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How Judy Blume’s ‘Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret’ broke taboos around interfaith marriage
(JTA) — When Judy Blume’s young adult novel “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret” appeared in 1970, intermarried families were a small segment of the American Jewish population. Perhaps 17% of Jews were married to someone who wasn’t Jewish; today, 42% of married Jews have a spouse who is not Jewish, and in the past decade, 61% of Jews married non-Jewish partners.
Through the 1960s, middle-grade and young adult fiction rarely acknowledged the existence of these families, reflecting and reinforcing their outsider status. Today it is routine for authors to address the reality of inter-religious and culturally mixed families, portraying them with insight and compassion. (See “Not Your All-American Girl” by Wendy Wan-Long Shang and Madelyn Rosenberg, “Becoming Brianna” by Terri Libenson and “The Whole Story of Half a Girl” by Veera Hiranandani.)
This change was made possible partly by Blume’s story of sixth-grader Margaret Simon and her one-sided conversations with God.
Blume’s status as a pioneer in young adult literature is usually associated with her honest approach to the emotional, physical and sexual milestones of growing up, with her works still attracting readers and still finding an honored place on lists of banned books. That legacy is being celebrated in April with a new documentary, Amazon Prime Video’s “Judy Blume Forever,” and a theatrical release by Lionsgate of a feature film version of “Are You There God?”
Yet her treatment of contested identity in intermarried families is as revolutionary as her openness about bras, menstruation and sexual feelings. Actors Lena Dunham and Molly Ringwald, comedian Samantha Bee and many authors, including Raina Telgemeier, Tayari Jones and Gary Shteyngart, have cited Blume’s influence on both their lives and their work. Book lists for intermarried families frequently list the novel as a resource.
Margaret Simon is 11 years old at the start of “Are You There God?” Her Jewish dad and Christian mom have pointedly ignored the possibility that their daughter might have questions about her identity. Along with other issues of teen angst, she feels compelled to decide if she is Jewish, Christian or neither. Without any guidance, the last alternative leaves her in a frightening void. As she pointedly asks God, in her ongoing series of questions for Him, “I can’t go on being nothing forever, can I?”
Margaret’s parents, Barbara Hutchins and Herb Simon, fell in love and defied their respective parents by marrying out of their faiths. They assure Margaret that she has no religion, but can choose one when she is older, oblivious to the fact that this solution seems more of a burden than a promise of future freedom. Their avoidance of any serious engagement with either religion or culture renders any possible choice unlikely.
Blume situates Margaret’s search within the specific landscape of post-World War II America. When the Simons decide to leave their Upper West Side home in New York City and move to suburban New Jersey, their decision suggests a coded reference to their religious status. Long Island is “too social,” an implied euphemism for “too Jewish.” Living there might have made it harder for their relatively unusual situation to be discreetly ignored. On the other hand, the more affluent Westchester and Connecticut are “too expensive” and “too inconvenient.” Farbrook, New Jersey has enough Jews for it to feel right for Herb, but not so many as to make their mixed family stand out.
Margaret also suspects that her parents’ are determined to put distance between the Simons and Sylvia, her paternal grandmother, who lives in New York City. This gregarious woman shows up at their new home unannounced and toting deli foods, making it clear that Margaret’s one unambiguous connection to Judaism is not going to disappear. While Barbara’s parents utterly rejected her when she married a Jew, Sylvia has pragmatically decided to accept what she cannot change. In the postwar era, more Jews began to abandon or minimize religious practice, while still maintaining ethnically distinct customs. Like holiday observance or synagogue attendance, ethnic Jewish culture is also absent from the Simon home. Sylvia’s Jewish food, her frequent trips to Florida, even her combination of sarcasm and smothering warmth, provide Margaret with markers of the tradition her parents have eschewed.
Still, when Sylvia repeatedly asks Margaret if her (nonexistent) boyfriends are Jewish, the young girl is baffled. Given her own lack of consciousness of herself as Jewish, why would Margaret care?
