Was this a bad idea?

I've been starting to think that this blog was a bad idea. All the other blogs out there already have an end in mind. Either people start writing once they've officially begun converting to a new religion, or they start after they've joined the new religion, or there are the atheists who explore religion for the sake of mutual understanding and furthering interfaith cooperation. It would seem from the looks of things, that this blog had me going toward converting to Judaism. I love learning about Judaism and doing Jewish stuff, I really do, but how do you really know that you want to be a Jew, forever? Being non-religious and leaving one's parents' religion is so different from changing religions. I'd be going from the high school me who said all religion is bad, outdated, and not for me to a me who, basically, says no, it's just your religion, Mom & Dad, that is not for me. I've read about people converting, not just to Judaism but to Islam and Christianity, and not telling their parents (or waiting until after their parents have passed away... even worse). I can not for the life of me imagine doing this. Unless you have a terrible relationship with your parents and don't talk to them, how can you not be honest about yourself and your life? What if my parents wanted to come visit me one weekend in the fall and they wanted it to be a surprise and it ends up being the High Holidays? What a mess that would be. What if my family one year got crazy and went to church again on Easter and asked me to go? Well, I'd be busy with Passover so that'd be another sticky situation. What if I have a son and my grandparents expect a baptism but end up at a bris? Then there's this whole mess of converting to Judaism: someone somewhere is always going to say you're not a Jew, no matter what you do. The Orthodox will say you're not Jewish if you go Reform or Conservative. But you can't convert Orthodox unless you believe Orthodox things and plan to be Orthodox forever. And if you go Orthodox, you'll have the ultra-orthodox saying you're not a Jew. Granted, most of them are in Israel, but still. And this is a real problem for women since the same problems will be passed onto your children. Oy. When I have children I don't want them to be frustrated like I am. That's why I started looking for new religions in the first place. But now it seems the frustration is inevitable, so why even bother converting?

So the question I'm posing to all of you reading, whoever you are, was there a moment when it all came together for you? Whether or not the religion you chose is Judaism, how were you sure converting was the right thing to do? I just don't imagine it magically falling into place with a sunset telling me it'll all be OK. Did you make a pro-con list? What did it look like? And what did your parents say when you told them?

So this is Christmas...

Today is Christmas. I don't feel much like writing today, but no post on Christmas would undermine the purpose of this blog. Christmas is a religious holiday no matter how the non-religious/agnostic/atheist types want to spin it.

When I was a kid, Christmas was the best thing ever. Presents, santa, no school, and oh, did I mention presents? However, there was always my mom reminding us of "the reason for the season." For us, the Christmas season didn't start the Friday after Thanksgiving; it started the Sunday after Thanksgiving. That is when Advent begins, and we never once got a tree or any other decorations out before Advent was in full swing. We had a manger scene both for the fireplace and one for the yard. Yeah, one of those obnoxious light up sets for the yard. And on Christmas morning, when we'd be sitting in a pile of toys, Mom would tell us to go upstairs and get ready for church. Even if that was a major buzzkill, Christmas morning is an exciting mass. There's flowers everywhere and other decorations and everyone is in a great mood.

Christmas, of course, changed after I figured out there is no Santa Claus. It definitely wasn't as magical and I didn't look forward to it as much. As soon as I was old enough, we no longer went to Christmas morning mass but to Midnight Mass. Apparently me falling asleep for the second half of that mass was better to my family than going on Christmas morning. After confirmation, church became less important in the Christmas scheme. I wasn't exactly a bundle of fun during the Christmas season in high school. As the religious meaning diminished for me, I didn't feel more attached to the secular traditions. My basic thought was, we don't go to church throughout the year, why are we all of a sudden religious at Christmas time? It's not right. I didn't really want to celebrate Christmas any more. It's a stressful time of year and I didn't think it was worth it. What I was demanding of my family, in terms of religion, was all or nothing. I didn't find it appropriate for this wishy-washy half way stuff. I don't know which years I actually went to church on Christmas and which I didn't. I do know that I was always wondering what was the point?

Now that I'm in college, it seems even more complicated. I like coming home for the long break to be with my family. I love that I get to see my brother and his kids. But I still have some of the same complaints as I did in high school. Although now this year, I feel like I can't voice those complaints any more. I can't look for the religious meaning in Christmas anymore, because I know I won't find it. I definitely made out on presents this year. We had two good meals. My mother has been acting strange lately and I think it's because she knows I'm floating in new religious ideas. In fact, I can't help but thinking that that's why she and my dad got me such great presents. They're trying to make up for something. I don't know where they're going with that, and I don't know where I'm going. All I know is that today was a good day, but not because it is Christmas. It was a good day, because I was surrounded by family.

