september / october 2005:

How i became a flexidox jew
My son has evolved Jewishly, and now I've followed suit. Sort of. Essay by Arlene C. Appelrouth, Illustration by Ron Zalme


hen asked to identify what kind of Jew I am, I simply and proudly reply: Flexidox. Don’t bother looking for it in the dictionary because I myself coined it to describe being a Jewish chameleon.

Raised in a secular, unaffiliated Jewish family, you wouldn’t necessarily predict that I’d eventually have memberships in Orthodox, Conservative and Reform synagogues concurrently, or that my youngest son would become an Orthodox rabbi.

I was expected to marry Jewish and taught not to trust the goyim. But that was about it for religious expression. Other than a Passover meal where I sang Chad Gad Yah, my childhood home was devoid of Judaism. Ours was an illiterate, unaffiliated Jewish family.

So how did a Jew, ignorant about Judaism, give birth to a child who is now an Orthodox rabbi in Jerusalem?

For starters, you don’t create a child alone. My transformation began by marrying Dan, who loved singing Jewish songs in synagogue, and knew about all the Jewish holidays, most of which I had never heard of. He was raised in Key West, where the cohesive community worshipped weekly in its Conservative synagogue.

Dan and I were founding members of two Reform temples. Our three children attended services, went to religious school, had b’nai mitzvot and were confirmed. I felt proud to have provided a Jewish education for my children.

But then things took a turn ...

After a session at Camp Barney Medintz, my younger son David came home announcing he wanted to attend a Jewish private school. When David’s bunkmates talked about Jewish history, David, who loved history, remained silent. He had not learned Jewish history in temple or school. He longed to study Jewish history like his camp buddies.

As parents, Dan and I encouraged our children to follow their dreams. We enrolled David in a Jewish school. A few months later, for no apparent reason, his eating habits suddenly changed. David was only eating bananas, grapes, and cereal. When I asked why, he shrugged and said he wasn’t hungry. Baffled, I called the mother of his school friend, where he often spent time.

“How’s David’s appetite?” I asked.

“I can’t feed him enough,” she replied.

And that was how I learned David’s secret decision to keep kosher.

A cacophony of feelings ran through me. David was always easygoing. When he took a stand to eat kosher, his independence and desire to practice Judaism differently than me began to reveal itself.

It snowballed from there. He began keeping Shabbat at home where, until now, Saturday was no different than Sunday. He covered his eyes in our family room if the television was on. He began spending Shabbat with observant families. I bought him kosher food, new dishes, and flatware. There was always something else he needed like pots or utensils. My twelve year old son was turning my kitchen — and eventually my life — upside down. It was unnerving.

At a baby naming I shared my frustration with a friend. A man I didn’t know turned to me, saying he overheard my conversation. He identified himself as an Orthodox rabbi. He got involved and explained to both me and my son that peace at home was more important to God than kosher utensils. Miraculously, my son stopped requesting I do more.

Grateful for the rabbi’s intervention, I attended his beginner’s service on Shabbat morning and was quite impressed. My transformation had begun.

Most Friday nights I attended my Reform temple. Most Saturday mornings I went to an Orthodox shul. I was welcomed with open arms. I enjoyed countless Shabbat meals and invited my husband to join me. He refused, saying he was happy where he was.

Flash forward a few years: My husband finally recanted and came with me. Soon he stopped eating non-kosher meat in restaurants. By that time, so my son would eat everything I cooked, I had made our kitchen completely kosher, bought two sets of dishes, and added a second dishwasher. No longer an “illiterate” Jew, I became “transliterate” praying in the main sanctuary with a prayer book that was in Hebrew.

David, meanwhile, moved to Israel to attend a yeshiva. When he came home on a summer break he invited his sister to spend Shabbat with him. She has since joined a synagogue which she attends weekly.

When a friend invited me to attend a class taught by a female Conservative rabbi, I began learning the egalitarian Conservative tradition. So I also became a member of their congregation and my other son attends High Holiday services there.

I call myself Flexidox because I participate in, and value, all branches of Judaism. I take a weekly class with a Chabad rabbi who eloquently told me, “there really aren’t Orthodox, Conservative, or Reform Jews. There are Jews, who attend Orthodox, Conservative, or Reform synagogues.”

Jews can be literate, illiterate, or transliterate. Or they can be Flexidox like me, knowing it’s ok that my parents are unaffiliated, my daughter is Modern Orthodox, my other son attends synagogue occasionally, and my husband wears a yarmulke wherever he goes. I relate to each of them, eating habits and all.


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