faith and goodwill.  Some rabbis might be comfortable doing the entire ceremony. Others may prefer to stand with the couple under their chuppah and offer them blessings and words of love but not officiate.  Others might hew to the traditional position.  Let each rabbi figure it out on his, her or their own.

Bet on us. Bet on our moral and religious intuitions. Bet on our love of the Jewish people and humanity. Bet on our ability to do the right thing as we see it.  Thank you.

Judaism Is Not Just For Jews: The Lesson of Interfaith Families

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This op-ed appeared originally in the Forward and is reprinted with permission.

Now that nearly three out of four marriages among non-Orthodox Jews are interfaith, 84% of new households that include at least one non-Orthodox Jew are interfaith households. That means that the future vitality of every aspect of liberal Judaism depends on engaging increasing numbers of interfaith families in Jewish life. Yet instead of discussion of the issue in Jewish organizations and media, there’s deafening silence.

The silence around interfaith life from the organized Jewish world is doubly frustrating given the challenge that interfaith couples face — and in particular, the partners from different faith traditions. Many doubt that they can belong in Jewish groups, organizations and communities. That’s because in the traditional view, Judaism is for Jews; what matters is “being” Jewish, being part of the Jewish people. Those who identify as Jews are “in,” while a partner who is not a Jew is “out” or “other.”

Despite recent suggestions to the contrary, the truth of the matter is, interfaith couples don’t feel completely welcome. Many report an undercurrent of disapproval or feel they are treated as outsiders. Moreover, welcoming interfaith couples is a necessary first step.

But by itself, it is insufficient, a distinction that has been drawn by advocates for every other marginalized Jewish group. Take the Reform Movement’s resolutions concerning LGBTQ and transgender/gender non-conforming people, and people with disabilities: It commits to “integrate fully all Jews into the life of the community regardless of sexual orientation” and to “welcoming communities of meaningful inclusion, enabling and encouraging people with disabilities and their families to participate fully in Jewish life in a way that promotes a sense of personal belonging for all individuals.” It also insists upon the Reform Movement’s “commitment to the full equality, inclusion and acceptance of people of all gender identities and gender expressions.”

But the movement’s latest resolution on interfaith marriage commits only to welcoming interfaith families and partners from different faith backgrounds, while also encouraging conversion.

Like every other marginalized group, it stands to reason that interfaith couples will not stay unless they are made to feel that they truly belong.

How can people who are not Jews feel that they truly belong in Jewish communities? That is the challenge of our time, and overcoming it requires a new understanding of interfaith marriage, and adapted attitudes and policies that support full inclusion.

First, we need to understand the foundational covenant as being not between God and the Jewish people, but between God and the people who are Jewishly engaged. Judaism is not just for Jews; it is for people who are “doing” Jewish, whether or not they identify as Jews, in a community that consists of other Jewishly-engaged people. This is radical, because it stands the traditional view on its head.

A rabbi told me once that it didn’t make sense for someone to say, “I live Jewishly but I’m not a Jew.” We need a new understanding of interfaith marriage in which that makes perfect sense.

Second, inclusion requires an adaptation of underlying attitudes towards the marginalized group. In the context of interfaith marriage, full inclusion means considering interfaith families as equal to inmarried families, and partners from different faith backgrounds as equal to Jews.

Unfortunately, examples of expressions of negative attitudes abound, including the “missing mazel tov” when Jewish leaders described Chelsea Clinton’s wedding as not a Jewish event; “expert” assumptions that Mark Zuckerberg’s intermarriage meant his children would not be Jewish (which later was disproved); denunciations from Israel of intermarriage as a “plague” or “catastrophe.”

We have quite a way to go before we consider partners from different faith traditions as equal. Even expressing a preference that our children marry Jews delivers a message of disapproval to the 72% of them who will intermarry anyway. Feeling disapproved of is not conducive to feeling belonging.

Third, inclusion requires adaptive change in the established system. In the context of interfaith marriage, adaptive change means not just considering, but treating interfaith families and partners from different faith backgrounds as equal.

What leadership roles can partners from different faith backgrounds take? In what rituals can they participate? How will we explain those policies and communicate our invitations to engage?

When Jews and Jewish organizations are fully inclusive, interfaith couples and the partners from different faith backgrounds can feel like they truly belong. With a new understanding of interfaith marriage, and adapted attitudes and policies, we can make this happen and secure the liberal future.

What Do We Mean By Inclusion?

