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A Black Jewish woman shared her unique perspective on Nick Cannon's anti-semitic comments

Comedy Hype/Twitter, Malana/Twitter

Musical artist Nick Cannon was fired from Viacom this week after the release of a podcast in which he made anti-semitic comments. According to the New York Times, the podcast was an interview with Richard Griffin (also known as Professor Griff), who was kicked out of the band Public Enemy after blaming Jews for most of the wickedness in the world in a 1989 interview. "The Jews are wicked. And we can prove this," he told the Washington Times. Cannon told Griffin he'd been "speaking facts" and also praised Louis Farrakhan, who has been known to make anti-semitic comments.

In addition, Cannon referenced a conspiracy theory that the media is all controlled by wealthy Jewish families. "I find myself wanting to debate this idea and it gets real wishy and washy and unclear for me when we give so much power to the 'theys,'" he said, "and 'theys' then turn into illuminati, the Zionists, the Rothschilds." He also said that Black people are the true Semitic people. "You can't be anti-Semitic when we are the Semitic people," he said. "That's our birthright. So if that's truly our birthright, there's no hate involved."

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At first, despite the backlash, Nick Cannon refused to apologize for this remarks. Responses to his firing ranged widely across the internet, with some calling him out as a bigot and some praising him for what they saw as "free speech."

But one woman on Twitter, who happens to be Black and Jewish, took the opportunity to explain exactly why his comments were so problematic. Speaking as "your Black & Jewish educational fairy godmother," Malana wrote:

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"My partner and I were just discussing how a lot of Black people don't have the education around anti-Semitism to fully get why Nick Cannon's rant was messed up. So let me be your Black & Jewish educational fairy godmother.

First, that Rothschild bank theory. That ain't real. Many Jewish people in Europe were forced to work in banking because of laws restricting them from entering other types of work. This is where the stereotypes of stingy, money grubbing, banking, etc. Come from.

But it was the racist/anti-Semitic structures that pushed Jewish people into that system in the first place. This is similar to calling Black people Welfare Queens - a system was created that locked people into place and a stereotype was invented around it.

One old-timey Jewish family being rich doesn't mean there's a conspiracy theory. It's like wealth inequality has existed for generations! *gasp* If you want to know who runs the banks google Bank of America and Chase (hint- they're very white and very not Jewish).

Now as far as Nick calling Jewish people savages, I hope it's pretty obvious why this is anti-Semitic. But in case it's not, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Untermensch

Then Nick's whole original semite thing...ugh... there's so much wrong with it. So the idea is that Jews stole Black people's identity as the 'true' people of israel. This means that Jewish people are to be blamed for all the racism Black people experience.

You see this a lot in Farrakhan's rhetoric. Taken to the extreme, you'd have [sic] to exterminate racism you'd have to exterminate Jewish people so Black people can reclaim their spot as the 'chosen people.'

Farrakhan and other Black supremacists use Jewish people as a boogeyman and scapegoat to push their own agenda and cult of personality. There can be no end to racism without an end to anti-semitism

The us (Black people) vs. Them (Jewish people) people like Nick Cannon use breaks down when you have someone like me, a Black Jew.

In fact, many anti-Semitic ideas of features are rooted in anti-Blackness and vice versa: curly hair, big nose, etc.

Historically, the very idea of racism came initially from Spain and its treatment of Jews during the Inquisition. https://atlasobscura.com/articles/how-racism-was-first-officially-codified-in-15thcentury-spain… these types of racial codifications were later used to entrench chattel slavery in what would become the U.S.

I know lots of white Jewish people are racist. I know lots of Black people are anti-Semitic. I know these communities have hurt each other, and I know from personal experience it is much harder to be Black in the U.S. than it is to be Jewish. But all oppression is connected.

Anyway, there's a lot more to be said but I'll leave it there for now. Go head and ask questions if you're here to learn. Other Black Jews especially feel free to chime in.

Adding this because people keep saying Viacom fired Nick because he's a Black man exercising his freedom of speech. Stop it. Colin Kaepernick was fired for exercising his freedom of speech. Nick Cannon was fired for shooting off racist conspiracy theories.

Viacom is a racist company that has stock in for-profit prisons. Maybe Nick was given a quicker hook than a white person saying the same things would have been. Doesn't make it any less racist or mean Nick should be expected to not face consequences.

