I’m not Jewish, but my kids go to a Jewish sleep away camp. Here’s why.

Cubby cubes balance against duffle bags on the highest shelf of our darkest closet. Packing lists and labels are filed away. Tans have faded, mosquito bites healed. Fresh cuts replace the summer shag.

Sleep away camp may be well over for our two boys, but their experience is not quite a distant memory. This might have something to do with the recurring chirp of a “camp peeps” group chat on my older son’s phone or the flagged email with next year’s registration link sitting in my in-box.

When my husband who, unlike me had gone to sleep away camp as a child first floated the idea of sending our children, I was ambivalent. The thought of shipping my flesh and blood off to be cared for by strangers didn’t feel right.

My grumbles followed me to work at our Temple’s preschool where I shared them with a teaching colleague. Instead of taking my side, she went on about a camp run by the Union for Reform Judaism where her children had spent their summers. She said it was a special place.

We’re an interfaith family. Before they were born, my husband and I decided to raise our children in the Jewish faith, like him. They attend religious school and will become Bar Mitzvahs, like he did. When I heard my coworker say “Jewish camp,” my brain went into defense mode. Hebrew school, Bar Mitzvahs, holidays. I even work at a synagogue. Haven’t I agreed to enough? Camp should be neutral territory.

I left work even less sold on the idea.

But I kept seeing this camp’s poster in the Temple hallway on route to my eldest son’s preschool and eventually, Hebrew school classroom. Years later, long after countless husband and wife debates about religious identity, honoring tradition and balance, after we had changed Temples because of a move and as the decision loomed, the same camp kept coming up in conversation, the same poster kept showing up in our new synagogue’s bulletin.

As a parent raising children in a tradition different from her own, I’ve made it a priority to expose them to situations and people who would give him the religious education I could not. In the end, Jewish camp filled a void, and so we sent our big guy when he was a rising fourth grader. This past summer was his fourth year, and for our little guy, his first.

Today, I look forward to opening day. Yes, because sleep away gives me a break from parenting. And yes, because it still fills a void. But there’s more. Through its Jewish lens, camp is teaching universal values and laying the foundation for them to:

1) Take care of themselves

Camp offers the typical experiences which build confidence and resilience. Little ones learn to pour their own orange juice and picky eaters taste new food. Everyone takes a turn cooking over an open fire, folds laundry, sweeps the cabin floors, cleans their bunk’s toilet and for better and worse, lives with roommates. Campers risk trying a new sport, art or game, pursue hobbies, navigate campus on their own and get unplugged.

But here, nourishing one’s soul is also a priority. Children are given the opportunity to work on self-awareness, intention and maintaining a balanced perspective.

Each week, a unit prepares and leads Friday night services and every day, all campers and staff practice mindfulness and gratitude during meals and through movement.

When 500 campers come together during mealtime, a collective blessing is said before and after they eat. Children are taught the meaning behind traditional blessings as well as write individual statements of gratitude. Once a day, one of the personal statements replaces the traditional prayer and is shared with the entire community.

The leadership also promotes wellness through movement. This year, art teachers commenced class with breathing exercises and the schedule included early morning sessions like yoga, lap swim and fitness as well as small group nature hikes.

2) Take care of others

All families and children are valued and respected. Younger kids are assigned older buddies to help them acclimate. There’s a no package policy so no child feels less than or left out. Staff does not distinguish between which campers have Jewish parents and which ones do not, embraces its LGBTQ community and expects counselors and campers to do the same.

Community building is thoughtful, deliberate and starts on day one when the entire camp attends an opening day service during which campers pass a Torah scroll through the crowd from the oldest to youngest camper symbolizing their connection to Judaism and to one another. Later the same day, each cabin huddles together and with guidance from counselors, writes down the rules and expectations they have for their bunkmates that summer.

Throughout the season, adults teach children how to relate to all people using the “I-it” to “I-thou” approach to relationships from Jewish philosopher Martin Buber. In addition to helping kitchen staff serve the starving, campers are expected to look them in the eye, offer appreciation and ask meaningful questions. The goal is for the children to move away from associating those who work at the camp only with their job and get to know them as people with exciting and interesting lives.

