As a recently-engaged twenty-something, I’m learning with each passing day the importance of compromise. I don’t always get my way, and sometimes I have to do things I’d rather not for my partner’s sake. But like everyone else, I have my line in the sand when it comes to what I will and will not do.
For me, that line has always been a dog.
Erik, my fiancé, loves dogs, and left his beloved four-legged friend with his parents when he joined me in Mississippi. Ever since, he’s been longing for a canine companion. “I’m sorry,” I’d tell him, “I cannot have a dog in my house. Volunteer at a shelter if you want to, but don’t bring one home. They smell, they shed, and they’re just not for me. It’s my line in the sand.”
For a long while, Erik (begrudgingly, but generally graciously) accepted this, and volunteered at the local animal shelter to get his fix. I would see the way his face lit up when a stranger let him pet their pup, and the way his demeanor changed whenever he talked about getting one. Could having a dog really affect a person that much? I wondered.
On January 25th, 2015, I learned the answer to my questions. Erik and I took home Wally, a dachshund mix from the Animal Rescue Fund of Mississippi, as a foster dog. It was my own little experiment (could I handle a dog in the house? Would it make a drastic difference in Erik’s quality of life?) and our new compromise. I figured hey, if it works out and we adopt, then fabulous…and if it doesn’t, I would be able to say I’d given it a try, we would have done a good deed, and we wouldn’t have to keep him. No harm, no foul.
Almost a month later, Wally is officially our puppy, and I couldn’t imagine life without him. Erik’s happiness has increased…and so has mine. How did I get to this point, you might ask? Well, it was a surprisingly Jewish journey, involving a plethora of Jewish values that I still work hard to embody every day.
When I look at Wally, lounging on his fluffy dog bed, I am first reminded of tza-ar ba-alei chayim, the law against the unnecessary suffering of animals. I am proud that we were able to relieve his suffering by rescuing a shelter dog and giving him a forever home.
When Wally gets excited to see me when I get home, and jumps a little too much or licks a little too fervently, I aim to be erech apayim, slow to anger. When I get territorial about sharing my bedroom with a dog bed or my kitchen with dog food bowls, I channel my nevidut, generosity. And in my small moments of doubt, when I look at the huge responsibility Erik and I have taken on, I channel my inner ometz lev, courage.
The few short weeks we have had Wally have contributed significantly to our shalom bayit, peace in the home. Caring for him has made me think about aspects of my Judaism in a new way. In Pirkei Avot we are told that one mitzvah leads to another…but in this case, as our friend Danny put it: one “mutt-zvah” led to another – from volunteering, to fostering, to adoption.
As a Jewish educator, I often challenge my students to find Judaism in everything, and because of my new Southern rescue pup, I had an amazing opportunity to do just that! Thanks, Wally, and welcome to our family.
I am engaged to a wonderful man – who is not Jewish. Over the course of our relationship, we’ve talked a lot about what our interfaith life will look like. But talking about a Christmas tree, something seemingly so small, was always put on the back burner to make room for conversations about what traditions the wedding ceremony will involve, and how to raise our future children.
Last year was our first Christmas together living under the same roof, and we were saved from the discussion yet again because our apartment was too small to even conceive of displaying a tree. We have since moved to a larger, more tree-accommodating apartment, and this year the conversation became real. It was very deep, and went something like this:
Erik: Can we please get a tree?
Erik: Like, right now?
And off we went to pick out our tree and all of its fixings. A couple of hours later, our living room glowed from its lights and we sat on the couch tired, happy, and thoroughly impressed with ourselves. Then, my mind began to wander.
What did this mean? What would my mother say? Am I going to be judged for putting this up in my apartment?
I found myself in an after-the-fact December Dilemma, and all of my thoughts were verbalized through the sentence, “I can’t believe there’s a Christmas tree in my apartment.” I didn’t know that uttering those words would lead to a learning experience!
My fiancé Erik, who is originally from Ukraine, told me that in the Soviet Union, in the Communists’ effort to stifle religion, Christmas trees were forbidden. So instead, folks put up New Year’s trees – a tradition that many continue today. The tree therefore can carry with it cultural as opposed to religious significance.
