Jewish Values that Generalize
Jewish Pizza
“I don’t eat pepperoni.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I don’t eat it. Well, I don’t eat pork.”
Early when Whitney (my spouse) and I were dating we were walking from the Indianapolis pizza institution: Bazbeaux on Mass Ave toward her apartment at 9th and Penn. Pizza in hand (or, rather, in box). Those who know our story will understand, Whitney and I met when my dad, a Pastor, responded to the call to serve Friedens United Church of Christ on the southside of Indianapolis. Whitney’s family were lifelong members of Friedens. My family’s recent move from Scottsdale, Arizona, where Dad served as the Sr. Pastor for a new church start, brought Whit and I together. In fact, we were middle school boyfriend-girlfriend.
“I don’t eat pork out of commitment to my Jewish heritage,” or even more strongly, I may have simply said, “I’m Jewish.”
Clearly this would catch Whitney by surprise. As far as she knows I’m the pastor’s kid that she’s known for fifteen years (now, almost 30!), a member at the same church she’s been going to her whole life, and here I am, declining the pepperoni pizza and claiming to be Jewish. What gives?
In Search of Community
My life is lived in search of community. I never really fit in. Don’t get me wrong, I have my family and friends who support me, love me, uplift me, affirm me, and bring joy to my life. That has always been the case, and I’m fortunate to have parents who taught me unconditional love. Yet, I’ve struggled to find a community of people where I fit right in.
Living in close proximity to disability has demonstrated to me lessons about misfitting and social deviance—the term that mid-20th century sociologist Talcott Parsons used to describe people experiencing serious illness.
Rosemarie Garland Thompson, a disability justice scholar, defines disabled people as misfits, literally: mis-fitting our environments that were not designed with disabled bodies in mind. Maybe growing up with my sister who is disabled brought this into focus form a young age. Now living as a disabled person I see how accurate this characterization is. Living in close proximity to disability has demonstrated to me lessons about misfitting and social deviance—the term that mid-20th century sociologist Talcott Parsons used to describe people experiencing serious illness. Having a dad who is a pastor is also a social factor that shapes my life. People make assumptions about my dad, about me, about our family; that he must be socially conservative; that I must be either religious or rebellious. These are social factors of misfitting and perceived deviance that has accompanied my life.
Feeling out of place. Intellectually curious. Desperate for community. Discovering our family shared this connection to Judaism fueled what I have joked was my teenage rebellion: Learn what it means to be Jewish! And learn I did. I quickly met with Rabbis throughout the Indy metro area. What I discovered surprised me.
“What draws you toward Judaism?”
“Tikkun Olam. A feeling of deep responsibility to repairing the world.”
The Reform movement in Judaism, the denomination of belief and practice that was furthest from the Orthodox, was a welcoming atmosphere, with respect for women faith leaders and concern with social justice and expanding the Jewish edict of tikkun olam, to “repair the world.” The attitudes and ideology aligned closely with my own stance and viewpoint.
However, while the Reform movement is more permissive with lineage connections to our heritage, recognizing both patrilineal descent in addition to the traditional matrilineal, the Rabbi reflected on my childhood outside of Jewish settings, and he asked that I undergo a conversion to properly affirm my membership in our tribe. While I welcomed the opportunity to learn, and my hungry mind feasted on new knowledge, I was a person in search of community. Having generations of my peoplehood open and blossom within me, the prospect of anything other than clear acceptance felt alienating.
I won’t repeat the volumes of words I’ve spoken here about this struggle. Very recently when I refreshed the project and adopted Jewish Pastor’s Kid as both the name of this newsletter and its point of view, I shared many of these experiences. I feel the tension acutely now, in this season of Jewish High Holidays.
A Turning Toward
When I fail to recognize a Jewish holiday, or when I go too long without recognizing the weekly Sabbath, or Shabbat, practices, a voice compels me to reconsider. Yet my children know very little of that side of me. Of us. I do my best to orient them to the tradition, but we are far from regular observance, and they will always stand apart from Jewish peers their age who are raised within a Jewish community.
Of course, some concern over this fact is mitigated by my experience, as someone who came to the tradition later, yet still manage to observe the our traditions in a way that is affirming and makes sense in our lives. Without my choice to embrace my connection to ethno-religious identity through my mom’s side, that line of connection may have stopped with her, as far as our family unit is concerned, and so, I take it that Abraham, Moses, Elijah, and King David are pleased enough, and God, should God exist, will understand.
The Days of Awe
Now, in the days of awe between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, Jews are in a time of deep reflection, repentance, and preparation for renewal in the coming new year. Judaism is a tradition celebrated in community, and community commandments are historically mandated in the recognition of these holy days, but it is also a holiday of personal transformation. Yom Kippur calls us to atonement, and the days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are days of making amends and committing to improving one’s behavior in the coming year.
