Written by Sarah Saxbe, 2021

The way religion has been treated in our family is twofold: the observance of tradition as an homage to the two religions within which we were born; and the idea that every person deserves respect no matter their beliefs. We celebrate holidays like Christmas, Easter, Hanukkah, and Passover in that we share celebratory meals, exchange gifts, and spend time together.

The Jewish holidays usually come with more somber, historically significant stories and legends that have very specific links to the behaviors we practice in our yearly celebrations: reading the four questions at Passover and the significance of the items on the seder plate, lighting the candles, and telling the story of Hanukkah, and explaining why some people fast on Yom Kippur.

Despite the more serious nature of the stories and traditions, our meals are always times for celebrating the joys of family. Ironically it is Dad (who was born Christian) who is the most knowledgeable of these old stories and usually reads the Hebrew prayers. The same irony goes for Christmas. Mom, born Jewish, loves Christmas more than anyone and gives the best gifts; the present-opening marathons are over-the-top and joyous. Many of the gifts are deeply personal and thoughtful, and as I remember Christmases of my childhood, I have a visceral feeling of excitement. Though my parents’ trees have gotten smaller and smaller to not even making an appearance the last few years, Mom still says, inaccurately, “This Christmas, only a couple presents; we’re just doing something small.”

For me, Christmas, Passover, and the rest aren’t so much religious holidays as they are family holidays. Aside from these celebrations, our family would not be considered traditionally religious. Although we occasionally attend Jewish and Christian services, we have no official affiliation with a church or synagogue. God is a spiritual presence that can receive prayers from time to time when giving thanks or if something is particularly stressful or confusing. I don’t remember feeling like I needed to believe one thing or another. For that, I am grateful.

I work with survivors of religious trauma who were raised to be fearful of a judgmental God and never quite achieved a healthy sense of self-determination. I never felt that. When I was young, I accompanied my grandmother to services at the Episcopal church in Mechanicsburg. I loved the coffee cake, and Sunday school was usually a decent time. A kid once said to me, “God will send you to Hell because you’re not baptized.” I thought about it for a few minutes and decided that God would never find out that I wasn’t baptized because he was too busy dealing with other stuff. Plus, why would God be so mean? That was the moment I decided organized religion didn’t make much sense and wasn’t for me.

If I had to name a religion that could loosely be defined as my (and probably my family’s) religion, it would be similar to Buddhism. My beliefs are connected with nature, mindfulness, a balanced life, and a desire to pursue passions and purpose, treating love as the ultimate “salvation.” As I grow older and deal with the complexities of life, this philosophy becomes even more important.

Being born with two religions, some might assume (and have stated) that I should be “confused” or “raised with nothing.” On the contrary, I feel fortunate to have embraced my heritage and hope to be respected for having my own beautiful meaning of life.

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