Black people: you cannot want people to suffer consequences for racist actions *but only when they're racist against Black people." You also can't have it so Black people aren't also held responsible for racist actions. That's not how justice and liberation works."

After initially taking a defensive position, Nick Cannon has shared posts in the past 24 hours indicating he is open and learning from Rabbis and others who have reached out from the Jewish community to educate him. On Thursday, he shared the following message on Instagram:

See on Instagram

"First and foremost I extend my deepest and most sincere apologies to my Jewish sisters and brothers for the hurtful and divisive words that came out of my mouth during my interview with Richard Griffin. They reinforced the worst stereotypes of a proud and magnificent people and I feel ashamed of the uninformed and naïve place that these words came from. The video of this interview has since been removed.

While the Jewish experience encompasses more than 5,000 years and there is so much I have yet to learn, I have had at least a minor history lesson over the past few days and to say that it is eye-opening would be a vast understatement.

I want to express my gratitude to the Rabbis, community leaders and institutions who reached out to me to help enlighten me, instead of chastising me. I want to assure my Jewish friends, new and old, that this is only the beginning of my education—I am committed to deeper connections, more profound learning and strengthening the bond between our two cultures today and every day going forward."

Here's to all of us learning more about the history of all marginalized groups and doing what we can to build bridges between people of all backgrounds.

From Your Site Articles

Jewish woman explains why damaging a Torah isn't just anti-Semitic—it's a historic tragedy

Paige Leitman/Facebook

On December 15, 2019, a man broke into the Nessah Synagogue in Beverly Hills, CA in the middle of the night and vandalized it. Furniture was overturned, brochures and other papers were strewn about, prayer books and prayer shawls were destroyed, and parts of the sacred Torah scrolls were tossed on the ground.

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The vandal has not been caught, but the incident is being investigated as a hate crime.

While desecration of a sacred book is always disrespectful, damaging or destroying Torah scrolls is a particularly weighty offense. Not only are the scrolls sacred scripture—they are also priceless, handmade, historic artifacts.

RELATED: A man was shouting anti-Semitic slurs at two children, so a woman in a hijab stepped in to stop him

Paige Leitman, a Jewish woman, explained in a viral Facebook post what makes a Torah unique among religious scripture, and why the loss of one Torah is a loss for all Jews.

She wrote:

"Damaging a Torah is not like damaging a bible, even an expensive and valuable one.

A Torah scroll is written, BY HAND, with a quill, and specially prepared ink on specially prepared animal hides. Every one. It takes a scribe the better part of a year to write it, and there are special calligraphic standards. They are not mass-produced. You won't find them in your nightstand in a hotel.

A Torah scroll is a historic object. For instance, many of them are hundreds of years old and few new ones are made. The Torah in my temple was smuggled out of a Jewish town in Russia before it was burned to the ground. Bibles are mass-produced and have been for years. There are a few priceless bibles. EVERY Torah scroll is a historic object.

A Torah scroll is HELLA expensive. Many are literally priceless - as in no amount of money can buy them. They are gifted, loaned, and tracked carefully. A person doesn't own one - a person really can't. There are too few and they are too valuable for one person (generally speaking). A **congregation** owns one. ONE Torah for the whole congregation. Unlike bibles where each congregant may own many copies.

A Torah scroll is paraded proudly around the synagogue while people stand in respect and sing the special Torah-appreciation song. People reach out their prayer shawl or prayer book to touch it so it's not accidentally gotten dirty by someone's hand. People on the edges of the pews that touched the Torah "transfer" the touch by touching prayer shawls or prayer books to their neighbors and then kiss that book spine or prayer shawl because THAT is how important a Torah scroll is.

The Torah is so valuable that we do not touch the scroll with a hand while reading it. We have a special pointer stick, often with a tiny sculpture of a human hand at the end, made of metal or wood, to hold one's place in the line of text just so your hands don't accidentally get dirt on it, and so generations of use don't smudge the text.

The Torah scroll has specially made rollers to put it on, a special belt to put around it, a decorated velvet or brocade cover to put over it, and the gold and silver crowns are placed on the top of the rollers. Every one of them. ALL of them. It is a huge production to make. We literally put jeweled crowns on every Torah.

The Torah must be held in a special ark, which is a huge and valuable large cabinet. Every single one. You can't just throw it in a nightstand, a backpack, or a classroom.