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Remarks at 2019 URJ Biennial Learning Session, Embracing Interfaith Inclusion in Your Congregation

Inclusion is more than welcoming. That’s what advocates for other marginalized Jewish groups, including LGBTQ people, people of color, and people with disabilities, all say. One consultant explains that welcoming leaves a visitor feeling that his or her presence as a guest was truly appreciated. “[I]nclusion is a much deeper form of acceptance… [O]nly genuine inclusion will convince me to remain part of the community. I will stay if I feel I truly belong.”

I was at the United Synagogue biennial earlier this week. They showed a beautiful video created by the United Synagogue and the Ruderman Family Foundation, a leader in disability inclusion. After steps were taken to help an elderly man who had difficulty hearing, he said, “we’re not guests here, we’re part of it.” That’s the difference between welcoming and inclusion.

On the screen is part of a flyer from the Rashi School, a Reform day school in the Boston area, which says: “It’s not enough to say ‘you are welcome here.’ Instead, we say, ‘you belong here.’” That’s the difference.

Our movement’s resolutions concerning other marginalized groups all set a goal of inclusion: they speak of goals “[T]o integrate fully all Jews into the life of the community regardless of sexual orientation;” “[W]elcoming communities of meaningful inclusion, enabling and encouraging people with disabilities … to participate fully …;” or of “[C]ommitment to the full equality, inclusion and acceptance of people of all gender identities and gender expressions.”

But the movement’s latest resolution on interfaith marriage commits only says partners from different faith backgrounds “deserve a warm welcome” and appreciation, while also encouraging conversion, “becoming a fully Jewish family.”

Like every other marginalized group, it stands to reason that interfaith couples will not stay unless they are made to feel that they truly belong.  That’s what inclusion means.

If we require people to convert in order to feel that they belong, they won’t and we will dwindle. I’m wearing a sticker with a large “72%” – that’s the rate of interfaith marriage among non-Orthodox Jews, and it means that 84% of new households being formed that include at least one non-Orthodox Jew are interfaith households.

How do we enable people who are not Jews to feel that they truly belong in Jewish communities? We need three things: a new understanding of interfaith marriage, and adapted attitudes and policies that support full inclusion.

First, in the traditional view, Judaism is for Jews; what matters is “being” Jewish, part of the Jewish people. Those who identify as Jews are “in;” a partner who is not a Jew is “out” or “other.” We need a new understanding that Judaism is not just for Jews, it is for people who are “doing” Jewish, whether or not they identify as Jews, in a community that consists of other Jewishly-engaged people. This is radical, because it stands the traditional view on its head.

A rabbi told me once that it didn’t make sense for someone to say, “I live Jewishly but I’m not a Jew.” We need a new understanding of interfaith marriage in which that makes perfect sense.

Second, inclusion requires an adaptation of underlying attitudes towards the group to be included. That means considering interfaith families as equal to inmarried families, and partners from different faith backgrounds as equal to Jews. Unfortunately, examples of expressions of negative attitudes abound. Expressing a preference that our children marry Jews delivers a message of disapproval to the 72% of them who will intermarry anyway. The Hebrew Union College policy to not admit or ordain intermarried rabbinic students sends a message of disapproval. Feeling disapproved of is not conducive to feeling belonging.

Third, inclusion requires adaptive change in the established system with which the group to be included engages. As a consultant explains: “Modes of worship may need to broaden. Methods of decision-making may need to change. And interaction patterns among members may need to evolve.”

Adaptive change means not just considering, but treating interfaith families and partners from different faith backgrounds as equal. What leadership roles can partners from different faith backgrounds take? In what rituals can they participate? How will we explain those policies and communicate our invitations to engage?

I received a very negative email from a rabbi a few days ago. He said that boundaries are essential to the survival of our culture; that if partners from different faith traditions can do everything Jews can do, Jewish identity would be meaningless and why would anyone convert; that it’s like citizenship, where aliens have certain rights but can’t vote; and that churches don’t allow everyone to take communion.

Here’s how I responded. Yes, we can maintain boundaries, and apply the citizenship analogy – and we won’t have anyone left to engage in our beautiful culture that we want to survive – remember the 72%/84%. Hopefully people convert because it is existentially important to them to identify with the way that they live, not so that they can exercise certain rights that others can’t. I’m not an expert on communion, but my understanding is that it can only mean affirming the divinity of Jesus; that’s qualitatively different from partners from different faith traditions feeling that they belong, that they are part of the “us” to whom God gave the Torah, and can authentically say a prayer thanking God for doing so.