Intermarriage

I didn't intend to like Colin, to dip my toes into the forbidden waters of the non-Jew. After all, I grew up deeply religious my whole life, in strong deference to the traditions imparted from my parents and grandparents...

"The problem began," at this point Esther's voice is lowered into almost a whisper, "when my wonderful daughter met a man whom she planned to marry—and he wasn't Jewish..."

The following words, as painful as they might be for you to hear, are coming from a place of love. I wish that I did not have to say anything, but I feel that I have no choice...

“Rabbi,” the man said, scowling. “You have 10 minutes to prove to me that there is a G‑d.”

The activities were fun, and I wanted to share the fun with Betsy. I lobbied the youth group advisor to let Betsy come along. The advisor was adamantly opposed.

“I’m not Jewish,” Frank said to me. “Does that mean you wouldn’t marry me?”

Even after Barbara went off to graduate school in Boston, we stayed in close touch. Until she intermarried.

The fact that I belonged to two cultures and religions made me feel like something inside me was irreconcilable and wrong. This engendered a kind of existential shame. I felt like a driven leaf, without roots or branches . . .

If insisting that you will only date Jews makes you racist, does insisting that you will only date men make you sexist?

Although my life appears to be headed in a great direction, I feel more and more like I am getting lost.