By: Rifka Rosenwein
My 4-year-old son announced his first marriage proposal the other day. The announcement came while he was getting into pajamas and telling me, as he often does, about his day at school.
His class had been treated to a movie version of a book they had been reading together, Jack and the Beanstalk.
"And do you know who sat next to me?" he asked, in a tone of voice previously reserved for describing particularly awesome trucks.
It was Jessica who had graced the seat next to him, and my son, seemingly overcome by the magnitude of the event, promptly declared his love for Jessica and asked her to marry him. She, apparently, had accepted.
Yes, he's 4, but this was still a milestone in his and my life. What did he know about marriage? Since when did he even notice girls?
Like any mother, my heart fluttered as he told me about his intended. All the usual questions raced through my head: What was she like? What kind of family was she from? Would we be able to have lunch together and really talk? Would she leave any room in his life for me?
Luckily, my son's circle of acquaintances being somewhat limited at this age, I already knew a lot about Jessica. She is a classmate of his in nursery school, she throws a great birthday party and, I must admit, she is quite cute. She's also not Jewish.
Now, don't get me wrong. I am a concerned Jewish parent, but intermarriage is not exactly at the top of my parental worries right now. I am much more focused on toilet-training my 2-year-old.
But the episode with Jessica jarred me, nonetheless, and turned my thinking to more immediate issues. My children attend a preschool that, while under Jewish auspices, welcomes students from all different backgrounds.
A large number of intermarried couples seem to have found the program a particularly good fit.
My husband and I chose it mostly because we thought it was the best preschool we saw—and because it was close enough to our house that I wouldn't have to worry about carpooling.
But we considered it an added benefit that as an outgrowth of attending the school, our children, and our family as a whole, would meet and socialize with Jews of all stripes, and non-Jews as well. As Modern Orthodox Jews, we also thought the choice would allow us the flexibility to introduce our kids to the rituals and traditions of our more stringent brand of religion at our own pace, rather than at one dictated by an Orthodox preschool.
We planned all along to send our kids to a Jewish day school as soon as they reach kindergarten, so what harm could there be in sending them to a less sheltered preschool?
After three years in the school, I remain convinced that there is no harm, but I also realize that my question can be and is being asked by Jewish parents at every stage in their children's education.
In fact, most of the parents that I have met at my son's preschool are not sending their children to Jewish day school for many of the same reasons that I do not send my children to an exclusively Jewish preschool: They want to expose their children to a broader spectrum of backgrounds, and they want to practice their Judaism the way they see fit.
As one parent put it to me, "Jewish day schools are not reality. The reality is that most people my son will come in contact with are not Jewish, so why should I try to protect him from that?"
Some parents will make the same argument at high school; others will draw the line at college. By that time, of course, the decision is no longer just the parents'. But at each point the challenge remains the same: How do you prepare your kids for the "real world"—which for most American Jews is not an exclusively Jewish one—while at the same time preserving their identity as Jews?
The questions surrounding my 4-year-old's marriage proposal are not about intermarriage. They are about what to do when he has a playdate with a friend who doesn't have a kosher home. They're about being asked why his best buddy Kevin gets both a Christmas tree and a Chanukah menorah, while he only gets the menorah. They're about being invited to a birthday party on Tisha-B'av.
In short, they're about teaching my children to walk the American Jewish walk, the tightrope act that somehow allows for remaining open to the society around us while preserving the Jewishness within us. It's one thing for the community at large to be asking the big questions about "continuity"; it's another thing to put matzo in your kid's lunchbox during Passover, knowing full well that most of the other children will be having their regular peanut butter sandwiches. Judaism—and parenting—are in the details.
As for my son's betrothal, my concerns have abated somewhat. The engagement was short-lived. Apparently, Jessica has decided that she doesn't play with boys anymore. And my son has returned to his trucks, at least for now.
