Welcome the Stranger

In case you haven't read it a zillion other times on other Jewish convert blogs, don't call someone a shiksa. Period. End of story. There's no arguing. It's offensive. It derives from the Yiddish word for dirty and is meant to slur non-Jewish women who are dating or could one day date  Jewish guys and thus produce a non Jewish children. These women pull men away from Judaism and the Jewish community. Therefore, they ruin the Jewish community. Well, it's 21st century America now so this concept isn't the same as it once was in Eastern Europe. But it's still an offense term. Don't use it.

A girl I spend a good deal of time with likes to use it a lot. She's not really my friend. She's friends of my friends and we also work on Holocaust Awareness stuff together. And she's a fairly offensive person in general so I'm not that surprised by it. What I am always surprised by is the number of other Jews who say nothing to her. I said something to a friend once, along the lines of "Why does she think that's OK?" "Because Jews say it all the time." Oh, really? And that makes it OK? If white people start saying the n-word a lot does that make it OK? Oh, wait, plenty still do, and guess what? Still not OK. It just blows my mind that my friends who would be equally offended at someone slurring a black person, a hispanic person, a Muslim, a Christian as if they themselves as Jews were slurred, are perfectly fine with someone slurring a non Jewish woman.

This same girl who likes the word shiksa a lot also made up a fun new way to describe me: a Jew groupie. "Mary's such a Jew groupie. Hahahahaha." Do you see me laughing? No. Do you see my friends laughing? Yes.

Let me explain. I love my Jewish friends. A whole freaking lot. I meet lots of Jews I like and Judaism is awesome. But. I. Am. Not. A. Jew. Groupie. Jews are fantastic in many, many ways. But I in no way intend to follow them around, bother them, ask for autographs, or throw my underwear at them. I will not faint if I touch a Jew and don't spend a great deal of time fantasizing about meeting Jews. Why? Because Jews are normal people, and if I want to be one, I can freaking be one. It's very demeaning to call someone who's working to become a Jew, a Jew groupie. I hang out with Jews because I like them. They're my friends. And I love Judaism a great deal. That does not give anyone the right to call me a groupie or be rude to me because they're a Jew and I'm not.

There is a reason it's a mitzvah to welcome the stranger. We have a hard enough time finding our way into the community. Don't make it harder, please. You might be fascinated by us, but don't be rude. You don't have a right to call us names (shiksa or otherwise) or ask inappropriate questions. These questions include but are not limited to:

• What are you doing here [at this synagogue, Jewish event, Jewish place]?
• Oh you're not Jewish? So you're Christian? You love Jesus and all that?
• Are you converting to Judaism?
• Why are you converting to Judaism?
• When are you converting to Judaism?
• You're converting? So you have Jewish boyfriend?
• Do you want to convert because you have a Jewish boyfriend?

I realize that these are based on my experience but I am pretty sure you could replace boyfriend with girlfriend and represent many other people's experiences. If you have a friend who is converting and he or she opens up to you, then you could ask the questions. Ask them in a much more sensitive way. And if you're Jewish and you know someone who is converting, you don't have any right to know why. It's deeply personal. Would you open up to someone about losing your virginity? Same kind of personal. If someone shares with you, be honored because it is very hard to put into words. It's hard to explain a connection to G-d that's driving you to do something because G-d is beyond comprehension. People converting to Judaism convert for many of the same reasons you embrace your own Jewish identity. We love Judaism for the same reasons you do. And remember:

Speech has power. Words do not fade. What starts out as a sound, 
ends in a deed. -Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel

Pesach

I love Passover. Honestly, I was a little unsure about going all out on Passover with so much turmoil in my life between telling my parents and having them be super weird and spending too much time at Hillel for my job, but I am so glad I did it the way I did it. A few days before it started, my friend and I went to the Jewish part of town to shop for food at Kroger and got stocked up. I did the Ashkenazim custom because that is what most of my friends do. So we got our matza, matza ball soup mix, and our kosher for Passover wine and were good to go.

I didn't go to Hillel for seder either night, which I think turned out to be a good choice even if I did miss some of my friends. It's hard enough for people to be serious and stop talking on shabbat for kiddush and motzi that I can't imagine how distracted I'd be for a several hour long dinner. On Friday night, a friend invited me to this woman's apartment who took Hebrew with him at the university through the 60+ program. She likes to invite college kids for sedarim who can't go home. She and her husband belong to an Orthodox shul but aren't actually Orthodox. There were about 19 people there. After lighting shabbat and yom tov candles we sat down to our assigned seats (yes, there were name cards) and began the seder. A five year old girl stood up on her chair and sang the four questions all by herself. It was incredible. My friend brought her toys of the ten plagues and she kept us entertained the whole night. The friend I went with is the same friend who taught me to read Hebrew over winter break and I was so grateful to him for that. I had a hard enough time keeping up with them skipping around in the Hebrew. I probably wouldn't have enjoyed it at all if I wouldn't have been able to follow along. Honestly the seder was so fun and the food was so delicious. When it ended I couldn't wait for the next seder.

For the second night I went with the same friend but to a different location. He invited me to his uncle's house which is only an hour away from my parents so it was an easy transition to go home for Easter. This seder was straight up Orthodox. There was a "shabbos goy" there as a waitress and everything was in Hebrew. We did havdallah around 8:30 and finally got started on the 5 hour seder (oy). Everyone had the choice of reading in Hebrew but if the guy leading knew you and knew you could read Hebrew, he pretty much made you read in Hebrew. I was among the three people who read their paragraph in English. Even though the Seder was super long, it was fun because of all the conversation and debating and singing. This family had such interesting customs. For example, the youngest and the oldest person in the room sing the four questions together. So the leader's daughter sat on her grandma's lap (also a Holocaust survivor) and they sang together. It was really cool. And in between every section of the seder, they sing the ten parts of the seder to different tunes. Once, we sang it to the tune of "take me out to the ball game" another time to "America the beautiful," to pay tribute to the freedom America offers Jews so they don't have to pray in secret.  I would have never gotten to see any of these kinds of customs at Hillel.