Young people show support and build bonds day in and day out in less and more formal ways. My teen always returns home with a repertoire of new card games as well as a perfected Frisbee toss thanks to the generosity of a friend or counselor and a trove of memories to share like bringing his little brother a carton of milk during each lunch, midnight escapes to the GaGa pit, bunk pranks and leaning on a go to buddy during a rough day. Our little guy beams when he retells the tale of the older camper who catapulted him off the blob and into the lake, the time he and his pals lathered up and slid down a muddy hillside and how his favorite counselor helped him handle a disagreement.

In addition to scheduled meals and services, the lower and upper camp come together for Israeli dance, a DJ party, the Fourth of July Carnival, International Day, theater productions, an art show and The Maccabiah Games. At Jewish camp, the Games are more than an end of summer color war. Each of the four teams represent a different pillar in Judaism: Torah, prayer, acts of loving kindness and community as well as a value: truth, awe, compassion and responsibility. At the start of the week, leadership explains how no pillar can stand without the support of the other. Teams are challenged to bring the values assigned to their group to life and carry out the camp’s mission statement, Hineini or Here I am by striving to be the best they can be as individuals, to their peers and to the community through song, dance art, drama and sports.

3) And repair the world

The motto of the camp is Be the One; be the one person to make a difference, to do the right thing and to help make the world a better place. In doing so, campers are performing the Jewish commandment Tikun Olam or repairing the world.

On campus, children care for animals at the farm, tend to the garden and give left over trip day money to a local food shelter. Rising 7^th graders research a cause and host a camp wide Tzedakah or charitable giving fair. This year, they raised awareness and money for causes that fight discrimination and support the environment, people with cancer and animal welfare.

Campers also participate in volunteer projects during Make a Difference Day. Younger children bake challah bread for Friday night dinners, do spring cleaning around campus and write to senators. Older children go out into the community. This summer, they volunteered at a facility that works with women with disabilities, a housing organization, a senior center, local garden and a youth empowerment center. Some even traveled to New York’s state capital to meet with lay leaders and political advocates where they discussed voting rights, reproductive rights, criminal justice reform, LGBTQ+ rights, hunger and clean energy.

At Jewish sleep away camp, our boys get to connect with one half of their family’s heritage. They get a taste of old fashioned summer fun. And they get to be surrounded by people committed to helping them become more independent, just, involved, balanced, compassionate and loving humans.

My former colleague described her children’s camp experience as special. For our family, it’s been a blessing.

A Catholic Mom, Her Jewish Son and His Coming of Age

You came into the world on your own schedule and terms. Dad and I had waited 2 years, 41 weeks and a lengthy induction for you to arrive. So as you might imagine, when the doctor finally announced “It’s a boy!” we cried tears of joy.

But you laid silent. In protest, I think. As if you knew life on the other side of womb service would prove to be far too inconvenient.

I watched the nurses pass you from the edge of my bed onto a table, where they fussed over your lanky, naked, ruddy body until you gave up the goods. It was only after a hearty cry the professionals felt ready to place you on my chest. They let us visit long enough for a feeding, then whisked you away to the intensive care nursery.

Hours passed before we were together again. Each time a nurse showed up in the recovery room, I’d ask, “Where’s my baby?” And each time I got the same line, “We’re monitoring him. I don’t know when he’ll be ready to leave the NICU.” A brand new, wiped out and hesitant mom, I didn’t know I was allowed to go to you.

In time, I found my way down the hall. The NICU wasn’t a traditional nursery where babies lined up on display behind a viewing window. This nursery had a holding room. And protective gear hanging from hooks. There was a window, but the newborns were camouflaged by incubators, IV bags and monitors. I scanned the room and spotted you resting under lights. Oxygen affixed to your nostrils, plastic lines jammed in a foot.

A nurse instructed me to put on a yellow, paper robe and pointed toward a rocking chair on the other side of the door. I sat until she returned with a swaddled bundle. My arms maneuvered around the tubes tugging at your limbs. Once we were settled, the nurse disappeared. It only took a few seconds; you looked in my eyes, raised a fist and ripped the oxygen straight out as if to say, “What took you so long? Get me out of here!”

I called for help. No one came. We were on our own. So I took a calming breath and did what mothers do; shoved the tubes back in your nose and sang the only song I could muster up, “You are My Sunshine.” The protest ceased. A nurse looked over and smiled. “Now that’s what I like to see.”

