On the other side of the miqveh

8 Tammuz, 5771

Darkness has descended on Boston now, like a comforter that falls gently unto a waiting bed. Night never falls hard here on the Massachusetts coast; it arrives in ever-darkening waves off the water, lulling the city to sleep. I tell friends back in New York what is so amazing (to me at least) about Boston is that, unlike Manhattan with its endless canyons of concrete and glass, the Hub never tries to overwhelm the skyline. In the evening, even when its electric glow is at its brightest, you can still pick out the stars in the sky.

If you are reading this then there are at least three hanging over my head. Shavua tov! I hope you had a blessed Shabbat, whatever that might mean to you. My first as a converted Jew has now ended. I am sitting out here on my back porch thinking about a question asked me before I entered the miqveh: What do you think will be different tomorrow than today? For a moment thousands of clever answers surfaced in my brain (writers always search for the perfect reply) but in the end I decided to go with the most authentic: I didn’t know. I mean, really, would I be more spiritually Jewish in the next few minutes than I was now? What would that even mean? I thought I had been feeling that way for many months now, in the reverence for Torah and observing Shabbat and applying Jewish texts and beliefs and love to my own life. Would that be intensified now? But what if it wasn’t? What if I toweled off and felt no sense of having arrived? Would things sound different, look differently, smell and taste different? What if they didn’t? Ugh, expectations can so clog up the synapses.

What I ended up saying was, I would step out of the miqveh without anticipation, and hope in this way I could encompass and appreciate it all. I am so glad that was my answer, because in the end it made every moment that followed more precious, more sensuous, more heightened, more wondrous, more. I can still remember the feel of my toes on those seven steps as I entered the welcoming warmth waters which enveloped me in a way no other pool or pond or ocean had before; the sound of my own voice as I surfaced each time with Hebrew prayers on my lips; the joy as I rejoined the gathered to their heartfelt  ‘mazel-tovs’. Then later, back at Temple Israel as I received my rabbi’s blessing, my heart moved by the surprise friends in attendance, who listened as I recited a beautiful poem about the faith and people I now consciously and lovingly belonged to, and sang the Shema solo before the opened Ark. Then my rabbi took my hands and blessed me, speaking of my Hebrew name for the first time. That I felt resonate down to my soul

Did the Shabbat service that followed seem any, well, different? Yes, yes it did - although I’m not sure the thesaurus could provide the adjectives to accurately describe how. I said the same prayers as I always did, bowed with the same love as before, took in the sermon with the same hungry curiosity as always – yet this time I felt more present in the moment, more a part of the gathered voices and more of the good energy we were raising. Shalom Rav (one of my favorite prayers) and the Aleinu seem to come from a deeper place and expand more into the evening. More.

Was there a sense of belonging that wasn’t there a week ago, a day hour, just a few hours before? No – and yes. I was still in my same seat (Shabbat regulars always know where to look for me, ha), surrounded by the same congregational family…and yet there was now a sense of being more being present with them, more a part of them, more We than ever before. For someone who has spent most of her life as a wandering lone wolf, that’s quite an amazing feeling to have. Scary and frightening yet warmendearingsafelovely, all in the same deep breath.

Is it any surprise then by the end of the service I felt exhausted – but in a good way, like finally crossing the finish line of a marathon you’ve trained for, finally touching the wall after a meet in the pool, taking away the last dish of a dinner you cooked for those you love. I had meant to stay for some Riverway Unplugged/Soul Food, the later monthly service, and what I know would have been another great sermon by Matt, but knew then I would just be pushing myself and probably would have embarrassingly nodded off. (Next month, for sure.)

Added bonus: this morning at Torah study the rabbi called me up for my first aliyah. I tend to quake whenever I get up before people (ironic since I love doing public readings and spoken word) so hopefully that wasn’t too obvious. I imagined my first aliyah would be a stuttering off-keyed mess but (at least in my ears) the words rang true. I’m not even sure what that means, exactly – again, a moment that defies mundane description. Perhaps that is best. Like kisses, I think, these are snapshots not meant to be dissected but rather 

experienced at the edge of loving lips.

