What's Love Got To Do With It?

Originally published on Times of Israel

When I first started dating in the Orthodox world, I had two major expectations. The first was that God would reward me for becoming religious by making the process fast and easy. The second was that when I met “the one” there would be fireworks and orchestrated music all around us.

As you might have guessed, I was a little immature at the time. My dating process was neither fast nor easy, but I can now say that the process I went through was a Divine gift. If I had married one of the men I had met in my earliest dating years, I am not certain the marriage would have lasted. Certainly I would not be the person who I am today. I would never have figured out where I myself was most comfortable in the spectrum of Jewish life. I might never have come to work for the National Jewish Outreach Program (now NJOP). I might not have found the inner strength that carried me through the loss of my father. In the years I was single, I learned to listen to others, to be more flexible, to hear my own voice and accept my own strengths and challenges. (Not to mention the fact that my husband-to-be was not even Jewish at that point – but that’s a story for another time.)

Many people who wish to get married face the tremendous challenge of overcoming the extremely romantic notions that saturate our society. We learn it first in our childhood through Disney: Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty…Did any of them even know anything about their prince before professing their undying love? Moving out of childhood, one is inundated with romantic songs, love-struck television characters and unfathomable epics of true love at the movies. Love as a many-splendored thing is such an overwhelming part of American culture that it is almost impossible to believe that marrying for love was once the privilege of a rare few.

In the world of Orthodox dating, young men and young women (or often their parents) use an intermediary for introduction. The intermediary may be a shadchan (matchmaker) or a friend, relative or acquaintance. Before the couple is introduced, both sides confirm that the other has the qualities for which they are looking. It is a system that has worked surprisingly well for generations. (For more on shadchan, click here.)

That which one might consider to be the very first “shidduch” (match) was Isaac and Rebecca. The matchmaker was Abraham’s man-servant Eliezer. Abraham only gives him one criteria – that the girl not be from the surrounding Canaanite families. But, Eliezer knows the family so well that he does not need further information. As he approaches the city of Nahor, Eliezer prays that God will make the choice obvious, a prayer that is answered when Rebecca not only offers him water, but draws water for his camels as well. Rebecca travels with Eliezer back to Abraham’s camp, ready to accept an unknown fiancé based on the character references of Eliezer and Abraham’s reputation for kindness. About the marriage of Isaac and Rebecca, the Torah says only this: “and he took Rebecca, and she became his wife, and he loved her” (Genesis 24:67). Isaac came to love her only after he married her, love came through knowledge and partnership.

From the moment I met my husband, I liked him. He was smart, funny, sensitive and quite handsome. Was it love at first sight? I can’t say that. I can say that seeing what a kind, sincere and good-natured person he was, I actually said to my roommate: “Please don’t let me mess this up!” Our dating process, while only 3 months, was not smooth. Our engagement period, an additional 4.5 months, was even worse. As happy as I was, I often found myself riddled with confusion: “Do I love him? If so, where are those fireworks? But I want to marry him. In fact I can’t picture myself not married to him! But am I certain? How do I know if he’s the right one?”

Instead of enjoying the idea of finding my ezer k’negdo, my soul mate, I was busy worrying if he was my Prince Charming. (To read more about the concept of ezer k’negdo, click here.)

Now I don’t know about you, but I never found Prince Charming to be a man of any particular depth. Sure he is extremely good looking, but is he kind, sincere, pious, ambitious, laid back, or any of the other qualities that different people seek in a spouse?

If there is one lesson about dating that can be learned from the story of Isaac and Rebecca, it is the importance of seeing the potential spouse’s midot (best translated as character traits). Does he/she talk rudely to waiters? Does he/she tip? Is he/she considerate of others? Eliezer was drawn to Rebecca as a likely candidate because she shared the value of kindness that was ingrained in Abraham’s family.

My husband and I come from very different backgrounds, but we share so many mutual values with each other that it doesn’t matter. Did I love him on the day we got married? Perhaps, but not nearly as much as I do now. We had the seeds of love and we were both dedicated to making ourselves into a unit and building a home together. From that commitment, true love builds.

What's In A Name?

My name is Princess Ewe. Seriously, if you translate my name from Hebrew into English, it literally means Princess Ewe. Thankfully, my name is also a combination of two of the names of Jewish matriarchs: Sarah (which means princess) and Rachel (which means ewe). Being named after two of the four Jewish matriarchs means that I end up paying extra attention to most of the readings of the Book of Genesis.

