Tag: American Jews

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Tradition! Tradition! Gossip, Cake, and a Relatable Glimpse into Early America

Mirta Ines Trupp

We often imagine the Founding Fathers discussing constitutions and revolutions. But sometimes they were simply husbands writing home. In June 1787, Founding Father and physician Benjamin Rush attended the Jewish wedding of Rachel Phillips and Michael Levy in Philadelphia. His wife, Mrs. Rush, was not invited. The lady, apparently, was in New Jersey. I don’t require much prompting to imagine something like this:

“My dear, I know you far too well and can imagine the conversation we should have, were I by your side—taking our final cup of tea by the fireside. You should want to know all! Not only that I was invited, but who was in attendance. How was the bride attired? What were their customs, how did they differ from our own…”

The facts, however, don’t require imagination!

We have the letter!

Even more interesting: more than two centuries after the bride and groom exchanged their vows, so much of the experience feels familiar. What details still ring true for me? I’ll tell you!

Dr. Benjamin Rush

More than the ketubah (the wedding contract), the smashing of the wine cup, or the beauty of the bride—it was Rush’s observation that members of the congregation were talking while the prayers were being recited. Today, in 2026, in every congregation—in this country and across the planet—congregants are still talking through sermons, prayers and song.

In that moment, the wedding ceased to be a distant historical event and became something instantly recognizable. Before text messages, before Instagram stories, before group chats, Benjamin was writing a wonderfully detailed letter because he knew his wife, Julia, wanted the full report.

Here is his account, written just days after the wedding.

I accepted the invitation with great pleasure, for you know I love to be in the way of adding to my stock of ideas upon all subjects. At 1 o’clock the company, consisting of 30 or 40 men, assembled in Mr. [Jonas] Philips’ common parlor, which was accommodated with benches for the purpose. The ceremony began with prayers in the Hebrew language, which were chanted by an old rabbi, and in which he was followed by the whole company. As I did not understand a word except now and then an Amen or Hallelujah, my attention was directed to the haste with which they covered their heads with their hats as soon as the prayers began, and to the freedom with which some of them conversed with each other during the whole time of this part of their worship.

As soon as these prayers were ended, which took up about 20 minutes, a small piece of parchment was produced, written in Hebrew, which contained a deed of settlement and which the groom subscribed in the presence of four witnesses. In this deed, he conveyed a part of his fortune to his bride, by which she was provided for after his death in case she survived him.

This ceremony was followed by the erection of a beautiful canopy composed of white and red silk in the middle of the floor. It was supported by four young men (by means of four poles), who put on white gloves for the purpose. As soon as this canopy was fixed, the bride, accompanied with her mother, sister, and a long train of female relations, came downstairs. Her face was covered with a veil which reached halfways down her body. She was handsome at all times, but the occasion and her dress rendered her in a peculiar manner a most lovely and affecting object. I gazed with delight upon her. Innocence, modesty, fear, respect, and devotion appeared all at once in her countenance.

She was led by her two bridesmaids under the canopy. Two young men led the bridegroom after her and placed him, not by her side, but directly opposite to her. The priest now began again to chant a Hebrew prayer, in which he was followed by part of the company. After this, he gave to the groom and bride a glass full of wine, from which they each sipped about a teaspoonful. Another prayer followed this act, after which he took a ring and directed the groom to place it upon the finger of his bride in the same manner as is practised in the marriage service of the Church of England. This ceremony was followed by handing the wine to the father of the bride and then a second time to the bride and groom. The groom, after sipping the wine, took the glass in his hand and threw it upon a large pewter dish which was suddenly placed at his feet. Upon its breaking into a number of small pieces, there was a general shout of joy and a declaration that the ceremony was over. The groom now saluted his bride, and kisses and congratulations became general through the room.

I asked the meaning, after the ceremony was over, of the canopy and of the drinking of the wine and breaking of the glass. I was told by one of the company that in Europe they generally marry in the open air, and that the canopy was introduced to defend the bride and groom from the action of the sun and from rain. Their mutually partaking of the same glass of wine was intended to denote the mutuality of their goods, and the breaking of the glass at the conclusion of the business was designed to teach them the brittleness and uncertainty of human life and the certainty of death, and thereby to temper and moderate their present joys.

Mr. Phillips pressed me to stay and dine with the company, but business and [junior partner] Dr. [James] Hall’s departure, which was to take place in the afternoon, forbade it. I stayed, however, to eat some wedding cake and to drink a glass of wine with the guests. Upon going into one of the rooms upstairs to ask how Mrs. [Rebecca] Philips did, who had fainted downstairs under the pressure of the heat (for she was weak from a previous indisposition), I discovered the bride and groom supping a bowl of broth together. Mrs. Phillips apologized for them by telling me they had eaten nothing (agreeably to the custom prescribed by their religion) since the night before.