Rachel McAdams and Abby Ryder Fortson in the forthcoming film adaptation of “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.” (Dana Hawley/Lionsgate © 2022)
In the larger world of Farbrook, Margaret’s new friends seem to have more secure identities, conveniently defined by membership either in the “Y” (Young Men’s Christian Association) or the Jewish Community Center. Perfunctory attendance at Hebrew school until after one’s bar mitzvah is the furthest extent of her peers’ Jewishness. Margaret explains that her parents are “nothing” and that, prior to their marriage, they were Jewish and Christian, as if those identities could be cast off like an article of clothing. When Mr. Benedict, her enthusiastic young teacher, distributes a questionnaire, Margaret completes the prompt “I hate” with “religious holidays.” He attempts to draw her out about this troubling answer, and she scornfully observes that her teacher acted as if “he had uncovered some deep, dark mystery.”
On one level, he has. Her mother’s blandly universal definition of God as a “nice idea,” who “belongs to everybody,” is clearly a denial of the fractures in her family members’ lives.
Blume also captures the essence of mid-century non-Orthodox Judaism as comfortably accessible, yet also somewhat empty. On a visit to Grandma Sylvia’s elegant temple, the atmosphere is quietly decorous, the sanctuary filled with well-appointed congregants and beautifully arranged flowers. Sylvia’s rabbi greets Margaret with an enthusiastic “Good Yom Tov,” which he translates as “Happy New Year,” although it is actually a generic holiday greeting.
When Margaret later visits Presbyterian and Methodist churches, she notes the remarkable similarity among all three experiences.
The novel’s one incident of specific religious practice involves Margaret’s brief, unfinished confession in a classmate’s Catholic church. Having participated in bullying, Margaret tries to assuage her guilt through a ritual alien to both her father’s Judaism and her mother’s Protestant Christianity. She even momentarily confuses the priest with the silent God of her conversations. Nothing could be further from her parents’ rejection of religion, or from Grandma Sylvia’s loving assurance to Margaret that “I knew you were a Jewish girl at heart.”
When Margaret’s Christian grandparents decide to resume contact, the suppressed anger in the Simon home finally erupts. Herb is furious, and accuses his in-laws of only wanting to meet Margaret “to make sure she doesn’t have horns!” — a caustic reference to a persistent antisemitic myth. Blume had subtly foreshadowed this disruption of the status quo in a parallel event at school. When a Jewish student, backed by his parents, refuses to sing Christmas carols, the implicit agreement of the town’s Jews to quietly conform is broken. A Christian girl, in what seems an act of retaliation, then refuses to sing Hanukkah songs. These acts of resistance reinforce Margaret’s marginal status. Her intermarried family represents neither conformity with postwar norms nor an assertion of Jewish pride.
Blume appears to tip the scales in her portrayal of Mary and Paul Hutchins, Margaret’s maternal grandparents. Entirely unlikeable, simultaneously pushy and cold, they insist that the granddaughter they had never acknowledged is Christian. After their failed visit, Grandma Sylvia returns, along with her sweet and obviously Jewish new boyfriend, Mr. Binamin (“rhymes with cinnamon”). Readers rooting for the triumph of Margaret’s Jewish roots may breathe a sigh of relief here, but hope for a satisfying ending is illusory. Margaret’s search for a stable sense of self is still unfinished, and will not be satisfied by choosing membership in either the Y or the JCC.
For young readers, the novel’s discussion of religious identity proved as life-changing as its honest portrayal of puberty and menstruation. “I related to that kind of conflict of religion,” the comedian Chelsea Handler, who grew up in a mixed Jewish-Mormon home, told Blume in 2020. “At that time, I just found out my mom was Mormon, on top of thinking she was Jewish, and your books were such a reprieve for me and such a joy.”