T’shuvah is not only repenting for wrongoing; rather, t’shuvah mandates a behavior change; a turning away from wrongdoing and turning toward Torah
The values that present themselves to Jews always and especially during the High Holidays are these three:
T’filah: Prayer, but more like contemplation and intentional thinking about one’s duty to the law and moral conduct. The prayers in Judaism are liturgical, not ad hoc. I’m not sure how to say this in better terms? At the synagogue, or at home, the siddur, or prayer book, defines the prayers that are said for different events, different times of year, different times of the day, even! The idea behind following the liturgy is to free one’s mind to focus on the intention, or kavanah. T’filah draws us into contemplative mode of deep intention
Tzedakah: Often translated as charity, for example, in Jewish homes it is common to have a “Tzedakah Box” where coins are dropped for benevolences—a tradition especially focused on children to teach them this moral obligation from an early age. But the roots of tzedakah, for example, the phrase form Torah (Deuteronomy 16.20), tzedek tzedek tirdof, or justice, justice, you shall pursue, reminds us that the moral obligation behind this value is not mere charity but it is directing one’s life toward the pursuit of justice
T’shuvah: Regular readers should know t’shuvah well, or at least, be familiar with the value. This is the same idea underpinning Jesus’ call for repentance, as placed in his mouth by the anonymous evangelists, or gospel writers. To reiterate, the gospels are Jewish literature written about the Jewish Jesus movement, before something called Christianity broke off from its parent, Judaism. T’shuvah is not only repenting for wrongoing; rather, t’shuvah mandates a behavior change; a turning away from wrongdoing and turning toward Torah, in effect, turning toward t’filah and tzedakah!
The days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur call Jews to deep and careful reflection on these core values. This is what is commanded to be on the minds, in the hearts, and shaping behavior for Jewish people, looking toward the next year with the goal to always improve. We are works in progress.
The Politics of Jesus
I’ve learned so much through my deep engagement with Christianity. I am exceedingly sensitive about the many complexities here. It worries me that fellow Jews will not understand how I adhere to Jewish practice and recognize the tradition of matrilineal descent but also acknowledge the value and lived experience of being raised within a mainline Protestant home. I worry that Christians are suspect of identifying as Jewish but continuing to maintain volunteer commitments to those I’ve made within Protestant settings.
Of course, Jesus is a Torah observant Jew leading a Jewish sect in the first century, so his commitment to Jewish values is no surprise.
What I am is Jewish. What I do is continue to put my strengths to work in justice-centered communities that includes Christian settings. This is nuanced and careful. I’m not sure that anyone who isn’t living life through multiple faith traditions would understand, but it is the sort of mis-fitting and deviance with which we began this essay.
What emboldens me to affirm one tradition as identity and another as place of deep respect and service, is the politics of Jesus. I mean that somewhat literally. The theologian Obery Hendricks, Jr, in his book The Politics of Jesus, speaks from the standpoint of Black liberation theology. Hendricks concludes his work with a commitment to values, the politics of Jesus, that look quite a lot like those of t’filah, tzedakah, and t’shuvah. He reads these off Jesus. Of course, Jesus is a Torah observant Jew leading a Jewish sect in the first century, so his commitment to Jewish values is no surprise. I’ve asserted often that Christianity develops into its own tradition that has more than 2,000 years of its own doctrine, liturgy, and rite and ritual, and Christianity is not Judaism.
Given the historical reality, and this is no stumbling block, but Christians do need to reconcile their commitments and traditions in light of Jesus’ Jewish identity, but this does not mean that Christians must be Jewish. No one made that argument with more conviction than Paul whose letters form a substantive component of the Greek Scriptures. Here, it is good to be reminded that Paul saw himself as the herald to the gentiles, as says the subtitle of Matthew Thiessen’s book, A Jewish Paul, but for Paul’s part, he makes clear his identity:
If anyone else has reason to be confident in the flesh, I have more: 5 circumcised on the eighth day, a member of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; 6 as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless (Philippians 3.4-6).
That I embrace the uniqueness of ethno-religious identity and affirm my Jewish identity, I am confident navigating this complex identity from my interfaith background by realizing that the Biblical origins of Christianity are Jewish.
Inscribed in the Book of Life
On Yom Kippur we fast in a solemn day of reflection and contemplation to begin the coming year with a clean slate, so to speak, and we acknowledge that when our balance sheet of good deeds outweighs our wrongdoing, we may be sealed in the Book of Life. G’mar chatimah tovah, in effect, may you have a good final sealing—sealing in the Book of Life. This notion includes recognizing the finishing of one year and beginning of another. We’ve cast off our wrongdoing, we’ve made amends, we’ve taken stock and committed to doing better.
I am a disabled, misfit, deviant, Jewish pastor’s kid, living with a terminal illness. I am committed to Jewish values and the politics of Jesus. I teach my kids to light shabbat candles, I do my best to teach them about Torah and traditions. We dipped apples in honey on Rosh Hashanah, and sun down this evening begins Yom Kippur. I’ll participate in the 25 hour fast beginning tonight, and I’ll spend time reading and contemplating tomorrow. But I’ll also work, the kids will be in school, and I won’t be at services. You are my community and sometimes I struggle to fit in.
But I don’t want a slice of the pepperoni pizza, and if that’s you observance, too, it’s good enough. God, should God exist, understands.
G’mar tov to my extended siblings around the world.
Hitzonim | Outsiders 
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