The Torah is so spiritually important to us that we will never allow it to be in the dark. A special light burns in every sanctuary, never to be extinguished (nowadays with special generators in case of a power outage). My last name is Leitman, which meant my family were the people who showed up at the sanctuary in snowstorms, in the middle of the night, to make sure that light never went out. Just keeping the Torah under light is a job so important that it becomes a family legacy for the rest of the line.

In Judaism, you need a minimum quorum of ten Jews to have official prayers. The Torah is so important, it's considered as counting for a whole Jew so you need only 9 if you have Torah scrolls. (Note this is from family oral history, and the actual rabbinical ruling on this is not clear.)

Sure SOME folks are buried with bibles. However, when a Torah scroll is damaged beyond repair, the SCROLL ITSELF gets a full Jewish burial. Individual cemetery plot in a place of honor, a full headstone, a nice casket. Everyone shows up and mourns. It's a big honkin' deal and hugely expensive, but they are THAT important.

Anything less than this and a Torah is not considered kosher and may not be used in a synagogue. Yes, there are plenty of knock offs out there to buy that are machine printed, or not calligraphied appropriately, or whatever. But they're not real.

Please, I beg you, don't say a Torah is anything like a bible or that Torahs are treated like bibles are treated. Vandalism of Torah scrolls is a HUGE thing.

Ask three Jews a question and you'll get four opinions, it is known. Talk to your Jewish friends about how serious this is. A lot of us are really weary of the murders, the vandalism, and the blatant hate."

Unfortunately, the U.S. has seen a dramatic rise in anti-semitic hate crimes in the past few years. According to The Wall Street Journal:

In 2017, anti-Semitic incidents—including harassment, vandalism and assault, as reported to the league by victims, law enforcement and the media—jumped 57%, the largest single-year increase since the group began tracking such data in the 1970s. While 2018 was slightly better, it still had the third-highest total of anti-Semitic incidents the group has ever recorded, with anti-Semitic assaults more than doubling from 2017.

In addition, New York City, with the largest population of Jewish people in the U.S., has seen a 51% increase in anti-Semitic hate crimes so far this year compared to the same period last year.

But hate crimes are only the most obvious manifestation of antisemitism. Jennifer Rosen Heinz, a Jewish American woman, shared with Upworthy how she feels living in this time period as a Jew:

"There's anti-Semitism in America on the right and the left. There's anti-Semitism in even well-meaning support of Jews, Judaism, or Israel. It's never been so pronounced in my lifetime. I always thought that it existed in some deep, dank caves of America where people didn't know better. But to see that people who should know better don't... to see that repeated and propagated and developed, to see folks espouse these things openly, with some measure of glee... that has left me breathless."

RELATED: A Jewish mother's warning on migrant detention centers: "This is not just the start."

Heinz points to a recent executive order from the White House, which equates Judaism with the nation of Israel in the definition anti-Semitism, as one example of how Jewish historical trauma plays out in political discourse:

"Last week, when the NY Times published reporting about a proposed executive order which, on its surface, was announced to fight anti-Semitism, American Jews panicked. Because the details of what was being proposed were firmly aimed not at curtailing anti-Semitism, but in restricting political discourse in universities. It became apparent to me that most non-Jews had no idea why Jews were freaking out about this thing that, on its surface, seemed to them would be something we would support, that would protect us.

Yet defining Jews as on par with a race or nationality has historical precedent, and spoiler alert: It's all bad. Like, really bad. Throughout history, when other groups have sought to define us for political purposes, it's led to exclusion, anti-Semitism, expulsion, and genocide. These things are not academic words to a Jew. They are not history. They're a trauma which is encoded in our DNA. It may be quieted by long periods of peace and inclusion, but it's always, ALWAYS present in some form. Anti-Semitism feels like some virus which has been encased in arctic ice so long and is now let loose. Freed and activated.

Only those with personalized memory of what happened are sounding the alarm because we know the plot to this story. We know the virus has been relegated long enough, the general population's immune systems have forgotten how to fight it. But we remember. Our bodies remember. Anti-Semitism quakes our very cells."

Learning from history, and especially from those with personal ties to specific history, is important. As with any marginalized group, listening to the feelings and experiences of the people within that group—and believing them—is vital. And hearing the alarm when it's sounded—not after the worst has taken place—is how we keep human atrocity from being repeated in our lifetime.