An Orthodox Shabbat

Before this winter's alternative break trip, the most orthodox Jewish experiences I'd had were a couple of nights at the Chabad House on campus. Those were a good time but I didn't really participate in much, besides the eating. My friends and I would get into our own conversations and tune out a lot. When Shabbat arrived last week, all of us were clean and pretty by candle lighting time. We went to the reform synagogue (which I didn't like very much because it reminded me of church... not important) in town then came back to the rabbi's house for a traditional shabbat dinner. We began by singing Shalom Aleichem (except we skipped the last verse because of the rabbi's personal minhag (custom)), and then we all lined up for the ritual washing of hands before a meal. Since there is no talking allowed between that blessing and eating, we all hummed and dummed a niggun (melody that has no words) while we waited for everyone to finish. After Motzi and Kiddush we could eat, drink, and talk again and we had a lovely Shabbat dinner. There were about 16 people there so it was a grand time. We talked in smaller groups and all across the table with the conversation interspersed with songs. There's something about the Shabbat table that lets you get to know people in a unique way.

After dinner ended, we cleaned up a little. Most of us lingered in the house either starting up new conversations or continuing ones from dinner. Two of my friends from the trip and I got into a very interesting conversation with the rabbi. I know the relationships between the different movements in Judaism are complicated and I don't presume to judge, but occasionally I and my Reform friends will get the sense that the Orthodox don't think their (Reform Jews) Judaism is as good or as valid. So, I think my two friends that night were a little guarded at first when talking to the rabbi. It's understandable. But about three minutes into the conversation the walls came down because the rabbi's concern was whether Reform Judaism helped them connect to G-d. He is cool with the different kinds of Jews and Judaism there are.

What I loved most about talking to this rabbi was that he talked about G-d in mathematical terms. He has some sort of math undergrad degree so he knows his stuff. The thing he said that is missing from secular or humanist ethics is the value of human life. Since we are all made in the image of G-d and G-d is infinite, we also are infinite. Said mathematically, every subset of an infinite set is also infinite. So if each of us is a subset of G-d (hence the made in the image of) then each of us is a subset of infinity. Therefore, each of us is "infinite." The value of a human life can not be measured. This sentiment is conveyed in the Talmud but not by this mathematical proof. The reason I had such a hard time understanding G-d in high school was because I couldn't figure out Christianity and math at the same time. This rabbi's proof is a perfect example of the kind of thinking I went through to get to where I am in my understanding/belief in G-d.

Another great part of our conversation with the rabbi was how he talked to me. Earlier in the day he learned for the first time all week that I'm not Jewish. He asked me a simple yet complicated question. "What's your journey?" he said, "How did you go from a Catholic childhood to having dinner in the Orthodox rabbi's house?" He just wanted to talk to these young people about life, G-d, Torah, and Judaism, including me. I never felt included like that by the rabbis at school. I gave him a quick overview of basically this entire blog. And he asked us all how Hillel and Judaism affect each of us. The best answer I could give was that I love Friday night services because I can pray on a regular basis in a safe space. When I went to church, for my whole life, I prayed to G-d, just G-d, and everyone around me was praying to Jesus. I knew it and I felt kind of like a fraud. I wasn't doing what you're supposed to at church. But now when I go to Hillel, I'm doing the same thing as everyone else, of course in my own way. As with everything else, the rabbi said if it makes you a better person and connects you to G-d, then it's doing its job.

One final nugget of inspiration I took away was his view of Torah. He said that what separates him from other Orthodox Jews, particularly the ultra-orthodox, is that he doesn't just think that Jews have something to teach the world about Torah, he thinks that the world has something to teach Jews about Torah.

When we closed the night, the rabbi thanked us for sitting with him and talking to him about G-d because not many people are willing to do that. I thanked him for doing the same. The next morning at services, he gave me something no one else has been able to: permission to kiss the Torah. None of my friends knew if a non-Jew was allowed and I wasn't about to disrespect the Torah by doing it anyways. If an Orthodox rabbi says it's OK, then it must be OK. He has no idea that he'd truly given me the most amazing and memorable Shabbats, probably of my whole life. I know I'll never forget any of it.

Keeping Kosher

So the reason that I didn't blog for almost a month is that 1) I'm in college and we had end of quarter projects and finals going on and 2) right after finals, I went on an alternative break trip. Alternative break is basically a community service trip. I went with my school's Hillel group to do tornado relief work.

We stayed in an orthodox synagogue and had to keep kosher for the week. I'm pretty familiar with kashrut and all, but it was freaking hard. It wasn't hard in the sense that I didn't understand the rules and kept breaking them or anything. It was hard in the sense that from the moment we had to start keeping kosher, I wanted everything that was not kosher. The first night we had spaghetti... and meat sauce. I am the queen of putting parmesan cheese on my spaghetti but I couldn't have any! One day one of my friends and I went with the group leader to do the grocery shopping. We really wanted to have cake or something for dessert to have after another meat meal. It took quite a while to find parve chocolate cake mix and parve frosting. Then we had to find kosher eggs and some more kosher snacks for lunch the next two days. And we couldn't just find any kosher symbol; the rabbi doesn't accept triangle K so we had to weed those foods out as well. Basically, kosher grocery shopping takes three times as long as normal grocery shopping.