“Cool!” I thought. “We have a New Year’s tree – NOT a Christmas tree! So much easier to explain to family! So much easier to confess to friends!”
It appeared that my personal December Dilemma had been solved thanks to a quick history lesson from my fiancé. I have learned through this process that feelings about Christmas/New Year’s trees are fluid. So where are my feelings now?
Well, the tree has been up for a few weeks, and with each day that passes… I love it more. I appreciated the history lesson from Erik, but I’ve since realized that labeling the tree is unimportant to me. What is important is that it makes someone I love comfortable and happy, and, whatever its significance or connotations, that’s enough for me. Appreciating a part of his identity doesn’t take away from my identity, and I understand now that that is why it was so easy for me to agree to get one. My heart got it before my head did.
There is no single “right answer” that will apply to everyone, when it comes to deciding on shared practices and rituals—at this holiday season, or at any time of year. I am also very glad that there are so many resources, like Jewish Outreach Institute/Big Tent Judaism, that can support interfaith families in navigating these conversations and choices in respectful, informed ways.
This year, when I look at the Christmas/New Year’s tree, with its ornaments hung so precisely and its laughably-too-small skirt, all I see is joy, understanding, and respect. I am proudly Jewish, and the tree does not diminish that – and in fact, while a Christmas tree might not be part of my identity, the qualities of joy, understanding, and respect, are ones I try to embody every day.
On the first night of Hanukkah, Erik and I took out our brand new chanukiah (which we also picked out together). We said the blessings, and the candles glowed right alongside the Christmas lights. Who knows how our interfaith traditions will evolve over time, but for now there is no December Dilemma in our apartment. There is love, and learning, and a whole lot of lights.
From my interfaith family to yours, Happy Everything!
Fellow Standard Time: (noun): Nothing standard about it all…
Thriday (noun): The combination of Thursday & Friday, used when Thursday is the last day in the
office. Common element of Fellow Standard Time.
There’s a lot of talk about the differences between Jews in the North and Jews in the South. Some differences certainly do exist. But in a world where the Jewish experience can be so drastically different based on where you live, there is one thing that binds all Jews together, from New York to Alabama: Jewish Standard Time.
In the Jewish world, when events are late to start or people are late to arrive, you’ll often hear it blamed on “Jewish Standard Time.”
Person A: “It’s ten after. When do you think we’ll get started?”
Person B: “Oh, we run on Jewish Standard Time around here.”
OK, in the South there might be a “y’all” thrown in there, but the conversation would sound more or less the same anywhere. Hearing this phrase uttered so often in my community and the communities to which I travel got me thinking about life as a Fellow and the way we spend our time. What is Fellow Standard Time?
Turns out it has even more to do with calendars than with clocks. Our whole week is shifted off-kilter from the rest of the world’s week!
For most people with full-time jobs, the week starts on Monday and ends on Friday. It’s a little different for an ISJL Education Fellow. On Fellow Standard Time, our weeks generally start on Tuesday and end on Sunday (yes, you read that right). On Tuesday and Wednesday we are in the office having meetings, brainstorming, touching base with our communities, and planning for our upcoming visits. Then comes Thursday, the day most others celebrate as a final push before the weekend. It’s a final push for us too, but in a different way. At the ISJL office, Thursday becomes “Thriday” (the natural hybrid word of Thursday/Friday) since Thursday is our last day in the office before we head off on our trips.
“Thriday” is an exciting day full of shopping, cutting, gluing, printing, and even sawing. You name it, we’re doing it. When the week is winding down for other folks, we’re getting pumped up.
On Friday, we hit the road. While you might be getting home at 5 PM, heading to Shabbat services or getting into your PJs, watching your favorite TV show, and looking forward to some R&R, we are just getting started with the most fulfilling part our job. We are lucky enough to spend our weekends with communities and in homes, teaching and learning. And then, on Monday morning, when everyone is gearing up for another week, we’re the ones in our PJs, enjoying our “weekend.”
Yes, it’s official: there really isn’t anything “standard” about Fellow Standard Time after all!