More than 50 years ago, Judy Blume tackled a difficult subject, about both changing demographics and the search for authenticity in American Jewish life. Margaret’s conclusion that “twelve is very late to learn” about the essence of who you are still poses a challenge, while her persistent search for a meaningful identity offers a degree of optimism.
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The post How Judy Blume’s ‘Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret’ broke taboos around interfaith marriage appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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What it means for Jews when Trump administration officials misquote the Bible
(JTA) — The Bible is back in the news.
In a Pentagon prayer service on April 15, Secretary of War Pete Hegseth quoted what was seemingly meant to be a verse from the ancient Hebrew prophet Ezekiel, but was in fact from the Gospel of Tarantino, as Stephen Colbert quipped.
In response, Sean Parnell, chief Pentagon spokesman, released a statement on X noting that the homage to the auteur’s 1994 film “Pulp Fiction” was intentional. Hegseth had “shared a custom prayer … which was obviously inspired by dialogue in ‘Pulp Fiction.’”
Two days later, the New York Times suggested that President Donald Trump was likely participating in “America Reads the Bible,” a marathon reading of scripture to take place in Washington, D.C.’s Museum of the Bible, as a means to repair his relationship with Catholics after he publicly sparred with the pope over the Iran war and deleted a tweet depicting himself as Jesus Christ.
“President Trump has a complicated relationship with the Bible,” the paper noted. “He has often called it his favorite book, has posed with it for photographers outside a church and has sold his own edition for $60. But he has also struggled to name a favorite passage or even pick a favorite Testament between the two.”
At the event on April 21, Trump read a passage from 2 Chronicles, in which God promises to heal the land if its people “humble themselves, pray, and seek My favor.”
As a scholar specializing in the influence of the Hebrew Bible and Jewish ideas on American history, I can attest that the habit of American leaders citing chapter and verse (accurate or not) is as old as the United States itself. In fact, it dates back to the Pilgrims. It has been a powerful and effective means of cultivating covenantal community. Americans who cited scripture have forged a country unique in world history in the religious freedom it has offered to all its citizens, not the least of which to us Jews, the original biblically bound people.
The America ethos of fighting for freedom and liberty, drawn from the story of the Children of Israel millennia ago, to this day shapes how the United States operates both internally and on the world stage.
Reflecting on the harsh and uncertain early days of Plymouth Colony, William Bradford, who signed the Mayflower Compact and would serve as the territory’s governor for roughly three decades, paraphrased the Exodus story and Moses’ final speech in Deuteronomy. Arriving in the New World, he said, his fellow Pilgrims could only see:
a hideous and desolate wilderness, full of wild beasts and wild men — and what multitudes there might be of them they knew not. Neither could they, as it were, go up to the top of Pisgah to view from this wilderness a more goodly country to feed their hopes; for which way soever they turned their eyes (save upward to the heavens) they could have little solace or content in respect of any outward objects.
In the first half of this excerpt from his journal, Bradford was alluding to the Israelites’ escape from Egypt into the rough wilderness in which they would wander for 40 years. And then he referenced the mountaintop on the precipice of the Promised Land, Pisgah, on which Moses stood as his people were about to complete their arduous journey as described in the last of the Five Books of Moses. To Bradford, scripture was a source of strength and solace during communally challenging times.
Ten years later, the Puritan leader John Winthrop would describe in similarly Hebraic lens how if Massachusetts Bay Colony’s residents will do right in the eyes of the Lord, “We shall find that the God of Israel is among us, when 10 of us shall be able to resist a thousand of our enemies… For we must consider that we shall be as a city upon a hill. The eyes of all people are upon us.”
Winthrop was misquoting of Leviticus 26:8: “Five of you shall give chase to a hundred, and a hundred of you shall give chase to ten thousand.” However, the details were less important than the sense of divine mission that was powering the Pilgrims’ and the Puritan’s project.
Later, the American Founders also possessed a powerful attachment to the Bible, even if the details were sometimes hazy.
