CHICAGO — Meira and Tyler Burnett always look forward to their family’s annual Hanukkah party, when they will light the menorah and enjoy traditional potato pancakes, called latkes.
The siblings, ages 11 and 14, respectively, also sing in the children’s choir at B’nai Yehuda Beth Shalom, where four of the eight participants are African-American — just like them.
“When I tell friends at school that I’m Jewish, they don’t believe me,” said Meira, at the south suburban Homewood synagogue. “But that’s what I am.”
The American Jewish population has always been overwhelmingly white, with Central or Eastern European roots — synonymous with matzo ball soup, bagels, Maxwell Street pushcarts and “Seinfeld” — and it’s common to hear Jewish people refer to themselves as members of “the tribe.”
But today, as Jews celebrate Hanukkah, the eight-day holiday that began Tuesday, the tribe looks different, because of interracial marriages, adoptions and conversions. And while the white majority still holds true, experts say more racial and ethnic diversity can be found across the spectrum of Judaism.
“There’s more variety of narratives than ever before,” said Chava Shervington, president of The Jewish Multicultural Network. The Philadelphia-based organization started in 1997 with 20 families and has grown to more than 950 members and almost 3,000 Facebook followers, she said. Its tag line: “Because Jews come in all colors.”
The increase in diversity is difficult to quantify. The Chicago Jewish Population Study, conducted every decade by the Jewish Federation of Metropolitan Chicago first asked about race in 2010. It found that 4 percent (or 5,600 Jewish households) are multiracial, including black, Hispanic, Asian and biracial members.
“People used to look at being Jewish only through a (European) lens, but that’s changing,” said Marsha Raynes, director of Project Esther, the Chicago Jewish Adoption Network of Jewish Children and Family Services.
Jerry Kaye sees the diversity too. As executive director of Olin Sang Ruby Union Institute, a Jewish camp in Oconomowoc, Wis., participation by nonwhites is at its highest in his 40 years at the helm, he said.
While the camp does not track youth by race, “it’s a rainbow,” Kaye said. “One of the things going on in the reform movement right now is audacious hospitality. … Our doors are open, no matter how you got here.”
The Burnetts’ journey has been anything but typical. Their 65-year-old grandmother, Cathy Burnett, who is white, married an African-American man whom she met at college in the 1970s. They had a daughter and later divorced. In 1984, she married Ignacio Tejeda, a Hispanic lapsed Catholic, who converted to Judaism three years ago.
The children are engaged in all aspects of religious life. Tyler’s Hebrew is fluent enough to read from the Torah on the High Holidays. He’s a member of Barney Ross AZA, a social group for Jewish high school boys. And at temple he assists with the children’s choir, which the kids jokingly call The BYBS Gospel Choir.
Meira will have her bat mitzvah in two years, but given her grandfather’s lineage, she’s also lobbying for a quinceanera, a traditional Hispanic celebration of a girl’s 15th birthday. Meira and Tyler are enthusiastic Olin Sang Ruby Union Institute campers, where Meira tells curious cabin mates: “I’m the same as you guys … I just look different.”
The Jewish Multicultural Network and other groups say they are seeing more outreach from synagogues nationwide.
Spiritual and lay leaders are soliciting advice on how to be more welcoming, especially as membership at mainstream congregations has dwindled in recent years.
Widening the tent also means embracing dual identities, experts said.
Because of the central role that oil played in Hanukkah, it is customary to serve foods fried in oil. But instead of potato pancakes or sugar doughnuts, a family with Jamaican ties might opt for fried plantains. Or those with African ancestry might use kente cloth to cover the challah, or braided egg bread.
“There’s no reason why as you are coming from the chuppah — the traditional Jewish marriage canopy — that you can’t also jump the broom,” said Shervington, referring to an African-American wedding custom.
Ellen Zemel, 58, knows what it’s like to feel like an outsider. Growing up in Fort Atkinson, Wis., the Zemels were one of only two Jewish families, she said. “It’s probably why I love mixing it up so much.”
In 2004, after several thwarted attempts at adoption, Zemel received a call to come to a hospital in Blue Island, Ill. There, she met the 2-day-old African-American boy who would become her son, Laib.
“I looked down at this tiny baby and it was as if his guardian angel had been talking to my guardian angel. It was beshert,” she said, using the Yiddish word for “meant to be.”
From the beginning, the single mother was deeply committed to making Laib, now 10, see beyond skin color. They worship at a mostly black synagogue, driving from their home in north suburban Evanston to the Southwest Side, where they attend Beth Shalom B’nai Zaken Ethiopian Hebrew Congregation. Laib also attends twice-weekly Hebrew classes at a north suburban Wilmette congregation, where he is one of only two students who don’t fit the typical profile.
Next year, Zemel is considering sending Laib to a summer camp in northern California run by Be’chol Lashon (“in every tongue”) for diverse Jewish youth.
“I want him to feel comfortable wherever he goes,” Zemel said. “Not just to recognize differences, but to celebrate them.”
Annice Moses and Mike Rosenthal know all about bridging differences.
When Moses and Rosenthal brought their now 6-year-old adopted daughter, Fray, home to north suburban Glencoe from Ethiopia in 2009, they wondered how she’d be accepted. Despite an occasional “ignorant” comment, Moses said she feels supported by her synagogue, North Shore Congregation Israel, and the Glencoe community.
The entire family travels to Ethiopia every two years, where they get firsthand knowledge about what it feels like to be a minority, she said. But this year, more than most, they plan to honor their deep roots and varied branches. In Ethiopia, their itinerary includes stopping at a number of agencies, including an orphanage and a soccer camp to donate sporting goods and other much-needed supplies.
Then, they’ll fly to Israel, where their son BJ will have his bar mitzvah, the religious initiation ceremony of a Jewish boy who has reached the age of 13 and is eligible to take part in public worship.
“Knowing and feeling Ethiopian is on par with knowing and feeling Jewish,” Moses said. “It’s very important that (Fray) not feel the two are mutually exclusive.”