This was the moment you became My Sunshine. My Bubbe. My son. I’ve been singing a version of the song to you every night, ever since. As we rocked, I felt like nothing could break our bond.

Until 10 days later.

Before you were born, Dad and I had decided to raise you in his Jewish tradition. I was raised in a Catholic one. Just after your bris, controversy ensued as to whether or not the bris was valid. Talk of dipping you in a ritual bath to legitimize your Judaism began to swirl about our home. The focus on commandments and religious law caused me to question whether you’d really feel like my child if your faith identity and experiences were different from my own. I was scared that as you grew up, this Catholic mom would feel alienated from your Jewish life.

Desperate for professional advice, Dad and I went to our former rabbi. She explained what we already knew about Reform Judaism; one parent being Jewish was enough to make the child Jewish. Still, she suggested we take you to the mikveh to play it safe. “Think of it as a rebirth,” she said.

I thought of the long induction, NICU visits, your protests and our rocking chair and told Dad there was nothing wrong with your original birth. There would be no ritual bath.

He agreed.

Life went on. Daily routines quickly usurped my interfaith anxiety. Between dirty diapers, bedtime stories, early morning feedings and playground outings, Dad and I found a way to integrate Jewish customs, share my holidays and create new traditions. And I figured out being Jewish didn’t make you any less my son.

I was all in. From nudging the Temple preschool director until she confirmed your enrollment and accepting a teaching job from said director a few years later, thus allowing me to learn more about Judaism, to you starting Hebrew school in Kindergarten and attending a sleep away camp which embodied Jewish values, I made sure you were surrounded by people able to give you the Jewish education I could not.

Alongside the other mommies, I schlepped you to class, conferenced with teachers, filled out mountains of forms and helped with homework. Dad stepped up whenever the religious school curriculum turned toward Hebrew, Israel or Jewish history.

For 12 years, I’ve watched your connection to Judaism blossom and become a source of pride.

Now you’ve reached the stage Dad and I have speculated about since you were a little guy clapping along to “Shabbat Shalom” during the children’s service. In less than a year, you will become a Bar Mitzvah, an adult in the eyes of the Jewish community responsible for carrying out God’s commandments. You’ll stand on the bimah alongside the rabbi and cantor and do what Jewish teens have done for close to a thousand years; read the Hebrew blessings and prayers shared at a Saturday morning service, carry the Torah scroll around the sanctuary for congregants to see and chant a passage in ancient Hebrew from one of the first 5 books of the Bible.

Bar Mitzvah prep is way out of my league. At our first orientation meeting with the rabbi to discuss how it all works, I was happy to relinquish the keys to you and Dad and listen in silent support.

My silence was quickly broken when the rabbi asked each attendee to stand up, one by one and share details about when he or she became a Bar or Bat Mitzvah. I was the first person in the room to explain that I had never become one of these. As I sat back down, I dropped my head. It felt as if the NICU nurse had again whisked you away.

I thumbed through your red B’nei Mitzvah binder filled with instructions, timelines, Torah portions and Hebrew blessings. Inside was a blank family tree. Part of your homework was to write down which relatives were Jewish and not to help Temple staff plan the ceremony.

You’ll have to label me as “Not Jewish.” This means, when I stand beside you on the bimah, there will be certain prayers I’m not permitted to say even though I can recite them by heart. I also won’t be allowed to hold up the Torah scroll despite my strength or dress it in ceremonial garb even though I learned the tradition as a Temple preschool teacher. That’s just how our synagogue interprets Jewish law.

While I respect the rules and appreciate how your coming of age is a spiritual connection to over 5,000 years of culture and community, as a mom, it stings not to be able to fully share in my son’s experience.

But not converting to Judaism was a choice I made. One I stand by. And so, I closed the binder and turned my attention back to its rightful place – you.

The rabbi addressed the room. “The B’nei Mitzvah is one thing Judaism really does right.”

He told us becoming a Bar Mitzvah is not only an opportunity for a 13 year old going through a period of self-consciousness, insecurity and significant physical and emotional change to learn how to take on a large task, break it down into manageable parts and present in front of an audience, but also a chance for him to experience the sense of accomplishment, empowerment and confidence realized when one goes out of his comfort zone and tackles a scary task.