I had so many matza balls that weekend and they were 100x better than the ones at Hillel. I was in heaven. Anyways, after we ate there was a lot of singing and bouncing around and role playing (more at the second seder than at the first). Dayenu really is a fantastic prayer/song. Apparently, I've heard Eliyahu many times before at havdallah services but it never stuck with me until Passover. Now it's like my favorite song. It's so catchy.

What I really liked about these seders was that even though my friend told certain people in advance that I'm not Jewish, no one asked about it. No one asked me about converting, or my name being Mary, or if I had a Jewish boyfriend. Everyone just let me be and let me enjoy the holiday with them. I really appreciated that. Also, I made it through the whole second seder with some people thinking that I was Jewish. One older man after asked me about where I grew up and if there was a synagogue there. I told him that yes, there is a reform temple there. And he asked me if that's where I went growing up. I said well, no, I'm not Jewish. He said "What?? You not Jewish? But you can read Hebrew?" Apparently reading Hebrew is the key to one's Jewish identity. Good to know I'm off to a good start.

My other thoughts on the entire holiday of Passover: matza is only good for two days then it starts to taste absolutely disgusting. And only egg matza is tolerable. Nothing else. I liked making the sacrifice for G-d but I was so glad when I finally broke Passover. Seriously, it's a good thing this only comes once a year. I figure by next spring, I'll have forgotten how terrible a week without it was.

The Dad who was never OK with anything

My initial understanding of my dad's joke in the background of a phone call with my mom a few weeks ago with completely off base. I am not sure why I was so dumb as to believe he'd be accepting of a choice in my life, let alone one that involved becoming anything other than Catholic. My father and I have a complicated, painful relationship. He never really accepted my dedication to dance or to school or to community service or to anything, really. He's never accepted who I am. I'm not sure why I thought this would be different.

If you've read from the beginning, you know I have an older brother and no other siblings. A first born boy is all an Italian father could ever ask for. The son is always the most important. So when Italians have girls first, they always try for another kid. My uncle has four girls. Why? Because he was trying for a boy and never succeeded. My father succeeded on the first try, and that was enough for him. I was the kid who came later and wasn't really planned for. Girls don't carry on family names, don't play football, watch sports, or smoke cigars. They're no fun. Girls with fathers like my father, don't really get along with them. It's actually quite simple.

Except that it sucks. 

My parents are still married. I lived with my dad all 19 years before going off to college. Whenever I want to go home to see my mom, it means seeing my dad, too. And I hate that. Honestly, I prefer to shut him out entirely because the emotional roller coaster of hoping for good days or times then plummeting into fighting is far worse than the nothing I try to maintain.

My father went to Catholic school for 9 years: through the 8th grade. He's made it overwhelmingly clear to me in the last three weeks that even though he doesn't go to Church, he is still a Catholic and will always be a Catholic. And you just don't leave the Catholic Church. I get it. I get that he was raised a certain way and that he believed all of it and still believes most of it. But I don't. I didn't go to Catholic school. I didn't go to Church every day for the first part of my life. I eventually grew out of the fear of the devil and of going to hell. I don't carry those things with me; they just aren't a part of me. So I didn't have major forces holding me back from growing into my own faith. It just so happens that that faith fits right in with Judaism, a religion that very few people adhere to, a religion that most people just don't understand.

My dad surprisingly knows more about Jews and Judaism than my mom does. My grandpa went to an almost all Jewish high school so he knows a lot of the beliefs that most Christians don't (most important, why Jesus wasn't the messiah). But that doesn't change the fact that he doesn't want me to be Jewish. My dad thinks I should just accept that I have an "intellectual conflict in my head" about G-d and Jesus. What the hell does that even mean?

Oh, by the way, Easter was terrible.

Anyways, I told my parents I have tried and failed enough times to understand the cross that I am not going to do it anymore. It's not worth the pain and frustration. I tried for them, for my mom, for my brother, for my niece, but at some point, my mental and emotional health have to take priority. In the last year and a half, I've realized and decided that time has come. I will never go back to a Catholic Church for a long list of reasons, but I will not be a Christian because Christianity just doesn't make sense. If other people make it work in their heads, good for them, but I don't feel like I need to. I don't need to be saved. I'm good. Life is about learning, helping others, and enjoying it while you can. That's all I've ever needed, and, quite frankly, is what my mother raised me to believe. Even my dad told me that he can't stand ultra-religious, evangelical Christians. He keeps telling me he is going to un-friend the mother of my brother's best friend because she posts religious stuff a hundred times a day on Facebook. He thinks those kinds of people, who think only about religion and "depend entirely on G-d" are delusional. "I believe that G-d just said, 'be a good person'" my father tells me over the phone.

So why does is matter what religion I follow as long as I am a good person?

Conversations on Conversion, part 2

During our first talk about conversion, the rabbi said something interesting. So interesting that I decided it needs its own post. When we were discussion Christianity, my experiences with it and my currently feelings toward it, she said something to the affect of, "Don't be running from something. Well, you can but eventually be running toward something. We want you to be running toward Judaism." This is actually a great way to describe the process I think I am in the middle of. It reminded me of this article I read a while back about college kids converting to Judaism. Hillel rabbis have commented on the surprising number of students who approach them about conversion. Some rabbis don't think this is a good thing; they think that kids wanting to convert to Judaism is a response to fundamental Christianity. I think they couldn't be more wrong.

Converting to Judaism is not a reaction to the growing fundamentalism among conservative Christians. Militant atheism is. If I wanted to do the opposite of what evangelical Christians do, I would be an atheist skeptic. I would spend my time pointing out all of the inconsistencies in Christian scripture and theology. I would be a huge debbie downer about Christmas and mock Easter. That's not what I want. That doesn't sound very fulfilling to me. Yes, certain things about Christians drive me nuts. Yes, there are times I'd really like to point that out. But, what is the point? I will not change their minds. I can't waste time talking to people who won't listen. Converting to Judaism is its own unique journey that cannot be described as going in the opposite direction of Christianity.

