Dovetail's
Tenth Anniversary by Joan C. Hawxhurst
Ten years ago, in August 1992, I mailed the first issue of the
Dovetail Journal to about 200 charter subscribers. It was thinner
and less pleasing to the eye than today's version, but just as
full of spirit and conviction. As I stuck on that original set
of mailing labels and breathed in the distinctive smell of printers’
ink for the first time, I felt like a midwife helping a new life
be born. This baby has grown and developed along with my two biological
children, now 8 and 4, and like them has been nurtured by many
wonderful and committed souls along the way. Like my kids, it
is much less dependent on me than it was in its infancy, and I
am grateful for the village—editorial board members, subscribers,
donors, and behind-the-scenes supporters—that is raising
this child. Dovetail was conceived during my first year of marriage.
Steve had been raised in a Conservative Jewish home, and I came
from a long line of professional Protestants (missionaries, pastors,
and deacons). As we planned our wedding and talked about children,
I searched in vain for open-minded resources and networks of other
families, and began to believe that there was a gaping hole in
the literature. I found a handful of books, some helpful and some
didactic, and a few isolated local interfaith groups. After talking
it over with my husband and with other interfaith couples, I decided
to do a fact-finding mission to see what people in the field thought
about the need for a new kind of publication.
I remember having tea in a fancy midtown restaurant with Lee Gruzen,
author of
Raising Your Jewish/Christian
Child (which had a profound influence on me), and being struck
by her passion and the playful sparkle in her eye. I remember
sitting nervously in Egon Mayer’s office at the Jewish Outreach
Institute, being very aware of the weighty importance of his sociological
studies, until I realized that he was respectful of my idea, and
could see with me the gap in services for unaffiliated interfaith
couples. I spent a night with Susan Gertz, author of
Hanukkah
and Christmas at My House, the first independently published
children’s book for interfaith kids. Her children, for whom
she wrote the story, were confident and articulate, modeling for
me the possibility of secure and well-adjusted interfaith kids.
I visited with Leslie Goodman-Malamuth, coauthor of Between Two
Worlds, and was deeply moved by her stories of growing up in an
interfaith family and eventually founding a national organization
for “parevehs” (those neither milk nor meat): adult
children of interfaith families.
I met with the authors of Happily Intermarried: Rabbi Roy Rosenberg,
Father Peter Meehan, and Reverend John Payne (NY: MacMillan, 1989),
and enjoyed their sparring banter as they recounted their experiences
in the intermarriage debate. I was welcomed by two interfaith
communities in Connecticut, one independent and one synagogue-based,
and saw firsthand the strength that couples felt when they were
buoyed by the support of others. The idea for an independent and
non-judgmental periodical that would include a wide range of experiences
and opinions about interfaith family life was born of my own experience
in a synagogue interfaith couples’ group, where all participants
were steered firmly, if surreptitiously, toward the decision to
create a Jewish home and raise Jewish children. Every time I tried
to ask about other options, or to talk about a resource with a
different perspective (such as Lee Gruzen’s book), the facilitator
changed the subject. As the Christian partner, I felt excluded
and faintly disrespected.
A beautiful irony of my journey with Dovetail is that, a decade
later, my husband and I are in fact raising Jewish children
in a Jewish home. Within the supportive Dovetail community,
we were able to explore the possibilities, talk about the tough
issues, and come to our own mutually acceptable solution. To
me, that is the essence of Dovetail: Our mission is not to decide
right or wrong, not to steer couples toward any particular decision,
but to provide couples with the tools and information they need
to make their own best choice. The absence of an across-the-board,
clear-cut right choice makes for a messy, emotional process,
but when couples take the time to ask themselves the hard questions
and struggle through the challenging emotions, they emerge confident
in their decision and ready to help their children develop healthy
spiritual lives. As I reflect on the roots of Dovetail, I realize
that many of the people who inspired and supported our organization
in its early years have moved on, turning their attention and
their passion in other directions now that their own interfaith
choices have been made. That’s how it is with Dovetail—our
network ebbs and flows with the changing tide of each couple’s
life cycle. Our services are needed desperately at times, then
less urgently as couples set their own course and navigate through
waters that have been charted but not fully explored. Sometimes
a couple needs a life raft, sometimes a compass or a tugboat,
sometimes a wave of the hand when they reach the shore—Dovetail
has been all of these things for thousands of interfaith couples
over the years. Now, it is with a midwife’s mixture of
pride and humility that I watch an exuberant, confident Dovetail
enter adolescence under its competent and energetic current
editor, Mary Rosenbaum, who is fond of saying (with regard to
burgeoning support for the Dovetail Institute), “A rising
tide lifts all boats.” So, as we prepare (as I write) to
gather on the shore of Lake Michigan, I envision our third national
conference as one final water metaphor, that of an effervescent
spring from which we can all drink for refreshment and fill
our vessels for the journey ahead. May Dovetail help you on
the way for at least another decade!