Now, obviously Friday night meals at Hillel are kosher. But I'm not the one preparing the meal and I don't actually keep kosher so I don't really have to think that much about it. I have a lot of respect for the people who keep strict kosher, and honestly I haven't met very many people who do. I have friends who keep "kosher-like" in that they don't eat pork or shellfish, but on everything else they eat just like I do. According to the rabbi on our break, keeping kosher isn't hard for him and his family because "they have to do it." Being orthodox and all, he views the Torah as completely binding so he doesn't see a choice in the matter. But I still think it would be a challenge. You have to think far in advance about what you're going to cook and eat and have to make sure that all your meat stuff stays away from the dairy stuff. If you mess up, you could potentially have to re-kasher everything in your kitchen. Those are some high stakes.

I can definitely see the religiosity of keeping kosher, too. You have to constantly keep the rules of kashrut at the forefront of your mind and when you get frustrated by it and think "WHY am I doing this?" you'll kind of remember it's because G-d said so. You eat at least three times a day, so at least three times a day you'll by thinking about how your actions are commanded by G-d. That's gonna cause you to be way more in touch with G-d than going to church for an hour each week.

I'm really glad that I got to go on this trip and have the super Jewish experience of keeping kosher. I imagine there are a lot of people who consider and actually do convert to Judaism who don't get to have an intensive experience like that. I know I'm lucky to have that experience and I learned a lot. But as soon as I got home, I had some breakfast with a side of bacon.

The High Holidays: Yom Kippur

Yom Kippur. The Day of Atonement. The single most holy day in the Jewish calendar. What a day. Before Yom Kippur begins, Jews must apologize and seek forgiveness from other people for any sins they may have committed against them. Then on Yom Kippur, Jews seek forgiveness from G-d. No eating, no drinking, no showering, no leather shoes, no cologne or perfume, and no sex. People wear white to symbolize purity and becoming like the angels (because angels don't need any of the material things from which Jews abstain on this day). It's the day on which G-d seals His judgements in the Book of Life and the Book of Death. It's serious business.

I figured if I was going to participate in this day, I needed to really do it right and give it the respect it deserves. So, while I didn't turn my phone off and become perfectly observant, I did my best to abstain from material things in order to atone for my sins. It's a heavy burden and it makes you realize why it takes so long to become a Jew. I showered in the late afternoon right before leaving for Hillel; I put on a white dress and a white sweater and walked to Hillel (vs. driving there like I did on Rosh HaShanah). I actually made a friend on my walk to Hillel because the guy knew a girl walking down the street in all white after Labor Day had to be observing Yom Kippur. But I digress. I drank a lot of water and ate a lot of fruit during the entire 24 hours before the sun set to ease the fast period. When I was at home during the YK hours, I didn't use my computer or watch TV. As for my phone, I used it, but mostly to talk to my Jewish friends who were also weak from fasting...

After we'd all stuffed ourselves as much as possible during the pre-fast meal, we broke off into our respective Reform and Conservative services for Kol Nidre. According to Reuven Hammer, Kol Nidre is the most important service of the year: if a Jew attends only one service throughout the year, it is Kol Nidre. The Kol Nidre prayer cancels all vows for the year and is done when it is still light out. Then the evening service for Yom Kippur begins once the sun has set. The ma'ariv service contains many of the prayers I am familiar with but they had tons of additions and changes unique to YK. The Ashamnu and the Al het are the two big prayers for YK because they are confessional prayers. The Ashamnu is considered the lesser confession whereas the Al het is considered the great confession. People beat their fist against their chest during each verse of the Al het to symbolize contrition. [[For anyone who has never been to High Holy Day services and wants to attend next year, or any year, you should study up in advance. If I hadn't read Entering the High Holy Days, I would have been very confused by what was going on in this and the other YK services along with not being able to participate in or appreciate what I was experiencing.]]

The next morning I woke up (no coffee!) and schlepped myself back to Hillel for a few more hours. (For my thoughts on the Torah service, see the previous post.) When I returned to my apartment, I laid in bed and read Torah and just reflected on my life and the day. Then one final trip back to Hillel. I won't lie to you: paying attention in that final Ne'ilah service that evening was incredibly difficult. I was unbelievably thirsty.. and hungry.. but mostly thirsty. It didn't help that the rabbis started us late so that "we wouldn't be standing around staring at the food waiting to break fast" which subsequently lead to us going ten minutes past break fast. And on top of that, we were in a room which has giant windows looking at the cafe, so we could see the chef preparing all the food. But anyways, we made it and we felt great after.

Before this Yom Kippur, I'd never really fasted. It was hard. In junior high school, we were encouraged to do a mini-fast on days like Good Friday, but my mom wouldn't let me. She was always so worried about my food consumption that on fast days she made sure I ate more than I actually wanted. Besides that, a fast day in the Catholic Church is currently defined as a main meal and two smaller meals. Erm, does that sound like a regular day of eating to anyone? So fasting as I grew up is nothing like Yom Kippur fasting. But every time my stomach growled or I craved an oreo, I was reminded of what I was really doing and why I was doing it. The hardest part, actually, was not having water. I take medicine daily for chronic headaches and it causes dry mouth so I had a particularly difficult time abstaining from water. I still brushed my teeth and took my medicine, so I wasn't completely void of water. Water never tasted so good as it did that break fast.

