Circle of Life

Just last week, I basked in happiness as I watched a female cardinal take a bath in our sprinkler the first day that I watered our newly seeded patches of lawn. She fluffed and preened and shook and was just so enjoying herself from atop our fence in the spray of water that my heart was overfilled with happiness and gratitude.

This morning we came back from temple to a dead baby bird in our driveway. She was perfectly intact and it must have just happened because there were no bugs around her and they just started coming in the time it took us to dig a hole for her burial. She was on her back with her head back, as if she had fallen and her neck had broken. She looked too little to be out of her nest, and I didn't see the nest anywhere. She was so beautiful, every tiny perfect detail of her, and I scooped her onto my trowel and buried her beneath a hedge.

Then I took advantage of the sun between two major rain showers (one of which had made gorgeous music on the roof of the sanctuary) to transfer my seedlings from their cups to the ground. I still felt so sad about the bird, but had to transfer that energy into nurturing new life, life that will help sustain us.

There was too much nature happening in my own backyard today. Beautiful and sad and overwhelming.

Being such an emotional person feels like a curse almost as often as it feels like a gift.

Spring = Many Opportunities for a "Shehecheyanu"!

One of the things that fascinated me about Judaism when I was in my Intro class was how so many of the rituals around life cycle events are perfectly orchestrated to help guide a person through a healthy, normal emotional process. As a social worker, I was intrigued by how the rituals around death and mourning, for example, perfectly correlate with what is considered a healthy and appropriate way to cope and grieve. What a beautiful way to nudge people along this path rather than allowing someone to flounder in chaos and repression and maladaptive coping techniques. This gave me such a respect for the wisdom of our ancestors.

I now feel similarly about the "Shehecheyanu." I have become such a fan of this blessing, and am grateful I had to learn it for my conversion.  It is a blessing for special occasions and new things, and you know what? Finding opportunities where this blessing is appropriate helps enhance my appreciation of these events. For instance, I was already joyous about planting our blueberry bush together, having my hands in the earth and helping nurture life, but recognizing that moment as an opportunity for a "Shehecheyanu" made me appreciate it even more. It made me pause and take time to feel grateful to God for this moment.

A less obvious example is saying it before baking my first cake as a Jew, which I am doing this afternoon to bring to our oneg. (I had the whole week off work for my parents' visit, and since they left yesterday afternoon, I have time today to bake, which rarely happens.) It is also my first caramel cake ever. This is not something I may normally feel such a level of appreciation and happiness for, and recognizing it as an opportunity to say a "Shehecheyanu" gives me pause to feel gratitude and joy where I otherwise would not have. And this is what made it connect in my mind to what I mention above about the wisdom behind Jewish traditions. What a beautiful reminder to appreciate and thank God for even the smallest of things. It keeps me in the moment and builds on my already joyful and contented nature.

The Mysterious Zohar

I have been attending a four part series at my synagogue called "A Taste of Great Jewish Books," led by my rabbi and designed to let us sample major Jewish texts aside from the five books of Moses. The first class on other parts of the Tanakh was interesting, but the next two classes on Talmud and midrash were absolutely incredible and engaging and totally stimulating. They kept my brain firing long after the class, and fueled me to continue studying them. This kept me excited for the final class on the Zohar, and even more so because I'm fascinated by the idea of Jewish mysticism and spirituality and couldn't wait to learn a bit more about it. It seemed like something I would connect really well with.

Well, it wasn't quite as I imagined. It was really, really tough. I felt stupid reading it, and that's not a comfortable feeling, though it's a feeling I can manage.

As much as I love reading and writing, I'm very into narratives. They can be imaginative and creative and fantastical, but they're still narratives. Less concrete and linear works have always been difficult for me, even as they intrigue me. In English classes, I always loved lectures and class discussions on poetry, for example, because I could take something that was a total mystery and begin to understand it. It was ripe with "light bulb" moments facilitated by someone comfortable and expert in the subject. But if I were to sit with it myself and just have someone ask me, "what symbolism do you see in this? what is this saying? what does it mean?" I may very likely have a blank look. This is very often true with visual arts as well. I need help breaking it down, and often just need it spelled out for me, at which point I am thrilled to "get" it. I don't do abstract so well. Or rather, I don't do abstract very well in the art world - I certainly seem to be very strong with it interpersonally, such as in my profession. I can handle and wrestle with and analyze and build on emotional and psychological complexities with ease, but with any art form, I am totally out of my element and need a strong tour guide.

