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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 Spanish Sabotage: How NATO’s Weakest Link Endangers the War Effort
Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sanchez speaks during a press conference after attending a special summit of European Union leaders to discuss transatlantic relations, in Brussels, Belgium, Jan. 23, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Yves Herman
As the Western alliance entered the second month of its existential struggle against the Iranian regime, the southern anchor of NATO officially buckled.
In a calculated move that serves as a strategic windfall for Tehran, the Spanish government — led by Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez — closed its national airspace and sovereign military bases to United States forces engaged in “Operation Epic Fury.”
By branding the mission to dismantle Iran’s nuclear infrastructure as “illegal and reckless,” Madrid has transitioned from a passive free-rider to an active obstructionist, prioritizing a radical domestic agenda over the survival of the trans-Atlantic security architecture.
This is not merely a tactical disagreement; it is a textbook manifestation of “lawful Islamism” and the erosion of Western resolve. While American and Israeli pilots risk their lives to prevent a nuclear-armed mullahcracy from finalizing its breakout, Spain has opted for a “Neutrality of the Grave” that threatens to lengthen the conflict and embolden the Axis of Resistance.
The immediate impact of Spain’s decision is felt at the fuel pump and the flight line.
By denying the US the use of Naval Station Rota and Morón Air Base — historical gatekeepers of the Mediterranean — Sánchez has severed the primary logistical “air bridge” for Operation Epic Fury. US refueling tankers, including KC-135s and KC-46s, have been forced to relocate to more distant hubs in Germany and the United Kingdom, creating a congested bottleneck in Northern Europe.
Rerouting around the Iberian Peninsula adds between 300 and 800 nautical miles to every mission, a “strategic tax” that adds up to two hours of flight time for time-sensitive strikes.
On a typical widebody military aircraft, this delay consumes an additional 13,000 pounds of fuel per sortie. In a theater where seconds determine whether a mobile Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) missile launcher is neutralized or fired at an Israeli city, Spain’s “neutrality” is measured in the blood of its allies.
Spain’s sabotage is driven by the internal mechanics of the Sánchez government — a fragile minority coalition captured by radical left and Islamist-aligned forces. The influence of parties like Sumar and EH Bildu — a group with historical ties to Basque terrorism — has effectively outsourced Madrid’s foreign policy to a “Red-Green Alliance” that views the US and Israel as greater enemies than the IRGC.
This ideological subversion was punctuated by the unfiltered rebuke of Spain’s Transport Minister, Óscar Puente, who directed a statement at the Israeli leadership that has since reverberated across the globe: “We are not going with you even around the corner, you genocidal bastard.”
This is the language of rupture, signaling that Spain no longer considers itself a partner in the defense of Western values.
The hollow morality of the government’s stance was dismantled on March 29 by General Fernando Alejandre, the former Chief of the Spanish Defense Staff (JEMAD).
In an interview with ABC Spain, Alejandre warned that the “No to War” slogans used by the cabinet are merely “simplistic advertisements” that ignore the topographical reality of modern threats. Alejandre noted that Spain has “sublimated the word peace,” mistakenly believing that an “unjust peace” is preferable to a necessary defense, a path that inevitably leads to total indefension.
Alejandre’s most haunting warning concerned Spain’s own sovereignty. He identified Morocco as a “certain and clear threat” that is closely watching Spain’s lack of a solid defense culture. By alienating the United States in its hour of conflict, Spain is gambling with the security of the Canary Islands, Ceuta, and Melilla. As US strategic interest shifts toward Rabat — a pro-Western partner and Abraham Accords signatory that has seen a 17.6% increase in its 2026 defense budget — Spain risks being left alone on its own southern flank.
The economic repercussions are already beginning to bite. President Donald Trump has characterized Spain as a “terrible” ally, and instructed US Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent to prepare a total trade embargo against Madrid. Furthermore, by complicating the mission to reopen the Strait of Hormuz, Spain is directly contributing to the global energy shock that has sent Brent crude toward $110 per barrel.
The Spanish sabotage is a case study in the danger of allowing domestic extremism to dictate international security. When a NATO member chooses to facilitate the survival of the Iranian regime by weaponizing its geography against its allies, the alliance must react. The “habit of consultation” that has defined NATO since 1949 is broken. For the mission to deny Iran nuclear weapons to succeed, the West must recognize its weakest links and forge new partnerships with those who demonstrate a genuine commitment to victory.
The cost of Madrid’s betrayal is a grave that the Iranian regime is currently digging for the entire West; Sánchez is merely making sure the US has a harder time stopping them.
Amine Ayoub, a fellow at the Middle East Forum, is a policy analyst and writer based in Morocco. Follow him on X: @amineayoubx
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From Spain to Passover: The Problem of Inherited Guilt
Soccer Football – Champions League – Paris St Germain v Atletico Madrid – Parc des Princes, Paris, France – November 6, 2024 A banner on support of Palestine is displayed in the stands before the match. Photo: Reuters/Stephanie Lecocq
In 2019, former Mexican President Andrés Manuel López Obrador formally asked Spain to apologize for abuses committed during his country’s conquest of Mexico. At the center of that request is Spain’s role in the destruction of the Aztec capital, Tenochtitlan, in 1521—an event that marked the beginning of Spanish colonial rule on the site of what is now Mexico City.
Current President Claudia Sheinbaum has continued to press the issue, and Spain’s King Felipe VI recently said that the conquest “didn’t work out as originally intended and there was a lot of abuse.”