When the rabbi said these words, something clicked. I’ve done those things. I know those emotions. During these coming months, I will connect with you through your journey, the process and the idea that you can do anything you put your mind to.

Today, the red binder lays open on your desk. You sit over it chanting prayers in Hebrew, stopping every few lines so Dad may offer guidance. From down the hall, I stop what I’m doing to listen to you sing. The afternoon sun streams through a nearby window. Its beams warm the tears caked upon my cheeks as My Sunshine’s sweet, determined voice warms his mother’s heart.

Turn Jew and I’ll Marry You

Mac and I struck our deal over Sicilian pie.

“Turn Jew and I’ll marry you.”
I shook my head. “You’re crazy.”
“Then raise the kids Jewish.”

Bringing up nonexistent children in a faith other than my own seemed easier to digest than lukewarm mozzarella.

“Okay,” I shrugged.

One civil ceremony, two children, and fifteen years later, Mac and I have put some mileage on our interfaith marriage bus since that momentous meal.

Turns out, there are many of us traversing a similar highway.

Hoping our collective experience might offer insight to couples merging toward the on ramp, I reached out to a handful of drivers in my lane. Together we created a travel guide we wished someone had stashed in our glove compartment.

1. Know your baseline

A clear belief system is the anchor for future decision making.

Leah, a Jewish woman whose spouse identifies as agnostic found questioning and self-talk freed her of dogma that didn’t sit well.

Flushing out what spiritually, culturally, and religiously, if anything was important to me:

not extended family,
not community,
but me

before I was in a committed relationship would have saved me years of agita.

2. Face Fears

Fear is at the root of all issues interfaith.

Jill, a spiritual woman who is married to a Jewish man, raised Jewish children, and is active in her church and synagogue believes,

“If you are strong in who you are, then there is nothing to fear. Notice when you feel threatened and investigate within yourself.”

My decision not to convert to Judaism is partially driven by fear. While I’m proud of and dedicated to fostering Bubbe and Skootch’s religious and cultural identity, I am convinced that keeping a foot firmly planted in each camp will protect my sons’ from stereotype, anti-Semitism, and feeling left out.

Fear continues to outweigh rational thought and so, I have more investigating to do.

3. You are you

My ideas, values, and traditions were not lost when I married someone from a different faith.

Individual identities are often clarified and strengthened when one is in an interfaith relationship as its nature requires each party to listen, reflect, and respond regularly.

I still hear Mac say, “Marrying outside my faith made me a better Jew. It puts me in a position to think about what really matters.”

4. Your children will always be yours

About a minute after Bubbe’s bris an outsider remarked, “He should go to the mikvah. It’s part of the deal.”

Emotions muddled by post partum hormones, I felt torn between the conviction to do right by Mac’s Conservative Jewish upbringing and dread that Bubbe’s formal conversion would jeopardize our mother-son bond.

In search of guidance, I went to see a Reform Jewish rabbi. She explained the difference between Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox interpretations regarding matrilineal descent and ultimately offered,

“Think of bringing your baby to the ritual bath as a beautiful rebirth.”

Screw that, I thought. What was wrong with his first one?

Bubbe never made it to the mikvah.

From dirty diapers and first words to stomach flues and first good-byes, believe you me, the kid is all mine. And when it comes time for him to stand on the bimah as a Bar Mitzvah, this Catholic mom will beam with pride.

5. Make a plan

The interfaith jury has spoken. Whether it’s before the nuptials or on the second date, but definitely before babies make an appearance;

Decide.

How will you raise the children?

Will your family stick hard and fast to one religion, formally teach two, or like Laurie who is one-half of an interfaith and intercultural couple, celebrate and observe all holidays and life cycle events with a focus on spirituality, values, tradition, and gratitude?

Discuss religion even if one party isn’t religious. Make your position known. Be aware of choices and stay open to compromise. Do your relationship a long term favor; don’t rush this conversation to avoid cold pizza.

Invest the time.

The original plan will likely change, but a shared vision will minimize confusion, create the structure and identity children crave, and help all parties feel safe.

6. Show up

Stacey, a proud Italian who was raised Catholic and her husband, a conservative Jew decided to raise their children in the Jewish tradition. He was responsible for schul shopping and schleps the kids to Hebrew School. She holds court during the holidays and planned each child’s Bar and Bat Mitzvah celebrations with care.