The neighbors have their Saturday night bonfire burning now, the smell of woodfire smoke a lingering summer perfume. I can hear dishes clatter and glasses clink, laughter floating up from their yard. Sometimes at sunset they’ve been known to blow a shofar. Off in the distance The Pru is lit up like a beacon. The lights of incoming flights skirt the horizon on their way to Logan. Fenway remains dark – no game tonight, apparently. Still, I’m told, hopes for the pennant are running high. Welcome to Boston.

A beautiful evening breeze is gently running its fingers through the neighborhood trees. For some the day is ending and for others it is just beginning. Endings, beginnings, light and darkness, sunrises and sunsets, befores and afters. It’s hard not to muse over what separates and what distinguishes, what’s holy and what’s profane, what remains the same and what changes, what’s on either side of havdalah, or a miqveh.

Especially now as a Jew

Shavua tov.

Upon 'Becoming' (My Conversion Song)

6 Tammuz, 5771

Shabbat Shalom.

In the Mishkan T’filah there is a poem that has stayed with me since the first time I randomly opened to its page. It is called “Becoming”:

“Once or twice in a lifetime

A man or woman may choose

A radical leaving, having heard

Lech lecha — Go forth.

God disturbs us toward our destiny

By hard events

And by freedom's now urgent voice

Which explode and confirm who we are.

We don't like leaving,

But God loves becoming.”

     As its footnote in the siddur points out, Rabbi Norman Hirsch’s poem is based on the Genesis passage in which HaShem tells Abram (soon to be Abraham, arguably Judaism’s first convert) that it is time to go forth and take the first of many small and probably frightening steps that would become the journey to all Jewish people.

     Now I did not know the meaning of Lech Lecha when I first started out on the path that would lead me here today. I hadn’t read that Genesis passage - let alone any passage from the Bible - for a good number of years. Decades even. Yet I did hear something - a wind outside my door that knew my name, a song from a dream I had never heard before but somehow knew every word to – tempting me to look beyond the walls of my work cubicle and my NY apartment. And while I didn’t think my decision to move was all that ‘radical’ a good number of friends did, sharing with me their well-intended concerns. I will always love them for that. I have no doubt Abram would have considered himself lucky to have known such good people.

     Just how drastic was my path did not become apparent (at least to me) until I found myself out in the concrete wilderness of the urban desert. I wish I could tell you it was a burning bush, unconsumed, that sent me on my way but no, the reasons appeared much more profane – a bad economy, a fruitless job search, an unsteady paycheck – hard circumstances to be sure. But – and I did not understand nor appreciate this at the time – we cannot escape what enslaves us (or perhaps even know we’re enslaved to begin with) without first walking the walk of our own personal exodus.

     Luckily, I came to realize you cannot have an exodus without a few miracles along the way. No, the dirty waters of the Riverway did not part for me nor did I have manna rain down but that did not mean the wonders I encountered were any less profound. A kind stranger’s offered couch, a co-worker’s shared lunch, my employer’s support, a best friend’s surprise visit, the smile from a passing stranger…and a community that was there every week with open doors, open hearts, a safe space for a weary body and ragged spirit. These then became the waters from the well that followed me and kept my thirst slaked, enabling me to keep on keeping on.  

     I realize now this journey of mine was less about needing to arrive at a destination than finally finding a place of heart and hearth. For whether it is the musical prayers of praise during a Friday night Shabbat service or the lively discussions on a Saturday morning Torah study, the activism embedded within Tikkun Olam, or simply the Simcha that makes one want to dance in the streets, so much of Judaism has felt intimately familiar to me, like a remembered love ballad. Look, I have never been a blindly obedient acolyte but rather someone who has always questioned the answer, even if that meant wrestling with angels; I have not been one to wait on the redemption of lottery-ticket miracles but rather someone who needs to learn what it takes to help herself, her community and others; I have never been one to foster anesthetic and unrealistic expectations about human nature but rather has striven to plumb the depths of its untidy sensuous mystery. And finally I have never been one to shy away from shaking timbrels on the far shores of parted waters, singing unto wells, or climbing mountains to meet my ever-patient, ever-loving Higher Power.