I'll admit it: I've run from Christianity. I've run fast and hard, circled back, run some more and then sprinted out. For most of that time, I didn't know where I was running. I just kept going, kept wandering. I've traveled a lot of places to check out the scene, but I know that toward Judaism is where I'm headed. But I'm not running anymore. I'd say I'm walking at a slow pace, moseying, if you will. I'm taking my time getting there. But I keep checking back over my shoulder, making sure nothing is coming after me. Something might have followed me out when I ran from Christianity.

I'm taking my time with Judaism because I am afraid. I'm afraid of what will happen when the door is closed completely on Christianity. If I don't have closure - if that's what I even need - I'll never find peace in Judaism. I'm afraid of that small tug of betrayal I feel whenever I read about the current affairs of the Catholic Church. The biggest question I am dealing with now is, will that feeling ever go away? It's painful, and I'm tired of dealing with it.

Conversations on Conversion, part 1

Remember that rabbi who told me I need to change my name? who also happens to be a convert? I talked to her the other day. I didn't exactly want to, but she's about to pop out another kid. Once the baby comes, the next time I'll see her will be late August. I figured I'll just talk to her, ask her questions, get it over with because she's a resource whether or not I like it. Don't get me wrong - she's not terrible; just something doesn't click with us.

When I asked her to talk I said I wanted to ask her about her life, she really didn't understand what I was alluding to. Who would ever guess the non-Jewish girl who hangs out at Hillel might want to ask a convert the details of her conversion. I walk into her office and she asks me what's up, what do I want to talk about? I explained to her about talking to my mom, that I had carefully planned to talk to my mom separately from my dad incase he reacted badly, that I don't know what to do about my grandparents, and that it was super awkward. She replied "Yeah, it's weird. It's super weird." Yes, thanks for that. Anyways, I started asking her questions and finally she shared (some of) her conversion story. I mean, I've been waiting for months... Her situation is very, very different than mine.

Her parents are very relaxed. She didn't grow up in a very religious home and it really wasn't a big deal when she converted. She doesn't go to her parents house on Christmas or Easter or anything like that. She converted at a reform synagogue in town (she did her undergrad here). She doesn't care that the orthodox rabbi whose office is right next door probably doesn't consider her Jewish. She says at some point you just have to say f*ck it. She doesn't belong to a temple either, because Judaism "is about what you do in your house. You can daven in your living room and have Shabbos dinner and you're good. Synagogue life in America is dying out."

Honestly, that last part, which has little to do with conversion, was the most shocking to me. I was under the impression that the community was half the point of Judaism. I'm not sure how I feel about that. The reason I love going to Hillel is to see lots of people I wouldn't see in class or wouldn't really invite to my house. Then there's the actual prayer service. There really is something to praying in a group, which is why Judaism encourages communal prayer and only allows some prayers if there's a large enough group. I'm still digesting that information and trying to imagine doing a Jewish life without a synagogue. I think the reason she can get by like that is she has a whole cyberworld. She connects to tons of people through the internet in various ways. I use it to stay connected to people I already know and use email for school/business like stuff. I don't make too many new friends via the internet neither do I have meaningful conversations with many people via the internet. I don't think synagogue-free-Judaism would work great for me.

We actually did talk for a long time and it turned out to be helpful. When I asked her when and where she converted she started talking about my options. She said I should meet all the rabbis in town. She said I could work with her or another chick rabbi in town whose not a congregational rabbi. It was very nice of her to offer to work with me on conversion. I was really surprised by it, actually. I didn't know she liked me enough to be around me on a constant, regular basis. It's so hard to tell with her. But 1) I feel like that would be taking the easy way out by not "shopping around" to find the right rabbi and congregation and 2) I just don't think it would work well. She is totally fine with Christianity, like no issues whatsoever. And that's fantastic for her, it's just not my situation at all. I feel like she doesn't understand just from the brief conversation we had about church and Christianity. I don't just need a teacher, I need someone who can help me understand Christianity from a Jewish perspective and in a way that I don't get pissed off at Christians/Christianity all the time. I've definitely worked on that by myself over the past three years, but there are still certain things that get under my skin in - let's be perfectly honest - an unhealthy way. Also, she disappears sometimes, which I don't find promising for a teacher-student relationship. Not physically - well yes, sometimes physically - but mentally, emotionally. And she's very carefree and relaxed. I don't know, I guess I want my converting rabbi to be full of care and structured. Perhaps I am being too picky or unrealistic. Perhaps all the other Jews by choice out there have given me too much hope for what to expect.

In a more positive light, I would like it if she'd be there for me during the process, if I choose to begin while I'm still in school. I could see her as an additional resource/guide/teacher. And why shouldn't I want more help? I'm allowed to ask for that, right? Honestly, I'm just hopping that she really is having pregnancy mood swings and can be a regular person in my life next school year. I've never known her not pregnant so I can't figure out if what's happened in the last three to four months is baby-related or is her actual personality. I really hope it's the former.

In other news, some of my friends have already said they'd help with shul-shopping this spring so I hope that turns out well. There are three reform and two conservative shuls (also three orthodox but please see the comments section of Was this a bad idea?). One of the conservative shuls has a fantastic website and an Intro to Judaism class. They seem very well equipped for conversion. From what I've gathered in the past year plus, is that most reform synagogues do conversion or will help you find something. So, things are looking pretty good right now.

Breaking the news to Mom

So, I told my mom I am thinking about converting to Judaism. At first, she didn't say anything. It was awkward. Then she said, "Well that's your business." I tried explaining that it's really her business, too. Then she asked why. Although I know really well why I want to be Jewish, it's really hard to spell out when your mom asks you for the first time. I stumbled and mumbled and eventually got out that I wanted to have a religion for my own kids, one that I agree with. I got a confused look and a "what do you mean?"

