Apostasy, atheism, and the season of lights

LG: "Mama, is it a choice to be Jewish?"

PS: "Well, you're Jewish because your mama and daddy are Jewish."

LG: "But is it a choice to be Jewish?"

PS: (pauses) "Yes. Yes, it is a choice."

LG: "Well, I wish I was Christian."

PS: "Why? What do you like about being Christian?"

LG: "It's just that red and green are my favorite colors! And Christmas trees are so beautiful!"




I read Baraita for her erudition and her razor-sharp humor, and I enjoy it. For example, her last, bitterly funny post on the so-called "December Dilemma" of American Judaism, in which she skewers the idea that holiday decorations have any relevance to faith and Jewish identity:

Apparently we American Jews are supposed to spend the month of Kislev engaged in a nonstop angstfest about -- well, mostly how we will decorate our homes. Single candles in windows are out; nine-branched candelabras are in; seven-branched candelabras depend heavily on context. Greenery is dubious,* especially triangular shapes, and circles are questionable, but any medium which can reasonably be shaped into a four-sided top is cool. Blue lights are fine; clear lights are fine unless they look too much like the ones the neighbors have strung around their creche scene; multicolored lights are Right Out. Also, lighted reindeer forms are frowned upon; my search for a lighted elephant form (preferably stepping on a lighted Eleazar Maccabee) has so far been in vain, but I like to think that would be OK.

Of course, you say, this is not really about such trivial details as yard displays. (You must not live on my block.) No, you say: this is about what we believe, what we stand for. And clearly, on all the available evidence, we Jews proudly stand for what generations of our more erudite Ashkenazi forefathers (along with their Christian neighbors) stood for: Jews Not Looking Too Much Like Christians And Vice Versa. What we believe is a little trickier, since the rabbinic tradition has effectively watered down Hanukkah's blessings into the politically safe statement that God performed lots of miracles for our ancestors way back when -- not a terribly high threshhold of belief. It has never been altogether clear to me how an errant jingle bell or an ill-considered fruitcake would interfere with this affirmation,** and it is even less clear to me how a traumatic early encounter with a candy cane would encourage someone to affirm Jesus as Messiah and/or God. The "December D******" is not about discouraging Jews from accepting baptism; it is about discouraging Jews from accepting Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, regardless of how allegorically Jewish he reads.

This is comic gold, of course, and I laughed out loud when I read it. But, to be brutally honest, the issue seemed a lot less funny to me while I was listening to my four-year-old in the back seat of the car attempting to abjure the religion into which he was born.

I've written before about LG's love of Christmas lights. It is about the lights, of course, for my artistic young son who sometimes refers to himself as a "colors teacher." But it is also about difference, about learning that the norms of childhood in this country are defined in such a way that you do not share them. For LG and the other Jewish kids of his accquaintance, December is all about coming to terms -- or not -- with one's religious identity. Starting around Thanksgiving, I overheard LG having conversations with his cousins and with Neighbor Girl. "Are you Jewish or are you Christian?" asked Neighbor Girl, Niece #2, and the Original Emmy, each at different times, but with the same expression: serious, focused, hand cupped on chin.

I'd have thought that the issue would be an easier one for kids more immersed in their Jewish community than my son. After all, we don't even belong to a synagogue. But Neighbor Girl attends a Jewish preschool, while LG's cousins attend synagogue and Sunday school with some regularity. Their questions are just as insistent as LG's, though he is receiving his Jewish education, such as it is (Mr. Blue used to teach Sunday school), at home. My guess is that, at this age, any child who does not belong to, yet lives in contact with, the dominant Christian culture finds December difficult. Because there's a party going on, and they're not invited. Or worse: they've chosen not to come. How do you explain to a four-year-old why you'd refuse to go to a party? That's ultimately the question they want answered. Regardless of whether or not they're allowed to hang colored lights on the bushes, or taught to sing the Heat Miser/Cold Miser song.

That isn't all, though. December bares our disconnect with the dominant culture, but lurking just below the surface of any discussion of any Jewish topics are just a few of the reasons why I have more or less become a refusenik to American Judaism in most of its forms. Baraita continues her post:

Indeed, I believe that -- pardon my Greek -- it is really fucking offensive to claim that this conjunction of December holidays constitutes a Jewish "dilemma." You want a real dilemma involving Judaism and American culture? Try "whether or not to run errands on Shabbat."

Or, a few paragraphs later:

It's difficult for me to be entirely serious about this topic, because it's either too offensive for me to deal with rationally (if you really think avoiding a Christmas tree is more important than being shomer Shabbos*, we probably don't have room for dialogue) or it's just so silly.

It's the observant/intolerant axis around which so much of Judaism revolves. Do I think that avoiding a Christmas tree says anything important about my Judaism? Of course I don't. But do I believe that the sine qua non of being Jewish is whether or not I run errands or do laundry or flip a fucking light switch on Shabbat? No, damn it, I don't. If that leaves me no room for dialogue with my co-religionists, then so be it.

There are other voices in Judaism, of course, speaking other values. If I ever formally reaffiliate with a branch of Judaism, it will probably be Jewish Renewal, which I've been reading about via the Velveteen Rabbi. But first there is the issue of LG's apostasy to deal with. It came up again on the ride home on Sunday. And I should thank Baraita for this, since my final answer was something I came up with while thinking up retorts during a middle-of-the-night nursing session.

(With many apologizes to the Christians in the audience)

LG: "Mama, is it a choice to be Jewish?"

PS: "Yes, it is."

LG: "Well, what is being Christian?"

PS: (looks sidelong at Mr. Blue, hoping to lob this one into his court)

MB: "Christians believe that God is a man."

PS: "Remember your book, Arrow to the Sun? Well, Christians believe something a little bit like that. They believe that God had a son, and then the son became God."

LG: "Oh."

PS: "We don't believe that. Jews don't believe that God was ever a person like in that story. We think God is something very different."

LG: "But, Mama. I can't be Jewish, then. Because I believe that God isn't real."

PS: "Well, that's OK, LG. You can still be Jewish, because Jews don't really have to believe in God. What's important is that you are nice to other people, and that you try to make the world a better place."

LG: "Oh, OK. You know, the next time someone is being mean to me, I'm just going to say, 'Hey, we need to make the world a better place.'"

And, friends, if anyone is still reading, he did indeed use that line at playgroup yesterday. Twice.

Happy holidays.