He was a nice secular guy from Seattle whose religious identity was rooted in memories of hanging stockings on Christmas and eating chocolate on Easter.
I loved my father dearly, respected his convictions even when we didn't always agree, and ascribed great importance to his opinions.
On our fourth date I informed him in no uncertain terms, "This can't go anywhere." "Why? Based on my upbringing, I would feel guilty for betraying generations of Jewish martyrs who had died so that I could be free to be Jewish.
How could I marry him, contributing to the assimilation and possible disappearance of my people?
But I wasn't willing to break up with my boyfriend.
Sure, I shared my father's concerns about the survival of the Jewish people and, though it might sound stereotypical, was aware of the cultural differences between our Jewish family and his non-Jewish one. In my family we addressed our feelings openly; his tended to ignore uncomfortable issues, hoping they would just go away.