Coming out of Yom Kippur, I truly felt as though I'd grown as a person and grown closer to G-d. Sometimes, when I get really, really thirsty, I am reminded of Yom Kippur. Thus, I am reminded that I am made in the image of G-d and need to live as such.

The High Holidays: Torah Services

The High Holidays were the first time I was a part of a Torah service. Before them, I had only attended Friday night services. It was amazing to be a part of these services. The way that people honor and respect the Torah scrolls is unlike anything I've seen. I was probably missing something growing up, but I never felt awe like that in church. Seeing my friends called up to the Torah to make the blessings was awesome. They knew just what to do. Some of them didn't even need to look in the prayer book for what to say. It was almost instinctive. For people who didn't know exactly what was going on, like me, one of the rabbis noted quietly at one point, "You always do what the Torah does: the Torah stands, you stand; the Torah sits, you sit." The ceremony for reading Torah aloud is quite elaborate. During those services I saw Judaism come to life in a new way. I don't have much else to say except that it was beautiful.

The High Holidays: Rosh HaShanah

Two years ago, I wouldn't have been able to tell you what the High Holidays were. I've known since junior high or late elementary school that Yom Kippur is the Day of Atonement and it occurs in the fall - it was always printed in our school planners. Probably in high school is when either the planners started adding in more holidays or I just started noticing Rosh HaShanah. I had no idea that they were not only a pair of holy days, but thee holy days in Judaism. All of last summer I spent at home with my parents and I was pretty freakin' bored. I read a lot. Thus, I read a lot on these upcoming holidays. I didn't really plan on celebrating them. But since school is in session over Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, Hillel provides the food and services without the high ticket prices to students. A lot of my friends stayed for the holidays, so I celebrated with them. It was a pretty exciting time.

It all started with apples and honey at the student union the day before Rosh HaShanah began. Who knew that honey complements apples so well? Then we had Rosh HaShanah dinner the next night at Hillel. People were dressed to impress and there were tons of people there who I'd never seen before (I know now these people to be "High Holiday Jews"). Everyone was wishing their friends "Shana tova" and the atmosphere was warm and welcoming. We ate circular challot to represent another cycle of a year beginning again and we poured honey on everything. Sure, some people were normal and limited it to their challah and dessert, but the kid I sat next to and I enjoyed honey on the chicken, too. After dinner, we split off into our respective Reform and Conservative ma'ariv services.

Most of my friends are Reform or prefer Reform Hillel services, so I of course went to the Reform service. It was such an incredible experience. We used a different book (duh) that only had Hebrew and English (i.e. no transliterations). I was surprised at how many things I could manage from memory. At least 75% of what's in a normal service I was able to remember. I wasn't prepared in advance for Avinu Malkeinu, but it was beautiful to listen to.

The rabbi made a few insightful comments that really stuck with me. First, she said that what is great about Judaism is that a new day or a new year doesn't begin when the clock strikes a specific time. A new day, and thus the new year, is determined by the setting of the sun but the sun doesn't just all of a sudden go down. The setting of the sun is a gradual process and so one day blends into another and one year blends into another. We can see the change happening if we step outside or look out the window. Second, she said we should look out at the night sky when we left the service. We wouldn't see the moon because a new month and the new year begin on a new moon, which means no moon. It's like we are literally beginning the new year with a clean slate. I really appreciated these thoughts because I can understand the metaphors and analogies and can relate to them.

A senior student gave a d'var Torah in the middle of the service. I am always surprised at how moved I am by students' d'var's. I know we go to an exceptional college and all, but you just don't think about college students being so insightful when it comes to G-d and religion. So much of what I hear from students is on par with what I hear from rabbis. It's incredible. By now, though, I am used to it. The guy talked about teshuvah (repentance) in terms of coming back to G-d. He said he'd grown so much as a person and in understanding G-d during his college years and that he hoped everyone in the room was taking the time to do the same. He talked about the power of the sound of the shofar. And I can tell you that he was being completely truthful when he said it wakes you up. I wasn't expecting it, even though he said it over and over.

The shofar was truly amazing. The sound reverberates within you. If you've heard it, you know what I mean. If you haven't heard it, you should. It literally and physically awakens you. And after hearing it, you're ready to go out into the world and be a better person.

The Survivor

For most Jews, listening to a Holocaust survivor tell his or her story is probably a pretty common thing. For non-Jews though, it is a much rarer occurrence. Honestly, growing up in a small town and all, I never thought I would hear from a survivor in person. But in just the last year, I have been lucky enough to hear four different survivor accounts. Each of these survivor experiences was special and meaningful to me in its own way, but for the purpose of this blog, one stands out more than all the others.

Going to listen to this survivor talk was just one of several events I attended during Hillel's Holocaust Awareness Week last spring. Since the event was at Hillel, not very many non-Jews knew about it or attended. In fact, I may have been the only non-Jew there. The speaker assumed everyone there was Jewish, which is why it was one of the most authentic Jewish experiences I've had so far.