     This is for me what ‘becoming’ a Jew feels like, then - a homecoming.

     Like coming home.

     Shabbat Shalom     

Some passing thoughts from along this Judaic path

So yeah, it’s true: I’m bad at giving directions. "Fairly horrible" might be a more accurate descriptor. I tend to mix up right and left when I'm nervous and would carefully explain to you in the most well-meaning tone how to get to the local T stop by way of California.

But if I met someone just starting out along a path of Jewish (or perhaps any religious) conversation, and they asked, I would share with them these few thoughts:

1 - You’re not trying to beat anyone to the mikveh (or whatever dedication ritual ends this process for you.). I’m certain it will still be there, filled with water, when you arrive. So downshift a couple of gears and come out of the passing lane, already! There’s too much beauty, too many desert blooms, along the side of this road to hyper-focus on the finish line. (And if you’re thinking of it in terms of a finish line, you might want to ask yourself if this process is truly a journey or just a means to an end.)

2. - Likewise, respect where other people are, or where they have been, along the conversion time-line, and hopefully they will respect wherever it is you’re at in return. People will rarely, if ever, be at the same place at the same time. Why should they be? Human individuality kinda negates that sort of impossible symmetry, especially for self-driven learning experiences.

3. Does this all seem much larger than you and those things you may hold dear (e.g., - Facebook, iPods, how many cylinders are humming beneath your hood, the holiday office party, the person you rolled over to find in your bed this morning )? That’s probably a good thing. I believe that spirituality should be larger than Steve Jobs’ latest toy, Lindsay Lohan’s latest bust, yesterday’s gossip or tomorrow’s midterm. Hey, we’re talking about how we come to understand Life, The Universe and Everything. This isn’t a set of Ikea instructions. If we’re not even a little overwhelmed and awestruck by that process, then what qualifies as wonder in our lives?

4. - Talk to people. Share your thoughts, your fears, your joys. Grab a coffee and a bagel with a shmear over at Rubin's with someone from your class, hook up with a Shabbos buddy, or ask a Rabbi. (They really like and appreciate that.) This process is experiential. It goes deep and stirs up still waters. It’s supposed to shake your foundations. (See #3). These are huge, far-reaching issues that make our hearts pound and questions that capture our thoughts. I’m not sure anyone could, or should, carry these alone. Maybe you can figure out what you need to in silence but I promise, that bagel tastes better across the table from someone else.
(And, and just so you know, there are no stupid questions. Seriously. And if anyone tells you differently, go find someone else to talk to.)

5. - Finally, I truly believe we all practice our own form of religion every day (if by religion you mean a way of relating to ourselves, each other and the cosmos). (And I do.) I see Socialism as a religion and Parenting is a religion, Sex for sure, Politics, too, Academia definitely, and even, paradoxically enough, Atheism. Each claims its own set of scriptures per se, qualified (or not) leaders, a specialized lexicon and time-tested rituals, an agreed-upon code of ethics, and settings. I remember this every time someone looks at me as a converting Jew a wee bit askance.

We all have a calling down some road. May it end up taking us to where we need to go.

God as G-d a.k.a. HaShem who used to be known by El Shaddai = ?

So my last "Introduction to Judaism" class took on one of the big Judaic topics (or at least big for me). Namely, God. To say the subject was a tad intimidating would have been a gross understatement. All my previous spiritual backgrounds have framed their deities in very visible and (pun intended) concrete forms. Judaism will have none of that, thank you for very much.

For instance, Paganism has long been rift with anthropomorphic renderings of the (at the time) unknown. Ancient cultures dealt with the natural/supernatural worlds by dressing up their mysteries in flesh and bones. Stroke of lightning? Cue the angry bolt-tossing cloud god. Wild seas? Must be that annoyed Poseidon dude. The love in someone’s eyes? Blame a mischievous arrow-wielding cherub. Need to explain the fates? Bring in the trio of thread-weaving crones. What could a wife/mother call upon to aid her during the daily grind? Enter Hera, the paradigm of all long-suffering Wives and Mothers.

