Interfaith at Princeton

Before coming to Princeton, I didn’t either.

I was raised in what politically correct people call an “interfaith” home. My father is a Quaker, so we celebrated most Jewish and Quaker holidays. But I never went to Hebrew school. I never had a bat mitzvah. I cannot read or speak Hebrew. I’m Jewish in that I’m passably familiar with Yiddish words: I know what a mensch is and what kvetching is, I can sing a few Jewish blessings and I attend synagogue twice a year at most. The Hebrew I do know, I only know by its syllables, and anyone who’s attended a few b’nai mitzvahs can probably chant it along with me: baruch atah adonai, eloheinu melech ha-olam....

In my opinion, that means I’m at most culturally Jewish, but according to Jewish law, my mother’s Jewishness means I am too, whether I think so or not. Most people at Princeton — especially if they’re Jewish — are familiar with this tradition, and when religion comes up in conversation, I find myself in the bizarre situation of being told by those around me what I am and what I believe.

I’m not used to this. I grew up in Indianapolis, Ind., where 1 percent of the population is Jewish. Being a part of such a small portion of the population means that Hoosier Jewish families are closely knit and — since I really wasn’t Jewish at all — I always felt like an awkward step-cousin whose name no one could remember. But at Princeton, I’m included, and, weirdly, I feel more Jewish than ever. Here, unlike at home, people are Jewish enough to know that, according to the Jewish faith, my half-Jewish half-Quaker self-identification doesn’t hold water. In their eyes, I’m Jewish. Full-on Jewish. Jewish enough to be invited weekly to Shabbat events though I’ve never kept Shabbos in my life. Jewish enough to be on student panels, to take special classes, to apply for CJL sponsored trips.

It speaks well of Princeton that there are so many opportunities for Jewish students to follow their spiritual interests, to find and relate with students who share in their religious challenges. It’s not only Jews: At Princeton, there’s a group for most faiths and most ethnicities, from the Princeton South Asian Theatrics to Princeton Faith and Action. I’m not arguing that these groups shouldn’t exist, but that the gaps in the faiths and cultures represented by these groups make it easy to forget half of who I am. There’s not really a Quaker presence on campus. It’s only my Judaism which receives attention, and it feels like it’s only my Judaism which matters.

My friend Capella Yee expresses sentiments similar to my own: She’s never felt as Asian as she feels here. At home, she says, her race was a non-issue. But here, she’s constantly encouraged to explore her heritage and embrace her culture. Though she enjoys these opportunities and has gotten involved in many of them, she says sometimes she feels like being Asian has too much power over her experiences at Princeton.

It’s not racism: Other than the occasional “yellow fever” joke, Capella hasn’t really encountered many people who have made her aware of her race — it’s more that the prevalence of student groups on campus makes it hard for her to forget how her skin color affects how others think of her and, most importantly, how she thinks of herself. Though in the case of race, of course, feelings of separation and isolation are more polarizing — it’s obvious Capella is Asian, though it’s not obvious my mother is Jewish — I understand what she means. There’s more to us than our religion or our race, and though it’s wonderful that Princeton makes it so easy for us to be Asian or to be Jewish, I don’t want that to limit me.

I was raised just as Quaker as I was Jewish, and it bothers me that people seem to dismiss my father’s religion in favor of my mother’s. My Judaism has never been that important to me, but at Princeton I get the feeling it matters to other people. It helps them understand a little about who I am, which of course is valid: The culture in which I was raised explains a lot about how I experience the world. People are allowed to be curious about my spirituality, but I’m also allowed to make my spirituality just that: mine. It doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but me. That’s why my new answer to those curious about my religion is “my mom is Jewish, my dad is Quaker, but I’m not sure.” Yet.