VTMBH Article: Body
Intermixed marriages: A success story, by Irene Plagianos, The National Herald, 30 June 2002. English language.
If you marry a Greek, you become Greek, my mother, a Russian Jewish native of Brooklyn, recently told me. After 25 years of marriage, Im sure those are the sentiments that my father, a Greek immigrant, would be glad to hear her expressing.
Though he might have an American wife, and three children born and raised in the United States, my father had an unrelenting mission to ensure that his family not only understood, but truly identified with his Greek heritage. It wasnt difficult for me to realize growing up that mine was a Greek household, despite my mothers background. Though my mother enthusiastically engaged in the Greek culture, actively preparing for holidays and encouraging my brothers and me to attend Greek school, her process of acclimation, along with my fathers, has not always been easy. Coming from such diverse backgrounds, each with strong and opposing traditions and beliefs, their relationship has often been faced with hardship. It has taken many years, but, to some extent, together my parents have both become Greek Americans.
My mother and father met in the mid-70s while both attended college in New York City. As my mother describes it, I was fascinated by the passion your father had for his heritage and it made me want to learn more. She fondly recalls the Greek songs my father would serenade her with and the interesting foods he would cook. I remember trying his keftedes and thinking that they were the best meatballs I had ever eaten. Though my fathers gallant courtship has long since ended, my mothers initial experiences with my father were her first taste of Greek culture. She began immersing herself in the customs of her future husband, taking Greek language classes and delving into numerous Greek cookbooks.
Simultaneously, my father was adapting to his new American surroundings. Having only been in the country for a few years, my father was still struggling to master English as he was working to pay his way through college. His goal was to become an engineer and then return to Greece, but before he had finished his masters degree he had already married his Jewish-American wife and started a family.
If my parents were surprised by the path their lives were taking, their families were more than shocked. My mother had never been very religious, but the Jewish culture has many strong traditions and her parents always assumed she would marry someone of the same faith. As Ive experienced first hand, both Jews and Greeks are usually closely tied to their communities; my parents transcendence of these boundaries was and still is a rarity.
A poor Greek student, my father was not quickly embraced by my mothers family. To complicate matters further, my mother had decided to convert. Though my father was not religious either, according to Greek law at the time, civil marriage ceremonies were not recognized and thus my mother had to convert in order to be married in a Greek Orthodox Church. I had to stand in a big tub as your father and our friend Nick, who was your god father and then your fathers best man, looked on. The priest said it would be an easy and comfortable process, but then he became very dramatic and long-winded. It was definitely like nothing I had ever experienced, my mom recalled.
While her conversion might not have held great religious significance for either of my parents, it was an important symbolic break with her past and beginning of their future together. Their marriage ceremony soon followed, with only a few close friends in attendance.
With the vast majority of my fathers family still living in Greece, my mother didnt meet her new in-laws until after they were married. She traveled to Potamia, my fathers small village outside of Sparta, and found an entire town awaiting her arrival. She was fortunate to find that my grandparents not only welcomed her lovingly, but were also fiercely protective of their new daughter-in-law. Barely speaking Greek, she and my grandmother were somehow able to communicate, but besides language, cultural mores were the most difficult to translate.
I remember feeling like everyone was carefully watching my every move, scrutinizing everything from my appearance to even the slightest facial expression.
My mother soon learned that while my grandparents epitomized the Greek notion of hospitality, the majority of the village was not nearly as inviting or open-minded. My grandparents warned her of the rampant gossip in the village and tried as best they could to shield her from the incessant talk. That first trip to the village truly showed me both the best and the worst of the Greek culture. Your grandmother reminded me of my own grandmother, her house was filled with so much life and cooking and warmth. But I also realized that I probably would never be a good enough nikokyra in many peoples eyes; I would always be an outsider. It took many years for me to feel comfortable and still there are things that bother me, but eventually you learn to accept your flaws and theirs and just not worry so much about what other people think.