Baptism
or Bris? Or Both? New Resource Offers Help for Interfaith
Families
Boston, KY--She's Christian and he's Jewish, and
after several blissful years, a baby arrives. How can dual-faith
parents celebrate and welcome their newborns into this brave
new interfaith world? The Dovetail Institute for Interfaith
Family Resources, a non-profit, non-denominational organization,
announces the release of a resource designed to help.
"New Beginnings: Welcoming Ceremonies for Babies of Interfaith
Parents" consists of six sample welcoming ceremonies plus
suggestions on choosing a name and a glossary of religious terms.
The materials are presented in a three-ring binder for ease
in adding other resources and notes. "Couples who find
it are passionately thankful for 'New Beginnings,'" says
Mary Rosenbaum, executive director of the Dovetail Institute
(800-530-1596). "More and more, it's obvious that 'interfaith'
is not synonymous with 'faith-less.' People want to have a ceremony
that makes a religious connection for that new baby without
making family or friends-or one of the parents-feel excluded."
The widely varying ceremonies included are: Jewish Ritual for
a Boy with A Christian Parent; Jewish Ritual for a Girl (or
Boy) with a Christian Parent; Single-Faith Inclusive Jewish
Ritual; Non-denominational Ritual; Christian Ritual for a Child
with a Jewish Parent; and Combined Two-Denominational Ritual.
Respecting the right and need of Jewish and Christian partners
to explore-without pressure or judgment-the spiritual and religious
dimensions of an interfaith household, the Dovetail Institute
for Interfaith Family Resources (DI-IFR, said "differ")
publishes Dovetail: A Journal by and for Jewish/Christian Families,
sponsors national conferences, and conducts and reports on research
of concern to interfaith families. "Dovetail has never
pushed a particular agenda for dual-faith partners," says
founder Joan Hawxhurst, author of the Interfaith Family Guidebook
and other books for interfaith readers. "Our mission is
to help people choose the options that are right for them, and
then to provide resources to help them carry out their choices."
The notebook ($14.95 plus $3 shipping and handling) is the first
in a series. The second is "In the Midst of Life: Death
and Dying in Interfaith Marriages"; next in the series
will be a collection of coming-of-age ceremonies for children
of mixed-faith parents. For more information, or to order, call
800-530-1596 or mail check or MasterCard/Visa information to
DI-IFR, 775 Simon Greenwell Lane, Boston, KY 40107.
Sidebar: DI-IFR offers the following free informational brochures.
Send #10 SASE to 775 Simon Greenwell Ln., Boston, KY 40107;
don't forget to designate which title you want.
- Uh,
Oh, I'm Marrying Someone of a Different Faith: Practical
Advice for an Engaged Jewish and Christian Couple
- Don't
Light the Menorah So Close to the Christmas Tree: Coping
with the Winter Holidays in an Interfaith Family
- Afikomen
and Easter Eggs, Spring in the Interfaith Family: An Opportunity
to Learn about Passover, Easter, Mardi Gras & Purim
- Issues
for the Interfaith Family: Worship, Childrearing, Conflict
Resolution, Dealing with Extended Family
Wedding
Planning Across Denominational Lines
Boston, KY---The Dovetail Institute for Interfaith Family
Resources offers its information brochure:
Uh-Oh--I'm Marrying
Someone of A Different Faith: Practical Advice for an Engaged
Jewish and Christian Couple for free.
