Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah

The Jewish Family is Dead. Long Live Jewish Families!

[German]

Family life has changed and transmuted into a heterogeneous phenomenon - but what about Jewish family life?  Well, it seems that on the ultra-orthodox front - particularly within the Chasidic world - there has been very little change since shtetl days.  But what about those Jews - the vast majority - who don't live apart from the mainstream society?  The tale of my synagogue's first night communal seder [ritual meal at Passover] provides an instructive response to this question.  It was a lovely, lively occasion celebrated by a very diverse group of members and friends of the congregation of different ages:  Jews by birth and Jews by choice; non-Jewish partners and family members; nuclear families; extended families; singles; couples - including at least one lesbian family, and two lesbian couples.  Into this mix came a group of regular guests at the synagogue's festival celebrations - some adults with learning disabilities who are part of a voluntary Jewish project in the area called, 'Tikva'.

As we say in England, 'a good time was had by all'.  But the sub-text of this happy gathering was a little more complex.  And as I facilitated the proceedings I was conscious on this great night for asking questions, of some insistent questions of my own:  What were we all doing here on the first night of Pesach?  Why weren't people at home conducting their own sederim?  Why weren't people attending a family seder in someone else's' home?  Of course, the answers to these questions were bound to be as diverse as the gathering itself, and led me to ponder on further questions:  Did some people lack the necessary knowledge and confidence to organise their own seder?  Did others simply not have a family to invite, or to go to?

Since I didn't actually give voice to my questions, I could only guess at the possible responses.  But one thing was clear:  For a variety of reasons, seventy people - about 25 percent of the congregation - had chosen to come along to the shul [synagogue] and celebrate the seder together.  In fact - as the waiting list indicated - the gathering could have been bigger, we just couldn't seat more than seventy in the synagogue hall.

My comments about the diversity of the gathering are, actually, just a little misleading:  While there were children present, there were, in fact, just ten youngsters there altogether, and though the age-range spanned over eighty years, there was a yawning age-gap between twelve and thirty plus.  As I surveyed the scene, my observations about the age pattern, of course, prompted further unspoken questions:  Were the young nuclear families who weren't there, celebrating the seder at home, or with other nuclear families?  Were the young adults who were absent at the communal seder, with their families or, perhaps, doing their own Pesach thing somewhere else? 

When I was young communal sederim were rare - and rarer still was a first night communal seder.  So what has changed during the last thirty years or so?

Let me tell you about the seder I conducted on the second night of Pesach organised by the Jewish Lesbian and Gay Group based in London - founded almost thirty years ago.  This seder was specifically arranged to provide a space for lesbian and gay Jews - who are often excluded, ignored or marginalised within their families - to celebrate together, in the spirit of Pesach, as free people.  But this seder was more than this.  As a group spokesperson put it, in an article published in the Jewish Chronicle, the previous week, 'we consider our group to be a family... Our seder reinforces the fact that we are an alternative family' (6 April 2001). 

During the past three decades since lesbian and gay Jews have begun to emerge from the hidden nooks and crannies of their otherwise, 'normal' Jewish families, the emerging communities of lesbian and gay Jews have become alternative families, offering love, support, and a deep sense of kinship.  The most interesting aspect of this development, is that the sense of family has become greater as the diversity of the Jewish lesbian and gay community has become more evident.  Contrary to what some might imagine, that second night seder was a very heterogeneous gathering, encompassing Jews of all denominations and none, women and men of different ages, singles and couples - and two children as well.  In fact the similarities between the gatherings on the first and second night were as notable as the obvious contrasts:  While on the one hand, at both sederim there were many more adults than children and there was an absence of teenagers and young people in their twenties and thirties; on the other hand, at both sederim, the individuals had made an active choice to be there and there was a tangible sense of a diverse group of people celebrating together as a family.

