The Fifth Question
by Nan Meyer

Both my husband and I have interfaith marriages in our families, going back three generations. He had a Jewish grandmother; I had a Christian grandfather. His Protestant father and Catholic mother had to elope. My parents were an atheist and an Orthodox Jew, which is a really mixed marriage. However, there is also a straight, unbroken line of Judaism in my family reaching back through the centuries. And every year at the Passover Seder table, when the traditional Four Questions are asked by the youngest person present, this ritual reaffirms our connection with those who came before us. In our immediate family, after our daughter chanted the Four Questions in Hebrew, she would turn to her much older brothers and demand, “When are you guys going to get me out of this?” And little sister’s “Fifth Question,” as we began to call it, was still being asked long after her brothers married, and our daughter grew to be a beautiful young woman. 

Finally, there was a grandchild, a clever tyke who could easily have learned the Four Questions, but she had a Christian mother who couldn’t teach her Hebrew. Besides, the child had been baptized, and her parents didn’t want her confused. The family’s Judaism had survived imprisonment, pogroms, and Holocaust. Now, however, there weren’t many of us left and Judaism requires people. I worried, was everything Jewish going to end in this generation? That was my Fifth Question. 

Difficult Days
Those days were not happy for me. I had left a career I loved to care for my Alzheimer’s-stricken mother-in-law. This lady hadn’t liked me that much when she had her mind. Now as cruel as a naughty child, she was heaping anti-Semitic comments on me daily. Our daughter was looking seriously at a handsome young man, who wasn’t Jewish. Oh no, not her too, I thought. Both our sons were married to lovely, but non-Jewish, spouses. So much of our religion is home-oriented. Without a young Jewish family, who would continue the traditions, make the Seder, when I got old and tired? Even my Jewish niece was going out with a young man who was very pleasant but Christian. That, I could understand. She had grown up without any religious training. Her father had died too young; her mother, angry at God, had fled Judaism. Our daughter was our last child, our last hope for a link with the future. But I was home now; I had time. My daughter’s boyfriend was always glad to eat with us. (Truthfully, he was always glad to eat.) I would start inviting him on Friday nights and expose him to our Sabbath dinner traditions. I’d always lit Sabbath candles. Now I became conscientious with all the rest: the challah, saying the Kiddush, a dinner with a Jewish flavor, served on a finely set table. And from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday, I would insist on Sabbath peace, which I needed because my mother-in-law was now living with us. (She had never forgiven me when—twelve years into our marriage—my husband converted to Judaism. It was of his own volition, which she disbelieved.) To make the Sabbath dinner more festive, I often invited my niece and her boyfriend. My daughter’s young man was from a dysfunctional family. He was noticeably moved when we included him in the Sabbath blessing of the children. And he loved the food.

Time passed. Both my daughter and my niece became engaged to their young men. The two girls did much of their planning and shopping together. My niece married in the winter. My daughter planned a spring wedding. As a child, my niece had played the violin. Thus when our Reform temple had a program of Jewish music, I invited her to the service. When we came to the Kaddish, I nudged her to stand and whispered the explanation that she could recite this prayer for her dead father. Afterwards, I found her weeping copiously. She hadn’t known she could do anything for her dad. She began to accompany us to services.The two weddings came and went. My niece and her Christian groom were married by a judge in the local botanical garden. The interfaith service planned for my daughter and her groom became a Jewish ceremony because his side neglected to engage a minister. The Friday night Sabbath dinners at our house continued, occasionally with one or both young couples. A New Day Then one Friday evening, my niece and her new husband proudly produced a sonogram. They were expecting. Wine and congratulations flowed. Then, shyly they said, “We’ve been talking. We have decided to raise our children Jewish. Will you teach us how to be a Jewish family?” My husband and I were humbled. More particularly, I was stunned. My niece hadn’t been my target. My nephew-in-law continued, “We’ve been impressed with the serenity of your home, especially the Sabbath dinners. We want that for our home.” And they do have a Jewish home. My niece makes the family’s second Seder dinner. She and I alternate preparing Friday’s Sabbath dinner. As soon as her son could, he began chanting the blessing for the wine. (Remarkably, he had a speech problem in English, but chants Hebrew flawlessly.)

This last Passover he attempted to ask the Four Questions, so “getting little sister out of it.” I admit my heart swelled as I heard his young voice singing the traditional words. My father’s grandson was our next generation, continuing the tradition. I listened carefully; I said nothing. After the Seder, this little boy came to me and confessed, “I was only able to learn the First Question in Hebrew, so I said it four times. I promise I’ll know them all in Hebrew next year. Do you think it’s all right with God?” I told the child I was sure it was all right ... and in my heart I knew that things were going to be all right for all of us.