This article has been on my desktop in the “to publish” file for far
too long. And after several unsuccessful pitches to Canadian, left-leaning, multicultural-embracing
publications, I’ve decided enough is enough. I want to share this.
Even though the relationship I write about didn't work out, the inherent message remains intact. If I could go back I wouldn’t change a thing. Being with K changed me for the better, forever. And if it can inspire even one person to open their mind to possibilities they otherwise would have disregarded, I’d be satisfied.
Even though the relationship I write about didn't work out, the inherent message remains intact. If I could go back I wouldn’t change a thing. Being with K changed me for the better, forever. And if it can inspire even one person to open their mind to possibilities they otherwise would have disregarded, I’d be satisfied.
TWO ROADS
Finding my way along the path less travelled
NICE. JEWISH. BOY. These are the three words that used to play in my head like a broken record. I heard them in a myriad of voices – all very nasal and high-pitched – accompanied by a wagging finger and a sort of cautionary head shake.
Finding my way along the path less travelled
NICE. JEWISH. BOY. These are the three words that used to play in my head like a broken record. I heard them in a myriad of voices – all very nasal and high-pitched – accompanied by a wagging finger and a sort of cautionary head shake.
For a while I was resolute on my stance: after seeing boys
of various backgrounds (from Colombian to Irish, part-Mexican and beyond), I
decided that the “Jewish” part of the nice boy equation was of utmost importance
to me. But after a year of sometimes decent albeit ultimately unfulfilling dates
with guys that met that criteria – followed by an encounter with a non-Jew that
tilted my dating ideology pendulum – I began to rethink my stance on interfaith
relationships.
In April of this year, back in Montreal for Passover, I agreed
to join my sister and her friends for some drinks post-dinner at Baldwin
Barmacie on Laurier. Tired and slightly grumpy as I was, I figured it was worth
the eventual free lift home. Little did I know I was about to pick up much more
than a couple of gin and tonics and a day-after hangover headache.
Beirut born and raised and of Christian faith, with warm brown
eyes and a captivating, slightly mischievous grin, this man was the last thing
I was looking for. But we spent the night together so deeply engrossed in
conversation that everyone else faded into the background. Hardly even affected
by the alcohol and with no reservations whatsoever, I asked him what his
thoughts were on the situation in the Middle East. His unbiased answer – backed
by hard facts and statistics – was impressive. How could I not admire someone
who, even after pulling dead bodies out of the wreckage from the dropped bombs
of Israeli pilots, could maintain such an unprejudiced point of view? He told
me he liked my “chutzpah” and found my sassiness highly attractive. He respected
that I was a writer; an “artist” living life the right way, exploring and
contemplating as opposed to just getting by. I told him it’d never work, because
we were from such different worlds and living in different cities.
But after that night I couldn’t shake off the lasting impression
of this smart, spirited man, so after a few days I contacted him via Facebook. He
was thrilled to hear from me and we started speaking regularly. Fast forward to
a couple of months later and we’re sitting, side by side, working at my dining
room table from our computers. He has been staying with me in Toronto for quite
some time now. We’ve been busy building our respective freelance careers,
exploring the city on Bixi bikes, and staying up until all hours of the night discussing
everything from our fondest memories to our greatest fears.
My parents – who must be credited for pulling me out of
Parochial school (where I was miserable) and enrolling me in a progressive,
multi-cultural single-sex institution – are still grappling with my budding
relationship. And I can’t say I fault them completely. I understand their concern
that if my generation ceases to pass on Jewish customs, our over four thousand
year old history is at risk of being annihilated. That is not to say people in
interfaith relationships cannot continue to practice their own respective religions.
However, if everyone were to marry someone of a different faith, and their
children married someone of another (or even two) then there is a good
likelihood that the grandchildren of that family would not feel unequivocally
linked to the religions of their grandparents.
But as the world becomes more interconnected, it is
personality and character (as opposed to religion or ethnicity) that are the
decisive factor in mate selection. Just because someone celebrates Shabbat or attends
the Matzo Ball on Christmas Eve doesn’t mean they’ll leave newspaper clippings
on the fridge for me to read before work or love my idiosyncrasies. And as the
type of woman who needs a man who satisfies me profoundly – emotionally and
intellectually – the latter is of much greater importance. And I have that now.
Behind closed doors, sheltered from the disparaging headlines regarding the
unequivocally heartbreaking, seemingly hopeless state of affairs in our
homelands, my boyfriend and I couldn’t be more compatible.
We are all shaped by where we come from. Factors like what
part of the planet we grew up in or the traditions we celebrated with our
parents and siblings have an integral role in our development. They shape the
way we see the world, often determining things such as whether or not we support
single-sex marriage or the death penalty. Like snowflakes, no two of us are
alike. And just as we may share similarities such as religion with our
next-door neighbor, we may also share a powerful connection to someone who
dresses, eats, and talks in a way that is utterly foreign to us – based on a
common experience like grieving over a loved one or overcoming social boundaries
in order to realize our dreams.
I’ve come to understand that while finding a nice Jewish boy
would be nice, it’s the “nice” part of the equation that matters most. Having a
partner with whom I share common values – like a commitment to reducing our
ecological footprint or volunteering in our spare time – is of greater
significance than whether or not he knows what a mezuzah is. And with that
understanding, I replace that condescending voice in my head with the words of
Robert Frost: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less travelled
by. And that has made all the difference.”