Of course, what seemed perfectly acceptably back in the day (e.g., Ancient Rome, Greece, Egypt) is a little harder to simply take at face value today. (Broad generalization warning here:) Modern Paganism teaches that its gods and goddesses are really manifestations of universal gender-polarized energies that can all be traced back to a single cosmic source. Those same energies are in us at all times, also. It is all connected. As such it would only make sense that as much as we are made in the Gods’ images we have in turn made Them in ours as well. As above, so below..

Catholicism is different - well, kinda. Historically, if not spiritually, Christianity seems to have borrowed liberally from both the Pagans and the Jews when sculpting its Higher Power for the masses (another pun intended). It rolled out a Zeus-like father figure who gladly accepts sacrifices, grants favors (miracles) and dispenses final judgments from a throne at the center of a cloud kingdom. Always in the male form (traditionally, if not annoyingly, the dominant culture always gets the privilege of making paradigms) he is considered the One - except of course when he’s the Three, as in Father, Son and Holy Spirit. (And you have to know there are no coincidences when examining this particular dynamic and the use of trinities in earlier Pagan cultures.)

While God has not always been the spokes-icon for The Catholic Church, where he has shown up has left little to the imagination (or to the gender of those who have been doing the imagining). Again, he is often portrayed as an elderly (and therefore supposedly wise) male, bearded, dressed, presumably muscular, seated in a position of ultimate authority and judgment. (Or not: Family Guy)

So spread the Tarot deck and take your pick: did you need The Disappointed-Daddy God or the Merciful Throw-You-A-Bone God? The Ruler of Olympus or The Heavenly Sovereign-as-counter-point-to-that-thoroughly-evil-Lobster-God-of-below?

Judaism offers something entirely different: nothing. Of course, I don’t mean an atheistic void but rather a monolithic (ha ha! yes I'm here all week) Question Mark, an Unknown, perhaps the greatest of Unknowns. There are no stained glass portraits or altar statues of the Sovereign of the Universe in any temple or even a preschooler’s sketch of HaShem in your local synagogue. And good luck trying to find some archeological evidence of Judaism's El Shaddai. Sorry, doesn’t exist. Never did. In fact, a great many Jewish thinkers from across the ages believe that to apply any human characteristics to God - even in terms of gender and emotions - is to be guilty of idolatry.

And, you know what? I get that, I really really do. Because I truly believe the moment we humans believe we can imagine something we try to categorize it/tame it/control it/render it impotent against us. You might reason that after thousands of years of matrimony we would kinda think otherwise. Evolution, apparently, is slow.

Still, what makes perfect theological sense can be quite the conundrum in reality. I don't know about you but in there have been plenty of times in my life when I have needed to imagine my Higher Power in the flesh per se, have some sort of mental picture to either hug or throw darts at, wanted some cosmic coat-hook to hang my fears or joys or praise upon. Sometimes I have needed the universe’s largest shoulder to lay my weary head upon, or have the Eternal Protector watch my back, or just have the Cosmos's oldest entity as a traveling companion along Life’s more lonely paths.

So what does Judaism’s faceless and genderless G-d leave for me to hold onto instead? If I can't pull a ready card out of Judaism's Tarot, what am I left with?

Coming from someone who is converting, my answers may sound limited. Or, if you will, evolving.

Here’s what I know. Instead of imagining a deity whom I can physically recognize and therefore think of as one day being equal to I am forced to reexamine my humble place in a larger cosmos. Instead of figuring out how to please/supplicate/satiate (and therefore second guess) some cloud-based supernatural being/pantheon I must now learn how to relate to my human community, of which I am inescapably a part of, here on earth. Instead of focusing attention (and money) on statues/tapestries/stained glass I am left to direct my thoughts and emotions on Torah and my Jewish family.

