Words from Rosanna Wertheimer |
Shana Tovah. My name is Rosanna Wertheimer, and I am co-president of this congregation, along with Sammi Robertson who will speaking next.
This is my fourth time standing before you as co-president to give this speech, and I have struggled a little to figure out what I haven’t already said to you. By this time, you certainly know that gratitude is a big theme for me. This year is no different. In fact, this year, I may be more grateful than usual, because this year, I contributed very little to the High Holy Day preparations. Rabbi Leora, Erin and Keri in the office, the ritual committee, and countless others capably handled the to-do list, and I was only minimally involved. Thank you all!
And it was a good thing, too, because I’ve been very distracted by sending my older son Gabe off to college. What a bittersweet time it is for me! In case you are wondering, he’s doing fine. It’s a bit of a bumpy transition but that’s to be expected. I’m happy to report that he’s found his tallis to be a big source of comfort and reassurance. He’s not the service-going type, but he’ll probably be wrapped in that tallis davening in a spectacular park today.
This summer I also took some time to dive headlong into some family history. Last summer I traveled to Eastern Europe with my mother on a roots trip, but this year, I stayed at home and dug into the incredible collection of family history documents on my bookshelf, this time looking at my father’s side of the family. My father is not Jewish, and his ancestors were among the first to come from the British Isles to Massachusetts, Virginia, and North Carolina. My heritage on my father’s side is very different from my mother’s.
Exploring this dual heritage has been a lifelong journey for me, and it’s one I want to talk about today. Over the past year, at meetings of the Education Committee and the Board, one theme keeps popping up -- intermarriage and interfaith families. Actually, it’s probably a theme that has come up all throughout my time on the board, but this was the year when I took note. And with a little chagrin, admitted that I had been ignoring it. How could I, a child of intermarriage have forgotten the importance of these conversations?!
When I was beginning college, my identity as a child of intermarriage loomed large. I identified as a Jew, for sure, but I wasn’t as sure if I belonged as a Jew. I heard the doomsday message over and over again that intermarriage would be the “End of the Jewish People,” and I wondered where that left me. If everyone was so sure intermarriage spelled doom, then weren’t they saying that children of intermarriage weren’t Jewish enough, or that we couldn’t be counted on to pass our traditions to the next generation?
I took it upon myself to attend all the Hillel-sponsored events about intermarriage -- I think there was at least one per semester -- to be a spokesperson for children of intermarriage. Those events were designed to persuade us Jewish students to marry other Jews, but they didn’t give any thought to the message they were giving to people like me. I made sure my voice was heard!
Fast forward a bit, I went on to marry a non-Jew myself. I did so after a lot of soul-searching and in-depth conversations. In the process, I realized just how important Judaism was to me, and together we articulated a commitment to a Jewish education and upbringing for future children. Thanks to my parents’ amazing example, I had a lot of confidence that such a marriage could work out just fine.
Alas, my marriage didn’t last for reasons having nothing to do with our differing religious backgrounds. I was stunned, heartbroken, and a bit lost, but in the aftermath of that painful divorce, I more fully embraced Judaism. I started observing Shabbat every week, I sent my son Gabe to the Jewish Community Center for preschool, and I joined this congregation. Our community here helped ease my way through single parenthood and provided an essential “village” for raising Gabe. I realized that if I got married again, I really wanted to try to find a Jewish partner, and I was very lucky to do so when I married James nine years ago. Our son Asa has been fully embraced by this community since before he was even born!
Since then, I think I’ve become complacent and forgotten a little of what it is like to wrestle with interfaith questions. Of course, I am still very much part of an interfaith family, and every year I still confront the dreaded December dilemma, but my engagement here at Congregation Agudas Achim is straightforward. James and I are both active here, and our kids are secure in belonging here. I realize that it is not so easy for many of you, that a majority of you probably wrestle in one way or another with what belonging here means to your interfaith family or even within a marriage between Jews of various levels of observance. I realize that your marriages sometimes include uncomfortable compromises, that your kids struggle with questions of identity, and that non-Jewish partners do not always feel welcome or comfortable here. Interfaith issues can loom large.
So, at this time of tshuvah, I want to stop ignoring this issue, and turn instead towards taking it seriously and reaffirming my commitment to this wrestling. After all, we are a people defined by our wrestling. This is part of what I love so much about belonging to the People Israel -- Yisrael means one who wrestles with God, and out of the wrestling comes what is most compelling to me.
Back in college, I quickly recognized that my identity as a child of intermarriage was a gift because I was forced to ask questions and explore my identity. I watched my friends with two Jewish parents take their Jewish identity for granted, and therefore not necessarily engage with it as fully. Over time, my dual identity has revealed many more gifts, including an embodied experience of how seeming contradictions can both be true. Rather than either/or, I’ve learned to find room for both/and.
I stand before you today aware that my identity has two somewhat separate components: first, my religion is Judaism both because my mother is Jewish and because I choose to be Jewish, joyfully so! Second, I am a hybrid: my heritage is a mixture of two very different backgrounds, each of which I embrace, question, wrestle with, and explore. I trust that those explorations will continue to be interesting, illuminating, and fulfilling.
If any of what I have said today resonates with you, I would be honored to hear your thoughts and stories. And I pledge to continue to pay attention to this important area in this new year and onwards into the future.