As time passed and grandchildren were born, both families understood that there was nothing they could do aside from being more tolerant. While my parents families were learning to deal with their foreign in-laws, the true challenge lay within our own home. The struggles every married couple experiences was often compounded by their cultural differences. The phrase you just can©t understand was often bandied about my household. And though my mother enjoyed Greek holidays and customs, there were times when she felt her identity was being stifled.
She realized that her own children knew little of the traditions that she grew up with. We never celebrated Jewish holidays in our home and if we did attend a holiday gathering with Jewish relatives which was very rare, my father usually did not come along. My brothers and I were always in close contact with our maternal grandparents, who would still send us Hannukah, as opposed to Christmas, gifts, but, it is true that most of our lives weve been surrounded by my fathers Greek relatives and friends. I still remember my fathers smile of utter content and accomplishment when one of my Jewish cousins told him, Well, you©ve certainly raised a Greek family.
My mothers Jewish customs might have been overshadowed by the ubiquitous power of our Greekness, but that does not mean that she, or her influence, was any less important. Though my father has inundated my brothers and me with an immense knowledge of our Greek history and instilled in us a great sense of pride for this heritage, it is through my mothers eyes that I have learned to appreciate much of what the Greek culture has to offer and also to recognize its flaws. My mother knows that her children consider themselves Greek and with every mangled pronunciation or spelling of our last name, she is reminded that thats the way the world identifies her also, but shes just fine with that.
Perhaps this situation would not have worked for every family or maybe others handle a mixed marriage differently, but that is exactly what my parents relationship has taught my brothers and me that it is all about personal choices. There is no right way or special paradigm to follow when it comes to marriage, only constant compromise and communication. My father still hopes that all his children, and especially me, will marry Greek people, preferably natives of the country, so that maybe someday at least one of us will live in the homeland he so absolutely loves. My mom only wants us to pick a partner we will be forever happy with, regardless of different religion or ethnicity. I know that whomever I choose to be with will have to understand how important my heritage is to me. I don©t think I could ever do what my mother did and so completely give myself to a different culture, although my maternal grandmother wishes I will just find a nice Jewish boy to marry. As my parents have shown me, when it comes to marriage, you only need to follow your heart and the rest will work itself out.
If you marry a Greek, you become Greek, my mother, a Russian Jewish native of Brooklyn, recently told me. After 25 years of marriage, Im sure those are the sentiments that my father, a Greek immigrant, would be glad to hear her expressing.
Though he might have an American wife, and three children born and raised in the United States, my father had an unrelenting mission to ensure that his family not only understood, but truly identified with his Greek heritage. It wasnt difficult for me to realize growing up that mine was a Greek household, despite my mothers background. Though my mother enthusiastically engaged in the Greek culture, actively preparing for holidays and encouraging my brothers and me to attend Greek school, her process of acclimation, along with my fathers, has not always been easy. Coming from such diverse backgrounds, each with strong and opposing traditions and beliefs, their relationship has often been faced with hardship. It has taken many years, but, to some extent, together my parents have both become Greek Americans.
My mother and father met in the mid-70s while both attended college in New York City. As my mother describes it, I was fascinated by the passion your father had for his heritage and it made me want to learn more. She fondly recalls the Greek songs my father would serenade her with and the interesting foods he would cook. I remember trying his keftedes and thinking that they were the best meatballs I had ever eaten. Though my fathers gallant courtship has long since ended, my mothers initial experiences with my father were her first taste of Greek culture. She began immersing herself in the customs of her future husband, taking Greek language classes and delving into numerous Greek cookbooks.
Simultaneously, my father was adapting to his new American surroundings. Having only been in the country for a few years, my father was still struggling to master English as he was working to pay his way through college. His goal was to become an engineer and then return to Greece, but before he had finished his masters degree he had already married his Jewish-American wife and started a family.
If my parents were surprised by the path their lives were taking, their families were more than shocked. My mother had never been very religious, but the Jewish culture has many strong traditions and her parents always assumed she would marry someone of the same faith. As Ive experienced first hand, both Jews and Greeks are usually closely tied to their communities; my parents transcendence of these boundaries was and still is a rarity.