John Adams, in 1776, after hearing a sermon paralleling the Patriot cause to Israel’s fight against Pharaoh’s tyranny, ruminated: “Is it not a Saying of Moses, ‘who am I, that I should go in and out before this great People’?” It actually was not a saying of Moses. Adams was conflating Moses’ “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh…” speech in Exodus 3:11 with a a request by a much later Jewish ruler, King Solomon that God “give me now wisdom and knowledge to go out and come in before this people” (2 Chronicles 1:10).
A year earlier, the equally-enamored-with-
Abraham Lincoln, perhaps the country’s most biblically literate president ever, often weaved scripture into his seminal addresses, from “four score and seven years ago,” which was likely borrowed from a rabbinic sermon citing a verse in Psalms, to a purposeful paraphrase of Exodus 19:5 when, on Feb. 21, 1861, he referred to Americans writ large as the Lord’s “almost chosen people.”
It hasn’t only been political leaders, of course, who rephrase the Word in an effort to encourage Americans to live up to their highest ideals. Martin Luther King Jr. made reference to that same mountaintop as Bradford in the civil rights leader’s final speech on April 3, 1968 in Memphis. He rousingly reassured his audience that:
We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn’t matter with me now, because I’ve been to the mountaintop… I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!
Citing (and mis-citing) scripture, then, is a longstanding and worthy American tradition.
Some Jews might feel excluded by Jesus and New Testament texts being invoked in a nonsectarian context by public leaders, and verses can be abused as opposed to correctly interpreted. Nevertheless, the phenomenon of looking to the Bible to shape the soul of America has served a largely positive purpose. A religious civic space is full of happier, healthier people who give more charity, have more children and forge a strong sense of community.
Regardless of one’s party or views on those in power today, then, quoting the Bible in the American public sphere has long characterized the American experiment. On the whole, it has been largely good for the American collective character and good for the Jews. Occasionally, these quotes might be imperfect, but they reflect a worthy national will: the desire to see through the long march towards liberty and justice for all.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post What it means for Jews when Trump administration officials misquote the Bible appeared first on The Forward.
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Recalling Yeva Beider, devoted widow of the writer Chaim Beider
דעם 6טן אַפּריל 2026 האָט אין ברוקלין זיך געפֿעלט יעוואַ לאָזדערניק־ביידער ע״ה אין עלטער פון 103 יאָר. זי איז צום בעסטן באַקאַנט אין דער ייִדיש־וועלט צוליב איר אָפּגעגעבנקייט איר מאַן, דעם פֿאַרשטאָבענעם שרײַבער, פּאָעט און רעדאַקטאָר חיים ביידער ע״ה.
זינט חיים ביידערס טויט אין 2003 האָט יעוואַ זיך אָפּגעגעבן מיטן אָפּהיטן זײַן ליטעראַרישע ירושה ובפֿרט דורכן העלפֿן אַרויסגעבן זײַן לעקסיקאָן פֿון די ייִדישע שרײַבער אין ראַטן־פֿאַרבאַנד, רעדאַקטירט דורך באָריס סאַנדלער און גענאַדי עסטרײַך. דאָס איז אַ וויכטיקער צוגאָב צום לעקסיקאָן פֿון דער מאָדערנער ייִדישער ליטעראַטור, ווי אויך צו דער ייִדישער ליטעראַטור־פֿאָרשונג בכלל.
דורך אַ שמועס מיט איר זון מאַטוויי, האָב איך זיך דערוווּסט אַז יעוואַ לאָזדערניק איז געבוירן געוואָרן דעם 27סטן נאָוועמבער 1922 אין שטעטל וואָלאָטשיסק, מערבֿ־אוקראַיִנע, בײַם טײַך זברוטש. די צווייטע וועלט־מלחמה האָט זי איבערגעלעבט אין סאָוועטן־רוסלאַנד און אין 1946 האָט זי חתונה געהאַט מיט באָריס שפּיזעלן, וואָס האָט אָנגעפֿירט מיטן פֿינאַנץ־אָפּטייל פון דער גובערניע. יעווא האָט אויך געאַרבעט פֿאַר דער גובערניע־רעגירונג.
