I am Jewish. My husband was raised Presbyterian, considers himself atheist, and until he met me, had never known a Jewish person. So it was with some trepidation and a few drinks that I told him if he was serious about me, he would have to let me raise our possible children Jewish. Never mind that I wasn’t positive I wanted kids and we’d known each other all of two weeks. I was sure of two things: Dan was awesome and I had no time to date a guy I’d never marry.
He asked me what having Jewish children would look like. I wasn’t sure. Seven years and two children later, I’m still winging it. But I had to answer the question, so I started with the one thing I was sure of.
We would not have a Christmas tree.
It’s hard for me to articulate what it means to be a Jew. It’s much easier to say what being a Jew is not. For me, being Jewish is not celebrating Christmas. As a kid, being Jewish at Christmas time meant feeling the pain of being different. Click here to read the rest on Parent.co.