A poor Greek student, my father was not quickly embraced by my mothers family. To complicate matters further, my mother had decided to convert. Though my father was not religious either, according to Greek law at the time, civil marriage ceremonies were not recognized and thus my mother had to convert in order to be married in a Greek Orthodox Church. I had to stand in a big tub as your father and our friend Nick, who was your god father and then your fathers best man, looked on. The priest said it would be an easy and comfortable process, but then he became very dramatic and long-winded. It was definitely like nothing I had ever experienced, my mom recalled.
While her conversion might not have held great religious significance for either of my parents, it was an important symbolic break with her past and beginning of their future together. Their marriage ceremony soon followed, with only a few close friends in attendance.
With the vast majority of my fathers family still living in Greece, my mother didnt meet her new in-laws until after they were married. She traveled to Potamia, my fathers small village outside of Sparta, and found an entire town awaiting her arrival. She was fortunate to find that my grandparents not only welcomed her lovingly, but were also fiercely protective of their new daughter-in-law. Barely speaking Greek, she and my grandmother were somehow able to communicate, but besides language, cultural mores were the most difficult to translate.
I remember feeling like everyone was carefully watching my every move, scrutinizing everything from my appearance to even the slightest facial expression.
My mother soon learned that while my grandparents epitomized the Greek notion of hospitality, the majority of the village was not nearly as inviting or open-minded. My grandparents warned her of the rampant gossip in the village and tried as best they could to shield her from the incessant talk. That first trip to the village truly showed me both the best and the worst of the Greek culture. Your grandmother reminded me of my own grandmother, her house was filled with so much life and cooking and warmth. But I also realized that I probably would never be a good enough nikokyra in many peoples eyes; I would always be an outsider. It took many years for me to feel comfortable and still there are things that bother me, but eventually you learn to accept your flaws and theirs and just not worry so much about what other people think.
As time passed and grandchildren were born, both families understood that there was nothing they could do aside from being more tolerant. While my parents families were learning to deal with their foreign in-laws, the true challenge lay within our own home. The struggles every married couple experiences was often compounded by their cultural differences. The phrase you just can©t understand was often bandied about my household. And though my mother enjoyed Greek holidays and customs, there were times when she felt her identity was being stifled.
She realized that her own children knew little of the traditions that she grew up with. We never celebrated Jewish holidays in our home and if we did attend a holiday gathering with Jewish relatives which was very rare, my father usually did not come along. My brothers and I were always in close contact with our maternal grandparents, who would still send us Hannukah, as opposed to Christmas, gifts, but, it is true that most of our lives weve been surrounded by my fathers Greek relatives and friends. I still remember my fathers smile of utter content and accomplishment when one of my Jewish cousins told him, Well, you©ve certainly raised a Greek family.
My mothers Jewish customs might have been overshadowed by the ubiquitous power of our Greekness, but that does not mean that she, or her influence, was any less important. Though my father has inundated my brothers and me with an immense knowledge of our Greek history and instilled in us a great sense of pride for this heritage, it is through my mothers eyes that I have learned to appreciate much of what the Greek culture has to offer and also to recognize its flaws. My mother knows that her children consider themselves Greek and with every mangled pronunciation or spelling of our last name, she is reminded that thats the way the world identifies her also, but shes just fine with that.
Perhaps this situation would not have worked for every family or maybe others handle a mixed marriage differently, but that is exactly what my parents relationship has taught my brothers and me that it is all about personal choices. There is no right way or special paradigm to follow when it comes to marriage, only constant compromise and communication. My father still hopes that all his children, and especially me, will marry Greek people, preferably natives of the country, so that maybe someday at least one of us will live in the homeland he so absolutely loves. My mom only wants us to pick a partner we will be forever happy with, regardless of different religion or ethnicity. I know that whomever I choose to be with will have to understand how important my heritage is to me. I don©t think I could ever do what my mother did and so completely give myself to a different culture, although my maternal grandmother wishes I will just find a nice Jewish boy to marry. As my parents have shown me, when it comes to marriage, you only need to follow your heart and the rest will work itself out.