If You Can’t Marry, Why Risk Love?

I had heard lectures in high school about the risks of intermarriage for Jews. While the number of Jews in America is decreasing, the children of intermarried couples often have no association with being Jewish.

Although I knew the presentations at my B’nai B’rith youth group were made with my best interests in mind, they meant nothing to me at the time. Since I was deeply rooted in my faith, I had no reason to worry. And what could be the harm in merely dating a non-Jew? Wasn’t that what being young was all about?

I got to college and plunged into a relationship with a Catholic boyfriend--let’s call him Luke. We realized this was not long-term, or so we told ourselves. If we just enjoyed each other’s company, was there something so wrong with that?

According to his very religious mother, there was. She never said, “Ilysha, I don’t like you because you’re Jewish.” She didn’t have to.

Nice as I tried to be, the only responses I got were curt replies and cold stares. When she told me that it was her hope that Luke would one day have a large family and move down the street so they could all attend church together every week, I knew she wasn’t seeing my face in the pew. I didn’t care.

One night soon afterward, Luke and I asked each other what the big deal was about interreligious dating or even intermarriage. His family believes that Jesus is the savior; mine does not. While he was being taught catechism and took communion, I was being taught Hebrew and had a bat mitzvah. Both religions are expressions of belief in a higher power. Both are strict in their teachings, yet show great love for their children. With Judaism and Christianity similar in so many ways, should the differences in theory or practice matter so much?

What if either one of us were a Muslim or a Buddhist or a Hare Krishna instead of a mainstream Christian and a Jew? What would his mother think then? Aren’t all religions based on the principle of doing what is good and just? Don’t they all teach respect for your fellow beings, in one form or another? If we all are to respect one another, then why can’t we share our lives?

But another thought occurred to me: Had I become one of those statistics I had been warned about? If so, did I care?

About the time I was ready to drop my “religion minor” in college, I began to think about why I had added it in the first place. Why had religion been so important to me that I chose to study it in college? Why had I become involved in Jewish youth groups in high school rather than student council? Why did I willingly give up my Sunday mornings to teach religious school? The answer was simple: My religion meant a lot to me.

When my family had a major crisis, the synagogue was the place that supported us through it all. The rituals that my family practiced during holidays are happy memories for me and I want to share them with my own family. My faith means a lot to me, my faith in God and my faith in Judaism.

Since I am not willing to give up any aspect of my faith for a man, is it possible to offer children two faiths to practice? And would I want to? No.

How then am I different from Luke’s mother or from the speakers who once warned me against intermarriage? Because I am willing to take a chance and date a non-Jew, perhaps ensuring myself nothing but heartache and disappointment in the end, does that make me a better person than Luke’s mother or the intermarriage lecturers, who would prefer we not see each other at all? Despite the time I have spent asking myself that question, I still have no satisfactory answer.

What I do know is that I have a good time with Luke. He makes me happy. Should I be concerned that I am 21, just graduated from college and still seeing someone whom I should not and could not marry? Maybe. But should two people be cut off from each other because of religion? That doesn’t seem logical, either. Apparently there is no logic when it comes to religion, only faith. And maybe a time will come when my faith will overpower my logic, but until then I’ll have to risk the chance of heartbreak to take happiness where I find it.