VOICES OF CONGREGANTS

Connie Dufner

My Jewish Journey
June 3, 2010

The part of my Jewish journey that I will share with you tonight begins with a geography lesson and ends with latkes. Remember, this is a Jewish story, not one that makes chronological sense… but I’ll do my best.

One of my favorite pastimes is watching the reactions on other people’s faces, those who are not originally from this neck of the woods, when they learn I’m a native Texan Jew.

How many of you have heard, or perhaps given it yourselves before you knew better, the genuinely curious response---“You mean there are Jews in Texas?”

That’s when I say, “why, I’m so glad you asked…” and eagerly talk about how my grandmother, Annie Wilkenfeld, was one of six children who came with their parents to Galveston in 1896; about how my grandfather, Joe Pryzant, pushed a banana cart up what would become I-45 to settle in Willis, which, with its German and Polish-speaking Texas farmers, reminded him of the Old Country. About how my father grew up in a kosher home in the deep Texas countryside near Houston; about the ubiquitous, Jewish owned businesses large and small, like the ones owned by my grandparents and great uncle, that helped build this great state, remnants of which are still visible in the smallest towns today. And there’s so much more I could say.

I’m so privileged to have deep roots and a large extended family, all of which launched me at an early age into Jewish communal life. I was confirmed at Congregation Emanu El in Houston, where I happily served as president of TEFTY and enjoyed regional connections through TOFTY, now called NFTY-TOR. In fact, I met Robin Kosberg in 9 th grade when I went to my first committee meeting at her house (and we’re still going to meetings together!) In fact, my life today is very much the way I envisioned and hoped it would be — a happy wife and mother of two Temple pre-School and DAFTY alums, and current Greene Family Camp employees, as well as an active, involved layperson.

The biggest detour in my Jewish journey, though, is the very best decision I ever made. When I was 21, I started dating Ed, the love of my life and my husband of nearly 26 years. He wasn’t Jewish—at least not until June 1984, a month before we got married. Somehow we knew our connection transcended our religious differences; and we knew that Ed was destined to be Jewish, a soul in waiting.

But still, Ed’s conversion and early Jewish life gave me some pause. I worried on his behalf about the Jewish childhood he obviously didn’t have, about what it would be like for him to go through our seasons without all the nuances and traditions I took for granted. Little did I know how satisfying it would be to build his Jewish past year by year, decision by decision, together—and in the process how much stronger a Jew I’d become.

Which brings us to the latkes—some years ago, Ed just took over the latke prep at Hanukkah. He’s got it down to a science; I like to think of it as the latke dance. He knows just how long to heat the oil, just the right consistency for the batter, just how many pounds of potatoes will feed our ravenous crew. Unlike every other gathering at our house, I stay out of the way.

One year, my niece excitedly came over, saying “I just love Uncle Ed’s latkes.” It occurred to me that she probably has no idea I even know how to make them, and she would probably eat mine only if Ed’s weren’t available. I realized that, through our experiences as a family and members of a community, we were creating our Jewish past at the same time we were doing what we could to ensure its future.

And that’s what I call one incredible Jewish journey.

On Jewish Life
Connie Dufner