Living with a Jewish Host Family

By Michelle Chonofsky
University of Delaware

When I landed in Martinique (a French island in the Caribbean) on Friday night, January 3^rd, to begin my five-week study abroad program, no one was waiting to meet me at the airport. I had to wait for all 23 other students to meet their host parents and leave the airport before my professor led me to her car and drove me to my host parents’ house. When we finally got to the house, my professor rang the doorbell to announce our arrival—and I was mortified! I could see through the window that the people who would be my family for the next five weeks were eating Shabbat dinner—dinner which we had just rudely interrupted.

My host parents smiled as they came to the door to let us in, and I found myself caught in a wave of French, which quite literally went over my head. My professor boasted that I was one of the best French speakers on the trip, which was especially good since my host parents did not speak a word of English (except Barack Obama), but I barely said anything the entire night. The Shabbat table was crowded with food, friends, and family, but to this day I’m still not sure who everyone was. I was exhausted, confused, and eager to get to sleep, and even though my host parents did not seem to mind the doorbell fiasco, I knew that they were shomer Shabbat (Shabbat observant) and that we should have knocked.

Although I had requested to be placed at a Jewish home so that I would be able to celebrate Shabbat and eat kosher meals, I was surprised to learn that there actually is a Jewish community in Martinique. Originally I had been placed with the Chabad Rabbi, but my host parents told me that once he found out that I wear shorts and would have field trips on Saturdays, he did not want me anymore.

There are about 200 Jews on the island. The community is mainly made up of Sephardic Jews who lived and worked in France and retired to Martinique, or ones who emigrated from North Africa and France when anti-Semitism rose to intolerable levels. I met one couple from England during my visit -- the woman was so thrilled to meet another Ashkenazi Jew that she spent all of Kabbalat Shabbat talking to me in English, when I was really there to practice my French! The community is mainly made of up adults. Any children growing up in Martinique must travel to France in order to find a Jewish spouse.

There is only one synagogue on the island. Not everyone lives within walking distance to it, but everyone knows where it is. Fortunately for me, it was at the end of the same street as my host home. In fact, when my parents sent a donation to the synagogue in honor of my host parents putting up with me for five weeks, they addressed the envelope "The Synagogue, Martinique" and I received confirmation a week later that the donation had arrived successfully. The synagogue is also the location of the only kosher butcher on the island, which is open twice a week. My host parents had kosher wine and coffee shipped to Martinique from France.

During my free time, my host parents and I would spend hours discussing the differences between Conservative Judaism in America and Judaism as they understood it. My host mother stared in wide-eyed disbelief as I described the number of synagogues in my hometown on the Main Line. I explained that women can lead services, wear a tallit, read Torah and even become rabbis according to Conservative Judaism. My host mother admitted that she had always wanted to read Torah, and joked about "converting to" Masorti Judaism so she would be able to. During these discussions, I never felt uncomfortable or judged because my form of Judaism was new and different to my host parents. They seemed more fascinated than judgmental.

One week, however, my host parents had a guest for Shabbat dinner who told me that my form of "Judaism" was not real and was, in fact, an entirely different religion from the correct Judaism which he practices. I had a hard time refuting his statements in French, but he was not interested in what I had to say anyway. The idea of a woman wearing a tallit or reading Torah was preposterous to him, and he had made up his mind to be as intolerant as possible. As I cried on the phone to my mom in America later that night, I wondered how Jews were supposed to survive as a people and create peace with other nations and religions when we cannot even find peace and respect among ourselves.

While my friends were going to the clubs on Friday nights, I would stay home with my host family and celebrate Shabbat. The first week I did so out of guilt—I had requested to live with a Jewish host family, and I thought I should respect their Shabbat observances even if I did not observe Shabbat the same way. By the second Shabbat, however, I realized that celebrating Shabbat in a foreign country made the country seem more familiar, and that I had the opportunity to experience Martinique in a way that was meaningful to me.

On Friday evenings, I would attend Kabbalat Shabbat at the synagogue with the men (although I had to sit behind the mehitzah/divider), and listen as a community member would describe the Torah portion in French. I was always able to understand his d’var Torah because he discussed the same parshiyot (Torah portions) that we read in America. I remember opening the siddur on my first Friday night and being shocked that on the page opposite the Hebrew was French, not English. I was worried that I would be completely lost throughout the entire service, since I am not fluent in French or Hebrew. As soon as the service started, however, I remembered that the basic format of every service is the same across countries, as well as across Ashkenazi and Sephardi traditions. I experienced firsthand the feeling of walking into a synagogue in a foreign country and recognizing the prayers.

After services, we would walk up the street to my host home for the Incredible Hulk of Shabbat meals, greeting the other community members along the way. My host mother would work all day on Friday preparing colorful and delicious meals, which are hard to describe to someone who has not experienced them firsthand. We began with a large selection of appetizers including avocados, tzimmes, salads, and other vegetable-based dishes. For dinner, we would load our plates with rice or couscous, and many types of chicken or meat. There was always fruit for dessert, in addition to a large assortment of pastries. I still believe that the only successful Shabbat dinners are those after which it is impossible to move.

After dinner, Marie would bring up a topic from the week’s parashah (Torah portion) and the men would debate fervently while I tried desperately to follow the conversation. Every once in a while they would stop, look at me, and ask what I, as an American Jew, thought about the matter. They were surprised to meet a girl who was so actively involved in her Jewish community in a way that did not include cooking. Sometimes my host father would ask me to lead Shalom Alechem before the meal, or Havdalah on Saturday nights, because my Ashkenazi words and tunes intrigued him.

The last Friday night of our trip, the entire group made plans to meet at a club in town. I had not gone clubbing once since arriving in Martinique, and the group decided it would be their goal to convince me to go. My friends did not understand that Shabbat with my host family was a special tradition to me, and I did not want to risk offending them by leaving the house on a Friday night. Eventually, I wound up asking my host dad if it would be okay if I went to the club with some friends, and he replied "you do what you want, I’m not going to tell you how to observe your religion." Because clubs in Martinique open so late, I was still able to enjoy my last Shabbat meal with my host family, but I felt extremely guilty while at the club, and I knew that I was on my own—I could not call my host parents or expect them to pick me up.

I have since realized that American Jews face a unique challenge that Jews around the world do not. Jews in America have to choose between many flavors of Judaism, and even within one flavor (ie: Reform, Conservative), American Jews can personalize their level of observance. The little community in Martinique only knew one flavor—Jewish. To them, being a Jew means observing kashrut, the holidays, and Shabbat and working on Sundays instead of Saturdays. It also means that women sit separately and cannot read Torah or lead services. As an American Conservative Jew, I can decide for myself what kind of Jew I want to be, and my two identities are constantly in conflict. I tried explaining this odd situation to my host parents (that is it hard to be "American" and "Jewish"), but my host parents could not identify with my struggle because they only know one way to observe.

I realized that most Jews in other countries do not light the Shabbat candles, go to Hillel for services and then go on a bar crawl. For other Jews, the choice is clear. For many American, college-aged Jews, however, one’s identity is not so cut and dry, and may change from week to week. It took a trip to a tiny Caribbean island, which most people have never heard of, for me to truly become comfortable with my Jewish identity. I miss Shabbat meals with my host family more than anything else about the trip (except maybe the gorgeous beaches and tropical weather) and while my choices might have isolated me from my non-Jewish college friends, it was nice to know that anywhere I go—even Martinique—I will have a home and a community.

[Posted 7/3/11]