I must pause here and tell you a story about something that happened a year ago - almost exactly a year ago.  My aunt Mary left the Catholic Church a long time ago and she became a baptist. Her husband's also a baptist and they raised their kids in the baptist church. It really works for them. I was asking my mom all these questions about her leaving, like how old was she when she did it and why. Finally, my mom goes, "What? Do you want to leave the church or something?" When I replied yes, she then asked "Well do you want to be Jewish?" I said I don't know. "Do you want to be a baptist? What? You have to be something. You need to have a religion to raise your kids in. Even though I don't go to church now and I think a lot of those same things you think about the Church, I am not sorry I took you to church. Religion is a good thing for kids to have." And she's so right. So, so right. I mean, I look at kids who are raised with and without religion and I can just see that something is missing from the lives of those kids who have no religion. It's comforting and it can be good if done in the right way.

So when my mom asked me "what do you mean" when I said I want a religion for my kids, I was a little confused. And I repeated her own words to her. She realized my point and paused for a while. "I don't know. I guess I've never know anyone who's converted to Judaism. I mean, I've just always been Catholic. Even though I don't practice it or go to church - I just- I've just always been Catholic."

The moral of the story is that my mom just needs time to adjust. She needs to get used to the idea. Which is fantastic in my opinion. She said a lot more and the next day we talked and she asked me questions. I purposefully told her separate from my dad so that he can adjust without reacting badly in front of me. He will definitely need more time to adjust. But the point it, they can adjust. I don't know what I'd do if I had the type of parents who'd cut me out if I changed religions. I don't know how I could move forward with my life if they didn't want to adjust and compromise. I gave her Judaism for Dummies to read and she said she would. It takes her a while to do things so I know she won't fly through it by any means. But it's really OK if it takes her a while because it takes a while to convert to Judaism.

Honestly, I am so glad I got the most awkward conversation of our whole relationship out of the way. Now I can talk to my mom about my day without leaving out that I went to Hillel. Sometimes that's the biggest part of my day. I talked to my mom on the phone yesterday and my dad sort of cracked a joke in the background about it all. Joking about things = being OK with things, at least in my family.

What a relief.

Why I didn't need religion

This post is long over due. What I am about to write about is the only important thing I have to explain about who I am. I didn't worry about religion a lot of the time in high school because the truth is, I didn't need it. And I didn't plan to ever need it. I had something better: dance.

I am not talking about dance in your living room when you're bored (or drunk). I am talking about fifteen years of classical dance: ballet, jazz, lyrical, and tap. To put it simply, dance was my life. Everything else came second to dance. I missed out on a lot of stuff with friends and school, but it was worth it. The motto of every serious dancer's life is "... I can't, I have dance" because everything conflicts with dance.

Through dance I learned discipline, diversity among people, and unity among people. I learned how to feel through dance. I learned how to live through dance. And I learned how to love through dance. I am who I am because of dance. It is incredibly simple, yet incredibly complicated. It is painful to write this post in the past tense. Every fiber of my being loves to dance and it's so difficult to explain why. I was never going to an amazing ballerina or a badass tap dancer in those shows in little jazz joints and side bars. I was never going to change the world with my dancing. But I still did it for 15 years thinking that I could do those things. I lived my life on the premise that dance would take me everywhere and anywhere I was supposed to go.

Why does any of this matter? Because if I were at a small liberal arts school majoring in dance, I wouldn't be writing this post. I wouldn't be writing this blog. And I wouldn't be half-way to Jewish right now. Is that a good thing? I don't know. I don't know if stopping dance with high school graduation was the best thing or the worst thing I ever did. I just know I did it, and it's too late to change that.

Every week, when I would walk in to ballet class, hair in a tight bun and wearing a black leo and pink tights , place my left hand on the barre, and slide my feet into first position, the whole world would fall away. I could just exist in that moment for ever. There were no fights with friends or parents, no politics, no war, just me, the music, and my ballet teacher screaming in the background. It was heaven on earth. True peace. To this day, if I am having a stressful day and can't focus or fall asleep, I close my eyes and go back there. I go back to the barre and hear the piano music. My heart slows and my head empties and I can be whole again. I can be me in the world and not stress about any of it. Becoming one with the barre and with the music is the only thing that could ever give me such peace and contentment.

So of course I didn't need religion. Why would I go to church to find G-d when He was obviously in the dance studio? Why sing a meaningless hymn when I can dance to a powerful song? Basking in the lime lights of the stage during a performance was easily better than having holy water splashed in my face when I sat too close to the isle.

Countless factors led me to this giant state school rather than the tiny liberal arts college I had planned on since junior high school. I don't know if it was the wrong choice. My life right now is awesome. I love so much of what I do and I would never have had the opportunity to do these things if I'd gone to the baby arts school. But it's hard to find peace sometimes. And it's hard to imagine how I can raise my children effectively without dance. I had never really thought that plan through, anyways. I mean, was I really going to count on a little boy falling in love with dance? Yes, it's a little sexist and gender stereotype-y, but it's a reality of our society. What would have happened when something broke my daughter's heart and pulled her away from dance? That's what happened to me. Then she would have no outlet to connect to G-d. And could I even have taught her about G-d without some religion as the framework?

Am I using Judaism to fill a void? Perhaps. I don't think it's a bad thing. I get some of the same feelings from Judaism that I got from dance. Judaism and dance have things in common for me, but maybe not for other people. After a couple of weeks at Hillel and me getting this one feeling of comfort over and over, I figured out what it was. There's this vibe at Hillel and among Jews. It's hard to explain. But it's the same vibe I felt at the dance studio with my dance girls for fifteen years. It's the same vibe I felt talking to other dancers at competitions who I'd never met. So many of those dancers I knew I wouldn't meet again, but I felt terribly connected to them. I knew their pain, their anguish and they knew mine. We knew each other's joy and our place in the world. This is a vibe I still get when I meet someone at school who grew up in a dance studio and when I hang out with my dance girls from home. I know it will never go away, no matter how long it's been since I last danced. We will always have something to connect us. It's something larger than ourselves and it's something other people just don't get.