So the speaker gave his spiel of his life then sort of went off on this tangent (he's 91, what else do ya expect?). First, he started talking about how everyone in the room, as Jews, needs to embrace everyone else. How we shouldn't hold any grudge against anyone of a particular religion, even if in the past people of that same religion had persecuted Jews. We shouldn't hate because that's bad for the soul and bad for the world. I'd heard similar sentiments at other times at Hillel and whatnot, but this was different. Not to say that I think the Jews I'd been around were lying to me or anything, but everyone always knows I'm not Jewish so I couldn't always know for certain that everyone was being 100% themselves. You never know with people; you never know if they're pretending or putting on a show, and that's pretty cynical of me, I know. But in this moment with this wonderful, incredible man was a truly, authentically Jewish moment. He was just talking to this group of young Jewish adults telling them their responsibilities as Jews to be loving and kind to everyone of every race, religion, or nationality. I felt touched to experience that with all of these young Jews and felt inspired to take his words to heart and apply them in my own life.

Then, he started talking about how Jews need to embrace anyone who wants to join the tribe. A couple people glanced at me, and yeah, I felt awkward for a moment. He told us that you don't need to be born Jewish to "be one of us." He reminded us that Abraham and Sarah weren't born Jewish and that they were pretty old when they became Jews. Anyone can join the tribe at any time. And as he went on with this tangent, he was looking at the rabbi, who was sitting right behind me, so it was pretty much like he was looking at me. He then went on to say, we have a Catholic girl right now at our synagogue who converted and now she is up at the front leading in prayers. I definitely froze when he started to say "we have a Catholic girl;" I thought for sure someone had told him I was there and my background. Then when I realized that wasn't the case, it was just so eerie that he brought up an example that was so close to my background.

The truth is, the survivor had no idea who I am or what I was doing at Hillel, but it was like he was talking directly to me that whole time. His words made me much more comfortable about attending Hillel Shabbat services and dinner and about hanging out with Jews on a regular basis. I still have no idea if I will ever convert to Judaism... there is an incredible number of issues and concerns to consider... but when I think of this survivor's words, I definitely lean in that direction.

Judaism

When I first realized Judaism might have a little bit of room for me, I sat around and considered this religion from my limited and fairly ignorant perspective. Yeah, Jews have some fun and interesting holidays and they tend to involve great meals. But fun and food does not a religion make. Today, I know that there are countless things that make Judaism great. Last year, I didn't know half of them. So this post is about the few ideas that I came up with that made me say, OK I'm really going to investigate what Judaism has to offer.

Why are there so many Jewish doctors? No, this isn't turning into an antisemitic rant, I promise. But there are lots of Jewish doctors, professors, non-profit workers, and on and on. I just couldn't help but think that there must be something in Judaism that makes people reach for greatness. That might sound a little cliche. But is it a fluke? Judaism's focus on study, learning, repairing the world, and individual responsibility must have something to do with the professions that Jews pursue.

The name Israel means to wrestle with G-d. Each person has to figure out G-d for him/herself. And the point is to ask questions! I can't tell you how often I've thought and how often I've read from other people that it is such a relief to come into Judaism and be able to argue with the Rabbi. You can't argue with a priest. You can hardly ask questions of a priest... rephrasing a question does not count as a new question, just a repetition of the original. Basically, I just love asking questions and learning, whether it's in the classroom or just learning about a person's life. I don't understand how people could go through life without asking questions of everything. I've been told by a few people that I think way more than other people and my brain never mellows out.... not a bad thing in Judaism.

There are no roadblocks in getting to G-d. You pray straight to G-d all the time, every time. This is not a slight to Christianity, but I don't understand praying to saints. Well, the argument that you pray just so saints will help you out because they're closer to G-d, is somewhat logical. But I don't believe that there are saints hanging out in heaven with G-d, so that doesn't really work for me (see the afterlife). I just want to communicate with G-d directly, that's all. Also, there are no intermediaries between people and G-d in Judaism. Rabbis are teachers and the only one who can forgive sins is G-d, Himself.

Judaism doesn't hinge on miracles. Yes, there are miracles in the Torah and in holiday narratives. But if you take those away, the religion still stands. Maybe Moses didn't physically part the Red Sea like in the movies, but he still led the freed Hebrews out of Egypt and across a body of water. And even these miracles are more practical, if that can be said of a miracle. They're small and are much like the kind of miracle I believe my aunt's life to be (see Mary). Oil lasting for eight days instead of one is a little easier for me to believe in than say, Immaculate Conception. And if you happen to find a miracle you just can't believe in, there's still plenty to work with in Judaism to help you grow as a person and in your relationship with G-d.

Hinduism is to Krishna as Buddhism is to the Buddha as Christianity is to Jesus as Islam is to Mohammed as Judaism is to ....? Moses? But Moses isn't the only major prophet in Judaism. And wasn't the Torah given to the Children of Israel, i.e the Jewish People? The analogy doesn't work, and for a reason. Judaism truly is about a people, rather than a person. Following in the footsteps of Krishna, Buddha, Jesus, or Mohammed is totally cool. As long as it makes you a good person, I have no problem with that. But for me, I have a hard time only being able to look to one person who lived way back in day for an example.

