Published: 21 July 2025
Last updated: 21 July 2025
Dear Sex and the Shtetl,
One of my partners is Jewish and the other is not (we are polyamorous). My Jewish partner doesn't enjoy participating in festivals or Shabbat. My non-Jewish partner, on the other hand, is super interested in all of it. I would like to bring my non-Jewish partner to a Friday night meal with my extended family but my parents think it's inappropriate. Are they being unreasonable?
Jew-nicorn in the Shtetl
Dear Jew-nicorn in the Shtetl,
So you’ve got one partner who shares the heritage but has no interest in sharing the herring, and another who’s got all the ruach but none of the bloodline. In other words, your Jewish partner shrugs at Shabbat while your non-Jewish partner wants to lead the blessings, and your parents are clutching their chai pendants as if you’ve just invited Kanye to officiate your nephew’s bris.
Let’s pull this apart like an enthusiastic Sephardi uncle distributing challah at chag (my morsels of truth will be hard, but unlike him, I won’t throw them at your head).
You asked me if your parents are being unreasonable? My knee-jerk reaction is yes. And also, no. And also nu, it’s complicated.
I’m going to assume you’re aware that you’re living a life that challenges the default settings; not just monogamy but also the neat little categories that the majority of Jewish people use to make sense of relationships, religion, culture and whose turn it is to bring the challot.
For your parents, Shabbat dinner might still feel like a sacred space that’s governed by centuries of tradition, rituals and whatever your most intimidating cousin thinks is ‘appropriate’.
If you’re worried about being the emotional diplomat between your partners and your parents, let me say this: that is not your job.
So when you say you’re bringing along one of your partners (the non-Jewish, Shabbat-loving one) your parents are probably short-circuiting because it threatens the tidy hierarchy of Jewish identity they were raised with (you know, the one where everything makes sense because it’s in the Seder Order as opposed to the Wellbeing Pyramid).
But I’m with you on the kicker: your Jewish partner doesn’t even want to be there. So what are your parents protecting? A place at the table that’s gone cold or wasn’t even warm to begin with?
If your non-Jewish partner is coming with curiosity, respect and maybe even an offering of homemade challot, why shouldn’t he/she/they be there? Jewish history is full of people who didn’t technically “belong” but showed up with full hearts and open minds. Hell, that’s the entire ‘Never Again Is Now’ cohort.
We’ve all met Jewish guests who come to Shabbat and spend most of it complaining about the chicken being dry while texting under the table. So let’s not pretend a last name ending in ‘man’ or ‘min’ is the gold standard for Shabbat participation.
If you’re worried about being the emotional diplomat between your partners and your parents, let me say this: that is not your job. Your job is to live truthfully, love generously and remember to take the challot out of the freezer in time for shabbat so it doesn’t have that freezer-ish taste and smell.
It’s your family’s responsibility to process their discomfort. Ideally with a nice therapist, or at the very least, a stiff Soda Stream. You don’t need to contort into some palatable version of yourself for the elders. You’ll pull a muscle doing that – and out-of-pocket payments for allied health professionals increase this time of year.
While I do have faith that you’re living an ethically rooted and emotionally nuanced life that Jewish thought actually encourages (when it’s not being filtered through elder angst), there might be a generational bridge you haven’t even thought to build. And it’s one that could solve the conundrum entirely…
Proffer a hand, olive branch, bridge access by inviting the extended family to your place. Your Jewish partner can do what they like while your non-Jewish partner leads the blessings. Light some candles. Pass the wine.
At best, your intimidating cousin will find themselves thinking: Look the lifestyle isn’t for me, but good for them. At worst, they’ll be hyper-focused on the frozen bit in the centre of the challot, which your non-Jewish partner will consider a failure, but I consider a very clever diversion tactic.
Much love in abundance,
Sex and the Shtetl xxoo
Send your life questions to sexandtheshtetl@thejewishindependent.com.au and get advice that will make you smile...and maybe even help.
Comments1
Simon Krite22 July at 07:37 pm
What’s the real question here?
There’s a lot packed into this brilliant and funny response = polyamory, tradition, generational friction, identity. But the deeper question beneath all of it isn’t really “are my parents being unreasonable?” or even “which partner gets to come to Shabbat?” It’s something more confronting and clarifying:
Who do you want to build a future with: or put more bluntly, who do you want to have a baby with?
Not necessarily in the literal sense (although maybe!), but in the broader sense of continuity, shared values, and co-creating a life. Jewishness, whether cultural, religious or ancestral often travels in the shape of that question. You can have a dozen dinners, dozens of lovers, but sooner or later you have to ask: who do I want to carry my story forward with? That’s the lens that reframes the whole dilemma.
Because once you know that, the question of who leads Kiddush or gets a seat at the table stops being a debate about approval or parental comfort and becomes a choice about alignment, meaning, and legacy.
And if we’re being brutally honest, that question also touches on the age-old tribal anxiety: who’s helping the gene pool, and who’s just swimming in it?
So, what’s the right question to ask?
Probably this: Who helps you honour where you come from and inspires you to build where you’re going?
Everything else, the Shabbat politics, the frozen challah, even the intimidating cousin, is background noise.