This is how every one describes Judaism. Maybe I pick up on it because I've felt it in my life. I perceive this tribe vibe from Jews because I am from a tribe of dancers. Or maybe I pick up on it because I belong to this tribe. Maybe G-d's given me a second chance. Maybe Jews are my second tribe. Or maybe I've found the home I've been looking for my whole life. There is only one way to find out...

The Church & Cigarettes

Remember when I made that New Year's resolution to blog about things within a week of their occurrence? I've totally failed already. This quarter was very insane what with 22 credit hours of class, 3 jobs, and tons of extra curriculars. Excuses, I know. Hopefully I can catch up over spring break and get back on track spring quarter. The next few posts may not be in chronological order, but they all happened in the past two months.

You may recall me saying that the chef at Hillel isn't Jewish (yay gentiles!). Well, one day I went into Hillel to work on some stuff and ordered lunch at the cafe. He called me back into the kitchen to chat while he made my food. He asked me once last year about conversion, but we've gotten a lot closer since then, so he asked again. I told him I am starting to think about it more seriously. He said, you know that's great if you do and what's great about Hillel is they'll welcome you if you convert and they'll welcome you if you don't. Whatever choices you make, people here are going to accept them and be cool with it. Then he asked me about my childhood and religious background. So predictable. I explained the very liberal, open, Catholic household in which I was raised - that my brother went to Catholic school for 7 years but he switched to public schools when I started. The chef was raised Catholic, too, and he told me his excellent story...

He went to Catholic school through the 8th grade. At some point before that, his parents got divorced. Now, if for some reason you are unfamiliar with the Catholic stance on divorce - either you live under a rock or are from Mars - let me explain in a very simple way: it's a BIG NO NO. The official rules say NO DIVORCE in big black letters, bolded and underlined, twice. The Church will still recognize you as married, and they say G-d does, too. A famous case of the Church not allowing divorce is Henry VIII of England. Google it. But I digress. So his parents are divorced. Few years later, his mom wants to get remarried. You may be thinking that the Church said no, absolutely not. False. They said no conditionally. If she were to make a very large donation to the Church, they would recognize her new marriage as valid.

If the word that comes to mind here is hypocrisy then you are spot on. To be perfectly honest, if I had to choose just one word to describe the Catholic Church, it would be hypocrisy. This is terribly ironic because I vividly remember learning this word for the first time in church. At some point in the New Testament, Jesus talks about hypocrites and how they suck and all that. I was about 5 when I heard this word in the second reading during mass. I tugged at my mother's sleeve and asked "Mom, what's hypocrite?" She said "It's someone who says not to do something but then does it anyways." Small child confused look. "Like if someone tells you not to smoke cigarettes then goes and smokes one. That's a hypocrite."

It seems the Church will let you smoke all the cigarettes you want so long as you pay them lots of money. This apparently doesn't violate their moral code in anyway. While my family's experience with the hypocrisy of the Church isn't quite the same as his and maybe isn't as dramatic, it also has to do with their laws on marriage. Not only will the Church not recognize a new marriage after a divorce, they will not recognize any marriage performed outside of the Church, even if it is the first one for both people. Basically, if your marriage does not perfectly fulfill their requirements (save for any monetary bribes or payments) then you're not married to them. So, what I am trying to get at here is that my brother and I weren't supposed to be baptized.

My parents didn't get married in the Church, or in a church at all. They got married at justice of the peace. The Church makes you do a full year of marriage counseling before you can get married. It's to make sure you're compatible or some crap like that. My dad told the priest straight up, "I've been with her for five years. We're compatible. I don't need counseling." When the priest refused to give in, they said fine, we just won't get married here. They had things to do, children to have, lives to build. Well, they actually waited almost 5 more years before having a child but they probably didn't know that at the time. A week or two after my brother was born, my mom calls the church to arrange his baptism. They tell her no. They say she and my dad weren't married in the Church so their son isn't a legitimate child and cannot be baptized. They will need to be remarried in the Church and then he can be baptized. Oh damn, were my parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents mad. Like my parents were really going to get re-married? They don't have time to be re-married, especially with all the hoops a Catholic marriage entails. My grandma and great-grandma went to the church and had a word with the priest. Then my brother was baptized.

What happened? I always got the impression my grandma and great-grandma pulled the money card. You threaten to take away that regular donation from a long-standing Catholic family, and you're gonna have issues. That's why the priest gave in. There were no problems when my baptism rolled around, although it was performed at a much later date than normal (3 months after I was born). I guess no one was concerned about the fate of my soul being stuck in limbo for all of eternity. Probably because that doesn't happen.

So the chef finished that year in his Catholic school so he could be confirmed, but his brother was taken out of school right after that episode. His mom sat them down and said you guys are old enough to decide for yourselves what you want to do, but I am not going to go to church there anymore. So they didn't go to a Catholic church anymore. Sometimes he and his family now go to a non-denominational church, but they're not very religious. He likes to talk about G-d without calling him any name, i.e. Jesus, and without drawing any pictures, i.e. of Jesus, which I think is pretty cool. It makes me feel better that I can see the options for my future in him and other people at Hillel. Though at this point I would rather do the work to convert to Judaism than have no religion at all, at least I know I have another good avenue to go on.