Jews don't say "Cheers!" they say "L'Chaim!" which means to life! And I absolutely adore this seemingly small phrase. Jews and Judaism are concerned with this life and with living it to its fullest. In Judaism, you don't really do good works so you can get into heaven. You do good works because you should. I do the right thing because it's the right thing to do. Like I've said before, I believe this life is all there is, and I love life and so do Jews.

Finally, Judaism and science are completely, 100%, compatible. Thus, there's no choosing between religion and science, G-d and fact.

Tikkun Olam

About 6 or 8 months ago I learned this phrase, tikkun olam. It's Hebrew for perfect or repair the world and the idea is a huge tradition in Judaism. The phrase is new, but the idea is not. When you're a little kid, you learn that there are poor people in the world. So around Thanksgiving and Christmas when your school does their annual canned foods drive, you take cans from your mom's cupboard to donate. And maybe in the spring your school collects coins to give to some charity or another and you ask your dad for some of the coins in his change cup. You're worried about the people who don't sleep in a house or can't buy a winter coat. One day you realize, there are too many people in need, how can your 5 dollars in change possibly make a difference.

For me, even though I realized I could never help all the people in need I still felt obligated to help. I thought about what the world would be like if I didn't help, and what it would be like if the churches stopped caring, and what it would be like if Mother Theresa didn't devote her life to service. The world would be a worse place.  I knew from a young age that everyone has a responsibility to do whatever they can to help, because what is the alternative? Let the world slowly decline until everything is destroyed? Every time I learned about a new problem in the world, I would think "I have to do something! Someone has to do something!" I couldn't wait to get older so I could do something, I would get a job and give my money or get a job that was a life of service, then I could fix things. Sometime in junior high, I realized that I don't need to be an adult to help make things better. I started tutoring in junior high and did random service projects through my school. In high school, I was involved in more service groups and activities than just about anyone else in my school. Yeah, I was that girl who did everything on top of getting good grades. But I didn't see any alternative. I have the time and ability to help so why wouldn't I? It'd be selfish not to.

When I was 16, I made the decision to become a teacher. I made this decision in an instant, and I've never regretted it. For the next three years, so many people I went to school with told me how stupid it was to become a teacher. They said I was too smart to be a teacher. I should be a doctor or a lawyer, or anything that could make me some money. What a waste, they said, it was for me to "just be a teacher." How could anyone think that it's possible to be "just a teacher" and that it's not a noble profession? Teachers do so much for their students, and most of those students never appreciate it. People never realize how different their lives would be without each of their teachers. Everyone has at least one teacher who inspires them and challenges them to do more, to be more. And then they go out and affect other people, inspiring them to do more and to be more. They help someone and then that person helps someone else. The effects are endless, and most people never think about that. I want to be that person for a student or two.

While there are still a lot of people out there who think my career path is an easy way out, a less than noble profession, and that the service I've done in high school and continue to do in college doesn't make a difference, Judaism does not teach this. Judaism teaches that each person has a responsibility in the world, and that each generation must make the world a better place for the next generation. And Judaism places a special emphasis on education in order to do this. This oldest extant religion teaches that if you only know alef, bet, then you must teach bet to someone who only knows alef. For those of you not familiar with Hebrew, this teaching is simply about learning the alphabet: if you only know A and B, then teach B to someone who only knows A. Everyone has a responsibility and an obligation to pass on their knowledge so that the next person or next generation can ride on their shoulders and continue to improve the world. 

I'm studying to be a math teacher. I don't by any means love mathematics. But math is truly vital to functioning and succeeding in this world, and for so long I took my math education for granted. I have the ability to teach math in a way that others understand it, so I have a responsibility to become a mathematics educator. And along the way, I'll hopefully be able to inspire some kids to change the world in small but meaningful ways. And Judaism understands that, respects that, and encourages that.

Shortly after I started hanging out at Hillel on Friday nights, someone told me I should join Hillel's community service group, called Starfish. I immediately knew why it was called Starfish, I'd read the story somewhere long ago. If you don't know it, here it is:

The Starfish Story
Original Story by: Loren Eisley

One day a man was walking along the beach when he noticed a boy picking something up and gently throwing it into the ocean. 

Approaching the boy, he asked, “What are you doing?”

The youth replied, “Throwing starfish back into the ocean. The surf is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them back, they’ll die.”

“Son,” the man said, “don’t you realize there are miles and miles of beach and hundreds of starfish? You can’t make a difference!” 

After listening politely, the boy bent down, picked up another starfish, and threw it back into the surf. Then, smiling at the man, he said…”I made a difference for that one.”

I joined this group without hesitation because it embodies everything I grew up believing about service to the world. My Jewish friends also believe in doing what you can to help others, and not one of them has ever told me that I should try to be more than just a teacher.

