It took me a while to understand how Jewishness and following Jesus could go hand in hand. It’s not that those two things are an unnatural combination. In fact, Jesus and all his first followers were Jewish. So, those two facets of identity do have a history of complementing each other.
But I had never really tried to combine them until I became a mom. And through that learning process, I’ve often encountered people who think that “Jewish” and “Christian” don’t go together.
That perceived paradox is widespread; maybe you’ve heard it too. We read about it recently in an article by Aish. The writer (a Jewish man named Jeff Jacoby) was stopped by a Christian missionary in a parking lot. She engaged him in conversation, and while she gave her spiel, he stayed quite patient—until she claimed that she was Jewish too. “That’s surprising,” he told her. Then his article went on to argue that being a Jew for Jesus is more than surprising; it’s an impossibility.
It actually triggers an anxious response in me when I read words like his. Nobody wants to be cancelled. That’s why Jews for Jesus tells one truth on repeat: faith in Jesus doesn’t erase Jewish heritage.
That’s a truth that bears repeating because it’s often been hard to see.
A Story Worth Knowing
We understand Jacoby’s reticence when he heard the missionary with the cross necklace claim to be Jewish too. She didn’t look or act Jewish according to his understanding of what that should be. (And it shows a lot of patience and humility that he stood and chatted with her long enough to have noticed that.)
It isn’t always easy to be both.
The truth is, for Jewish people and Christians to talk about faith together can be such a difficult conversation that it often just doesn’t happen. The history of Christian antisemitism has deeply scarred the Jewish community’s understanding of Christianity. Things have been done to our people—by those who claimed to be Christians—that should never have been done to any people group anywhere.
So, we can sympathize with the stance that traditional Jewish communities often take: that a Jew who follows Jesus has left the tribe, that we’ve switched teams.
And it isn’t always easy to be both. I’ve been in Christian circles and heard someone make a bad Jewish joke. I’ve known close friends to make comments about current and past conflicts in Israel that were naive at best and antisemitic at worst. Obviously, my experiences don’t come close to the kinds of horrific acts that have happened in history, or the antisemitism that people are suffering even now in less safe parts of the world. But they do make me want to leave the room and find my people.
And there is a joy that comes when we do find our people—a people group that has been preserved by God through it all. That’s a story we wouldn’t want to miss out on.
Because of our Grandparents
In essence, most of us who are Jewish know that we are because someone we love told us so. For me, one of the most memorable affirmations of Jewish identity came from my grandparents.
Two summers ago, we went to visit my grandmother. Something in me knew it would be the last time and that it would be worth the cost of six plane tickets for the kids, my husband, and me to go see her.
In a quiet moment when she and I were alone in her apartment, she became uncomfortable and lay down to rest. I sat next to her, and somehow we got on the subject of faith. I mentioned that personally, following Jesus is part of my Jewishness—in other words, that I still consider myself Jewish. She lay her 99-year-old hand on mine and said, “Of course you’re Jewish, you’re my granddaughter.”
Though I had always felt a special connection with her, it took us twenty-four years to have that conversation. Maybe that’s why her words in that special last talk we had stick out to me so clearly.
I also remember other words she said over the years. Every time we talked on the phone, she would say, “Make sure the children remember me.” She wanted continuity and a bond with her great-grandkids even before she had met all of them.
Those who went before us passed down their heritage partly in hopes that we would make it our heritage.
For Our Children
Sometimes Friday night comes and I feel rather burnt out. But if I neglect to put the candles on the table, my oldest child notices and sets the table for me. While she does that, my tween daughter braids the bread. They light Grandma’s Shabbat candles, we sing the prayers together, and we read a few Scripture verses over dinner. It’s our anchor at the end of the week.
It’s not a fight for identity. It’s a determination to preserve memory.
Claiming Jewish heritage amidst a modern American life isn’t easy. Carving out time to learn and re-learn our history and traditions while living in a hustle culture can feel like an uphill battle. But it’s worth it when we’re fighting for something we love.
It’s not a fight for identity—observing traditions (or not) can’t make a person any more (or less) Jewish. It’s a determination to preserve memory. The memories shared within our traditions are a way to pass down two vital things: heritage and faith.
Because we have seen how those two things can go together seamlessly. We believe you can light the Shabbat candles and thank God for the gift of rest that our Messiah talked about. When we break the matzah on Passover, we remember how Jesus’ body was broken. If we fast on Yom Kippur, we do that while telling a bigger story of forgiveness.
So, if you have a friend like me, or maybe you meet a Jew for Jesus in a parking lot somewhere, we hope you don’t misunderstand us. Know that if we talk about our belief in Jesus, it’s not in an effort to try to cancel the love and belonging that come with being part of the Jewish people. Rather, it’s because of that love and belonging, and because we’ve found it best fulfilled here—by trusting in the Messiah.
Home
One place where my family and I feel like we belong the most is at Messianic Jewish summer camp. I’ve had quite a few “proud mom” moments there, like when my two-year-old learned to sing the Shema (and memorized it!).
Maybe that’s why it felt like poking holes in my sails when we had just driven home from summer camp and were visiting my Jewish friend. To introduce me to the guest she had sitting next to her, she mentioned that my father was Jewish, but I am a Christian. She was right, except that instead of “but” in that sentence, I would say “and.”
Most likely, she just wasn’t sure how to introduce us. For centuries, the Jewish community has been saying that you can’t be Jewish and Christian. But this view is still painful to hear for those of us who are Jewish believers in Jesus.
There are many arguments we could make to show that belief in Jesus does not erase Jewish heritage. (And we’ve made them already in other articles on this site.) What I hope to share here is one story of what that can look like.
Now that she knows us better, my friend accepts my seemingly unique family for who we are.
We try to be there for each other as we’re able, especially around the holidays. On the eighth night of a recent Hanukkah, she came over so we could light the menorah together. I think the sight of our two menorahs in the window symbolizes one big, hopeful step—to normalize the idea that “Jewish” and “Christian” can go together.