Uncomfortable questions

Last night at Hillel was Jummah Shabbat, put on by the Muslim-Jewish Dialogue group on campus. There was a lot of interfaith discussion happening at dinner. Let me also say that this was the week my roommate decided she would finally check out Hillel with me. When she said she was Catholic to our table, the Muslim guy with us might have had a small heart attack. His eyes popped out of his head, and he immediately turned to me and pointedly said - not asked - that I was Catholic, too. He couldn't believe his luck: Jews on each side of him and two Catholics across the table from him. You could see all the prejudice running through his head. I think that he over came a lot of that through this dinner, which is good because that's the whole point of interfaith dialogue. But that's not really my point. My point is he and the Muslim girl leading the discussion made me feel super uncomfortable. Now, let me be clear, it was not because they are Muslim. I definitely don't think that. It just so happened that this week, two Muslims made me feel uncomfortable instead of the usual Orthodox Jewish guy.

Last night and at so many other times, people have projected their predetermined prejudice against Catholics onto me. But what they are completely ignorant of is that I have those same issues with Catholics & the Church and then some. Instead of trying to get to know me, they put me in a box. A box in which I don't belong. People who know me, the Christians and the Catholics, know I don't belong with them in the same faith box. They never put me there. I'm not a boxy person, but I know that I am technically a Catholic. I've received 4 of the 7 sacraments, and I've got one hell of an Italian last name. Can't really get around it.

And what's more, is that the guy didn't stop when I said "Yes, I was raised Catholic." He inferred from this that I was now Jewish and asked "And you converted?" In his eyes you could see that he was in total disbelief - why on earth would someone convert from Catholicism to Judaism? Well, I could name at least 127 reasons, but I simply said "No. I am not anything." Luckily, one of my friends chimed in and explained to him, "She just likes to learn about a lot of different religions and be well rounded." Phew. We finished that round of discussion questions and then I was out. My roommate and I just talked quietly to each other until dessert, which we ate in the lobby.

As if that episode of name stereotyping wasn't enough for one night, I've got an even better one for ya. The rabbi walks up to us and asks us how our discussion went and I told her not that great and recounted the story. Did she say, "Oh don't worry about it"? Nope. Rather, she asked "When you convert," big emphasis on the when, "are you gonna change your name? It's totally gonna call you out if you don't. Jews just don't name their kids Mary."

Before I tell you the next thing she said to me, I should tell you that at the beginning of the year when I talked to her, her tune was a little different. After about three Shabbat dinners, I decided I needed to make sure she knew I wasn't Jewish. I mean, that's something the rabbi should know about a regular. I told her I figured she knew since my name is Mary and all, but I just had to make sure. Her response was along the lines of "Not really - but that's totally fine! Kids have lots of different names these days. I'm just glad that you come here if you're interested in Judaism because so many people are afraid." That made me feel great back in September. Now it's winter and things are a little gloomier...

So, I told her "No. I don't know. Probably not. I mean, it's my name." Blah blah blah. She replied, "Yeah, I didn't." Then that was pretty much the end of the conversation and she went to talk to some other people. Like, really?!?! You finally tell me that you converted to Judaism and just leave me hanging? Nothing else? Now, granted I totally figured this out in December when she was talking about Christmas and Santa and seemed to know a little more and have a little more to say than the average Jew. She definitely was speaking from experience. It was a total bonding moment. But then we didn't have very many more and I figured she didn't want to talk about being a convert so she pulled away or something. I have no idea any more...

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OK. On the one hand, these moments where people obsess about my name and make me feel like I don't belong definitely put me back about 5 steps. Good thing I ended up not telling my mother that I want to convert to Judaism because now things are up in the air again. I know it seems stupid but how am I supposed to take it when people tell me that my name - something that is literally a part of who I am - needs to go? And on the other hand, I've got a rabbi who converted to Judaism, which makes her the ultimate resource for me, and I have no idea what to do with her. Oy.

Obstacles, Obstacles

There's something I've been debating writing about, because it will give away more of my identity. But I think it's important to this blog and I'm really starting to not care. So if you can figure out who I am and you know me, congratulations. Sure it'll be awkward when friends start talking to me about what's on my blog but I'll get over it.

I got an internship... at Hillel. It's a somewhat long, uninteresting story of how I got it. But basically I am in charge of Holocaust Awareness on campus. Yes, I am the only non-Jewish student employee, but the chef isn't Jewish either so it doesn't seem that big of a deal to me. However, if I stop and think about the state of my life right now -- an employee of Hillel, a regular attendee of Shabbat services and dinner, hanging out with Jews every weekend, living with two Jews next year, taking a class on the Hebrew Bible (even though it counts as my world literature class for my English major) -- my life is pretty freakin' Jewish. How'd that happen?

Life's funny. So OK. I am this intern for Holocaust Awareness, right. So I have been continually reading about the Holocaust, Holocaust Denial, and antisemitism. Depressing, right? Kind of, but that's not my point here. [First I want to remind everyone about my post about two months ago in which I had a mild freak out. Then an awesome commenter, you know who you are, pointed out several good reasons to convert to non-Orthodox Judaism.] I guess what I am getting at is, I am torn between a strong desire to fight antisemitism as a non-Jew (because I believe that the non-minority are equally, if not more, important to the fight against baseless hatred and bigotry) and a desire to have a real religion and community in which to raise my future children. Someone with a Christian name, such as mine, denouncing antisemitism resonates quite differently than someone with a Jewish name denouncing it.

In all honesty, I think I know where I'm headed but this is a tension I am dealing with right now. I have to actually overcome this to be able to move forward with any life changing decisions. And there's just one more thing: for me, choosing to convert isn't just about choosing to change religions, it's about choosing to be religious at all. I mean, whenever I imagined my life growing up, it was always sans religion. I planned to raise my kids with morals and ethics, without the pesky religious stuff getting in the way. Sure the idea of religion being pesky was based on my limited and not very good experiences with the Catholic Church, but it's still a strange thing to envision. I am asking myself now, can I really make a commitment to be religious for the rest of my life? Can I be a good Jew?

