A nice Jewish girl studying Catholicism?

National Catholic Reporter, April 9, 2004 by Nancy Kalikow Maxwell

Last May I had the privilege of being the only Jew to receive a master s degree in Catholic theology from Barry University, a Catholic university in Miami. What was a "nice Jewish girl" doing studying Catholic theology? Here is how I explained it to the priest who was the theology department chair at the time and whose blessing was needed for my admission to the program: As a librarian, I would find it helpful if I changed jobs to have a second master's degree; my undergraduate degree was in philosophy; I wanted to learn more about my own religion; and OK, let's be honest--since I was working at the college library, tuition was free.

After hearing this litany, the priest rocked back in his swivel chair and contemplated what I had said. This must be what confession feels like, I thought as I waited through his painful silence.

"I want you to understand something," he finally said. "This is not a comparative religion degree. What we teach here is Catholic theology."

So much for learning about my own Judaism and other religions, I thought.

"If you want to study religions from different perspectives, you should go down the street to FIU [Florida International University" the state university] where they offer a degree in comparative religions. Our program is Catholic theology," he repeated the word as if it were distasteful to both of us. "We call it theology and not religious studies because we come at the subject as believers."

The only thing I believed at that moment was, boy, was I in the wrong place! As he rocked his chair forward, his tone softened. "Not all our students are Catholics. We do have Protestants, even a few African-American Baptist ministers. We would welcome you to study with us. But just remember you will be learning Catholic theology, not comparative religions."

"You're Jewish? That's fantastic!" exclaimed the woman sitting at the desk behind me in my first class. "I am so excited we have someone Jewish in this class. This is going to be awesome."

"Terrific," "outstanding," "splendid" were soon added to the list when my fellow students learned of a Jew in their midst. Despite Father Chairperson's admonition that this was not a comparative religion program, the students were exuberant about doing some religion comparing, especially with a Jew.

For the next eight years, whatever topic we were discussing, my colleagues wanted me to provide them with the Jewish slant. I immediately became their repository of all Jewish knowledge accumulated over the last 3,000 years.

Unfortunately, my responses to their inquiries fell into two equally disappointing categories. One answer began, "Some Jews ..." followed with a disclaimer that Judaism is too broad a term, encompassing everyone from the strict ultra Orthodox to liberal Reform Jews, to say what "Jews" think or do. After describing the vastly differing opinions among and even within the various Jewish sects, I would shrug my shoulders and repeat the maxim, "Two Jews, three opinions."

My other frequent but more embarrassing answer was, "I don't know." Though I had received several years of Hebrew language and religious training as a child, my upbringing had been predominately secular: My family made the obligatory thrice-a-year appearances at synagogue for the Jewish High Holy Days and we followed the home-based religious rituals of lighting Sabbath candles and holding Passover Seders. However, since my mother was a renowned kosher caterer, most of our devotion was directed at my mother's oven. Thanks to Mom, I learned to make mighty fine chicken soup and featherlight matzo balls but was ignorant of religious texts and history central to my religion.

This lack of knowledge was made even more glaring because several of the Christian students knew more about the Old Testament than I did. In a Death and Dying class, a classmate who had attended Catholic school mentioned Saul's suicide in the Bible. I shrank in my seat and studied the floor, hoping no one would notice that until that moment I was unaware of the facts behind Saul's demise. (As I now know, Saul fell upon his sword.)

Despite the inadequacy of my answers, the students embraced me with genuine warmth. Perhaps because so many of them came from helping or ministering vocations--priests, nuns and lay church workers predominated among the student body--they received me graciously. My Jewish friends teasingly asked if my classmates were trying to convert me. Instead, I never found a more open, caring, respectful group of people than the students in my classes.

The faculty's reaction was also supportive. Whatever the topic at hand, from the Eucharist to the New Testament, they encouraged me to contribute the Jewish perspective in class and research Jewish-related interests. (A paper I wrote on Jewish death rituals was ultimately included in an interfaith book on ethics.)

If anything, their embrace was too effusive, sometimes making me feel like a mascot for interfaith dialogue. In a syndicated column, black professor Ethel Morgan Smith wrote that right before Black History Month, "she would be inundated with invitations to speak to represent her people."