Not only do I enjoy reading (and rereading every year) the personal stories of Sarah and Rachel, but I often find ways that my life connects to theirs. For instance, Sarah is not the matriarch’s given name. When she is introduced in the Torah she is referred to as Sarai, just as Abraham is known at first as Abram. In Genesis 17, however, God informs Abram that his name will now be Abraham and instructs him that “As for Sarai your wife, you shall not call her name Sarai, but Sarah shall her name be. And I will bless her, and moreover I will give you a son of her; yea, I will bless her, and she shall be a mother of nations; kings of peoples shall be of her” (17:15-16).

As much as I love being called Sarah Rachel,* it is not my legal name. Like many Jewish parents, mine gave me both an English and a Hebrew name. For the first 20 years of my life, I was known as Carolyn. (My middle name, Dawn, was rarely spoken aloud unless I was in serious trouble!)

As I increased my involvement in the Jewish community, however, I found myself being asked about my Hebrew name more and more often. I finally began using my Hebrew name after I tried to get a substitute teaching job in the Brooklyn Jewish community. Sarah got quite a few more call-backs than did Carolyn.

Let me be clear, I did not change my name in order to get a job in the Orthodox community. (My lack of professional experience was enough to kill that effort on its own!) But the search for that job made me think about who I was and who I wanted to be. Believing in the importance of living a life full of Jewish ritual, using my Hebrew name seemed a logical step to me at the time. (OK, I must admit, I was never a huge fan of being called Carolyn. It just didn’t suit me.)

Jewish tradition, from Genesis through the writings of the great sages, reflects the importance of a person’s name. A name defines a person. Adam was called Adam because he was made from the ground, which is adamah. The name Eve (Chava), who was the first woman, is a derivative of the word chai, life. Was I Carolyn a derivative of Charles – or was I Sarah Rachel, Jewish princess (in a good way)?

Whether a person uses it on a regular basis or not, a Hebrew name is one of the critical totems of Jewish identity. It connects a person to his/her family and to generations of Jews. In Ashkenazi families, a child is often named for a deceased grandparent or great-grandparent. Sephardim, on the other hand, name children after living relatives, making the familial cycle of names even tighter.

Unlike Sarai, God did not tell me that I should change my name, and so I was left with a few choices to ponder. Did I wish to be known as Sarah, Sarah Rachel, or perhaps just Rachel? The problem with Sarah or Rachel on their own was that they didn’t stand out from the hundreds of Sarahs and Rachels in the Jewish community. By using both names together, I was at least distinguishing myself a little bit.

More importantly to me, however, was the fact that I had been named after two different women, my mother’s maternal and paternal grandmothers, Sarah and Rose (Rachel). I wanted to honor both women, and so I began introducing myself as Sarah Rachel. It took a while, but eventually even my mother now calls me by my Hebrew name.

I don’t mean that every Jew who wishes to demonstrate how proud they are of their Jewish heritage should begin using their Hebrew name, as I did. Just knowing one’s Hebrew name is important as there is a sacredness to one’s Hebrew name.

It is easy to forget that the naming of a child is a religious ritual in Jewish life. Boy’s receive their names at the time of their brit milah (circumcision). Girls are named during a special ceremony at a Torah reading shortly after they are born.

The Hebrew names that we are given at birth are the ones that we use for a lifetime of Jewish rituals. One is called to the Torah with one’s Hebrew name, one’s Hebrew name is written on the ketubah (marriage contract). And, when prayers are recited in one’s merit in times of need (such as when on is, God forbid, ill).

Why talk about Hebrew names now? Right now, the Jewish world is staring at a mirror and trying to find ways to secure the Jewish identity of future generations. There is an ancient Midrash that explains that by the time Moses came to redeem the Jewish people from slavery, they had lost most of their distinctive identity except for the way they dressed, their language and their names.

This Midrash highlights the incredible importance of identifying with our Hebrew names. I don’t know much about my great-grandmothers – I don’t know if they lit Shabbat candles or kept a kosher home – but I do know that just bearing their names has always played an important role in how proud I am of my Jewish heritage.

– If you are interested in learning more about Hebrew names, visit Twebrewschool.org and learn about the fascinating background of some of the most popular names that have come from Jewish life.

*While I spell my name Sarah Rochel, representing the way I pronounce it, I have used Rachel in this article because it is the more common spelling.

Attention American Jews: Let's Not Be Afraid

Originally published on Huffington Post

It is time to stop being afraid!

