opinion
How ‘Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret’
Broke Taboos About Interfaith Marriage
Emily Schneider
W hen Judy Blume’s young
adult novel “Are You There
God? It’s Me, Margaret” appeared
in 1970, intermarried families were
a small segment of the American
Jewish population. Perhaps 17% of Jews were married
to someone who wasn’t Jewish; today, 42% of married
Jews have a spouse who is not Jewish, and in the past
decade, 61% of Jews married non-Jewish partners.

Through the 1960s, middle-grade and young adult
fiction rarely acknowledged the existence of these
families, reflecting and reinforcing their outsider status.

Today it is routine for authors to address the reality of
inter-religious and culturally mixed families, portraying
them with insight and compassion.

This change was made possible partly by Blume’s
story of sixth-grader Margaret Simon and her one-sided
conversations with God.

Blume’s status as a pioneer in young adult literature
is usually associated with her honest approach to the
emotional, physical and sexual milestones of growing
up, with her works still attracting readers and still
finding an honored place on lists of banned books.

That legacy is being celebrated in April with a new
documentary, Amazon Prime Video’s “Judy Blume
Forever,” and a theatrical release by Lionsgate of a
feature film version of “Are You There God?”
Yet her treatment of contested identity in intermarried
families is as revolutionary as her openness about bras,
menstruation and sexual feelings. Actors Lena Dunham
and Molly Ringwald, comedian Samantha Bee and many
authors, including Raina Telgemeier, Tayari Jones and
Gary Shteyngart, have cited Blume’s influence on both
their lives and their work.

Margaret Simon is 11 at the start of “Are You There
God?” Her Jewish dad and Christian mom have point-
edly ignored the possibility that their daughter might
have questions about her identity. Along with other
issues of teen angst, she feels compelled to decide if she
is Jewish, Christian or neither. Without any guidance, the
last alternative leaves her in a frightening void. As she
pointedly asks God, in her ongoing series of questions
for Him, “I can’t go on being nothing forever, can I?”
Margaret’s parents, Barbara Hutchins and Herb
Simon, fell in love and defied their respective parents
by marrying out of their faiths. They assure Margaret
that she has no religion, but can choose one when she
is older, oblivious to the fact that this solution seems
more of a burden than a promise of future freedom.

Their avoidance of any serious engagement with either
16 MARCH 23, 2023 | JEWISH EXPONENT
religion or culture renders any possible choice unlikely.

Blume situates Margaret’s search within the specific
landscape of post-World War II America. When the
Simons decide to leave their Upper West Side home
in New York City and move to suburban New Jersey,
their decision suggests a coded reference to their
religious status. Long Island is “too social,” an implied
euphemism for “too Jewish.” Living there might have
made it harder for their relatively unusual situation to
be discreetly ignored. On the other hand, the more
affluent Westchester and Connecticut are “too expen-
sive” and “too inconvenient.” Farbrook, New Jersey,
has enough Jews for it to feel right for Herb, but not so
many as to make their mixed family stand out.

Margaret also suspects that her parents are deter-
mined to put distance between the Simons and Sylvia,
her paternal grandmother, who lives in New York
City. This gregarious woman shows up at their new
home unannounced and toting deli foods, making it
clear that Margaret’s one unambiguous connection
to Judaism is not going to disappear. While Barbara’s
parents utterly rejected her when she married a Jew,
Sylvia has pragmatically decided to accept what she
cannot change. In the postwar era, more Jews began
to abandon or minimize religious practice, while still
maintaining ethnically distinct customs. Like holiday
observance or synagogue attendance, ethnic Jewish
culture is also absent from the Simon home.

Still, when Sylvia repeatedly asks Margaret if her
(nonexistent) boyfriends are Jewish, the young girl is
baffled. Given her lack of consciousness of herself as
Jewish, why would Margaret care?
In the larger world of Farbrook, Margaret’s new friends
seem to have more secure identities, conveniently defined
by membership either in the “Y” (Young Men’s Christian
Association) or the Jewish Community Center. Perfunctory
attendance at Hebrew school until after one’s bar mitzvah
is the furthest extent of her peers’ Jewishness. Margaret
explains that her parents are “nothing” and that, before
their marriage, they were Jewish and Christian, as if those
identities could be cast off like an article of clothing. When
young teacher Mr. Benedict distributes a questionnaire,
Margaret completes the prompt “I hate” with “religious
holidays.” He attempts to draw her out about this troubling
answer, and she scornfully observes that her teacher
acted as if “he had uncovered some deep, dark mystery.”
On one level, he has. Her mother’s blandly universal
definition of God as a “nice idea,” who “belongs to
everybody,” is clearly a denial of the fractures in her
family members’ lives.

Blume also captures the essence of mid-century
non-Orthodox Judaism as comfortably accessible, yet
also somewhat empty. On a visit to Grandma Sylvia’s
elegant temple, the atmosphere is quietly decorous,
the sanctuary filled with well-appointed congregants
and beautifully arranged flowers. Sylvia’s rabbi greets
Margaret with an enthusiastic “Good Yom Tov,” which
he translates as “Happy New Year.”
When Margaret later visits Presbyterian and
Methodist churches, she notes the similarities.

The novel’s one incident of specific religious practice
involves Margaret’s brief, unfinished confession in a
classmate’s Catholic church. Having participated in
bullying, Margaret tries to assuage her guilt through a
ritual alien to both her father’s Judaism and her mother’s
Protestant Christianity. She even momentarily confuses
the priest with the silent God of her conversations.

Nothing could be further from her parents’ rejection of
religion, or from Grandma Sylvia’s loving assurance to
Margaret that “I knew you were a Jewish girl at heart.”
When Margaret’s Christian grandparents decide to
resume contact, the suppressed anger in the Simon
home finally erupts. Herb is furious, and accuses his
in-laws of only wanting to meet Margaret “to make sure
she doesn’t have horns!” — a caustic reference to a
persistent antisemitic myth. Blume had subtly foreshad-
owed this disruption of the status quo in a parallel
event at school. When a Jewish student, backed by his
parents, refuses to sing Christmas carols, the implicit
agreement of the town’s Jews to quietly conform is
broken. A Christian girl, in what seems an act of retalia-
tion, then refuses to sing Chanukah songs. These acts
of resistance reinforce Margaret’s marginal status. Her
intermarried family represents neither conformity with
postwar norms nor an assertion of Jewish pride.

Blume appears to tip the scales in her portrayal of
Mary and Paul Hutchins, Margaret’s maternal grand-
parents. Entirely unlikeable, simultaneously pushy and
cold, they insist that the granddaughter they had never
acknowledged is Christian. After their failed visit,
Grandma Sylvia returns, along with her sweet and
obviously Jewish new boyfriend, Mr. Binamin. Readers
rooting for the triumph of Margaret’s Jewish roots may
breathe a sigh of relief here, but hope for a satisfying
ending is illusory.

More than 50 years ago, Judy Blume tackled a
difficult subject, about both changing demographics
and the search for authenticity in American Jewish
life. Margaret’s conclusion that “twelve is very late to
learn” about the essence of who you are still poses a
challenge, while her persistent search for a meaningful
identity offers a degree of optimism. ■
Emily Schneider lives in New York City and writes for
the Jewish Book Council, The Horn Book and other
publications.