Moving Forward

This weekend I went home for a night and a day. It was my niece's 7th birthday party. All week I was kind of planning to talk to my mom about all of this (as in the content of this blog). Ask her what she thinks of me converting to Judaism. Both of my parents know that I have been reading about Judaism and that I have a rather large amount of Jewish friends. In fact, I think that my mom has tried talking to me about this before, it's just that we both suck at starting those kinds of conversations and I just wasn't taking her bait. Examples: fall quarter, Hillel had a havdala event for which they created a facebook event and I attended (both on facebook and in real life). When I went home the next day for whatever reason, my mom tried to ask me what it was but she pronounced the word way wrong so I didn't know what she said at first then I was annoyed that she had asked that way. Winter break, the newspaper did a feature story on Hanukka, and she brought it up. Christmas eve, my parents and I were having dinner and my mom randomly said, maybe this year we should have gone to temple... my dad and I both looked at her and said what?? she was all, yeahh! isn't it Hanukka right now? we could've done something different. So, I guess I'm really stupid for not taking advantage of those opportunities. But in my defense, I was still super uncertain about what was happening way back in October and over winter break I was processing my week of Orthodox Jewish life.

So what about now? Well, now it's been almost two months since that last opportunity, but more importantly it's been a year since I first started seriously learning about Judaism. And this week is Ash Wednesday, which begins Lent. Last year at Ash Wednesday I made a conscious decision not to go, ever again. Ash Wednesday is one of those seemingly less important holidays in Catholicism but in actuality carries great weight. For one who is quite uncertain about their religious identity, going to Ash Wednesday is like saying, for the next two and a half months, I am committed to Christianity. For Lent, people usually give stuff up to try to appreciate this supposed sacrifice that Jesus made for all people. Lent is the season that prepares people for the most holy time of the Christian year. And honestly, I never really appreciated the enormity of Ash Wednesday until I decided I would never again participate. It was always this thing I did because my parents had sent me to CCD and basically made me. I don't even know if I went in high school because I always had dance on Wednesday nights. But I digress.

You probably want to know what happened with my mother. Well, in short, nothing. I got home late on Friday night, because I refused to miss Shabbat services and dinner, and my parents were watching one of their shows. When it was over, my dad immediately started talking to me and we got into a huge historical and political discussion. But, oh, the irony. My dad starts talking about the Catholic Church. He started watching some new miniseries about these infamous Spanish Popes. He was quite emphatic when he started in, "Mary. Now listen. Get this: 1492 Alexander Borja becomes Pope.... .... .... His grandfather was also the Pope... ... !!!!!!!!!" He looks at me with these big eyes, asking "Can you believe that?" Uh, yeah, kinda. Not at all surprised. He explains more of the history and blah blah blah. He was just totally beyond belief that these Popes weren't celibate or well behaved in any way. I just responded by saying, "Has celibacy ever been a real practice? Not really." He asked when celibacy became a practice and I said the end of the 12th century, and it was because priests were having these huge families and the parishes couldn't support them. My dad then says "I feel like now I need to look back through all the Popes and see who the first one was who actually followed the rules. I just can't believe this! I went to Catholic school for all those years as a boy and I just never knew any of this." My mom said, "Come ON, hun!" And I said, "Well, come on, Mom. The Church isn't going to teach people all of the naughty things these guys did over the years. That's stupid for them to tell young kids what hypocrites Catholics have been throughout history." I mean, it makes sense that the Church doesn't want to admit some of those shameful things. But they also shouldn't try to make it seem like the Church has been this perfect entity either. But that's besides the point. The last important thing my dad said was, "I can't believe how these Popes were. I had always placed the Popes on the same level as the Apostles." Woah...

I have never heard my dad talk like this. He never has talked about Jesus or the Apostles or Catholic teachings. Just sooo weird -- definitely wasn't the time to bring up converting to Judaism, just saying. My mom pressed him by asking, "Didn't you ever question Catholic teachings growing up? Because I did, all the time." Timeout. All the time you questioned Catholic teachings -- and now no longer consider yourself Catholic -- but decided to raise your kids Catholic anyways? What the heck, Mom. Kind of nonsensical but nevertheless... Two things: 1. Now I know I inherited the fierce questioning and confusion from my mother and I don't feel like such an outsider from my family and 2. Now I know that my Mom will be supportive. It might seem like she didn't say anything about supporting a Jewish daughter, but I guess you had to be there and have to know my mother.

So, I didn't talk to my mom about becoming a Jew, but something extremely important came out of this visit home.

Random Thoughts

It's been a long time since I've written anything. I didn't want you all to think that I'd abandoned you or my blog. It's just I haven't had very much to say. I guess I am just figuring things out. Hebrew reading skills are improving... slowly, but still. This quarter I am in this adolescent literature class, and right now I am reading this book about a deaf teenager whose mother won't let her learn sign language so she learns secretly. The mother, inevitably, started to piss me off, and I started thinking about what I'd do if my child was deaf. This sort of scene played out in my head. I am at the hospital, the doctor hands me my baby and tells me that he is deaf. I turn to my husband freaked out "If he's deaf, how will he learn Hebrew? Is there Hebrew sign language?"  OK. What the heck? Like why would I think that? What about, will we send him to a regular school? Do you think you can learn ASL, honey? This is probably a sign of things to come...

In other news.... I wasn't going to write about this, but I don't think I have anything else to report so I might as well. A few weeks ago, for various reasons, I was in DC and went to the Holocaust Museum. I've been there a couple times before, and every time you go, you notice something different or something else strikes you or moves you. There were several things I noticed this visit, but there was one thing that really took me by surprise.