As always, I hope you know that whatever your background, level of observance, or family composition, you are welcome here, and I hope we can work together to make this a place where you truly belong.
Shana tova!
This is my fourth time standing before you as co-president to give this speech, and I have struggled a little to figure out what I haven’t already said to you. By this time, you certainly know that gratitude is a big theme for me. This year is no different. In fact, this year, I may be more grateful than usual, because this year, I contributed very little to the High Holy Day preparations. Rabbi Leora, Erin and Keri in the office, the ritual committee, and countless others capably handled the to-do list, and I was only minimally involved. Thank you all!
And it was a good thing, too, because I’ve been very distracted by sending my older son Gabe off to college. What a bittersweet time it is for me! In case you are wondering, he’s doing fine. It’s a bit of a bumpy transition but that’s to be expected. I’m happy to report that he’s found his tallis to be a big source of comfort and reassurance. He’s not the service-going type, but he’ll probably be wrapped in that tallis davening in a spectacular park today.
This summer I also took some time to dive headlong into some family history. Last summer I traveled to Eastern Europe with my mother on a roots trip, but this year, I stayed at home and dug into the incredible collection of family history documents on my bookshelf, this time looking at my father’s side of the family. My father is not Jewish, and his ancestors were among the first to come from the British Isles to Massachusetts, Virginia, and North Carolina. My heritage on my father’s side is very different from my mother’s.
Exploring this dual heritage has been a lifelong journey for me, and it’s one I want to talk about today. Over the past year, at meetings of the Education Committee and the Board, one theme keeps popping up -- intermarriage and interfaith families. Actually, it’s probably a theme that has come up all throughout my time on the board, but this was the year when I took note. And with a little chagrin, admitted that I had been ignoring it. How could I, a child of intermarriage have forgotten the importance of these conversations?!
When I was beginning college, my identity as a child of intermarriage loomed large. I identified as a Jew, for sure, but I wasn’t as sure if I belonged as a Jew. I heard the doomsday message over and over again that intermarriage would be the “End of the Jewish People,” and I wondered where that left me. If everyone was so sure intermarriage spelled doom, then weren’t they saying that children of intermarriage weren’t Jewish enough, or that we couldn’t be counted on to pass our traditions to the next generation?
I took it upon myself to attend all the Hillel-sponsored events about intermarriage -- I think there was at least one per semester -- to be a spokesperson for children of intermarriage. Those events were designed to persuade us Jewish students to marry other Jews, but they didn’t give any thought to the message they were giving to people like me. I made sure my voice was heard!
Fast forward a bit, I went on to marry a non-Jew myself. I did so after a lot of soul-searching and in-depth conversations. In the process, I realized just how important Judaism was to me, and together we articulated a commitment to a Jewish education and upbringing for future children. Thanks to my parents’ amazing example, I had a lot of confidence that such a marriage could work out just fine.
Alas, my marriage didn’t last for reasons having nothing to do with our differing religious backgrounds. I was stunned, heartbroken, and a bit lost, but in the aftermath of that painful divorce, I more fully embraced Judaism. I started observing Shabbat every week, I sent my son Gabe to the Jewish Community Center for preschool, and I joined this congregation. Our community here helped ease my way through single parenthood and provided an essential “village” for raising Gabe. I realized that if I got married again, I really wanted to try to find a Jewish partner, and I was very lucky to do so when I married James nine years ago. Our son Asa has been fully embraced by this community since before he was even born!
Since then, I think I’ve become complacent and forgotten a little of what it is like to wrestle with interfaith questions. Of course, I am still very much part of an interfaith family, and every year I still confront the dreaded December dilemma, but my engagement here at Congregation Agudas Achim is straightforward. James and I are both active here, and our kids are secure in belonging here. I realize that it is not so easy for many of you, that a majority of you probably wrestle in one way or another with what belonging here means to your interfaith family or even within a marriage between Jews of various levels of observance. I realize that your marriages sometimes include uncomfortable compromises, that your kids struggle with questions of identity, and that non-Jewish partners do not always feel welcome or comfortable here. Interfaith issues can loom large.
So, at this time of tshuvah, I want to stop ignoring this issue, and turn instead towards taking it seriously and reaffirming my commitment to this wrestling. After all, we are a people defined by our wrestling. This is part of what I love so much about belonging to the People Israel -- Yisrael means one who wrestles with God, and out of the wrestling comes what is most compelling to me.
Back in college, I quickly recognized that my identity as a child of intermarriage was a gift because I was forced to ask questions and explore my identity. I watched my friends with two Jewish parents take their Jewish identity for granted, and therefore not necessarily engage with it as fully. Over time, my dual identity has revealed many more gifts, including an embodied experience of how seeming contradictions can both be true. Rather than either/or, I’ve learned to find room for both/and.
I stand before you today aware that my identity has two somewhat separate components: first, my religion is Judaism both because my mother is Jewish and because I choose to be Jewish, joyfully so! Second, I am a hybrid: my heritage is a mixture of two very different backgrounds, each of which I embrace, question, wrestle with, and explore. I trust that those explorations will continue to be interesting, illuminating, and fulfilling.
If any of what I have said today resonates with you, I would be honored to hear your thoughts and stories. And I pledge to continue to pay attention to this important area in this new year and onwards into the future.
As always, I hope you know that whatever your background, level of observance, or family composition, you are welcome here, and I hope we can work together to make this a place where you truly belong.
Shana tova!