Sheinbaum acknowledged that the remark fell short of a full apology, but nevertheless called it a gesture of reconciliation that would help improve relations between their two countries. For her, this gesture served to validate and dignify Mexico’s indigenous population, and help ensure that history is viewed not only from the perspective of the colonizers but of the colonized as well.
Even though these events occurred centuries ago, the argument for apology rests on the idea that nations, like corporations, have a kind of legal and historical continuity. States endure beyond the lifetimes of their citizens. Laws persist, institutions evolve rather than disappear, and national identity is transmitted across generations. Spain’s monarchy, like the Spanish state itself, presents itself as an institution of deep historical continuity. With that comes responsibility as well.
But this logic raises a fundamental problem. The individuals responsible for the conquest are long dead, and those offering apologies today played no role in those events. If individuals cannot inherit guilt from their parents, on what basis can entire nations inherit moral responsibility for actions taken centuries ago?
This sits uneasily with a core principle of modern human rights: that individuals are born free and equal, responsible for their own actions, and should not be judged based on the deeds of others. Once we depart from that principle, we begin to assign moral status not by what people have done, but by who their ancestors were.
More broadly, an emphasis on inherited guilt encourages us to look backward for solutions to present problems. When we encounter injustice today, should our first question be who to blame in the distant past — or what we can do now to make things better? A politics rooted in historical grievance risks creating an endless cycle of accusation and counter-accusation, with no endpoint.
This dynamic is visible in debates over Israel and the Palestinians. Some Palestinian activists center their narrative of the “Nakba,” arguing that peace requires addressing what they view as historical injustices from 1948. On the other side, many emphasize Jewish historical and indigenous claims stretching back millennia, arguing that recognition of that history is essential to any resolution, as well as Jewish presence in the land before 1948. These competing historical frameworks can be difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile.
It would be more fruitful to focus on what political arrangements would best advance the rights of all people living today, regardless of ethnicity. But we can only do that if we are willing to recognize each person as a new individual, equally worthy of freedoms and protections, regardless of what we believe their ancestors may have done.
If we extend the logic of historical responsibility consistently, it becomes impossible to sustain. For example, at the Passover seder we recount the story of the ten plagues. If modern Spain bears responsibility for destruction five centuries ago, should Israel, by the same logic, be forced to apologize to Egypt for the excess suffering described in that story?
And if Israel must apologize for the plagues, then Egypt should also apologize for its original enslavement of the Israelites. How would such a process begin — and where would it end? Is this really what we want to argue about? Current times present us with enough problems without importing conflicts from the past as well. The question for Spain and Mexico, as well as Israelis and Palestinians, is not how to assign guilt for the distant past, but how to uphold the rights and dignity of people living today.
Shlomo Levin holds a Master’s in International Law and Human Rights from the United Nations University for Peace and uses fiction to examine the tension between human rights theory and practice. Find him at www.shalzed.com.
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A Message of Hope Ahead of Pesach: Israeli Negev Bedouin’s Response to Iranian Rockets
A drone view shows a damage in a residential neighbourhood, following a night of Iranian missile strikes which injured dozens of Israelis, amid the US-Israel conflict with Iran, in Dimona, southern Israel, March 22, 2026. REUTERS/Roei Kastro
The Palestinian Authority (PA) wants Palestinians to believe that Israeli Arabs hate their country — Israel — and the Jews living in it.
The reality, however, is not like that at all.
When commenting on Israeli Arabs, whom they call the Palestinians from “Interior Palestine,” or from the “lands occupied in ’48” (the year Israel was established) they vigorously promote the lie that Israel targets Israeli Arabs.
Commentary by columnist Omar Hilmi Al-Ghoul, in the official PA daily and former advisor to former PA Prime Minister Salam Fayyad on national affairs, is a case in point:
Omar Hilmi Al-Ghoul
The members of the Palestinian people in the Interior [i.e., Palestinian term for Israel] … reject all the actions of falsification and coexistence between the true Arab Palestinian narrative and the fake and false Zionist narrative, because confirming the Zionist narrative … means confirming the legitimacy and eligibility of the Zionist presence on the Arab Palestinian land.” [emphasis added]
[Official PA daily Al-Hayat Al-Jadida, Aug. 28, 2021]
But following recent Iranian missile attacks against the southern Israeli towns of Arad and Dimona, nearby Israeli Bedouin Arab communities posted in “local Facebook groups to offer their homes, food, and messages of solidarity” [The Jerusalem Post, March 24, 2026] to Israelis/Jews harmed by the rockets.
This is the exact opposite response of what you would expect from a “hostile” population:
Israeli Arab Bedouin school principal Sager Abu Srehan: “I think the real reality is what matters. We live together with the Jewish society as brothers, on the same land and under the same sky.
We study together, work together, and this country belongs to all of us. We are people who belong here and who love our country … The partnership between us as a society, with many examples of cooperation, is what creates the beautiful colors in the mosaic of Israeli society.” [emphasis added]
[Israeli school principal Sager Abu Srehan, The Jerusalem Post, March 24, 2026]
The dystopian image that the PA promotes of Israeli society tumbles like a deck of cards when confronted with the Israeli reality as a democratic country where all citizens — Jews and Arabs — are treated equally according to law. It is a level of freedom that, ironically, the PA does not come close to bestowing upon its own population.
The author is a contributor to Palestinian Media Watch, where a version of this article first appeared.