The alarm is being sounded now.

antisemitism

Roman Kent was stunned to hear what press secretary Sean Spicer had to say about the Holocaust on April 11, 2017.

Speaking with reporters, Spicer suggested Syrian President Bashar al-Assad was an even greater threat to humanity than Adolf Hitler because the former Nazi leader "didn't even sink to using chemical weapons" on his own people.

Hitler, of course, did use chemical weapons on his own people, as the Third Reich murdered millions of Jews and members of other groups deemed "unworthy of life" using poisonous gas. Many of them were, in fact, German citizens.

Kent, a survivor of the Holocaust himself, told Mic that Spicer's comments were simply "incomprehensible," as Spicer was speaking on behalf of the president of the United States.

Kent, speaking at an event in Poland, in 2015. Photo by Odd Andersen/AFP/Getty Images.

“That’s not a mistake — that’s an ignorance," Kent explained. "A complete, total ignorance of the most important issue that prevailed during that last war, from which so many people died.”

Kent spent time in Auschwitz and lost both his parents to the Holocaust before immigrating to the U.S. after the war. He eventually married, started a family, and went on to become a successful trader.

But the 87-year-old — now the president of the International Auschwitz Committee — has spent much of his later years reflecting on his own experiences during World War II and the dangers of hate speech, hoping our memory of the past will prevent a future atrocity.

“Of course, a word is not a gun," he once explained to UNESCO — but they can create conditions where unconscionable violence is accepted: "In the end, words can do far greater damage than a bullet.”

Spicer apologized for his insensitive comparison of Assad and Hitler the day after making the statement. But to Kent, the damage may already be done.

“To have a person ignorant like this at the helm of our government — because press secretary is very important — it’s tragic," Kent noted to Mic. "It’s not a mistake. It’s a tragedy.”

Watch Kent's interview with Mic below:

Holocaust survivor has a message for spicer
This holocaust survivor has a powerful message for Sean Spicer, following the press secretary's horrifying comments about Hitler.
Posted by Mic on Wednesday, April 12, 2017

When a Victoria, Texas, mosque burned down under mysterious circumstances on early Jan. 28, 2017, members were distraught.

Photo by Victoria Islamic Center/Facebook.

The fire, which collapsed the building, left the congregants of the Victoria Islamic Center without a place to worship.

That is, at least, until members of a local Jewish congregation showed up at a mosque founder's house with a key to their synagogue.

"This is sad for everyone in the community and as Jews we especially have to feel for the Muslim community. When a calamity like this happens, we have to stand together," Robert Loeb, the synagogue's president, told Reuters.

Both communities are small — Victoria boasts a few dozen Jewish and about 100 Muslim residents — which synagogue officials said makes sticking together all the more important.

"Everyone knows everybody, I know several members of the mosque, and we felt for them," Loeb said.

Others in the community pitched in as well.

The Victoria Islamic Center, before the fire. Photo by Victoria Islamic Center/Facebook.

A few days after the fire, local high school students rallied in support of the mosque, praying and planting trees. Donations to a GoFundMe page set up to raise money for rebuilding have exceeded $1 million.

After an election year that saw an increase in anti-Semitic and Islamophobic incidents, Jewish and Muslim groups have been coming together to support one another.

Back in November, the Islamic Society of North America and the American Jewish Committee joined forces to create the Muslim-Jewish Advisory Committee, with the goal of combatting hateful speech and violence toward members of either faith and pushing for expanded rights for religious and ethnic minorities.

Meanwhile, groups like the Council on American-Islamic Relations and Bend the Arc Jewish Action have been leading protests and petitions against Donald Trump's executive order barring travelers from Muslim nations from entering the United States.

While it's still unclear whether the Texas mosque fire was an act of hate, the synagogue said it had plenty of space to welcome their neighbors.

Photo by Victoria Islamic Center/Facebook.

When terrible things happen to those nearby, the least we can do is find that space in ourselves.

truth

7 times in history alternative facts fooled us and how we can avoid them in the future.

"This was the largest audience to ever witness an inauguration, period," said press secretary Sean Spicer during his first time in the White House briefing room. That claim: totally false.

According to the D.C. Metro, "subway entries Friday, during President Trump’s inauguration, totaled about 570,557 in a 20-hour period," which is lower than the totals of the previous three presidential inaugurations.The Women's March, held the day after the inauguration, saw more than 1 million entries.

