Start Here

Every story needs a starting point. For years, my mother and I had been talking about how to tell our family’s story, and whether our experiences as a Jewish interfaith family would have value for anyone but us. First we imagined a blog, then a life-coaching business, a book, and even a cookbook. Then she was diagnosed with cancer, and suddenly the whole project seemed more important than ever. 

In January, 2020 we started recording content. In March we launched a crowd-funding campaign. The pandemic hit and derailed all of our plans, but we kept recording content—remotely at first and eventually in-person. We managed to gather our family around the same dining room table where we’d shared hundreds of dinners. We talked, and we told the stories that we’ve been telling and retelling for decades…this time on tape. 

It’s 72 Miles til Kentucky, and this is the place to start. Enjoy. 

72 Miles features the stories of three separate interfaith Jewish families–two real, one not, and one mine. Together, they trace 150 years of Kentucky history, with experiences that resonate today—about being Jewish in America, about being Jewish and southern at the same time. About being Jewish, being interfaith, and the blending of the two.

So strap in, and take a ride with me, up and down I65, or back and forth on the L&N Railroad. In the end the when and the who don’t make as much difference and you might think. But the where sure does. My name is Nathan Jordan Vaughan. It’s 72 Miles til Kentucky. Let’s get moving.

72 Miles Til Kentucky was written and produced by Nathan J. Vaughan. Music by Blue Dot Sessions and Lofi Girl. Curricular components for each episodes are available on the show's website.

You can learn more about me and any of my work on my website, www.nathanjvaughan.com.

Subscribe to my regular Torah podcast, Modern Torah anywhere you get your podcasts. Thanks for listening.

Episode Transcript

(00:04):
The broad fields of Kentucky.
Even now I feel the tender breezes, thesame sun casts its light on
me, and the trees shelter me.
And I, child of the wandering jew whofirst sensed God's world in Lithuania with
its lonesome forests and blue, delightfulrivers, found myself on the threshold of

(00:25):
my youth in the maelstrom of New York, onthe shore of the yellow Hudson, where
streams converge from the whole wideworld, and I learned to love
the great wild restlessness.
I was a spray from its waves, a flashamong lightning flashes, until the city

(00:47):
became dear to me with its victors andvanquished its fortunes and misfortunes,
its wealth and poverty, itssuppressed groans and gaiety.
I love the ruddy autumn parks poured fromcopper and bronze and the warm blue sky.
I love the seashore of New Jersey wherethe waves pound forever, spilling over

(01:10):
from green into light blue anddark blue edged with white lace.
Now, as my hair starts to gray, I standhere in Kentucky, seeing the soft blue sky
and broad unbound expanse, fresh brightmornings, green tobacco fields and meadows

(01:30):
of blue green grassin the night with stars close overhead.
Sounds reach me here on my porch, horseswinnying, and the soft, tender rhythm of
mandolins which are interrupted by theresounding laughter of black children.

(01:53):
That poem, "Bluegrass," was writtensometime between 1918 and 1922 by I.
J.
Schwartz, and it was part of a collectionthat he published in 1925 called Kentucky.
The poem was originally written inYiddish, and it was
lovingly translated by Dr.
Gertrude Dubrovsky of blessedmemory, and it was read here by Dr.

(02:16):
Dubrovsky's son, Ben.
Bluegrass has a bit of everythingthat makes Kentucky Kentucky.
There's the natural beauty of thelandscape, the way that it grabs your
heart, and no matter how far youtravel, never really lets go.
There's horses, front porches, mandolins,and a healthy distaste for city culture.

(02:39):
There's also racism, seen and shared fromSchwartz's perspective as he struggled to
make sense of America, his new country,and american racism from his perspective
as an immigrant European jew.
My name is Nathan Jordan Vaughan and I wasraised in a Jewish interfaith family in
Bowling Green, Kentucky, a relativelysmall town in the south

(03:02):
central portion of the state.
My mother was from Detroit, a child of thewho was deeply committed
to equity and feminism.
My father was born in the red dirt ofNorth Carolina's tobacco fields,
and he grew up southern Baptist.
We moved to Bowling Green in the late80's, at a time when a particular brand of

(03:24):
socially conservative Christianitywas sweeping the Bible belt.
We had no idea that the town had a Jewishcommunity dating back
to before the civil war.
We didn't know that a single Jewish familyhad helped build bowling green into the
thriving small town that we found, andthat they had led the charge to found
Mammoth Cave National park,just 30 miles north of town.

(03:46):
We didn't know that when my mother openedup a shop on the town square that she
wasn't the first or even the10th Jewish merchant to do so.
And we didn't know about the generationsof Jews who had driven 72 miles south for
synagogue in Nashville just like we were.
And we never found out, because thosestories, the Jewish stories, were never
told in Bowling Green and the south.

(04:08):
Storytelling is a way of life, one welearn early on, and there's
nothing worse than a dull story.
This podcast is full of good stories,family stories from three separate
families, two real, one not and one mine,plus a few extra that I
picked up along the way.
There are stories about evolvingidentities and being caught between

(04:29):
cultures, stories about being Jewish inAmerica, about being Jewish and being
southern, and about how these familieschose to embrace a complicated
intercultural and interfaith heritage.
And I'm not going to lie, there arestories about antisemitism,
too, then and now.

(04:50):
This isn't a podcast about the right wayto be Jewish or what being
Jewish even actually means.
Mostly, this is a podcast about the livedexperience of being Jewish in Kentucky.
Along the way, I'll speak with some peoplewho were there, or have been there, or
can help bring context to these stories.
And you're invited, too, because like allstories, these experiences

(05:11):
are meant to be shared.
So strap in, sit back, and take a ridewith me through stories of Jewish
Kentucky across time, up and down I 65.
Or back and forth on the Ellen railroad.
In the end, the win and the who don't makeas much difference as you might

(05:33):
think, but the wear sure does.
It's 72 Miles till Kentucky.
Let's get moving.