Afraid? Haven't you read the Pew report, "A Portrait of Jewish Americans"? American Jews aren't afraid. They are proud. They are happy to be Jewish... at least those who acknowledge that they are Jewish are proud of that fact.

No, the message of do not be afraid is to all the men and women who have been wringing their hands at the results and wondering how they can solve this dilemma. According to the Pew study, every movement is on the decline and many Jews don't even affiliate with any organized Jewish life. And of course, the most upsetting of all news, 71 percent of non-Orthodox Jews are intermarrying and, of those, the majority are not raising their children as Jewish.

It's time that the Jewish world recognize, accept and even verbalize the truth. Some Jews walk away from Judaism. I wish this was new information, but a certain percentage of Jews have been lost in every generation. A person who knows Jewish history can find panic over assimilationist tendencies during the Roman era, the Golden Age of Spain, and during the so-called Enlightenment. Perhaps the greatest difference was that in earlier eras, Jews left the fold by making a definitive choice rather than slowly drifting away.

So why should Jews-who-care not be afraid that North American Jewry is declining? Because we are still here! How many other people can point to a continuous tradition over three thousand years old?

Pew's "A Portrait of Jewish Americans" focuses on the wrong side of Jewish diversity, on the diversity of religious performance, when perhaps the most significant diversity that should be commented on is the physical and geographical diversity that has been critical to the survival of Judaism. Jews are not a nation, or a people, or a family, but all of these together. Jews have lived in almost every country in the world and, in doing so, have taken on the tone and timbre of those cultures, and yet through our thousands of years of travel have remained singularly unique.

It is interesting to note that at the same time that the Jewish world has been making a great fuss over the results of the Pew study, few have commented on an article in the New York Times "Genes Suggest European Women at Root of Ashkenazi Family Tree," by Nicholas Wade. The article explored the findings reported in "A Substantial Prehistoric European Ancestry Amongst Ashkenazi Maternal Lineages" (Martin B. Richards, author), which was published in Nature Communications. The reported study sought to be the next step in the fascinating examination of the Jewish people through their genetic make up. These studies, which began in the 1990s, were at first only able to look at the paternal DNA, and some extraordinary connections were discovered between Jews all over the world (such as a common gene among those of priestly descent).

This newest study, on the other hand, specifically examined the matrilineal DNA of Ashkenazi Jews. Their conclusion was that going back thousands of years the source code of the matrilineal DNA came from four women who were European as opposed to being from the Near East. The supposition with which the study concluded was that these women were most probably locals who converted and married Jews who traveled into what was then the European frontiers.

On first read, this may seem to be a shocking conclusion. After all, Jews pride themselves as being a united family, the children of the matriarchs and the patriarchs... so who were these non-Israelite foremothers? The shock abates once one actually looks around at the people who make up the Jewish world. Jews come in every shape and size, color and ethnicity. Jews have settled in Europe, Africa, Asia, and the Americas, and living in such diverse locations has unquestionably influenced Jewish life. Just look at the different traditions and costumes of Jews from places such as Morocco, Russia and Hungary.

The concept of the Jewish people as a united family is a concept of spiritual genetics. This is why, after a person converts, he or she is forthwith known by their chosen Hebrew name followed by <em>ben/bat Avraham Avinu v'Sarah Eemanu</em> (Abraham our Father and Sarah our Mother). Genetic studies such as the one published in <em>Nature Communications</em> may be fascinating, but any conclusions drawn from it are purely academic. If the Jewish people claimed to be genetically linked, one would need only point out the thousands of converts throughout history that are not, technically, family. Indeed, both Moses and Joshua married women who chose to join the Jewish people. (Click here to read more about Tzipporah and Rachav.)

In every generation, the Jewish people have adapted to the cultures in which we have lived, and Judaism has continued to thrive. We've taken in the physical and cultural standards of the countries in which we have lived, and yet we have remained a unique people. It doesn't matter if one is a Yeminite who blows a long shofar, a Jew from India who serves curry for Shabbat dinner or a chassid from Hungary who wears a fur shtreimel, because we are all Jews who are dedicated to Jewish life.

The Pew results are seen by many to be a call to Jewish activists to come and rescue Jewish life in North America. The most frequent numbers pulled from the Pew are about people moving away from Jewish life or intermarrying, and so now everyone is trying to solve "the problem."