"You're saying it's a falsehood and Sean Spicer, our press secretary, gave alternative facts to that," said counselor to the president Kellyanne Conway in a heated interview with "Meet the Press" host Chuck Todd.

Predictably, "alternative facts" have been all over the internet this week.

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Even Merriam-Webster issued a brilliantly worded rebuttal to Conway's creation of "alternative facts."

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"Alternative facts" aren't a new political tool. They've been used throughout history by people in power to maintain control and status. But each time we've been able to debunk these myths in the name of progress.

Here are seven times throughout history alternative facts were used — and later proven false:

1. Alternative fact: The world is flat.

Oftentimes alternative facts are accepted as truth until real facts and information can be sought out and proven, much like with the first global explorers who took to the seas in search of new lands.

What you see below was considered common knowledge during the Middle Ages. The Earth was "flat."

Image via Camille Flammarion, L'Atmosphère: Météorologie Populaire (Paris, 1888)/Wikimedia Commons.

The Greeks discovered the Earth was round. Everyone outside of Europe believed it. It wasn't until the late Middle Ages that everyone inside of Europe finally caught up.

Washington Irving wrote “The Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus” in 1828. From the title, you'd think it's a biography but in reality, it was mostly fiction and said that "Europeans learned from Columbus’s trips to the New World that the planet was round."

Because of this storyline and others like it, children were taught that up until Columbus, everyone thought the world was flat.

Photo by George Pickow/Three Lions/Getty Images.

Actual fact: The world is round.

Ancient Greek astronomer Eratosthenes is credited with discovering the spherical nature of the Earth in 240 B.C., 700 years before the Middle Ages and 2,000 years before Washington Irving picked up his first pen.

2. Alternative fact: Jesus was white.

The world's most famous refugee is often historically depicted as a blue-eyed, pale-skinned messiah:

"Sacred Heart of Jesus" via N. Currier/Library of Congress.

Actual fact: Jesus would not have been white.

Assuming Jesus existed, the BBC documentary "Son of God" used modern technology to show us what he would have actually looked like, based on ancient skulls of Semite people from the same era and geographical location.

Image from "Son of God," BBC.

3. Alternative fact: Slavery is a good thing.

In the 1820-30s, politicians in southern states defended slavery by professing the "positive good" of it and how important it was for the American economy. They claimed it allowed Africans to be civilized because white masters were letting them learn from them. (I did not make this up.)

"America" by Edward Williams Clay, via Library of Congress.

Actual fact: Slavery is awful, inhumane, and wrong.

It took a bit longer in the U.S., but the British began the process of outlawing slavery and the slave trade in 1807. The moral ineptitude of treating humans like property and even valuing them as 3/5 of a person is a dark side of American history. It all finally came to a head with Abraham Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation on Jan. 1, 1863. This eventually helped end the Civil War but claimed up to 750,000 lives, including Lincoln's.

Image by Hulton Archive/Getty Images.

4. Alternative fact: Jews are the reason for Germany's problems.

Jospeh Goebbels was Hitler's minister of propaganda. Goebbels was a master of illusion and he used the murder of a German diplomat by a young Polish-Jew to launch the massive campaign to end Judaism. He did this by convincing the masses that the Jews were responsible for all of Germany's problems.

Image by Central Press/Hulton Archive/Getty Images.

Actual fact: Germany needed an excuse to go to war in order to fix their economy that hadn't recovered from the last war.

The incarceration and murder of over 6 million Jews was the result of the German people looking the other way and believing in the above mentioned alternative facts. They had lost a lot of land in the previous global battle and were more than happy to launch into the worst war the world has ever seen. But we learned that lesson and hopefully will never let something like that happen again.

Image by Horace Abrahams/Keystone/Getty Images.

5. Alternative fact: AIDS is a gay problem.

White House press secretaries shouldn't make fun of minority groups ... but in the '80s, Larry Speakes was caught on tape espousing crude homophobic jokes when asked about the AIDS crisis. This sentiment carried over to mainstream thinking, with people assuming only gay people got AIDS.

Actual fact: AIDS can be transmitted in many ways.