Hmmm. Is that what HaShem intended all along?

But then as a Jew I know better than to think I would have that answer.

Catching up, Part 1: May - June 2010

(Preface: Although I just started this online journal of my Jewish journeys, I have been making entries since mid-Spring on my laptop. This is when I first talked to Rabbi Zecher of Temple Israel, Boston, who instead of letting me convert that day as I wanted - and thank you for that! - suggested amongst other things that I start a diary. So I thought I would drop in those entries here just to catch up to the present day. For the most part these will be left untouched. Also the dates are approximately accurate.
I have to admit with some chagrin and love, a smile touches my lip as I reread these personal postings. I recognize the voice, the person and the incidences. These are quite a testimony of just where I was in my life. Some of my questions have found answers, which have led to more questions. Some remain elusive.Fair warning: not all of this is pretty and speaks to some very emotional life incidences that I make no apologies for. )

(May, 2010)

"Shabbot Shalom!

I went to my first Shabbat service and Torah Study today and thought it an excellent spiritual experience. Although I understood not a word of the service (spoken in Hebrew? Yiddish?) I did gleam their feeling of giving thanks to their Higher Power, which always leaves me uplifted.

I also loved their talk/study afterwards, how they brought their passage home. It was some verses about spies Moses had sent to go scout out the Promise Land - historically, um, er ok, morally am not sure, but the rabbi brought it all back the personal.

I love how Jews can laugh at themselves and discuss. They really like to discuss. Not necessarily debate - they are not trying to be right - but they like to question, to examine, to turn things inside out, to try to find its truth.

I like that Judaism allows this, that it fosters questioning and questions and can even readily admit it does not know the final answer (or even if one exists.)

I like that it brings its lesson back to the personal that it discusses human psychology. That it does not claim a victim mentality, nor harnesses everyone with the yolk of original sin. No, their lessons left me today feeling good and empowered, something I never experienced w/Catholicism

Christianity always left me feeling less-than, especially as a pansexual person of transsexual experience. I have always felt I have been saddled with original sin and must spend the rest of my existence trying to scrub my soul clean enough for a Father figure who will only let me know if I’ve done a good enough job when I’m dead. Christianity sees my transsexuality as a handicap, a horror, something to be shunned, hidden away, pitied. It hates diversity, glorifies group-think and keeps a militaristic tone.

At this moment I see Judaism as the antithesis of that. I see it as a discourse amongst individuals, a way to bridge the gap between the religious and the secular, the human and the divine. It does not glorify on the lottery-type miracles but instead focuses on the daily miracles of human interaction. It brings the divine down to street level. It is earthy, somehow. It doesn’t concern itself so much with the dogma of fundamentalism and patriarchal mythos but with everyday interactions, emotions, the sensuous Life.

This strikes me as very psychological-based. For instance, yesterday’s teaching ended with a call not to shrink one’s self in the face of adversity, no matter the size of the giants before you, not to diminish one’s own self, but to stand tall. I can’t think of ANY Catholic sermon that ever carried that message. Catholicism seems to preach the opposite - stay bent under the crushing weight of invisible sin and be thankful for the opportunity to be indentured to a Master God. This is like an abused child being told to be grateful for having an abusive father. This is a poor starving person being told to by the rich at the dinner table to be thankful for her or his every crumb. Really? Is it not better to invite to a place at the table (without the pressure to make them conform to one’s own religion?) Is it not better to teach them how to cook? Help them get educated to get a job so they can live on their own? .

Jews know about slavery - but they also know about freedom. Freedom from Masters. Freedom from group-think. Freedom from ignorance. Freedom from the resignation of Fate. Freedom from the impossible weight of constant sin. Freedom from the angry demanding Father Figure who judges without reason from a Zeus like throne somewhere in his Olympus-like Heaven.