By calling DI-IFR's toll-free number, (800) 530-1596, engaged interfaith
couples can request the free information brochure which includes:
a checklist to help the engaged couple discuss important issues,
ideas for six wedding ceremony options, advice on what to expect
from clergy, advice on how to find an officiant for your wedding,
and a list of helpful resources. Couples can also request the
brochure on this website.
Even couples who don't consider themselves religiously observant
can benefit from this information. Non-observerant interfaith
couples, especially, tend to underestimate the cultural pull
of religion on their beliefs and their emotional expectations
for the upcoming marriage ceremony.
"Who better to ask about planning an interfaith wedding
ceremony than couples who have already done it?" says Joan
C. Hawxhurst, author, editor and Dovetail founder. "This
information brochure offers couple non-judgmental advice and
options that have worked for other interfaith families. A wedding
ceremony should reflect what is important to the couple getting
married. This can be a complicated endeavor when the couple
is of two different faith backgrounds."
According to the Jewish Outreach Institute, the national rate
of interfaith marriage for Jews marrying today is 52 percent.
In other words, more than half of the Jews getting married this
year will marry people who aren't Jewish (and most of those
partners will be Christians).
The Dovetail Institute for Interfaith Family Resources is a
non-profit organization not affiliated
with any religious
denomination. Respecting the right and need of the Jewish and
Christian partners to explore--without pressure or judgment
--the
spiritual dimensions of an interfaith household. DI-IFR provides
these couples, their families and friends, and the professionals
who service them, with educational and networking venues and
opportunities.
For more information about The Dovetail
Institute for Interfaith Family Resources contact: Mary Rosenbaum,
Executive Director of the Dovetail Institute, at (502) 549-5440
or e-mail at
di-ifr@bardstown.com.
Grace, Blessing, Covenant: A Spiritual Journey
by Katherine Powell Cohen
The
summer before my baby was born, I thought deeply again about
her spiritual welcoming. If it was a girl, I pictured going
up onto the bimah, or platform, at the synagogue, led by Jeff,
my husband, our little daughter in my arms. The rabbi, smiling
at our happiness, would announce and explain the Hebrew name
we would have chosen and then say the blessings and guide the
statements of our intentions for the child. Our daughter would
be, as I pictured it, embraced by her Jewish community, included
in a covenantal relationship of love with the Divine. If we
had a boy, we would get a mohel, a professional, to do the circumcision.
There would be a ceremony, probably at our home. The rabbi would
be there, too. After I handed the baby over to have his foreskin
cut off, and probably cried out of compassion for him, our son
would be bound in the covenant of Abraham, with all the love
and responsibility that go with that. Whether the baby was a
girl or boy, I imagined that the baptism, too, would be a deeply
joyful event. We would bring the baby to church, where, among
many friends, she would be welcomed into that community. My
parents would enjoy it all immensely. My husband would, as always,
be at my side.
Religion is, I think, at its best difficult. If it were easy,
a comfortable crutch as many people perceive it, it would hardly
be worth the effort. I don't look to religion for easy answers;
I find in my beliefs and my faith challenging questions eternally
being raised, which can lead to slow but miraculous transformation
(even if some days I behave as if no such transformation is
occurring). This being my experience of religion, it doesn't
seem problematic to me that the religious aspect of raising
a child should be difficult.
For many two-faith couples, the contrasting religions make things
even more difficult. I have found just the opposite to be true
for my husband and me. Our religious practices seem to complement
each other. But there is the question of how our child will
experience our two-faith household, and other people's negative
assumptions can be hard on a child whose parents have two faiths.
Almost as often, though, we meet encouraging comments from people.
Being a Jewish spouse who supports the practices of a Christian
spouse is different from being the Christian spouse in the marriage.
My husband attends church with me less often than I go to synagogue
with him. It is a different matter for one whose religion is
marginalized to participate in the rites of the hegemonic group.
When I do my part of keeping Shabbat in our home, I in no way
feel that I'm betraying my heritage. Yet, even though our roles
are somewhat imbalanced, we both feel that the other spouse's
religion is part of us. We can hardly help it; we're in love.