My Mother

How cliche will it be if I tell you that I love my mom more than anyone in the world? Don't care. I do. She's given me everything, has made unbelievable sacrifices, and loves me even when I push her away. But why does any of this matter to this blog? Well, she's my mother so obviously she had something to do with my religious education.

She and my dad enrolled me in public schools from the start so I had only one hour of religious education a week during the school year. For a lot of parents, if they choose this route they spend a few hours each week at home with their children teaching them about their religion. My parents didn't do that, thank G-d. Instead, my mother spent a lot of time outside with me. She loves to garden, so we spent hours and hours during the spring, summer and fall, digging up the soil, occasionally cutting earth worms in half, accidentally of course, planting flowers, watching birds and butterflies, catching frogs and the like. I was one of those kids who asked why about everything. Why is the sky blue? Why are some clouds more fluffy than others? How are some flowers pink and some yellow? My mom's a smart lady but she's not a scientist. So when she ran out of answers, she'd simply say because G-d made it that way. When science couldn't take us any further, we found G-d. But she never implied to me that the way things work didn't matter because G-d created everything perfectly. Science and G-d always seemed to go hand-in-hand.

When we weren't outside, we would paint or draw at the dinning room table. Being able to illustrate the way I see the world has always been important to me. My mother read to me everyday, until I was old enough to start reading to her. When I wanted to know something, she taught me how to look it up in the encyclopedia. Inquiry was a big part of my childhood.

My mom never taught me about original sin, or many other of those big hallmarks of Christianity. In fact, for the longest time, I thought that original sin just meant having sex because "the Virgin Mary was without original sin." It makes sense, right? And she definitely never taught me that only Catholics go to heaven and that non-Catholics go to hell. She always taught me that being a good person and doing your best in life was all that mattered when it came to the afterlife.

I don't know how my mom sees herself religiously anymore. But I do know that she's not sorry she sent me to CCD and took me to church. She told me that it's important to have a framework, i.e. religious tradition, in which to teach your children about G-d. Even though she feels a lot of the same frustrations with the Church as I do, she's not sorry she made her children a part of it. And I'm not either. I'm glad she cared enough to do that for me. As a teenager and adult, I haven't wanted to be a part of the Church. But at least as a child I was a part of something. I had structure and some meaning in my little life. I belonged somewhere.

When I think about my friend's funeral in the eighth grade, I feel a huge appreciation to my parents for putting me somewhere. Some of the prayers and songs in the service were printed in the program guide for his funeral. But some of the service was just from the standard church service. The friend who I went with is not religious at all. She might have been baptized, but her religious association didn't go further than that. So we get to part of the service when the congregation says the "Our Father." We're all saying this prayer, and my friend leans over to me and asks, "How do you know this?" She was looking for the words in the program packet. I told her that it's the same prayer we said at my church. Then she looks over and sees her mom saying it. She asks her mom how she knows it and she replies "I went to Catholic school growing up." Her mom said it with such a "DUH" tone. Then my friend just sat back in her seat and looked quite confused. She obviously felt very left out. She'd only been to church a few times in her life but most of her friends were being confirmed that year. In that moment I was so glad that I belonged to something, even if I didn't quite know what that was. And for this I have my parents, my mother, to thank.

Someday, I'll have my own kids, and I want them to feel like they belong somewhere. I want them to belong somewhere. I just can't make them a part of an institution I don't believe in. I can't teach them ideas I don't believe, many of which I don't even agree with their basic premise. That's at least partly why I'm on this journey I'm on: I want something more meaningful for my kids. I don't want them to grow up to find out that they don't agree with and can't bear to be apart of the Church, or a church, or whatever. I want them to have a lasting tradition.

When I told my mom a long time ago that I thought I wanted to leave the Church, she didn't object. She asked me if I wanted to write a letter to the bishop. A letter like that would be officially leaving the church with no possibility of ever returning. I couldn't believe she suggested it, but I think she knows the pain I feel when I think about my name being on the Church's roster. As long my name is still on their list, it in someway gives my approval to their actions. I just don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to hurt my grandpa or my brother or my niece. One day I'll have to actually deal with these things, but at least my mother understands.

Relating to Christianity

Sometimes, you do things without realizing what you're doing. A while back, about the time I started going to Hillel, my best friend from home asked me what exactly I'm doing. She asked, "Are you trying to find G-d? yourself? what?" I couldn't really give her an exact answer. I don't need to "find" G-d; I figured out He's real years ago. I don't need to find myself, I already know who I am. Later, I came up with a better, more concrete answer: I'm trying to figure out who everyone else is, and how I fit into that. One thing she and I never talked about, though, was the religion I've left.

A week or two ago, I realized that much of the last three years have been about figuring out Christianity and how I relate to it. In some way, I will always have a relationship with Christianity: I grew up celebrating Christian holidays, nearly all of my family members are some kind of Christian, and I have Christian friends.