מיט שפּיזעלן האָט זי געהאַט צוויי זין, מאַטוויי און איסאַק. ווען דער עלטערער זון, מאַטוויי, איז געבוירן געוואָרן, האָבן זיי אים געמאַכט א ברית און צוליב דעם האָבן ביידע אָנגעוווירן זייערע שטעלעס בײַ דער רעגירונג, ווי אויך זייער דירה. שפּיזעל האָט באַקומען אַרבעט אין אַ כעמיע־פֿאַבריק. אין 1967 איז ער אַוועק אין דער אייביקייט.
אין 1978 האָט יעוואַ חתונה געהאַט מיט חיים ביידערן און צוזאַמען האָבן זיי עולה געווען אין 1996. אין זעלביקן יאָר האָט דער פֿאָרווערטס, צוזאַמען מיט אַנדערע ייִדישע קולטור־אָרגאַניזאַציעס, זיי פֿאַרבעטן אין די פֿאַראייניקטע שטאַטן, וווּ זיי זענען פֿאַרבליבן. ביידער איז נפֿטר געוואָרן אין 2003.
ווען איך האָב באַקומען די טרויעריקע בשׂורה וועגן יעוואַס פּטירה זענען מיר געקומען אויפֿן געדאַנק אַ שלל מיט זכרונות. ווער ס׳האָט זיך פֿאַרנומען מיט ייִדיש אין שטאָט ניו־יאָרק במשך פֿון די שפּעט-90ער יאָרן פֿונעם פֿאָריקן יאָרהונדערט, און פֿרי אינעם ערשטן יאָרצענדלינג פֿון איצטיקן, וועט קיין מאָל ניט פֿאַרגעסן אָט דאָס פּאָרל ייִדישיסטן: ער, דער שטילער, מיט די דיקע ברילן און ווײַסע, צעשויבערטע האָר פֿון אַן אינטעלעקטואַל, און זי — לעבעדיק און באַרעדעוודיק.
זי איז געווען זײַן פֿאַרוואַלטערין, קען מען זאָגן. זי האָט געפֿירט זײַן צײַטפּלאַן, געזען אַז ער זאָל עסן באַצײַטנס, און תּמיד מיטגעבראַכט עסן מיט זיך, כּדי מיטצוטיילן מיט אַנדערע: אַ פּעקל זיסוואַרג, אַ האָניק־לעקעך אַ מתּנה אויף יום־טובֿ, צי וואָס ניט איז. זי האָט געקענט גוט דערציילן אַ וויץ און האָט שיין געפֿירט די שטוב.
איין מאָל בין איך געווען בײַ איר אָפּנעמען אַרכיוואַלע מאַטעריאַלן ביידערס און זי האָט מיר דערלאַנגט אַ פּסחדיקן מיטאָג: איר ספּעציעלן טאָג־טעגלעכן סאַלאַט ֹ— שאַלאַטן מיט פּאָמידאָר און אוגערקע, אַלץ צעשניטן און באַשאָטן מיט אַ ביסל זאַלץ און געלאָזן שטיין אַ נאַכט אין פֿרידזשידעיר. ס׳האָט געהאַט אַזאַ פֿרישן טעם… און דערצו איבערגעוואַרעמטע כרעמזלעך אַליין־געמאַכטע.
