My sister was concerned about her relationship. He was stand-offish, Emma said. He wouldn’t kiss her. I told her he was just shy, that he clearly wanted to spend time with her.
But I thought to myself that perhaps he didn’t. Maybe her purple hair put him off. Maybe it was her tendency to so loudly voice her opinions. I dismissed him as a simple high school freshman, unworthy of my sophisticated 14-year-old sister and her unparalleled individuality.
But Emma, despite the lack of passion in her life, continued to see him. He kept telling her he wanted to have a private conversation, and she naturally assumed he planned to end the whole affair.
She was right, but none of us could have guessed why.
The next week I was lying on my couch in a typical Christmas-break haze when a sudden shriek from upstairs jolted me to attention. Sworn to secrecy by the beau, Emma’s best friend immediately called to tell her the news. Emma laughed a little, but it was high-pitched, even hysterical, and tears quickly followed.
“I’m not Jewish,” she repeated to each of us, a little proud, perhaps, that her relationship should end in the drama of forbidden love.
So there it was. I gaped as my mother, whose first love had likewise been forced to give her up for Jewish girls, deemed ours a cursed family.
After recovering from the initial shock, I asked enough questions to find out that despite his parents’ objections to my Protestant sister, that he wanted to go behind her back and keep seeing Emma and that she had refused to consider such a life of deception. Her only concern was whether or not she was still allowed to ask him to her school’s Women Pay All dance in February. He said he would ask.
I assumed that everyone would share my indignation and confusion at a 15-year-old Jewish boy not being allowed to casually date a 14-year-old Protestant girl; most gave the desired guffaws and incredulous faces.
The major exception was a Jewish friend of mine. Her faith may make her more sensitive to such issues, but her own father converted to marry her mother, and she herself has dated several non-Jews. While she agreed that the chances of my sister marrying this boy were slim and that his parents’ fears seemed premature, my friend also noted the major disconnect that occurs when one partner cannot fully comprehend all the traditions and beliefs of the other.
This problem, of course, is present in all relationships where peoples’ backgrounds are dissimilar. These are the same objections that historically have been raised towards interracial dating, though I feel few good liberals would condemn that practice.
Ultimately, such couples must decide for themselves what differences they can overcome. Their parents should not do it for them, whether they are 15 or 35. My sister gets to go to her dance, but I cannot help worrying that afterwards both of them will have to give up something special without really understanding why.