Unfortunately, when activists start looking at a problem they start seeing only numbers. People become statistics, organizations become factors and good intentions become fodder for criticism. But the Jewish people are who we are because of our intellectual creativity, our innate spirit and, most importantly, our drive survive.

Instead of searching out problems and solutions, maybe we need to trust ourselves, our heritage and our Torah, and take a moment to marvel at the strength of Jewish life that has survived so many cultures throughout so many centuries.

Whose Lot Is It Anyway?

Originally published on Huffington Post.

Wanting to be a good and moral person is an excellent ideal that, it probably would not be outlandish to say, is the end goal of most people. At the same time, most people do not wake up each day and make a commitment to be either moral or amoral. People generally go about life making choices and only sometimes taking the time to contemplate the morality of those decisions... especially when everyone else is doing the same thing.

If you were asked to write a story about someone stealing, the plot would probably revolve around someone stealing jewelry, money, someone's identity or maybe even just a loaf of bread. When people think about acts of theft, they don't usually think about plucking flowers from a garden, piggybacking bandwidth or rerouting cable.

There is a pithy saying that possession is nine-tenths of the law, but what about ownership of things that one cannot tangibly possess, such as bandwidth? What about questions of intellectual copyright? While Alexander Graham Bell is famed as the inventor of the telephone, a man named Elisha Gray filed a similar patent on the very same day, and there have always been questions as to whether Bell used Gray's research.

For Jews looking to the Torah for guidance, one of the primary references for dealing with "murky" issues of theft has been Genesis 13 (5-7). It is written that Abraham traveled with his nephew Lot and leased/bought land from the Canaanites and the Perizzites. Abraham and Lot had such a large camp and possessed such an enormous number of flocks and herds that "the land was not able to bear them." This led to strife between the herdsmen of Abraham and those of Lot.

The Midrash (Genesis Rabbah 41:5) explains that Abraham's herdsmen questioned Lot's herdsmen's honesty for not muzzling their cattle (as Abraham's men did) when grazing on land not marked as their own. Lot's herdsmen, however, quoted God's promise to Abraham to give all of the land to him. As Abraham had no children, they determined that Lot was destined to be his only heir. Since they assumed that Lot would eventually inherit all of the land from Abraham, grazing on it even before inheriting it was not theft. God, however, had also promised Abraham that it would only be his actual descendants who would inherent the land, and only after the removal of the seven nations from it.
The pivotal point of this narrative is that there is an accusation of stealing. Was Lot guilty of theft? From Lot's perspective, not only was he the heir apparent to Abraham, who had been promised the land, but his animals were simply doing what is natural for animals to do. It was not as if he had entered people's homes and taken their possessions. The grass would grow back.

Because Lot and his herdsmen refused to see the questionable ethics of their assumptions, Abraham decided that he and Lot should best part ways.

Understood as part of the narrative of Lot's life (rather than of Abraham's), this confrontation is a major turning point. When asked to choose a place to settle away from Abraham, Lot chose the city of Sodom*. About the people of Sodom, the Mishna applies the following description: "The person who says, 'What's mine is mine and what's yours is yours' -- this is the average type, though some say that this is the attitude of Sodom" (Pirkei Avot/Ethics of the Fathers 5:13). This attitude fit in perfectly with Lot's view of the world. He would never think of stealing something outright, but if he was the expected future-owner of the land, then it was only an issue of "what's mine is mine."

Abraham, on the other hand, was striving to live by a standard of "what's mine is yours and what's yours is your own" (which the sages refer to as saintly). Abraham could have walked around telling people that God had promised him their land. Instead, he was careful to muzzle his animals so that they should only graze on land that was acknowledged to be ownerless.

Situations like Abraham's are described throughout the Talmud and rabbinic texts. Detractors of Jewish law portray it as a system of eye-for-an-eye reward and punishment, but, in actuality, it is a system of laws and ethics meant to help people learn to be more compassionate to one another. It is not hard to assume that this was Abraham's viewpoint of right and wrong and that he tried to explain to Lot that letting his flocks and herds travel without muzzles was tantamount to stealing.

Most people don't like to be informed that they are doing something wrong, whether it's a small thing like double parking or a serious crime such as drugs. Lot was no different. When confronted with the fact that he was, in fact, stealing -- and that this was wrong -- it is possible that Lot decided that the best place to relocate would be to a place where people lived by whichever ethic they saw fit, rather than by one binding ethical code.