Upon my taking leave of the company, Mrs. Phillips put a large piece of cake into my pocket for you, which she begged I would present to you with her best compliments. She says you are an old New York acquaintance of hers.

I can almost smell the broth that the newlyweds devoured. And the cake! I can’t help wondering what kind was served. Were guests given the choice of  Plum Cake or Sephardic delicacies like Almond Macaroons and Marzipan? Maybe a honey—lekach—cake was served to satisfy the Ashkenazim.  I can almost taste it!

What about you?

I can imagine Mrs. Phillips—a Jewish balabusta (homemaker)—preparing the pekeleh (the small bundle) for her Anglican friend, Mrs. Rush. If that isn’t the most universally recognizable act of hospitality, I don’t know what is! I can hear her saying:  “Take some cake home for your wife.”

This joyful gathering was more than just a beautiful celebration; it was the literal origin story of an extraordinary American legacy. While many colonial Jews in Philadelphia were Sephardic, this marriage blended traditions. The bride’s father, Jonas Phillips, was actually an Ashkenazi immigrant from Germany who was fluent in Yiddish (so much so that when British authorities intercepted his letters during the Revolutionary War, they reportedly concluded he was writing in a secret military code)! Rachel’s mother was a Machado—a Sephardic name. The groom’s family was Sephardic as well.

Rachel and Michael Levy would eventually become the parents of Commodore Uriah P. Levy—the famous naval officer who championed the end of the cruel practice of flogging in the U.S. Navy. Just as his parents’ wedding blended into the fabric of early America, Commodore Levy fiercely defended his place in it. He famously bought and restored Thomas Jefferson’s dilapidated home, Monticello, in 1834. Having spent his own naval career being relentlessly persecuted for his faith, Levy viewed Jefferson as the ultimate architect of American religious liberty. For the Levy family, preserving Monticello wasn’t just about real estate—it was a physical defense of Jewish rights and a profound act of patriotic gratitude.

Now, let’s delve into the weeds, shall we?  

As a modern reader, I found a few of Rush’s observations fascinatingly out of sync with traditional Jewish practice, revealing just how a non-Jewish observer in 1787 interpreted the rituals.

The Priest:

Reverend Seixas

Of course, the wedding official wasn’t a priest, but he wouldn’t have been a rabbi either! Not in 1787 Philadelphia. He may have been a hazan, a cantor, or a lay ministerial person. During this period, the title “reverend” was often used even for Jewish clergy—such as in the Reverend Gershom Mendes Seixas. The first ordained rabbi in the United States of America appears to have been Rabbi Abraham Joseph Rice in 1840.

The Weatherproof Canopy:

The wedding guest’s explanation regarding the chuppah (wedding canopy)—as a historical defense against the sun and rain in Europe—didn’t hold water (that’s me chuckling while writing).

My understanding has always been that the chuppah carries a deeper spiritual meaning. It typically represents the new home the couple will build together, modeled after Abraham and Sarah’s hospitable tent. It also traditionally symbolizes Divine Protection—such as the Canopy of Peace (Sukkat Shlomecha) that hovered over the Israelites at Mount Sinai.

Don’t Point—It’s not polite:

Rush noted that the ring was placed “in the same manner as is practised in the marriage service of the Church of England.” In an Anglican wedding, the ring goes on the fourth finger of the left hand to trace the vena amoris (the vein of love) directly to the heart. But in a traditional Jewish ceremony, the ring is actually placed on the right index finger. This is a strict legal requirement; the pointing finger is the easiest to hold upright, ensuring the two mandatory witnesses can clearly see the ring exchange as it happens. Most modern brides simply move the band to the left hand after the ceremony.

From Benjamin Rush’s affectionate letter to his wife to a young couple breaking a glass in a crowded Philadelphia parlor, early American history is paved with these vibrant, deeply human moments of faith and freedom. But these families didn’t just witness the birth of a nation—they helped build its foundation. To discover more incredible, untold stories of the individuals who fought for faith and freedom in the early Republic, look out for my new book, Kindle the Light of Liberty, releasing this Independence Day on July 4, 2026.

With love,

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June 11, 1776 to June 11, 2026: A Date Worth Celebrating

Mirta Ines Trupp

On June 11, 1776, the Second Continental Congress appointed the Committee of Five—Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Roger Sherman, and Robert Livingston—to draft what would become the Declaration of Independence. Their task was nothing less than putting into words the principles upon which a new nation would be founded. Two hundred and fifty years later, on June 11, 2026, I am delighted to share a milestone of my own. The ebook pre-order for Kindle the Light of Liberty is now live on Amazon.