As for the local Socialist movement -

um, I’m starting to have a big problem with their anti-Israel focus and fervor. Not that I agree with what the IDF did but why the sole focus on Israel and not Hamas? Both sides have killed, why choose only one to focus on? Are they a socialist platform or a palestinian platform? By the way, exactly how does Socialism see itself fitting into this argument? It’s weird because I don’t see them taking on other Muslim protests around the world. I don’t see them fighting for Muslim rights in France. I never saw them standing up for Muslims post 9/11. I don’t see them fighting for the rights of Muslim women in Turkey, Iraq, Iran...yet this vehement focus on Israel.

I will grant you I do not know the history of the conflict well enough and do not know Zionism well enough to offer up an informed opinion yet. Some of the stuff I am seeing is definitely making me feel uncomfortable. But then, so is Hamas. And so are the socialists’ one-sided protests. Did they protest during the bombings or cheer them on? Must find out. Disturbing, no matter what.


Israel: Questions to be answered. Is this only a Jewish state, a Zionist’s wet dream? What is Zionism? Is there any justification for it? (In other words, do Jews have a claim to Israel the way Native Americans have a claim to territories in The United States? Are they an indigenous people?) How was Israel granted to them? By whom? What considerations, if any, were given to those living there on the land when Israel was formed? And by whom? Who fought who in all the wars that followed?

Given Christianity’s centuries’ worth of Crusades (which some still glorify) can they be an objective critic to Judaism’s claim on the land?

What is Life like in Israel? Is it really an apartheid state? I would find it incredibly hard to believe that writers such as Erica Jong and David Mamet would support any system that would encourage that sort of racial divide. Is Israel the new South Africa? I have been told there is a divide amongst its residents that borders on civil war regarding Gaza. I don’t think white South Africans had that view. Inside of Israel Jews and Arabs seem to be living in accord - not necessarily peace but in accord. Is that really the case? If so, what does that say? If not, what does that say?

And finally, Gaza. If the citizens voted in a terrorist organization, what does that say? Some say it was in reaction to Israel, yet look how hamas treats them. Didn’t the Germans vote in the Nazis prior to World War II? Wasn’t that in part in reaction to how the rest of the world treated them? And would the answer justify Israel’s violence-making? Or hamas’s missiles? At what point do people simply say stop? At what point do people simply say, Killing is Wrong, Justified Violence is still Violence?

Too many questions to seek all the answers today. The only thing I can come away with is knowing that I have much further to go before I come down on one side or the other - if any at all.
Shalom....."


June 13^th, 2010

"Something else I find I really like about Judaism. It does not try to convert the world; it does not see prosthelytizing as its mission. Attraction over promotion. Why? As explained on wikipedia:

"Righteousness, according to Jewish belief, was not restricted to those who accepted the Jewish religion. And the righteous among the nations that carried into practice the seven fundamental laws of the covenant with/wiki/Noah Noah and his descendants were declared to be participants in the felicity of the hereafter. This interpretation of the status of non-Jews made the development of a missionary attitude unnecessary.The dogma and beliefs of Judaism, although revealed by God in Judaism, consist of universal truths applicable to all mankind

" So in other words, there are some basics to being morally/ethically good. If you do that in your ordinary

Life, than it is the equivalent of acting Jewish....

Also, regarding individualism in the greater Reform Judaism Movement:
"...personal autonomy still has precedence over these platforms; lay people need not accept all, or even any, of the beliefs stated in these platforms. ...if anyone were to attempt to answer these two questions authoritatively for all Reform Jews, that person's answers would have to be false. Why? Because one of the guiding principles of Reform Judaism is the autonomy of the individual. A Reform Jew has the right to decide whether to subscribe to this particular belief or to that particular practice." Reform Judaism affirms "the fundamental principle of Liberalism: that the individual will approach this body of mitzvot and minhagim in the spirit of freedom and choice. Traditionally Israel started with harut, the commandment engraved upon the Tablets, which then became freedom. The Reform Jew starts with herut, the freedom to decide what will be harut - engraved upon the personal Tablets of his life." [Bernard Martin, Ed., Contemporary Reform Jewish Thought, Quadrangle Books 1968.]"