אַז איך האָב דאָס איין מאָל דערציילט דער ייִדיש־ליטעראַטור־פֿאָשערין שבֿע צוקער האָט זי מיר גלײַך איבערגעגעבן אייגענע זכרונות — וועגן יעוואַ ביידערס יויך. זי און דער היסטאָריקער דוד פֿישמאַן זענען ביידע געווען בײַ די ביידערס אין שטוב אין מאָסקווע, האָט יעוואַ זיי דערלאַנגט אַ יויך צום טיש וואָס, זאָגט שבֿע, „איז געווען איינס אויף דער וועלט.“ איין מאָל איז שבֿע געפֿאָרן אין אַן אויטאָ מיטן ייִדישן קולטור־טוער גרשון ווײַנער ז״ל און אַנדערע, ווען עמעצער האָט דערמאָנט דעם נאָמען „יעוואַ ביידער“. אַלע האָבן תּיכּף געלויבט איר יויך און מסכּים געווען אַז ס׳איז טעם גן־עדן.
יעוואַ האָט אויך געהאַט אויסערגעוויינטלעכע זכרונות צו דערציילן פֿון איר לעבן. זי איז למשל אַ מאָל געווען אויף אַ חתונה, וואָס מע האָט געפּראַוועט אויף ביידע זײַטן פֿון טײַך זברוטש: די מחותּנים און גוטע־פֿרײַנד האָבן געוואָרפֿן מיט „מזל־טובֿס“ און פּעקלעך עסנוואַרג איבערן טײַך. אין 2012 האָט דער ניו־יאָרקער רוסיש־שפּראַכיקער פֿאַרלאַג „ליבערטי פּאָבלישינג האַוס“ פֿאַרעפֿנטלעכט אירע זכרונות אונטערן טיטל „אימענאַ נעזאַבוועניע“ (אומפֿאַרגעסלעכע נעמען).
יעוואַ איז געווען אַ ליבער מענטש און ליב געהאַט די ייִדישע קולטור. זי וועט אונדז שטאַרק אויספֿעלן.
The post Recalling Yeva Beider, devoted widow of the writer Chaim Beider appeared first on The Forward.
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2 Jewish men stabbed in London, in attack British PM Keir Starmer calls ‘utterly appalling’
(JTA) — Two Jewish men were stabbed on the street in a heavily Orthodox neighborhood of London on Wednesday, escalating anxieties amid ongoing incidents targeting local Jews that police say reflect Iranian involvement.
A man was arrested at the scene in Golders Green after being apprehended first by members of the Shomrim, a Jewish security force that operates in parts of London. Hatzola, the Jewish-operated nonprofit emergency service whose ambulances were recently burned in an arson, treated the two victims.
“One male was seen running along Golders Green Road armed with a knife and attempting to stab Jewish members of the public. Shomrim responded immediately and detained the suspect. Police attended and deployed a taser,” Shomrim said in a post to social media.
Both men who were stabbed — one in his 70s and the other in his 30s — are hospitalized in stable condition, according to the Metropolitan Police.
Prime Minister Keir Starmer condemned the attack, calling it antisemitic and praising the nonprofit services that responded.
“The antisemitic attack in Golders Green is utterly appalling. Attacks on our Jewish community are attacks on Britain,” he said on X. “Thank you to Shomrim, Hatzola and the police for acting swiftly. Those responsible will be brought to justice.”
The incident comes amid a series of attacks on Jewish institutions, and arrests of people who allegedly staged them or otherwise are accused of posing threats to the London Jewish community. No one had previously been injured in the incidents, which have included multiple arson attacks on local synagogues and, on Tuesday, a fire at a memorial in Golders Green for those murdered by the Iranian regime. Police have arrested dozens of people in recent weeks and have said they see evidence that Iran may be paying locals to stoke violence against Jews.
The Metropolitan Police said they were working to identify the nationality and background of the attacker in Golders Green, who they said was 45 and had attempted to stab officers to responded to the scene. They also acknowledged that the current situation is alarming to Jews in London.
“We are aware of the significant distress and concern this incident is likely to cause in the face of a number of incidents in the local area,” Deputy Chief Superintendent Luke Williams, who leads policing in the area, said in a statement. “A suspect is in custody, and investigators are considering all possible motives.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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