給父母的一封信

It’s been five years since the wedding you wouldn’t attend. I can’t say I didn’t see it coming， but you can’t say you didn’t see it coming either. You made it clear， with the strict Jewish upbringing and rules about marrying in the faith. I made it clear， with the 1）ditching of services and my 2）burgeoning interest in India—its books， music and people. I realised that I needed to spend my life with someone who would appreciate， even encourage， my love of South Asian language， history and culture.

I guess there’s no point trying to decide if it was truly inevitable because it happened， and that’s that. I married a Sikh man and you cut me off for ever.

Mom， I remember you saying， back when I was at high school and this conversation was 3）hypothetical， that I had to marry a Jew because you wanted to be able to connect to your grandkids. But you connected with me， didn’t you？ And I stopped being Jewish so early that I had to fake my 4）bat mitzvah.

If you think a Sikh upbringing is going to make your grandson out of reach to you， you have too little faith in humanity. You have more in common than you’d think： he’s a shy， bookish type—like me and you and your mom； he likes to race the other boys at break， an activity you told me you’d done yourself， the year I started running. He’s even taken to the same football team you taught me to cheer for， despite his father’s best efforts.

It was hard going through my first pregnancy without you or my aunt or my sister. In a way， it helped me to become close to my mother-in-law， who has been so much more gracious and accepting of this pale， new addition to her family than I ever could have hoped. She can’t tell me what the secret ingredient was in grandma’s pumpkin pie， but she taught me how to prepare baby milk and medicate a cough， and lull my fevered son to sleep. The incredible love I feel for my son brought me closer to my husband and family with every little act they performed to make my life easier or his life better.

So many times I wanted to call you up， if not for advice then just to say， “Look what he did today！” Or， “This reminded me of you，” or “I miss you.”

I didn’t， because I’m stubborn and cowardly， and bad at forgiveness. But now I have a little boy growing up too fast and another one， a little girl， on the way. And I’m starting to realise there is a point where it really is too late to come into someone’s life and still build a healthy， normal relationship. Sooner or later， my son will start asking where his other grandparents are and I will have to lie—lie to shield him from prejudice and judgment； lie to shield him from the pain that invariably creeps into my voice whenever I 5）broach the subject； lie to shield him from the very notion that religion， this structure that has taught him to love and respect others， is enough to tear families apart.

It has been five years since the wedding you wouldn’t attend （a fact that had its own silver lining because then we could hold it in India with all of my husband’s family） and I’m doing OK. I’m sure I will continue to be OK—even good—in this new life of mine， without you. But I’d like you back in it， if you wanted to be. For your grandchildren’s sake， mostly， but also for my own.

It’s been five years and I hope that’s enough time for you to shake off your anger and disappointment， and start to miss me too.

It’s been five years. Expect a call.

五年前，你們不愿參加我的婚禮。我不能說對此完全沒有預料到，你們也不能說感到意外。你們讓我清楚知道，根據猶太教嚴格的教條和規定，猶太教信徒是不允許跨信仰聯姻的。而我也清楚表明，我已不再信奉猶太教，而且對印度書籍、音樂和人民的興趣與日俱增。我意識到那個與我共度余生的人要會欣賞甚至支持我對南亞語言、歷史和文化的熱愛。

這是否不可挽回？也沒必要去追究了。反正事實已然如此。我和一個錫克教徒結婚后，你們便從此與我斷絕來往。

媽媽，我記得在我讀高中時你對我說過，我一定要和猶太人結婚，因為你希望可以和自己的外孫關系親密。那次對話只是假設性的。但我們關系很好，不是嗎？我很早就放棄了猶太教信仰，辦猶太成人禮的時候，我已經是偽信徒了。

如果你認為錫克教的成長氛圍會令你的外孫無法與你溝通，那你對人性的信心實在是太少了。你不知道你們有多少相似之處：他比較害羞，好讀書——就像我、你和外婆；他喜歡在課間追逐其他小孩。我開始跑步那年，你跟我說過你也是這樣的。盡管他爸爸極力反對，他還是喜歡上了你教我為之歡呼的那支足球隊。

我懷第一胎時，沒得到你、阿姨、姐姐的幫助讓我十分艱難。然而，這在某種程度上讓我和婆婆的關系更緊密了，她如此仁慈寬厚地接受了這個皮膚蒼白的新家庭成員，這是我不曾意料到的。她不知道外婆的南瓜餅的秘密材料，但她教會我怎樣準備嬰兒牛奶，兒子咳嗽時該吃什么藥，發燒時如何讓他安然入睡。……