Laurie and her spouse deem it the responsibility of the parent whose tradition is being celebrated to teach the children about it in a meaningful way.

Regardless of approach, each person takes a turn behind the wheel.

7. Resentment happens

Humans err, life is messy, and resentment happens regardless of how hard we interfaith folk plan.

When a wife is stuck writing out the family’s Happy Holiday cards all alone when she wanted them to say Merry Christmas in the first place or a husband plans a Passover Seder solo because his non religious partner won’t budge, bitterness ensues.

When the bus gets wedged in a ditch, Mac and I talk honestly about needs and feelings; then come up with a strategy to dig our way out.

8. Find a friendly rest stop

Sometimes I feel banished to purgatory, belonging to neither side.

When my children were young, I was fortunate to find a local interfaith group. During our regular “Coffee Talk” meet ups, we kicked around ideas, vented, listened, sought validation and understanding, and offered guidance. These women and men were my leaning post and sounding board.

Every now and again, a new driver pulled in and shared her story. Within a few sentences, she cried. It never failed. As the group watched the newbie let the air out of her tire, we recalled the struggle and welled up too.

The Coffee Talkers always left our friendly respite a little more relieved and a little less alone on the journey.

9. Holidays and life cycle events are rough

The ride gets bumpy during holidays and life cycle events. Isolation, frustration, sadness, and anxiety gurgle to the surface causing the bus to overheat.

When I find myself reaching for Tums, I make connections between Christian and Jewish traditions and then, build my own bridge.

10. Build your own bridges

After agonizing through years of Hebrew laden High Holiday services and prayer heavy meals with extended family, I cracked.

“This is not my holiday. I don’t get it. It’s too much and I’m not going anymore.”

My outburst and subsequent conversation with Mac gave us permission to create a Rosh Hashanah tradition where we each felt included and able to derive meaning from the environment. We started with a relatable rabbi, the children’s service at our Temple, and a meal with friends and have since graduated to grown up services and food with Mac’s family.

I don’t touch Yom Kippur. These things take time.

11. Celebrate your spouse’s traditions

Mac, who was raised in a moderately observant home void of Christian symbols, had a post decorating nightmare after he participated in my mother’s Christmas tree trimming party for the first time.

But he kept it up out of respect for me and to model for Bubbe and Skootch the importance of honoring their mother’s tradition.

When we decided to put up our own Christmas tree a few years ago, I brought home a modest bush worried a grand statement might make him squeamish. Mac gave our five footer the once over, examined the nine foot ceilings and announced,

“This tree doesn’t do the room justice. Next year it has to be much bigger!”

Last Christmas, Mac drove the family to the Methodist church’s seasonal tree sale and picked one out himself.

12. Give extended family a chance

Let extended family on the bus. Offer to take a ride with them. Prepare a kosher meal. Attend a mass. Kindness, sensitivity, and respect breed growth and mutual acceptance.

Those in our family who wondered about the idea of a non-converting Christian raising Jewish children now remark, “I forget she’s not Jewish.”

13. Be honest with children

From brises and baptism to heaven, holidays and Jesus, at a minimum, Mac and I talk to Bubbe and Skootch about our family’s belief systems.

Any time our boys make an observation or inquire about Mom’s Christianity or their Jewish heritage we keep the response simple and direct.

“The Jewish people believe…”
“Mom grew up believing…”

So far, so good.

14. Embrace the gift

Jill feels being part of an interfaith family is

“An opportunity for you and your children to learn and understand not just one but two cultures and religions on a very deep and intimate level so learn and embrace as much as you possibly can.”

What a special gift.

15. Be open to the journey

The scenery doesn’t look quite the same as when Mac and I shared our Sicilian pie. Our collective and individual spiritual perspectives have and will continue to evolve. Interfaith marriage is a journey. And we are a work in progress.

Interfaith. Intercultural. Interracial. Intergenerational. We are magnificently growing society of

Inter-Somethings.

While we need to map the course which best suits our family, honoring each other along the way will make the ride more enjoyable and all the difference.

