Repost: Patrilineal descent and the pain of rejection 😥
This is one of the posts that seems to have disappeared from both my front page and my September 2022 archive. I'm copying and pasting both the post and the comments because this is too important to lose.
Tuesday, September 06, 2022
Patrinineal descent and the pain of rejection 😥
Copied from Facebook:
I've
been a member of Conservative (or dual-affiliated) synagogues since
childhood, and have always supported the traditional opinion that only
the children of Jewish mothers are Jewish (the matrilineal opinion).
But I've been rethinking my position in recent years. Is it really the
right thing to cause so many people so much pain? Here's how being a
patrilineal Jew affected Allison Goldperson.
Allison Goldperson is with Jeremy Lawrence and 3 others.
[August 20, 2019]
Just
over a year ago, I had the opportunity to do a mikveh ritual in the
ocean, where I affirmed my Jewish identity in the presence of Rabbi Gabriel Botnick and four
witnesses. It was an important moment for me, because it allowed Rabbi
Botnick to then give me an official certificate, signed by himself and
two witnesses, affirming that I am, indeed a Jew.
This
status is a big deal, because it means that I am finally able to
participate fully in the rituals that comprise Jewish practice: I can be
married by a Rabbi to another Jew; I can be counted as part of a
minyan; I am allowed halachically to fully keep Shabbat; if I have
children, they will be counted as Jewish. Most importantly, this moment
resolved one of the deepest and most painful challenges in my life: the
fact that, for years, as I felt called more deeply towards Jewish
practice, I was repeatedly turned away.
I
am Jewish by patrilineal descent. My grandparents on my father’s side
were Polish Holocaust survivors; my mother is from the Canadian east
coast. I grew up in a Jewish neighborhood in Toronto, in a home that was
filled with jokes told in Yiddish accents, stories from Chelm and foods
like challah, cholent, and matzo brie. I carry the last name “Goldman”,
went to Jewish summer camps and had a bat mitzvah.
It
wasn’t until I got to university, and had a spiritual experience that
made me want to connect more deeply with religious (vs. cultural)
Judaism, that I understood the significance of my patrilineal descent. I
was told, for the first time, that I was not Jewish -- that if I wanted
to become Jewish, I would have to convert.
I
was shocked, and hurt, but I respected the Rabbis telling me this. I
wanted to follow the rules. I started learning, first with an orthodox
Rabbi, and then with a conservative one. The more I studied, however,
the more it became clear to me that I could not convert. Why? Because
I’m not a convert. Judaism is not something I’ve chosen. In fact, over
the years that I struggled with this part of my identity, I tried hard
to not be Jewish. Twice in my twenties, after particularly painful
experiences of being rejected based on my birth, I told myself that it
wasn’t worth it, and vowed that I would not be Jewish anymore. It hurt a
lot to make that vow, and never stuck. As it turns out, we don’t always
get to choose who we are. Sometimes, our souls hold a truth that we
ignore at our own peril.
For
me to try to be anything other than Jewish was to force my soul so
deeply out of alignment that it created a terrible spiritual pain.
My
soul’s truth is that I am Jewish, and I have absolutely no choice in
the matter. When I pray in Jewish community, I feel a sense of
connectedness, to the earth, to the sky, to others and to myself. My
soul whispers to me: “yes, this is where you’re meant to be.”
Last
year, when I first approached Rabbi Botnick about my identity, I was so
scared. I had already begun to feel connected to the community at
Mishkon, and by revealing my secret to him, I was risking that he would
reject me -- that he would suggest, like every Rabbi I’d spoken to
before him, that either I should join a conversion class and undertake a
process of “transformation,” or that I should just accept that only the
reform community is available to me. Instead, he responded in the most
beautiful, affirming, and healing way I could possibly have imagined. He
asked me about my upbringing: was I raised in a Jewish home? Did I have
a bat mitzvah? He reflected to me in no uncertain terms that I am
indeed a Jew. He was clear and casual about it, and said we could make
it official the very next day, at Na’or on the beach.
The
Jewish ritual of the mikveh is one that signifies transformation.
Traditionally, a convert immerses herself fully under water to signify a
total transformation – a change in her soul from someone who was not
bound to the covenant, to someone who is. I feel strongly that my soul
did not transform last year when I undertook my mikveh. I have always
been Jewish. In fact, I believe my soul has been Jewish for much longer
than I have actually been alive.
