Moses, Passover and the Adoptee Experience: Reconciling My Jewish Identity with My Birth Mother's Christian Faith
- David McCarty-Caplan
- Apr 12
- 6 min read
It has been a week of deep reflection, one where the ancient rhythms of my Jewish traditions collided head-on with the fragile, new reality of my adoption reunion. As I stood in my kitchen preparing for Passover, the air thick with the scent of simmering matzah ball soup and the sweet, earthy aroma of charoset, I felt a familiar grounding in my body. These smells are a sanctuary for me; they are the sensory evidence of the identity I have built and the community that sustains me.
Yet, my mind was miles away, replaying a video call with my birth mother in Colombia from the day before.
Two Faiths, One Family: Christian and Jewish Adoptee Experiences
In my previous writing, I shared how birthdays for adoptees are often an Anniversary of Loss. They are annual reminders of the moment the most foundational relationship we have - the one with the mother who carried us - was taken away. Now that I have found her, I am discovering that being 'seen' is often just as complex as being lost.
Our connection is built on a series of small, digital bridges. She often sends me TikTok videos filled with animated images of Jesus, and she nearly always ends our calls with a fervent, "Que los Dios te bendiga!"- may God keep and protect you. I love that these little moments always bring a smile to my face. In return, I share the textures of my life with her through photos of her grandchildren: the lighting of Shabbat candles, the gathering of a Passover Seder, and ways we have blended our two worlds by, for example, cooking arepas and ajiaco as part of our Hanukkah celebration.
Yet during our most recent call, as I described the story of Passover,
she asked a question that felt like a sharp tug on a delicate thread: "Do Jews believe in Jesus?"
When I explained that we see him as a prophet but not the son of God, her response was swift and rooted in her own deep faith. She asserted Jesus as the Lord and Savior. She spoke of heaven and hell and repeated the painful, historical myth that Jews were responsible for his death. In that moment, a heavy wave of hurt and self-consciousness rose up in me, quickly followed by a sobering realization of the vast distance between our worlds. The dissonance was overwhelming; to be looking at the face of the mother I had finally found, while feeling the weight of two deeply held, conflicting truths and a sudden, sharp worry that the gap between us might be too wide to bridge.
I didn't challenge her. My Spanish felt too thin to carry the weight of a theological debate, and my heart felt too protective of our new connection to risk an argument. I didn't want to tell her she was wrong, even though the words felt harmful. I just wanted to be her son.
Moses, a Jewish Adoptee
As I continued my Passover preparations, I kept thinking about Moses. I’ve always loved this holiday, but only in recent years have I really examined the profound parallels between Moses, the Passover story and the adoptee experience.
The Relinquishment: His mother gave him up because she feared for his safety and lacked the power to protect him, a story echoed by so many birth mothers, including my own.
The Inexplicable Draw: He was raised in another culture and religion, with great wealth and privilege, yet felt an undeniable pull toward his original people.
The Search for Roots: He went on a great search to find his origins, a journey that allowed him to finally realize his potential and purpose.
The Transformation: Exploring his lineage and connecting with his roots provided a transformative experience of healing for him; it was through reclaiming his identity that he found the strength to lead and serve his community.
The Tension of Two Worlds: Most poignantly, he eventually had to confront his biological and adoptive families to assert his authentic identity, even when it meant facing the threat of opposition and loss.
For me, the Moses story is no longer a distant myth; it is a mirror for the modern adoptee journey. His path suggests that our growth often requires us to brave the wilderness of our origins.
Just as Moses found his purpose by leaning into his roots, I am discovering that my own healing is inextricably linked to reclaiming both my Jewish identity and my Colombian identity, even when that reclamation creates tension with those I love.
It is a reminder that finding one's people and one's purpose often comes with the difficult, yet necessary, task of asserting an authentic self that neither side of the family fully anticipated.
Walking Towards the Grief
One of my friends once told me that the best way through the pain of reunion is to "walk towards the grief." In this case, the grief is a painful realization about a paradox in my emerging relationship with my birth mother. We are deeply, biologically related, yet our lives were shaped worlds apart, through drastically different contexts and influences. There are parts of her life in Colombia I will never fully grasp, and there are parts of my Jewish life that feel untranslatable to her.
When I opened the door for Elijah during the Seder, my eyes teared up. This is pretty common for me. It is my favorite part of the night. A ritual where we symbolically welcome the prophet as the harbinger of future redemption; a moment that signifies a profound trust in divine protection and a persistent hope for a better future. This year, those tears were also for the strength I’ve found in my reunion, and in my Jewishness. Finding other Jews of Color and Jewish adoptees has been a profound source of healing for me. This community is where my purpose is grounded and where I feel most empowered to contribute.
It is a space where I don’t have to choose between my heritage and my faith.
And yet, I carry the quiet awareness that the very identity that heals me also risks alienating her. The strength I find in my Jewishness is a bridge to my own identity and purpose, but in the context of our reunion, it sometimes feels like a barrier that might create a new kind of distance or discomfort. I am learning to sit with the reality that my sense of belonging in one world may always be a source of tension in the other.
Keeping the Door Open
Reunion is not a destination; it is a continuous process of navigating mysteries we may never solve. For other adoptees facing these moments where your authentic self feels at odds with your birth family’s expectations, I offer these reflections:
Honor the Complexity of Different Lives: Practice cultural responsivity toward yourself and your birth family. Acknowledge that you have grown in different worlds. It is possible to respect the history that shaped their beliefs while firmly holding onto the truth of your own. You do not have to shrink your identity to fit into their understanding.
Prepare for When Worlds Don't Align: Adoption consciousness involves recognizing that ‘happy’ moments in reunion can simultaneously be deeply confusing or even painful. Build a buffer zone before and/or after calls. Even if it’s just a few minutes to breathe deeply and remind yourself that you can do hard things. Expect that there will be points of friction, and know that a lack of alignment on faith or politics does not mean the reunion has failed; it means you are two distinct people with a lifetime of different stories and experiences to catch up on.
Develop Concrete Self-Care Strategies: When the weight of a conversation manifests physically - exhaustion, irritability, sadness - listen to your body. Whether it is cooking traditional foods, seeking community and commiseration from other adoptees, taking time for yoga or sport, or simply allowing yourself to be upset, give yourself permission to process the emotional weight of the adoptee experience in your own time.
Stay Connected Through Vulnerable Love: When possible. When safe. Choosing to remain in a relationship when the truth is heavy is a radical act. And at times, this can feel like too much. And that is okay. Staying in these relationships is not always the path. But if you have the energy and the will, try to lead with love and a desire for connection without needing to ‘perform’ or win an argument. Sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do is simply say, "I love you, and I want us to know each other," even when the bridge between you feels long.
Reunion is not the end of the story; it is the beginning of a new, complicated chapter. As I move forward, I am trying to hold both truths at once: the fear of being misunderstood and the deep, abiding love for the woman who believed she needed to let me go so that I might live. Like opening the door for Elijah, I am learning to stand at the threshold of our differences with a sense of trust - hoping that by staying present, we can find our way toward a future of mutual redemption and a love that transcends the boundaries of our worlds.
If this reflection resonated with you, and you would like to talk or need any support. Please know I would be happy to hear from you. We heal through community. You can find me here or @shadesofbelonging on Instagram.
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