I'm finally to a point in my life in which I can accept Christianity as a valid religious tradition that can make people's lives better, it's just not mine. Figuring out Christianity is something I had to do, because if I kept on relating to it the way I did in high school, I would probably lose a lot of friends and sever ties with my family. In high school, I thought of Christianity as out-dated and ridiculous for the ways it conflicts with science. I thought of kids who still went to church as either ignorant or not in control of their own lives. I just wanted everyone to wake up! But I am the one who needed to wake up. You can be a Christian and an intelligent person. You can be a Christian without giving up science. It's just taken me a long time to see that.

The one thing that is most difficult for me, and that I still haven't fully figured out, is how to relate to the Catholic Church. There is so much to criticize in the way the Church operates. I don't need to list them here; if you read the news, or really if you've not been living under a rock your whole life, you know what there is to be critical of. It's taken a lot of time and effort, but I've figured out that I have to distinguish between the Catholic faith and the Catholic Church. In certain areas, this gets messy and might not even be possible to do. But if I don't try to make that distinction, I won't be able to be friends with my roommate or to get a long with my dad's side of the family. Like my dad has said, you don't have to agree with everything the Church does to be Catholic. I just read a Pew survey that supports his claim.

I probably won't ever totally get over my problems with the Catholic Church. The problems don't just exist in the history of the Church, they continue every day and I don't believe they'll be resolved. The Catholic Church is the one thing that I believe can't be changed. It's sad to say but I really think it's true. The Church is deeply rooted in tradition and they eliminate anyone who tries to alter that tradition, even if the change is going in a direction to stay on par with the rest of society. The Church is too complicated and has so much money that changes that my liberal mind hopes for will never happen.

Mary

In an earlier post, I explained how I came to be sure of G-d's existence, but I left out a few points. After my brother's military experience, the biggest factor comes from my aunt with whom I share a name. My aunt and our name are important here. You'll see why.

My Aunt Mary is living proof of G-d. (Now you know my first name, but I'll be keeping my last to myself, at least for now.) When she was two years old, she was diagnosed with Cystic fibrosis (CF for short). This was about fifty years ago so this diagnosis was basically a death sentence. Even today, doctors inform parents of kids with CF that their life expectancy is 30 years old. So the doctors told my grandparents that she would die in the next ten years. When she made it to 10, the doctors said she wouldn't make it out of her teens. When she did, they said she wouldn't ever get married or have kids. Not only did she get married, she's seen both of her children get married, and has already welcomed one grandchild into this world. As if this terrible disease wasn't enough, she also has diabetes. CF requires one specific diet and diabetes requires another. She also has an insulin pump. Between these two diseases, she is in the hospital a lot. There's more...

My freshman year of college, Aunt Mary was diagnosed with colon cancer. She underwent surgery the day before my twentieth birthday. A large part of her colon was removed and she had to get an ileoscopy bag.  By the end of the summer, she had started chemo. When I saw her at Christmas, her hair was thinning and they had a bed set up for her downstairs so she didn't have to battle the stairs. The following spring, she had a second surgery to get rid of the ileoscopy bag and reconnect her colon. As of the writing of this post, she is in remission. She's not out of the woods yet, but she has survived thus far. And she's survived a hell of a lot. The statistics have this woman dead by now. She is alive by G-d's good grace. How can anyone who knows her history deny G-d's existence? Certainly, not I.

Besides acknowledging that her life is something miraculous, I am inspired by my aunt's own faith. When lots of bad things happen to people, they are quick to dismiss G-d, saying that if G-d existed then all those bad things wouldn't have happened. But for my aunt, all of these things she has battled against and happily so. Most people would understandably be disgusted by having to have an ileoscopy bag, but my aunt just said "Well if that's what I have to do to live, then I guess I have to do it." She prays to G-d and goes to church. She always brings her Bible with her into the hospital. She doesn't know why G-d's kept her alive, but she's glad He has. Even though our conceptions of G-d are different, it is still inspiring.

It is not uncommon to identify with the people with whom you share a name. I have known and experienced my aunt's story for my entire life. Of all my aunts and uncles, I was always most concerned with her and her life because I had her name. To some people, my name is just a generic Christian name. But my mother named me after her own mother and her sister. My mom considered some random baby-book names, but ultimately she chose a name with deeper meaning for her and a deeper meaning for me.

Other kids have always picked on me for my name - don't get me wrong, I know way worse things could have happened to me, but that doesn't mean getting teased didn't hurt. At my Christian preschool kids sang "Mary had a little lamb" at me all the time. There was also the rhyme "Mary, Mary Quite Contrary." When I was in CCD, everyone snickered any time the Virgin Mary was mentioned. That happened for all 8 years; no one ever matured. In high school I always got the totally respectful and not at all private question, "Mary, are you a virgin? Are you Virgin Mary?" At times in my life, I really hated getting teased and I resented the kids who did it. I wanted to change my name - I even went so far as to pick out a new one. I chose Sarah, but my parents wouldn't comply and call me by it. Eventually, I got over it, though, and became very proud of my name.

I wouldn't be who I am or where I am, if my name were anything else. I would never really change my name. I am quite honored to be named after my aunt who is a wonderful human being, is an inspiration, and is very proof of G-d's existence.