About half the people who have died from AIDS in the U.S. since the epidemic began were gay men. Is that a large percentage? Sure. But the alternative fact created the perception that HIV/AIDS was not only a disease solely among gay men, but also one that it was only sexually transmitted.

6. Alternative fact: Iraq had WMDs.

We have been at war for 15 years because of this alternative fact.

Photo by Stephen Jaffe/AFP/Getty Images.

Actual fact: Nope. They didn't.

"The Commission on the Intelligence Capabilities of the United States Regarding Weapons of Mass Destruction reports that the intelligence community was 'dead wrong' in its assessments of Iraq's weapons of mass destruction capabilities before the U.S. invasion," according to CNN.

7. Alternative fact: Trump's inauguration had the largest, hugest, most "bigly" crowds ever.

Actual Fact: Photographic evidence.

Left photo by Lucas Jackson/Getty Images, right photo by Jewel Samad/AFP/Getty Images.

Each of these examples was a heavily pushed alternative fact created by the ruling religion, class, race, military, or administration. But each was debunked.

Sometimes with technology. Sometimes with pure math. Sometimes with common sense, and sometimes with compassion. We are better off as a (round) planet because of it.

It's important to be critical of the media you consume and not listen to the loudest frequency on your social media feed (even if it is behind the seal of the president). With many unbiased, impartial news sources available at our fingertips through a free press, it's important to take advantage of them.

So next time the White House press secretary tells you something hilariously untrue, just know that in less than four years you can cast an alternative vote.

5 powerful moments from the Obamas' final White House Hanukkah celebration.

For the eighth and final time, President Obama and the first lady welcomed guests to the White House for a Hanukkah reception.

Hanukkah commemorates the Jewish rebellion, led by Judah Maccabee and his brothers against their Greek-Syrian oppressors. After their victory, Judah Maccabee hoped to light an eternal flame to rededicate the Second Temple in Jerusalem, but could only find one vessel of oil. Led by faith, the Jewish people lit the oil, and according to sacred texts, it burned for eight days.

Today, Jewish people celebrate Hanukkah by lighting a candle on a menorah each night. The Obamas and the White House marked the occasion — this time with two Hanukkah receptions in the East Room.

Mika Almog lights a menorah and Rabbi Rachel Isaacs says a blessing during a Hanukkah reception at the White House. Photo by Zach Gibson/AFP/Getty Images.

The Obamas welcomed honored guests to join together to light the White House menorahs.

The events were held Dec. 14, 10 days before the start of Hanukkah, which begins at sundown on Dec. 24 this year.

At the afternoon event, the Obamas were joined by the family of Elie Wiesel, a Holocaust survivor, critically acclaimed author, Nobel laureate, and educator who passed away in July. President Obama lit a menorah made by Wiesel’s granddaughter Shira when she was in kindergarten. In the evening, the family of the late Shimon Peres was on hand to light a treasured family menorah.

Photo by Aude Guerrucci/Getty Images.

The events also featured Rabbi Steven Exler of the Hebrew Institute of Riverdale; Rabbi Rachel Isaacs of Colby College; Koleinu, Princeton University’s Jewish a cappella group; a Hanukkah themed "Hamilton" parody from Six13; prayers, wishes for peace, and plenty of fun decorations.

A snowman with a yarmulke is seen at the White House. Photo by Aude Guerrucci/Getty Images.

But it was President Obama’s words that offered a powerful message of hope to people of all faith traditions.

In his remarks, Obama outlined the many positive contributions Jewish people have made in the fight for equality and freedom. From Selma and Stonewall to opening their hearts and homes to refugees, Jewish people have acted with courage, conviction, and strength in the face of adversity. While their story is not unique, there's so much we can learn from the their resilience and optimism.

Here are five of my favorites from President Obama's remarks:

1. “Today in the White House ... we recall Hanukkah’s many lessons: how a small group can make a big difference.”

Photo by Aude Guerrucci/Getty Images)

2. “Even when our resources seem limited, our faith can help us make the most of what little we have.”

Rabbi Steven Exler takes the stage with the president and first lady. Photo by Aude Guerrucci/Getty Images.

3. “This is the season that we appreciate the many miracles, large and small, that have graced our lives throughout generations and to recognize that the most meaningful among them is our freedom.”

Rabbi Rachel Isaacs joins the president and first lady on stage. Photo by Aude Guerrucci/Getty Images.