Most people can only try to emulate Abraham's level of conscientiousness. Lot didn't think of his animal's grazing habits as stealing. The man down the block who piggybacks on his neighbor's bandwidth isn't contemplating how this affects the owner of the modem, and it probably hasn't even occurred to the woman who double parks that she may be stealing precious minutes from the person who is now unable to exit a parking spot. Making oneself aware in ways such as these, however, is considered to be an ideal for which every Jew should strive.

*To explore more about the city of Sodom, visit JewishTreats.org.

What's Judaism Without Brisket?

Originally Posted on Huffington Post

Does Jewish law discourage a vegetarian lifestyle? One might assume so from the fact that the Talmud states that "When the Temple was in existence, there could be no rejoicing save with meat" (Talmud Pesachim 109a) and some of the most famous Jewish culinary dishes are chicken soup, brisket and chopped liver.

The basic response to the question of vegetarianism is that, without the Temple (when there was a sacrificial service), there is no requirement for anyone to eat meat. The references to meat being essential to one's rejoicing can be understood to mean that one should serve a more exalted fare on the holidays and on Shabbat.

The question of the Jewish view on vegetarianism is not new. One can find discussions of the benefits of a vegetarian lifestyle even in Medieval scholarly works. Many Jewish scholars who advocate for vegetarianism point out that Adam and Eve were vegetarians. When God placed Adam in the Garden of Eden, the Torah tells us that God said: "Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat..." (Genesis 2:16). While God had granted Adam dominion over all creatures, only the plants were marked for human consumption.

On the other hand, advocates for the consumption of meat point out that after the Great Flood, God told Noah and his family that "Every creature that lives shall be yours to eat; like the green herb, I have given you everything. Only flesh with the life thereof, which is the blood thereof, you shall not eat" (Genesis 9:3-4).

Vegetarians most often choose to abstain from meat because (1) they do not enjoy eating meat, (2) they belief in the health benefits of a meat-free diet or (3) they feel that eating meat is cruel to animals.

For those who do not enjoy eating meat, the only challenge in Jewish life is ignoring peer pressure from those who are of the opinion that one must eat meat on Shabbat and Yom Tov. Food is meant to not only sustain us, but to be enjoyable as well, and one need not eat a food they dislike.

Those who are focused on the health benefits of eating a vegetarian diet are, in effect, following the important mitzvah of taking care of one's health. This is a mitzvah that Rabbi Moses ben Maimon (Maimonides, 12th century Spain), who was also a physician, place great importance on. It is interesting to note that The Life Transforming Diet, by David J Zulberg, a 2007 book that outlines a diet-plan based on Maimonides' principles of health, promotes a diet high in fruits, vegetables, legumes and whole grains and, therefore, low in meat.

Choosing a vegetarian diet out of concern for the pain suffered by animals also aligns with Jewish law. The Torah laws dictating the treatment of animals are known as the prohibitions of tza'ar baalei chayim - causing undo suffering to living creatures. This is why Jewish law prohibits hunting for pleasure and why the Jewish act of shechita (kosher slaughter) is meant to cause the least amount of pain to an animal.

The philosophical conflict between vegetarianism and Jewish thought occurs when the fear of hurting an animal becomes the equating of humans and animals. Traditional Jewish teachings make it clear that humans and beasts are not the same. Based on the text of Genesis, Adam (and all humans thereafter) are separated from the animals as the only creation to receive the breath of life from God. Humans are the only creatures who are expected to live according to a moral ethic. Being kind and caring to animals is important - indeed, God instructed humankind to take care of the animals and the world, but equating humans and animals lowers our expectations of ourselves.

So what about the meat eaters? It is pretty clear from the story of Noah that God gave humankind permission to be carnivores (well, omnivores, really). There are some opinions that this permission was granted because pre-flood humanity had been so strongly overwhelmed by their basest character traits that they were now so much more physical that they needed the extra nourishment provided by meat. It is interesting to note that the Malbim (Rabbi Meir Leibush, Eastern Europe, 1809-1879) suggests that the physical nature of both humankind and the world in general was altered after the flood. Not only did produce no longer supply the same level of nutrients, humans themselves were now weaker physically.

On the other hand, when God singled out the Children of Israel and assigned them the unique role of becoming a "Holy Nation," He limited their omnivorism. The types of meat/poultry/fish that they were permitted to consume was limited to the animals we now label kosher, which were deemed spiritually beneficial, or at least not spiritually polluting. Additionally, the Jewish people were taught the laws of shechita (kosher slaughter), which was considered the most merciful means of slaughter (a discussion for another piece altogether).