This realization led us to understand that our child would necessarily
be raised with both religions. We would seek guidance from leaders
in both religions and from people with experience. We would
have faith in Divine guidance. About a month before the due
date, I contacted our rabbi and asked what we needed to do to
prepare for, schedule, and so on, a ceremony.
The rabbi expressed her joy, not for the first time, that we
were soon to be parents. We spoke further, then the rabbi asked
me a question: "Katherine, you're not having this baby
baptized, are you?" Oh, dear. It wasn't just, "Are
you having the baby baptized?" No, she was very honest
in her wording of the question. "Well, yes, Rabbi, there
will be a baptism. That's a problem, isn't it?" "Yes,"
was her direct answer. "But let's talk about this."
Because of her prior knowledge of us, she was immediately ready
to work on the situation for the best possible outcome. "Do
you know what 'brit' means?" she asked. "It means
'covenant'," I replied.
"You see," she went on, "in the eyes of Judaism,
the baby cannot be part of two covenants: the covenant of Abraham
and that of baptism." For an Episcopalian like myself,
the two covenants are actually one, the latter being the completion
of the former. This, I realized, would not be helpful. "Rabbi,"
I explained, "I see the baptism as a gift that we give
the child. And, as in Jewish-American tradition as I have experienced
it, one can do whatever one wishes with a gift: embrace it,
bring it out only once or twice a year, or, most important,
even return it." This got a chuckle out of her, but it
wasn't a completely satisfactory response, and I knew it. I
quickly understood that I'd want to do some research and talk
to my spiritual director for guidance before taking up more
of the rabbi's time. My spiritual director welcomed us warmly
into her home. As she described baptism as the acknowledgment
of Christ's grace, I understood that the Jewish and Episcopal
positions were not comparable, here. The rabbis could not be
expected to include a baptized child in the covenant of Abraham
and Sarah; that covenant and the baptismal covenant are, from
a Jewish perspective, mutually exclusive. We learned from talking
with my spiritual director that we had options, just as our
rabbi had suggested. One possibility was to omit the chrismation-the
anointing with oil-which includes the blessing that the child
is "sealed as Christ's own forever." This commitment
could be voiced later, perhaps by the bishop at confirmation
time when the child would be a teenager. She reminded us that
there are many things that Jeff and I gain from being together,
the things that feed our love, like our mutual respect, the
personality traits that complement each other, our separate
experiences. There are also things that we give up, especially
by marrying outside our respective faiths. It made sense that
the preparation for the ceremonies for our child should reflect
both those truths. She led us in a happy prayer focused on our
receiving the gift of a child from God, and we left, with more
information and more compelling questions. "Sealed as Christ's
own forever...." "Isn't this a bit presumptuous?"
I thought. My father reminded me of the concept of prevenient
grace, in which he believes: that Christ's love is upon us,
no matter what we say or do not say. This I had felt in my own
experience, but where did it leave my Jewish husband? My father
did not presume to say. He only, as usual, spoke of his love
for me and my husband and our future child. Prevenient grace
sounded a bit like an Episcopal version of "once a Jew,
always a Jew," but still the implications are vastly different.
Yet every time I thought of not celebrating the baptism of our
child I began to cry. Still, I told my husband that, if it seemed
best, we could just have the brit or naming with no baptism
and leave the Christian part for a later time. He insisted that
our baby be baptized, because of who I am and the joy I take
in my faith. What about just leaving out the "sealed as
Christ's own forever" part? The rector of our church, who
would officiate at the baptism, was willing to discuss it further
with me but advised against omitting the chrismation, saying
that it wouldn't be a full baptism then. He was right, of course.
It had felt amiss to be hedging and mincing words. Both my husband
and I knew that we needed a "full on" baptism. Jeff
stated his willingness to forego a brit. This was extreme. "We
can't break the covenant," I protested. "It's being
broken for us," he replied. I didn't think so. We agreed
to talk further with our rabbi. She appreciated our efforts,
as we did hers. She made suggestions that respected our desire
to bring the baby into both communities and indicated the fact
that Judaism could not endorse the covenantal blessing of a
baptized baby. If the baby was a boy, we could do a non-ritual
circumcision, in the hospital, with my husband saying a prayer
as the doctor performed the circumcision.
