With Valentine’s Day upon us once again, I, for the first time have a man I love to call my valentine. He and I share so many interests: a love of jazz, classical, and rock music; a passion for outdoor activities like hiking and climbing; unappeasable academic curiosity; and a soft spot for animals. I never thought that I’d find someone who so completely accepts and understands me as a person. My family adores him and has amended their “decision” that I not date until the ripe old age of twenty-three. Nick is a wonderful man, but, as is made obvious by his name, he is not Jewish.
I have always made a conscious effort to form crushes on Jewish men. I tried to make myself gaga over boys at synagogue and school solely based on the fact that they were Jewish.( Because, obviously, that was what I was supposed to do if I had any intention of having a Jewish family—which I still very much do.) I looked down upon women who sought love outside the tribe because I thought they were trying to escape their faith. But now, I realize that I had no feelings for them the boys I had “crushes” on; I just wanted a Jewish man. Now, having found happiness with a man who didn’t know what Matzoh was before he met me, I’m questioning my strict belief that Jews only belong with other Jews.
In fact, one of my favorite parts of being with Nick is teaching him about my religion and culture and watching him take it in; his little brow furrowed in concentration. I’m not saying I’m picking out wedding china or anything, but the experience of dating Nick has really changed my point of view on this subject. I still intend on raising a Jewish family when I am older, but it is now less important to me that my husband be Jewish too.