On the first or second floor (from the top, in the permanent exhibition), there is a glass walkway which leads to the stairs and it has listed all the names of Jews who died in the Holocaust. Not individual Jews, but all the different first names there were (so no repeats). I was looking at them, just like I always look at the detailed pieces, trying to really grasp all the individuals who lost their lives. These names belonged to someone, to many someones really. Their parents had carefully chosen the name and hoped their child would embody whatever that name means or stands for. There were tons of Biblical names, Hebrew words, Yiddish names, secular German or Hungarian names, etc. And there on the first panel from the right, near the frame, was my name. Yes, Mary was the name of at least one Jew killed by the Nazis. So her name wasn't exactly Jewish, but she was. She was Jewish enough that the Nazis found her and murdered her. This Jewish Mary's Christian name didn't save her. She lived and died as a Jew, perhaps she even died with the Shema on her lips...

Maybe I shouldn't have been thinking those things in the Holocaust Museum. But it is what came to mind as I placed my hand on my name and tears rolled from my eyes. Your name is just one part of your identity, but it doesn't have to define all of you. Yes, I cried during other parts of my visit, as is expected. But I never would have thought of this being a possibility.

Am I My Brother's Keeper?

"You shall not oppress a stranger, for you know the feelings of the stranger, having yourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt" (Exodus 23:9)

"Do not stand idly by while your neighbor's blood is being spilled." (Leviticus 19:16) 

Tonight I went to a Dinner and Dialogue at Hillel, but it was an interfaith event. I was a little uncertain about going to an interfaith event, since I am in this weird interfaith stage and don't necessarily speak from or for a particular faith. It ended up OK but it really got me thinking. There is never enough time at these things for everyone to say everything they were thinking, and what I wanted to say didn't really fit naturally into our conversation. Lucky for you all who now get to read it!

The topic of discussion was "For whom are we responsible?" and we were guided somewhat by the Torah verses above. At my table at least, we all agreed that being responsible includes other people: taking care of them, standing up for them, helping them in whatever ways they need. We feel responsible for our family members, our friends, and our religion. A Muslim girl spoke about how she feels like she represents Islam to people and feared that by not saying hello to two people she really disliked for legitimate reasons that they would dislike all Muslims. If people would dislike Muslims just because one Muslim didn't say hello, then they're dumb. But there are lots of dumb people in this world so her fear was real and justified. This made me think about my own life. I never felt like I represented Christianity or Catholicism, mostly because I grew out of that stage by the time I would have started feeling that kind of responsibility. But could I represent Judaism to someone? Could I handle that responsibility? I think that's an important thing people must consider when converting, regardless of what religion. Do you want to be the face of that religion to some people and carry the responsibility of properly representing your chosen faith? I'm to a point now where I can answer people's questions about Judaism without hesitation. I'm not the most articulate person, but I can do it. If people ask a question, I know what the Jewish response would be.

But I am getting a little off topic. For whom are we responsible? In short, everyone. We are responsible for each other because we are all a part of the human race. Rabbi Joseph Telushkin wrote that when G-d asked Cain what happened to Abel and Cain responded, "What? Am I my brother's keeper?" that the entire rest of the Torah answers emphatically, YES! The Torah tells us that yes, we are our brothers' and sisters' keepers. We are responsible for one another because G-d made all of us with care.

One of the discussion questions that we never got to asked us to share a story that demonstrates what responsibility means to us. I didn't get to share my story and it's really the whole reason I wanted to post tonight. Almost nine years ago, one of my best friend's older brother died. He died in an accident, but not really. He was at college, the same college I go to now, and lived in an apartment with three or four other people. They had a party and when it got late they said OK everyone, go home. Eventually, everyone filtered out and they went to bed. This is how parties go, right? Well, apparently some people weren't happy about the party ending because they came back. They were not empty handed. They stuffed towels into beer bottles, essentially making little bombs, and threw them into the house, through the windows. The house caught fire and they ran.

My friend's brother died that night because of some drunk dumbasses who were never caught because they ran. Who knows, maybe the people (or person?) were too drunk to remember. But they probably just didn't want to go to jail for manslaughter. Her brother was a good person, studied hard, played golf, did community service. He died because it was time for the party to end. He was responsible in ending the party and the people who didn't agree ended his life. Does doing something stupid when you're drunk excuse you from it? No, not in the slightest. I hate when people try to excuse their behavior by saying "Oh, well I was drunk." And if you're making fire bombs when you're drunk, then you need to not be drunk! You're clearly a terrible person when you're drunk. And quite honestly, I've always been a fan of "A drunk mind speaks a sober heart." You don't usually say things totally out of the ordinary when you're drunk: you're usually just more blunt and more sloppy.

What else can I say about responsibility from this story? Well, I have to tell you about the aftermath. My friend's family grieved, they dealt with his death. They had support from family, friends, and the community. He died on April 15, 2003. By the next year they had established a scholarship fund in his name for high school seniors who embodied his qualities and wanted to attend his school or study in his field or play golf. They continue to raise funds for the scholarships year after year to help young kids achieve their dreams of earning a college education. I was one of those kids they helped. His dad still works as a guidance counselor even though he could be retired. He works with lower socio-economic students and brings groups of boys down to the college to visit and to get them thinking about their future. My friend is studying psychology and she did her senior exit project on how children cope with death. This family works so hard to help people who go through rough patches, whether or not the rough patch is the same as theirs was. This family takes responsibility in our world and makes it a better place. Rather than falling apart, like some families do, they made themselves stronger and work harder to support other families. They'll never understand why their son and brother was taken from them, but rather than hide from the world and from responsibilities, they take on more responsibilities.

There are different levels of responsibility. Not standing idly by can be anywhere from taking a direct stand to make a change to simply being aware. It is simply not possible for all of us to stand up for everything. But I think it is a basic civic responsibility to be aware of the situation. Know what's going on over seas. Know what's going on down the street in a different community. And if you know no one is doing anything about a problem, a light will probably go off in your head telling you that you should be the one to step up. Find your cause and work for it. But don't be stuck on that one cause for life. Move around and go where the world needs you to go.

Above all, the prophets remind us of the moral state of a people: Few are guilty, but all are responsible. - Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel 

An individual has not started living until he can rise above the narrow confines of his individualistic concerns to the broader concerns of all humanity. - Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.