Whether it was a boy or a girl, the rabbi offered to do a blessing
ceremony in our home. This seemed to reflect the situation truly.
The child would have both, within the frameworks of each tradition:
a complete and joyful baptism and a meaningful Jewish blessing.
People had tried to be helpful by suggesting an independent
ceremony that combined our two faiths, but an important part
of our relationship is keeping the traditions discreet so as
not to dilute them. In addition, the experience of working within
our religious communities, instead of outside of them, was deeply
rewarding. It brought out some thought-provoking issues, and
it brought out the best in everyone involved. A daughter was
born to us on Friday, the 22nd of October, 1999. Shabbat Shalom!
She was baptized nine days later, and her Jewish ceremony was
two weeks after that. The joy and good will were abundant. We
started the baptismal rite in the church and, for the baptism
and chrismation, moved outside to the font, singing. Our daughter's
godmother carried her in our procession and held her while she
was baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy
Spirit. Still, the baby slept. I suppose one might think, how
ludicrous; the child is getting nothing from this. I thought,
how thrilling; she lies there, trusting, in a loved one's arms,
doing nothing more than being, and she is receiving the gift
of faith in unconditional love. This love will probably be the
source of many challenges for her, but also the source of much
joy and peace. She was passed from her godmother's arms to the
arms of my mother for the chrismation. My spiritual director
anointed the child with this blessing: I bless your eyes, that
you may see God's image in everyone. I
bless your ears, that you may hear the cries of the poor. I
bless your lips, that you may speak the Good News of freedom
in Christ. I bless your hands, that everything you receive and
everything you give may be a sacrament. I bless your feet, that
you may run to those who need you. My husband was beside me.
My father stood nearby, and he and I were in tears. My husband
then stepped forward to receive the baptismal candle, which
had been lighted. I caught my breath with delight when I saw
it. One of the women of the church makes a candle for every
person baptized. They are adorned with the person's first name
and a gold cross and symbols chosen for each person: a dove
or a flower. Above and below the cross on our candle were a
Mogen David (Star of David) and a menorah. Looking at that candle
will help our daughter understand where she comes from and what
her baptism means. Two weeks later, our daughter's Jewish ceremony
was held in our home. The rabbi began by explaining the ceremony.
My father-in-law said the Sh'hekiyanu, the prayer of thanksgiving.
My husband then explained the names we'd chosen.
It was my turn, and I read a passage from Martin Buber about
experiencing the Divine in all creation. Then, each grandparent
read a passage from Psalm 119, followed by the naming, by the
rabbi, who spoke of the importance of raising the child in Torah,
teaching her to question, teaching her to do mitzvoth (good
works), and guiding her to a happy marriage under the huppa,
all of which, my father later noted, my parents did for me.
My husband and I said a parents' prayer, that our daughter will
grow to speak out against injustice and work to help repair
what is broken in the world. After the priestly benediction,
the rabbi also said a motzi, a blessing over the bagels we were
about to share. Miriam Devorah, though not sealed in the covenant
of Abraham, had been given a blessing through a traditional
rite by a rabbi who understands our intentions as a family of
two faiths. What had been done truly reflected my husband's
and my commitment. Our daughter has an association with the
Jewish community, through her father and through our family's
Jewish practices, which we'll encourage her to pursue. Her,
and our, situation is not as clearly delineated as it would
be if our home were exclusively Jewish. Perhaps this will lead
her to question, as we have been instructed by the rabbi to
encourage her to do, in even more depth than she would if Christianity
were not a factor. Perhaps such questioning will bring her to
a fuller experience of her Jewishness than she might otherwise
have.
I like to think the Divine is so big that it takes more than one
way of doing things to do justice to faith. A ritual celebration
may be solemn or joyful or both. The food may be delicate or
hearty, the music serene or rousing. These disparate factors
reflect our needs, and, it seems to me, the Divine comprises
all of these.