Whether one chooses to become a vegetarian or to eat a more omnivorous diet is an individual choice. However, Jews are food people, and there are many laws that dictate how and what we eat. Not only are there the rules of kashrut (from shechita to the separation of meat and milk and the checking of vegetables for insects), but blessings on the food both before and after one eats. In all of these laws, however, the benefits and negatives of the foods. From this it is understood that no matter what one chooses to eat, the goal should always be to nourish oneself on both physically and spiritually.

A View On The Pew

Originally published on Times of Israel.

Yesterday, the Jewish world was buzzing with reaction to the Pew Research Center Survey of U.S. Jews. The results seemed to indicate the American Jews are even more assimilated and apathetic toward the Jewish traditions than had been suspected. Intermarriage is up and synagogue affiliation is down.

I have to admit – I was not surprised. As someone who has worked for a Jewish educational organization for years, I’ve been aware of that it is increasing a challenge to find enthusiastic students and participants. Perhaps more specifically, I wasn’t surprised by the Pew results because of the generation in which I was raised – Generation X.

When I began college at the University of Maryland at College Park in the mid-1990s, I found myself inundated with one cultural imperative – multiculturalism. All around me were signs and posters promoting cultures from around the world, but none encouraging students to explore, express or appreciate their own culture.

On my dorm floor, there were several Jewish students, most of whom had been raised with a strong Jewish identity, a limited Jewish education and a hope that they would eventually settle down with someone Jewish. Their parents were like my own – Jewish Americans who lived their lives surrounded by their own kind. My parents were both born and raised in Brooklyn, and they inhaled Jewish pride with every breath of their childhood. But had I, as a young adult, asked them why I should marry a Jew – I doubt they could have given me a truly convincing answer.

Twenty years later, as my peer group achieves, dare I say it, middle age, how can we be surprised that a generation inundated with the message of multiculturalism and armed only with a few years of after-school Hebrew school failed to connect to Jewish institutions or to transmit the significance of Jewish life to their children.

This was, of course, not everybody’s story. I went the other way. I said to myself that if everyone was supposed to admire all the other people’s cultures that I needed to first learn more about my own, to explore the traditions that had survived thousands of years, ages of persecution and years of wandering.

In the 1990s and 2000s, I was part of a unique movement of thousands of Jews independently deciding to become more observant. And while re continue to be young Jewish adults looking to learn more about Judaism, there has been a general shift away from religious exploration.

Becoming observant was no act of blind faith, rather is was a well-thought-out decision. I needed to immerse myself in Jewish life in order to understand the great personalities of Jewish history – likeMaimonides, Rashi and the Vilna Gaon, all of whose brilliance was acknowledged by Jews and non-Jews alike. I wanted to connect to the way my great-grandparents and their grandparents and their grandparents had lived so that I might have something beautiful and unique to hand down to my children. And I wanted to understand the value of a lifestyle for which so many had given up their lives. My reaction to multiculturalism was to explore my own culture, to know myself.

I was not unique, but the people like me were a small subset of my generation. In all that talk of loving and accepting people, no one ever spoke of living a Jewish life as something one needed to choose. To my Jewish peers, being Jewish was just part of their list of identifying features. You know: I am an engineer, a New Yorker, a skier, a Jew.

In 1999, I began to work for the National Jewish Outreach Program (now known as NJOP). My boss, Rabbi Ephraim Buchwald, had one interest – getting Jews interested in being Jewish. He founded NJOP because he wanted to make certain that no Jew ever walked away from Jewish life without the ability to choose, because being uneducated about Jewish life means one never had a chance to choose Judaism.

For the last five years, I have had the privilege of writing Jewish Treats, a daily email that we subtitled “Juicy Bits of Judaism, Daily.” The goal of these emails/blog posts is to bring a reminder into people’s lives each day that Judaism is a thriving system of laws, customs, history and legend, and thus to encourage them to continue to stay active in Jewish life.

To me, its all about the choice of living Jewishly. It’s about choosing to invest oneself in a world and a culture that, when you get to its barest ethos is (as the great sage Hillel said) about “Do not do unto others as you would not want done to you.” Oddly, that’s the most multicultural lesson of all – I’ll respect you and you respect me.

My personal response to the Pew study is not surprise nor a call to arms. I am dismayed, of course, but what I really feel is a reinforcement of my commitment to live a fully Jewish life, to present a positive image of traditional Judaism and to provide my family with a love of tradition that will survive for several more generations.