Its
meaningful that Jewish ritual, and particularly this ritual, is done in
community, in front of witnesses. When I submerged myself in the ocean
last summer, I was affirming a deep commitment to my own authentic
truth, the same truth that prevented me from “converting” for so many
years: that I am now, and always have been, Jewish.
By witnessing and testifying, my community also affirmed this truth back to me – and that was the transformation I needed.
I
am so deeply grateful to Rabbi Botnick for facilitating that moment,
and offering me the chance to fully belong. At the same time, I’m
writing this post in part to say: this is not ok. It was wrong of my
community to turn me away so many times, while welcoming other mixed
Jews who have a matrilineal line. It was wrong to trivialize my Jewish
lineage and experience, and the identity I have always had. This is an
aspect of our tradition that hurts so many of us: Jews like me, but also
Jewish men who are told they alone cannot pass on their traditions to
their children. It’s wrong because it sews division among us, and causes
us to do ugly things, like reject people we could love. In Genesis, the
day that G-d separates water from the land is the only day she does not
see that “it was good.” Our tradition should be the glue that holds us
together, yet we cling to an outdated rabbinical interpretation that
wrenches us apart.
There
are many things I love about Judaism. Among them is our willingness to
grapple with tradition and to make changes where necessary. The good
news is that we already have the tools to right this wrong: when Rabbi
Botnick offered to officially sanction my Jewish identity through an
affirmation – when he offered it without even suggesting for a second
that I had to change my essence, or “convert” – he demonstrated the best
of what our tradition has to offer.
It
is my hope that, in the future, this ritual of affirmation will be made
more easily available and widely popularized. We should all know there
is space in our tradition to hold and welcome our entire tribe, and to
affirm the powerful influence that fathers have upon their children.
posted by Shira Salamone at 6:15 PM
5 Comments:
posted by Shira Salamone at 11:13 AM
1 comments
If you have a Facebook account, I recommend that you read the comments to the original post here: https://www.facebook.com/acarrollgoldman/posts/pfbid0sWgQoty15fvdbxukhHQaWaA5K3maTC4KtCizejNxj4JkAvQn7RqXyuuKQfkHN2Zyl
More comments copied from Facebook:
Stephen Belsky
It sounds like she went through an actual giyyur procedure (the immersion with witnesses) but what was important was not delegitimizing her preexisting Jewish identity in the process
Shira Salamone
Exactly. But there are so many patrilineal Jews who just consider themselves Jewish who aren't willing to do that. I'm having trouble lately just wrapping my head around the idea that we Jews are rejecting so many people who just want to be accepted as part of the family. 😢
Allison Goldperson
Shira Salamone hey Shira! Thanks for sharing this and understanding my intention in sharing my story.
I was extremely resistant to doing a mikveh ritual for many years because people framed it as a “conversion” and I feel strongly that I was always Jewish. I never had any other identity to go to, so when people told me I wasn’t Jewish, it was like a negation of my very personhood in the world.
Now it has been years since that day, I’m deeply involved in Jewish community, and the pain of those rejections is something that continues to hurt many years after it has been “resolved”.
I very much appreciate that you have been changing your mind about this topic and hope that others will do the same 💕
Shira Salamone
Allison Goldperson , I'm hoping to encourage others to give this some serious thought, at least. Thank you for articulating the pain of rejection so movingly.
Barton Lessin
At no time in our history has being a Jew been the easiest of choices. I applaud those who choose to be members of our tribe. It seems well past time to consider patrilineal descent on a par with matrilineal descent.
Sorry, let me try posting that URL as a link:
Allison's post
That's all well and good, but she either converted, or she's not Jewish. Or she could be Reform (and still not Jewish in the eyes of the rest of Judaism). So either the ocean was mikvah with witnesses l'shem giyyur or it was not and all that happened was she got wet.
Every religion, every people has inclusion and exclusion rules. I don't get to declare myself Canadian just because I like hockey and Tim Horton's, I'd have to go through a naturalization process to become Canadian. It's the same with Judaism. Mother is Jewish? You're a citizen. Mother isn't Jewish? You're not. The father is wholly irrelevant.
We should be welcoming and perhaps make the conversion process easier for people brought up thinking they were Jewish, but at the same time, there's no reason to weaken millennia-old laws.
We should certainly make the conversion process easier for people who were brought up Jewish but are not considered Jewish according to halachah (Jewish religious law). As with the rabbi in this true story, the rabbi should certainly take into consideration how much the person already knows rather than blindly insisting that they attend a conversion class as if they were starting from scratch, and perhaps calling the conversion ceremony an affirmation ceremony might also help.