The timing feels especially meaningful.

My novel is set during the Revolutionary era and follows Rose, a young Jewish woman in Philadelphia, as she navigates friendship, family, faith, and the uncertain birth of a nation. Like the men charged with drafting the Declaration, my characters find themselves living through extraordinary times when the future is unwritten, and every choice carries consequences.

As I researched the period, I was struck by how often Jewish participation in the Revolution is remembered through a narrow lens, focused primarily on a handful of financiers and merchants. Kindle the Light of Liberty seeks to broaden that picture by portraying Jewish characters as fully realized people—friends, neighbors, patriots, and family members whose lives were shaped by the same hopes, fears, and sacrifices as their fellow Americans. Readers may also recognize traces of the social and emotional tensions that drew me to Jane Austen’s novels. Rose faces many of the same concerns that shaped women’s lives in Austen’s world: the importance of marriage, family expectations, financial security, and the consequences of a single ill-considered choice. Yet Rose and Nathan’s story unfolds within a different historical reality. Their lives are shaped not only by questions of love and reputation, but also by their Jewish identity and by the larger question of what it means to belong in a new nation still defining itself.

The journey toward publication has already brought wonderful opportunities to discuss the history behind the novel. On May 1, 2026, I was honored to appear as a guest author on History Imagined, where we discussed Jews in colonial America and the fascinating historical research that helped shape the story.

Early ARC (Advanced Reading Copy) readers have also begun sharing their thoughts.

From Claudia F. on Goodreads: Trupp takes the qualities I love most about Austen—witty observations, complex family relationships, social expectations, and a romance built on misunderstanding and mutual respect—and places them in Revolutionary Philadelphia…with Jewish patriots to boot! The result feels both familiar and entirely fresh.

From Judy K. on Goodreads: Trupp has done it again! As America prepares to celebrate its 250th anniversary, I can think of no better book to begin the festivities than “Kindle the Light of Liberty.”

From Mrs. W. on Goodreads: As America approaches its 250th anniversary, there seems no better time to remember that Jewish patriots were present at the nation’s founding—not standing on the sidelines, but helping to shape the course of events. 

On May 30, 2026, Writergurlny posted a thoughtful review of Kindle the Light of Liberty, highlighting the novel’s blend of historical detail, friendship, and romance. I’m also pleased to share that I’ll be returning to Writergurlny in the near future for an author interview.

There are several exciting events coming up over the next few months:

As America approaches the 250th anniversary of independence, I am grateful for the opportunity to share a story set during the nation’s founding era. Historical fiction allows us to look beyond the familiar names and dates and imagine the lives of ordinary people who experienced extraordinary events firsthand. Through Rose’s eyes, readers can explore a Revolutionary America that includes voices too often overlooked, including the small but vibrant Jewish communities that helped build the new nation.

Thank you to everyone who has supported this book, reviewed it, hosted me on your blogs, or simply shared your enthusiasm for Revolutionary-era history. I look forward to celebrating the launch of Kindle the Light of Liberty with all of you in the weeks ahead.

Happy June 11th. Two hundred and fifty years ago, a committee began drafting a document that would change history. Today, I am honored to share a story inspired by the people who lived through those extraordinary times.

With love,

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“The Mother of Chanukah”~ A Jewish Historical Fiction Author Looks at an American Icon

Mirta Ines Trupp

In my attempt to discover Jewish heroines, both real and fictional, I’ve come across Penina Moïse, a teacher, author and proponent of Judaism in early American history. She was born on April 23, 1797 in Charleston, South Carolina. Her parents, both immigrants, met and married on the island of St. Eustace. They arrived to Charleston in 1791 and set up a home for their nine children.

Although the family came from affluence, like many immigrants, they had to rebuild their lives upon setting foot on American soil. However, their path was not an easy one. Penina was only twelve years old when she lost her father. She was taken out of school to help manage the household and to support the family budget with her needlework. In addition, her mother was frequently ill and needed caring, as did her brother Isaac, who suffered from asthma.

Still and all, Penina managed to continue to read and write—a beloved past time. Siblings, Rachel and Jacob encouraged this passion and great gift. No doubt, it was this enduring familial support that helped Penina see her first poem published in 1819.  She began writing for newspapers and magazines throughout the country. Fancy’s Sketch Book, a collection of poems, was published in 1833—the first by a Jewish American woman. Her poetry covered diverse topics including local and current events, women’s interests, politics, and yes—Judaism.