4. “We teach our children that even in our darkest moments, a stubborn flame of hope flickers and miracles are possible."

Photo by Zach Gibson/AFP/Getty Images.

5. “Through centuries of exile and persecution, and even the genocide families like the Wiesels endured, the Hanukkah candles have been kindled. Each wick an answer to the wicked. Each light a signal to the world that yours is an inextinguishable faith.”

The granddaughter and son of Shimon Peres, one of Israel's founding fathers, light the menorah. Photo by Aude Guerrucci/Getty Images.

At holiday time and always, that's an important thing to remember: If we stand together, we can defeat even the toughest oppressors.

Just as the Maccabees rededicated the temple, we can take a moment this season to rededicate ourselves to being good neighbors and citizens, to leading with kindness and compassion. Because when we come together as a community and a country, there's nothing we can't accomplish.

Chemi Peres, son of Shimon Peres, and Mika Almog, granddaughter of Shimon Peres, during the Hanukkah reception. Photo by Zach Gibson/AFP/Getty Images.

Our cultures were a divide in our relationship. Here's how we married them.

This story first appeared on The Mash-Up Americans.

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I dated my husband for almost seven years before our wedding. We've now been married for two. He’s Jewish; I’m Hindu.

It wasn’t until five months into our marriage that the divide between our cultural backgrounds and religions become apparent.

It began with brisket.

The evening started benignly enough — we were trying to decide if we were going to host his family for Passover that year, our first as a married couple. In the midst of planning, our conversation escalated when I pointed out I knew more about his culture and religion than he did. It ended in a huff when I was able to explain how to make a perfect brisket, but he couldn’t tell me what sambar, a lentil-based South Indian vegetable dish, was.

The real issue wasn’t about food, obviously.‌

Seth and me. Image via Hitha Herzog, used with permission. ‌

When I first met Seth, I knew how important Jewish culture was to him, even though he wasn’t religious. I made it a point to learn about Judaism.

I studied the diaspora of his relatives from Hungary and Russia to Princeton, New Jersey, via the Lower East Side and the Bronx. I researched Jewish history and visited museums. I learned how to make a perfect potato pancake and read up on what each of the eight Hanukkah blessings meant. I happily called myself a Hind-Jew. Because in my mind, that’s what I was becoming — a balanced, super in-tune mix of my culture and his.

Despite having had a four-day wedding that included separate Hindu and Jewish ceremonies, though, my husband had no idea who he was (culturally) marrying.

Sure, he was schooled on the several ritualistic steps of our Hindu wedding ceremony. He was present for the house-blessing puja we hosted when we bought our first apartment on the Upper West Side.

But he still didn’t understand why I kept vegetarian on Saturdays (a day devoted to Lord Venkateswara, an incarnation of Vishnu, something I have done since birth) or why it was imperative that we always take our shoes off in the house. His understanding of what it meant to be a Hindu Indian was straight from a Mindy Kaling script, peppered with “tiger mom” quips.

Food was a whole other issue.

Seth wasn’t used to eating spicy food, so instead of having my weekly thali complete with idli, potato masala, and a dosa, a South Indian breakfast array that I had turned into a dinner tradition, I swapped it out for a weekly trip to our favorite Chinese joint. Secretly, I was afraid I was becoming more “Jew” in the delicate Hind-Jew equation I created for myself, and it scared me.

‌Passover. Seth as Moses, and me as I prepare the perfect brisket. Image via Hitha Herzog, used with permission.‌

We were a few weeks out from our wedding when Seth and I started talking about our future kids.

“We are going to raise them Jewish,” he said with finality.

“OK...” I said, giving him the side-eye, slightly bewildered.

Turns out discussing brisket is great for surfacing a hidden identity crisis.

I was right to be nervous. Though he’d always said he didn’t want me to convert to Judaism, once we were engaged and talking about our future kids, he’d had a change of heart.

He wanted our kids to be raised Jewish, and in order for our kids to be Jewish, I had to be as well.

And just like that, another weight had been added to the “Jew” side of the Hind-Jew scale. But I loved this guy. I tucked away my anxiety, and suddenly, five months later, we were married and facing our first Passover.

“How would you like it if I made an executive decision to raise our kids Hindu?” I shouted. “I thought our kids were going to be raised knowing both religions. And now you are saying they can only be one?”

“It’s important to me for the kids to be raised in the Jewish faith.”

