secular

A Chanukah Noel: A True Story

annette — Tue, 21 Dec 2010 08:00:00 +0000

A Chanukah Noel is a welcome addition to the limited but much-needed canon of interfaith children’s books, and it has the particular additional benefit of being entirely secular. This combination of qualities already sets it apart from most Christmas picture books. The story is about a young Jewish girl named Charlotte who moves to rural France and struggles to fit in. She is held back several grades until she learns French, she’s called ‘the foreigner’ by a classmate, she’s afraid she’ll be left out of the Christmas grab bag gift swap, and her parents tell her she has to study French while everyone else is enjoying their Christmas vacation. She finds Chanukah a poor substitute for what she sees going on around her–decorations, lights, a traditional travelling Christmas market, shops full of gifts and rich foods. It’s not entirely altruism-driven when she hits upon a great way to support a poorer classmate who celebrates, but can’t afford all the trappings. She convinces her parents to let her experience Christmas by proxy: they do all the usual holiday preparations and then donate the food, gifts and decorations to her classmate’s family.

The protagonist is flawed, but in touch with her emotions. Parents of children in Charlotte’s position will find this story valuable for modelling emotional literacy. Envy is named and owned, distinctions are made between religious and national customs, and the word miracle, which is nearly always used in religious Christmas and Chanukah stories, is applied very specifically to human generosity in this one.

It’s a very matter-of-fact take on a real experience of a child whose family doesn’t celebrate Christmas, and it acknowledges the benefits of sharing cultural traditions. The portrayal of class is glossed over more than some may like–a very brief conversation, where Charlotte insists that the family who receives the Christmas goose and decorations would be doing her a favour–sums up the exchange in a way that makes sense from the point of view of the young main character, and may oversimplify the complex hierarchy of charitable giving, but an event at the end of the story equalizes the exchange. This is a true story, and I appreciated it in the sense that it was a snippet of a real event retold to the author and illustrator. From that perspective, it stands alone well. However, after the story ended, I wanted to know more: why did they have to move to France? Was it during the war? A little more recently? Did it take Charlotte a long time to learn French? Unfortunately, these questions aren’t answered, but the rich honesty of the story–despite its deceptively simple narrative–makes me want to hear from this author and illustrator again.

Speaking of the illustrations, the expressiveness in each picture combined with the slightly muted color palate gives the impression of old film footage. The Christmas market actually looked just like the local ones that visit Yorkshire every year, to my surprise and delight. People, landscapes and kitchen utensils are afforded the same attention to detail and fit well with the story.

Half my family is Jewish and the other half is Catholic, and we do a bit of both holidays every December. I missed out on secular interfaith holiday books as a kid, and really appreciated this story personally. More, please.

Written by: Chella Quint, December 21st 2010

Not That Kind of Girl

admin — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 09:00:00 +0000

By Carlene Bauer

Harper

Carlene Bauer was a seven-year-old child when her mother became a born-again Christian, catapulting the family into a regimen that put avoiding devilish distraction front and center. Fear of imminent doom led to a morass of rules governing the Bauer sisters’ every move, rules that touched on modesty, piety, and propriety.

Bauer was born in 1973 and Not That Kind of Girl takes the reader from her early childhood, to her coming of age in 1980s New Jersey, to the present. Along the way she describes the implicit and explicit messages she received about what type of girl she was not to become. As she does this she reveals profound confusion about womanhood, autonomy, and integrity, the unraveling of which forms the crux of this intellectually stimulating, and often funny, memoir.

Not surprisingly, there are many questions. Is premarital sex really sinful? What about drinking and smoking pot? Is doubt always destructive? Can someone love language, literature, and rock music alongside the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost? If so, how?

Four years at a Catholic college provide few answers, so not knowing what else to do, Bauer and a few friends move to Brooklyn, NY, post graduation. They’re hoping the city’s grit will help resolve these dilemmas, but distractions intrude—there’s the club scene, literary readings, parties, and a publishing job that gives Bauer a chance to hone her editing skills and wit, albeit for a pittance.

The years following the move are full of ups and downs, but it is Bauer’s continual search for meaning that keeps her from settling for less than she wants in relationships and employment. Still, confusion and guilt dominate.

“Christianity had taught me that reaching out your hand for what you wanted, since it might entail pushing someone else out of the way, was selfish and impolite,” she writes. “I could not reconcile my faith with my ambition—I could not stop thinking that one had to be suppressed for the other—and this left me too muddled to be shrewd.”

For a while, Bauer thinks that converting to Catholicism will provide clarity; it doesn’t. And then 9/11 happened. “I would be a fool if I opened my mouth to ask God to watch over us or give us peace after he had taken it away from thousands of people and might be preparing to end the happiness of everyone within the church and without. I could not seek consolation from him,” she admits.

Just like that, Bauer’s faith crumbles, at least temporarily; on the other hand, her quest for life’s purpose never waivers. It’s liberating, if hard, to shift gears into a more secular worldview, but the subtle change allows Bauer to find a satisfying job as a magazine fact checker, begin writing, and pursue a relationship that seems sustainable. As for God, who knows? Bauer’s odyssey is likely to be lifelong, and as her quest for divinity has broadened, she has begun to see, and write about, evidence of the spirit in music, poetry, nature, and city life.

Not That Kind of Girl is a revelatory and provocative work, a personal story that goes far beyond the boundaries of autobiography. Witty and deeply introspective, it shines a personal light on evangelism that proves 1960s feminists correct: The personal really is political.

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, November 12th 2009

Into the Field

admin — Fri, 23 Mar 2007 18:49:00 +0000

Directed by Alyssa Grossman

Documentary Educational Resources

The focus of Into the Field is the secular lives of the women living in the Romanian monastery, Varatec, rather than their spiritual ones. The everyday life of nuns is skimmed over by filmmaker Alyssa Grossman. Presumably, Varatec is as self-sustaining as possible due to its isolated location, and there are many shots of nuns working in the fields. Living in small groups in private homes gives them a rather dual identity that may be denied an order which lives solely inside abbey walls.

I was fascinated by the ways in which the church fulfills these women’s need for community and family; when asked, they are quite vehement in their assertion that they have no desire to be married. Neither do they wish to live apart from their community. Though the work is physically tough and seems endless, the Romanian nuns seem quite content. Certainly after working in the field for up to ten years as an act of obedience, they are committed to their chosen destiny.

Grossman includes some brief sequences of stop-motion animation that are distracting. They add nothing to the quality or theme of the film and are self-indulgent and seem to be the work of a high school student rather than a doctoral candidate. She may have intended them to be an internal commentary about her frustration in making of the film. I believe the piece would have been much stronger without them.

Written by: Pamela Crossland, March 23rd 2007