Growing up, my family attended services every single Friday night. It wasn’t that my family was wildly pious. I think my parents found great value in the consistency of Jewish ritual, and thought that it was a strong, meaningful way to raise their children (spoiler alert: it worked). And every single week, almost without fail, we were greeted at the door of the sanctuary by JV, a member of our community. He was the unofficial welcoming committee. He would stand at the back of the immense sanctuary and greet every attendee with a handshake and a smile. I vividly remember his big, bushy mustache and his particularly snarky sense of humor. He was as much a part of Shabbat for me as were the rabbi and cantor. And it took until I was well into my teens to learn that he wasn’t Jewish.
JV was married to a Jewish woman and had decided to raise a Jewish family. His daughter was two years ahead of me in school and was heavily involved in youth group programs and congregational life. JV knew all the blessings, knew all of the traditions, and was an ever-present part of what made our sanctuary run. As far as I know, nobody ever asked him why he hadn’t converted; obviously, that amount of investment in the Jewish community must have meant at least a devotion to our peoplehood. But whether it was because he maintained a belief in his own theology, didn’t want to offend his family of origin, or any other of a number of reasons, JV was a part of our tribe without being a part of our faith. Judaism has a word for this: a ger toshav.
Ger Toshav is often translated as “resident alien”. In today’s immigration environment, I shy away from the term alien, and instead often think of the idea as describing those who have “cast their lot with the Jewish people,” binding their destiny with ours. And since meeting JV, I have come to learn that the Ger Toshav is an essential part of so many congregations across the country and around the world. Our Gerim Toshav (plural) are the ones who volunteer to help set up for events and clean up afterward. They are the ones who drive their children to religious school with devotion and conviction, participate in learning sessions, and invest in their children’s development. They are the ones who model what it means to show up for one another because, for them, Judaism isn’t an obligation; it is a choice, and one they make with a love and devotion that is truly an inspiration.
For decades, the Jewish world put a stigma on interfaith families as those who represented a departure from Jewish tradition, as if the Jewish partner was making our community weaker by marrying outside the tribe. At the time, I suppose that was an understandable instinct; it certainly is true that the greatest threat to Jewish identity in the 21st century is assimilation. But in the years since Jewish communities have opened our eyes to the power of saying yes to a family when others are saying no, we have been given the incredible gift of welcoming individuals who see the beauty in Judaism and choose to lift it up, support it, and make it possible for their families, regardless of their own faith background.
In the Bible, the first example of someone openly declaring themselves to be part of the Jewish peoplehood despite their origins is Ruth, who tells Naomi, her mother-in-law: “Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God.” (Ruth 1:16) Ruth would eventually become the grandmother of King David, one of the greatest heroes in our people’s history. And we know this to be a reality in our modern age. So often, it is those who see the beauty in the Jewish community and continually show up to support it who pave the way for the brightest future. Whether that is through formal conversion or by becoming a Ger Toshav, these individuals are a profound joy to our communities and should be celebrated for the blessing they are.
Austin Zoot is the Rabbi Educator at Valley Temple in Wyoming, Ohio.