The Moïse family were founders of the Hebrew Orphan Society and active members of Charleston’s Kahal Kadosh Beth Elohim synagogue. By 1841, however, Penina’s brother, Abraham, began a campaign to introduce Reform Judaism to this staunch, traditional setting. His committee went so far as to commission Penina to write the new hymnal for the congregation. She took on this work, spirited on by the desire to encourage fidelity to Judaism and to promote the celebration of religious life. With their backing, she went on to compose most of the American Reform Jewish hymnal. This was no small feat for a woman or a Jew in the Protestant South.

It is estimated that there were less than 250,000 Jews in the entire country at this time. Basic items such as a prayer books, candles, or kosher foods were hard to find. And as such, commemorating holidays—let alone Shabbat—called for careful planning and commitment. Needless to say, following such events as Pesach, Sukkot, or Yom Kippur, Chanukah was a minor festival at best. It would have been easy to let the holiday slip by unnoticed, particularly amongst their evangelical Christian neighbors who actively encouraged the community to join their ranks—especially during the Christmastide.  

At the behest of her brother and the leaders of the congregation, Penina composed a hymn entitled, “Feast of Lights” at the onset of a holiday season in 1842.  As powerful reminder of the importance of remaining faithful despite the onslaught of challenges, the hymn extoled the ancient Israelites as they fought to recover and rededicate their temple. Great Arbiter of Human Fate! was written in a contemporary style and expressed a common feeling among many Jews living as a minority.

Penina’s words were meant to inspire pride amongst the congregation and she used every instrument in her toolbelt to make the holiday resplendent and noteworthy. In keeping with the formal style of the Old South and Charleston’s sense of refinement, she insisted that the first night of Chanukah be celebrated in grand style. The chanukkiah was to be lit with pomp and a choir was organized to sing new hymns. Chanukah, The Festival of Lights, become entrenched in Charleston’s holiday season. Penina Moïse, in many ways, became the “Mother of Chanukah.”

The Civil War forced Penina to leave her post as superintendent of the religious school. They sought refuge in Sumter, South Carolina until hostilities ceased. After the war, she returned to her home in what only can be termed reduced circumstances. She, along with her widowed sister and niece, conducted a Sunday school in order to support themselves. Penina never married nor had children of her own. She was a Southerner and a supporter of the Confederacy. However without this woman, American Jews—and very likely, the world at large—would not celebrate the Jewish holiday of Chanukah in the same light (pun intended). The festivities, the importance of family and community, the games, and other traditions all stem from this spinster who championed a cause near and dear to her heart.

Towards the end of her life, Penina’s poor eyesight began deteriorating and she suffered from debilitating headaches. However, during these trying times when she was confined at home, she wrote some of her best work, “rejoicing in God’s mercy and thanking him for his goodness.” Penina died on September 13, 1880 in Charleston. She was the first Jewish American woman to contribute to the worship service, writing 190 hymns for Congregation Beth Elohim. The Reform movement’s 1932 Union Hymnal still contained thirteen of her hymns.

Great Arbiter of human fate!

Whose glory ne’er decays;

To thee alone we dedicate,

The song and soul of praise.

Thy presence Judah’s host inspired,

On danger’s post to rush;

By thee the Maccabee was fired,

Idolatry to crush.

Amid the ruins of their land,

(In Salem’s sad decline,)

Stood forth a brave but scanty band,

To battle for their shrine.

In bitterness of soul they wept,

Without the temple-wall;

For weeds around its courts had crept,

And foes its priests inthral.

Not long to vain regrets they yield,

But for their cherished fane,

Nerved by true faith they take the field,

And victory obtain.

But whose the power, whose the hand,

Which thus to triumph led,

That slender but heroic band,

From which blasphemers fled?

‘Twas thine, oh everlasting king,

And universal Lord!

Whose wonder still thy servants sing,

Whose mercies they record.

The priest of God his robe resumed,

When Israel’s warlike guide

The sanctuary’s lamp relumed,

Its altar purified.

Oh! thus shall mercy’s hand delight

To cleanse the blemished heart;

Rekindle virtue’s waning light,

And peace and truth impart.

The courage and vision of these women never ceases to amaze me. Like Jane Austen, this brilliant writer composed poetry and other written material that spoke to the world around her. She used her wit and her intelligence to get her point across. She was an immigrant, like me. She was a Jew, like me. She was passionate and stubborn and loyal—like me. We may not have agreed on many points, but on this particular topic there can be no doubt. Am Israel Chai! The people of Israel live! And it is in no small part thanks to the wonderous deeds performed for our ancestors in days of old at this season. Chag Chanukah Sameach! Happy Chanukah! A Gut Yontif! Feliz Januca! ! חג חנוכה