Seth took a step back and sat down at our enormous kitchen table, a place I had envisioned our kids studying for Hebrew school and reciting lines from the Mahabharata.

“Where is this coming from? We were just talking about brisket!” He genuinely looked perplexed.

“You said you wanted me to convert so our kids could grow up Jewish!” I shrieked. I was getting upset but for reasons only I could understand. It wasn’t even the conversion part that upset me. I had spent so much time learning about his culture and religion in our relationship that I was 75% there. I was upset because I felt like I was losing myself. I had already changed my name to Herzog when we got married. Now I had to give up a large part of my identity? No way.

Seth paused for a moment before he spoke. “It’s important to me for the kids to be raised in the Jewish faith.”

Our conversation wasn’t going anywhere, so I dropped it for the moment.

We hosted Passover. It was a week before a trip to India to visit my extended family. During the dinner, Seth talked about his excitement and fear swirling around the trip, since it was his first time there.

“I’m sure I’m going to get diarrhea,” he said with a smirk. “But at least I will lose some weight!”

Our guests doubled over in laughter. My heart sank as I passed around the matzoh ball soup, which I had made from scratch. I didn’t want to ruin the fun everyone was having by dismissing such a backward notion of India, but I was heartbroken. The Hind-Jew scale had practically fallen over. I cried myself to sleep that night.

Something happened during our week abroad. The minute we touched down in Hyderabad, all the preconceived ideas Seth had about India vanished. He was enthralled and eager to learn.

I took him to all the ancient sites in town, and he stood and said nothing; instead, he let the sensory overload of noisy auto rickshaws, street anarchy, and the smell of petrol and street food take over. He met my extended family. They embraced him like a son. They overfed him South Indian delicacies of biriyani, a savory chicken and rice dish native to Hyderabad; tamarind and yellow rice; pesarattu, a mung bean pancake; and upma, a savory porridge made from rice flour.

My heart burst when he asked for seconds. It shattered in a billion pieces when he went in for thirds.

‌Seth with Sarah, one of seven Jews left in Cochin, Kerala. Image via Hitha Herzog, used with permission.‌

One night, my family pulled together a “small” Hindu reception of 100 people in the courtyard of our family’s apartment building. They wanted to welcome Seth and celebrate our wedding and give blessings. Seth was so touched by the gesture, he cried.

Later in the week, we ventured to Cochin, in Kerala, where we hung out on a houseboat for three days as the second part of our honeymoon. Seth got to see how diverse the religious landscape of India really is when we visited a Syrian Christian church that had been in town since the 1300s.

“This place is awesome,” he said. Day five into the trip, he still wasn’t sick and continued to take second helpings of the food.

Our last day in Cochin was a significant turning point in our Hind-Jew negotiations. Seth and I visited a section of the city called “Jew Town.” Historically, this was where most of the spice trade happened in the city. It was an ancient section, beautifully preserved with a 500-year-old synagogue at the end of the street. While walking back to our car, we stumbled upon a shop that sold handmade bread coverings for Shabbat. The coverings were made by a 92-year-old Jewish woman named Sarah Cohen, whose family had settled in Cochin nearly 400 years ago. She was one of seven Jews left in Cochin.

Seth and I spoke with her about her family, her faith, and what it meant to be an Indian Jewish woman. She showed us pictures of her family from the 1800s and of herself from 1940. When Seth and I left, she started to cry and said, “Please come visit me again soon, my days are numbered!” Something changed in both of us that day.

On our way back to the States, we talked about Cochin and my family.

Seth, unprompted, said: “I want our kids to be raised Jewish, but it’s important to me for them to know their Hindu roots. And they can ultimately decide what they want to do.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Could our travels have changed his perspective on our future family? He didn’t elaborate, but when we stepped off the flight I knew he was a changed person. I was, too. I no longer felt the pressure to convert, or the weight of my hidden anxiety over the Hind-Jew scale. Even if I do convert, I know that I won’t be losing myself; converting will be a chance to access another faith while still holding on to my traditions.

At least I know that Seth was changed in one dramatic way. Instead of an “Indian” diet, he had to go on a diet when we got back to the U.S. after gaining 10 pounds from eating so much incredible South Indian food — the same food that he now asks me to make alongside the brisket.

‌Our wedding. Image via Hitha Herzog, used with permission.‌