STACEY WILK SAID WHAT?…Last Minute Plans

Guest bloggers put it out there:

STACEY WILK SAID WHAT?…Last Minute Plans

This goodie from Italian mama and author, Stacey Wilk reminded me that Bubbe will soon learn his Bar Mitzvah date. As proud as this Catholic girl will be to see her boy on the bimah, the thought of planning for such a momentous milestone leaves me slightly bazorgt. Step one: Compile Bar Mitzvah montage…

Stacey Wilk - Author

This is me and Kiki after the Bat Mitzvah. We have the same taste in clothes and often pick similar outfits and then show up at the same place wearing them. It’s weird, but we like it. Our dresses for the party, though both black, were different. I think.

Have you ever planned a party? I’m talking a good size one with at least fifty people in a location other than your house? It’s okay if you haven’t and honestly way saner. Only crazy people plan those kinds of parties. Even crazier people used to pay me to plan parties. Yup, I was a party planner in the pre-Noodge days.

We recently held a party to celebrate Noodge 2 becoming a Bat Mitzvah. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a Bar or Bat Mitzvah (Bar for boys Bat for girls) but after watching how much work the Noodges each…

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Please check out “A Letter to My Palestinian-American Muslim Friend” online in Mamalode parenting magazine!

I am proud to share my 2nd essay feature in Mamalode parenting magazine.

I wrote, “A Letter to My Palestinian-American Muslim Friend” about a dear friend in my community. It was published today.

Even if you have already read the piece on Red said what?, please take a few minutes to:

Click this link to Mamalode: A Letter to My Palestinian-American Muslim Friend
Like and/or comment at the bottom of the article
Then please SHARE, TWEET, and PIN!

The more “unique views” of the essay on Mamalode’s site during the next 30 days, the more Mama-love I receive from them.

Thank you for your continued support, especially during this busy season! Happy Holidays!

All the best,

Red

Laundry Room Mishpacha; a Rosh Hashanah Tale

After Hurricane Sandy, roughly six weeks post Rosh Hashanah 2012, we temporarily moved into my in-laws’ apartment. The building is home to a number of observant Jewish families, my in-laws included.

Waiting in the laundry room, I noticed a grandma folding clothes while her four-ish year old twin grandchildren, a boy and girl played nearby.

“I’m going to sing a Rosh Hashanah song,” announced the light eyed little guy.

After he got a few lines into his song I said, “That’s a nice tune.”

“He’s a good singer,” Grandma replied.

“Yes. I haven’t heard that one before.”

Right then his sister whipped her auburn curls, looked me dead in the eye and declared, “That’s because you’re not Jewish.

“Watch what you say to people!” Grandma barked.

Watch what you teach her, I thought.

I bit my lip and explained, “The Rosh Hashanah song I know is different. It goes like this…”

I sang a few lines of my holiday ditty. Thankfully the dryer’s buzzer went off. I took my clothes, wished them a good day and left – fuming.

Why do I have to be Jewish to know a Rosh Hashanah song? Why did the girl assume I was different than she? We were in the laundry room, not synagogue and it wasn’t Shabbat. Could she really have drawn her conclusion simply because I was dressed less conservatively than her grandmother?

It wasn’t clear.

What was clear was this little girl had been taught either directly or indirectly to identify, judge, and draw a conclusion about a person based on one’s appearance relative to the other grown-ups in her life. As a Christian woman married to a Jewish man who takes pride in raising Jewish children, I felt offended and sad.

This week, my family will celebrate the Jewish New Year. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are a time of reflection and new beginnings. Whether you observe or not, perhaps it’s a good time for us to think about the symbolic gestures we feel bring us closer to God. Although seemingly benign when practiced with a similar group, the question remains;

Do these gestures create an unhealthy divide, particularly when our children form false and hurtful conclusions based on them?

When all is said and done, I personally don’t think God gives a rat’s ass about what clothes we wore, the food we ate, the holidays we observed, or how many times a day we prayed.

It is how we view and treat each other while we are here that matters.

But let’s be realistic; life is wonderfully diverse and so our lifestyles will vary and symbols sustain. So in an effort to close the gap, let’s be mindful about consistently teaching young people that all religious and cultural perspectives are valid and deserve respect.

Grandma, you and I may have different ways of approaching our day to day living, but my hope is that we embody the same values. With this New Year upon us, let’s show our children that when we look beyond the laundry room, we are all mishpacha.

Red Said What?

'Cause sometimes you just have to put it out there…

Tag Archives: Judaism

A Catholic Mom, Her Jewish Son and His Coming of Age