Individuals making an active choice; diverse groupings celebrating together as a family.  I want us to hold these two concepts, these two realities, together in our minds so that we may consider the implications of what may seem, at first sight, to be an unlikely combination.  The observance of Pesach throughout the generations, like the observance of all the practices that define Jewish life, is rooted in an obligation to serve God who liberated our people from Egyptian bondage.  Which means, of course, that the obligation to keep Pesach is in some sense, the obligation that defines our existence as the Jewish people.  Quoting Torah, the Haggadah [tale of the departure from Egypt] sets out the obligation in no uncertain terms:  'You shall tell your child on that day, this is because of what the Eternal One did for me when God brought me out of the land of Egypt' (Deuteronomy 6:23).  Each parent is obligated to tell their child - that is the model.  But now we have a new phenomenon: individuals making choices, individuals choosing to celebrate together with others with whom they share a sense of kinship which is not rooted in a biological bond.

And, of course, those who choose to participate in communal sederim are not the only ones doing the choosing.  There are also those who choose, still, to celebrate in their own homes or in the homes of relatives or friends.  And, there are those who choose not to celebrate.  Some of the choosers, no doubt, still feel obligated, but they are making choices none the less.  And it's in the nature of choosing, that a choice is not made once and for all; choosing is a dynamic process.  We can all make choices either way as far as participating in Pesach is concerned.  And the same is true of the biological ties we make and break, and of the alternative families we join and leave.  Despite an established tradition, codified by the early rabbis almost two thousand years ago, with the family, ledor vador, from generation to generation, at it's heart, the continuation of Jewish life is in the hands of choosing individuals.

But that does not mean that Jewish communal structures are redundant.  It is clear to me, on the basis of my experience, that the communal seder is not only a metaphor for Jewish life today, and a setting in which the changes in Jewish family patterns are played out for all to see, but provides a dramatic demonstration of the ways in which congregations are transforming themselves in response to changes in Jewish families.  Because the home is no longer the cornerstone of Jewish life for increasing numbers of Jewish people; because the biological family is no longer the locus of strong Jewish connections for many Jews, individuals and couples and families are turning to congregations, communities and chavurot [friends] to fulfil these nurturing, nourishing and connecting functions.  And so synagogues, whose activities traditionally revolve around 'prayer', 'study' and 'meeting', are now being challenged to develop new roles as extended families and Jewish homes for their members and friends.

Which means that the family and home demands on congregations are extending way beyond providing an annual communal seder.  One of the best examples from my experience, is the development of Erev [evening] Shabbat services and shared meals - taking place not only in the synagogue itself, but in members' homes.  I know of one particular weekly gathering within my congregation which includes single people and couples in the sixty-plus age group.  Held in a different home every week, each person who comes contributes a dish.  In addition to sharing an Erev Shabbat meal, those who meet together, also support and care for one another.  As one person put it to me, 'we're there for one another, we are like a family - like a family should be'

Of course it's not only congregations, communities and chavurot that are beginning to provide new forms of Jewish family and home.  Even a seemingly less rooted structure, like Bet Debora, is establishing a nexus in which new bonds, new connections are being forged between diverse individuals with differing backgrounds and personal circumstances.  Because the contemporary Jewish family reality means that far from the family being broken beyond repair, Jews are living in, creating and connecting with multiple families. 

As my remarks have indicated, while there are many, many types of family - biological, non-biological, and a mixture of the two - all of them - including a phenomenon like Bet Debora - share crucial elements in common:  Each family - regardless of its profile - provides a context in which people may form bonds and make connections with one another; each one provides a locus for shared concerns, mutual support and belonging; each one engenders Jewish life.  The Jewish family has not disappeared, it has transmuted into myriad forms.  The only thing that is surely gone for ever - I hope - is the myth that the family - Jewish or otherwise - is a singular, monolithic entity.  And so, we can say - with confidence, I think:  The Jewish family is dead; long live Jewish families!

Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah is currently a part-time lecturer and rabbinic tutor at the Leo Baeck College, where she also chairs the Rabbinic In-Service Training Team, and a part-time minister of the Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue. Published widely.