10/05/2026
This is a very important essay. It reveals a lot about the lingering negative attitudes toward interfaith marriage that many Jews still have. The author is an Jewish American journalist, a self-described “practicing Jew” and son of a Holocaust survivor. He felt it his duty “to keep the chain of our family’s Jewish ancestry from breaking” -- but his son Ben married a Cuban woman who is not Jewish.
The author initially felt “emotionally wounded, defeated.” He had prayed Ben, who went to Hebrew school and had a bar mitzvah, would marry someone Jewish, but he understood the consequences of living in a multicultural world, and hadn’t objected when Ben brought home girlfriends who weren’t Jewish, or made his expectations clear.
For him, the “question was how to respond when one of your loved ones makes a central life decision that goes against the core of who you are.” At his first meeting with the couple he was sullen, barely said a word. He turned into an “ethnocentric tribalist, … feeling betrayed, even insulted.” He would “hear the voices of my ancestors, my parents, aunts and uncles, judging me for letting someone in my family ‘stray’ outside the fold.”
He had two grandsons, “both of whom had brises and were given Hebrew names, a process that [Ben and his wife] chose together after exploring their meaning and finding ways to honor Ben’s grandfathers. About those steps to becoming part of a Jewish community, he says, “I wanted more… [T]hey lived in a town without a synagogue, the closest two hours away.”
Ten years on, he felt under a “cloud of sadness,” “disappointed in a reality that continues challenging me to accept my son’s choices.” When he and Ben finally started talking about it, Ben said, “I don’t want to say I regret my marriage in any way. But as I’ve gotten older and probably especially now that I have kids, and post Oct. 7th, this has carried more meaning than in my mid-20s. Should I have married Jewish? Probably. Did I let you (and my grandparents) down? Likely.” But he also said he was not “abandoning his connection to our community,” had put “much thought, effort and wrestling … into his relationship with Judaism,” and searched for ways to connect them to their Jewish roots.
The author realizes that his son hadn’t left, had kept inviting him closer; it was the author who had “stepped back from the warmth and called it loyalty to my ancestors, to the tradition.” He still struggles with his fears “that I’ve let the chain break.” But he wants to be a different father, to love his son back.
I have two main thoughts. First, Jewish parents making their expectations clear that they want their children to marry Jews in many if not most cases will not only not prevent interfaith marriage, but will instead risk pushing the interfaith couples from Jewish engagement. People who are told a community disapproves of what they did will not want to engage with that community.
Second, what strikes me most here is the father thinking that what’s important is whether his son’s spouse is Jewish, not whether his son’s family and children are Jewishly engaged. (That seems to be what many of the commenters on the essay think, too.) He thinks that the act of intermarrying itself is disloyal to the tradition, strays from the fold, “breaks the chain.” He seems oblivious that interfaith families can and do engage with and continue the tradition, unsatisfied that his grandchildren look like they will be part of the chain. He only starts to realize after ten years that because of the sadness and disapproval he thought was loyalty to the tradition, he missed the opportunity to love his son’s family, to embrace them – and to support and encourage their engagement with the tradition.
His intermarriage awakened my fears about betraying our Jewish ancestors. It took 10 years to understand that the living were waiting for my love