I feel disappointed that I couldn't get into the Zohar tonight, but relieved by the fact that many people in the room seemed to be struggling. I'm comforting myself with the hope that this doesn't necessarily mean this is not something I can get into (because I really thought I would!), just that I need to spend some more time with it, and receive more help around it, to understand and grasp and find meaning in it.

One piece we read tonight referenced Torah as a teasing, seductive woman whose lover (you) keeps coming back to her window in the hopes that she will reveal just a little more of herself, which she does. Tonight might be the first time I have felt the opposite of that - I strolled by her window and disappointingly saw only a shadow, and left frustrated. But I am persistent and a committed lifelong lover and will still keep coming back.

Growing Life (in our garden)

My parents are visiting from South Carolina this week. We timed this trip for spring so that Dad could help us with the yard, and they drove so that they could bring tools and machines to help. They also used this opportunity to bring up things of mine that were stored there since I'm in a house now. The most special item to me is the antebellum cradle, circa 1837, which my grandmother brought home from her antique shop when my mother was born, and which all three of us slept in as well. It is now in my basement, awaiting its future placement upstairs in the yellow room.

Today was our first full day of yardwork, and we got SO much done. We weeded, took the poles down that were supporting our trees but had been up probably for years too long, put our new electric lawn mower together that was a gift from my parents, planted vegetable seedlings in starter pots, tilled my gardening area, and re-shaped and enlarged an area that has bushes so that we could plant our blueberry bush there too. The dirt felt so good and alive in my hands, and I realized how sorely I have been missing my connection to the earth. I grew up by a dirt road we would walk down and watch tadpoles in a puddle. I was both a camper and a camp counselor in the Blue Ridge mountains. I played in the woods in my own backyard, letting my Barbies swim in the creek. Becoming a city girl has left me heartsick in a way that only an experience like this can start to heal.

As I sifted the beautiful, soft Long Island soil between my fingers, marveling in the difference between that and the unrelenting red clay of my homeland, I saw worms come up, squirming frantically upon their exposure. I watched them wriggle and then carefully carried them - at least five in total - to the other gardening area that was ready, in an attempt to minimize the loss of life that would occur when my father used the tiller on this plot. My family was very patient as I carried out my rescue mission, and teased me affectionately when we later saw a robin looking to snack on one of the very worms I had saved from the tiller. But can't you see how much more peaceful and natural that is? That didn't happen because of me, and served a purpose in the world, which makes all the difference.

As Nicole and I finished planting the blueberry bush and stood back to view her, looking so small and fragile and vulnerable as a mere stick in that large plot of soil that we had just created out of patchy lawn, we smiled at each other and I said a soft "Shehecheyanu" that only we could hear.

What a feeling to help nurture life, and the very life that will sustain us if we can keep her alive long enough.

I can't wait to start on the vegetables.

My Heart is Full and Glowing! (how easy that is to make happen)

Let me preface this by pointing out that we were leaving an appointment in the city late yesterday evening and knew we would get to services late. Nicole said she would feel embarrassed walking in late, and what if we just enjoy an evening in Manhattan and go out to dinner? I told her that while I loved that she was having a romantic moment of spontaneity and I didn't want to reject her, I knew I wouldn't enjoy myself because I would be so disappointed about having missed services. I suggested we do that planfully on a Saturday evening sometime, now that the weather is nice, but that I really wanted to go to services tonight. She agreed, but as we sat in crawling traffic and watched the minutes tick by way too fast, she said again that maybe we should just go home. I told her that I'd rather walk in late than not go, that I needed it in a way I couldn't explain, and that she could just drop me off if she was too uncomfortable about going in. She did end up going in with me. The reason I'm starting with this is because all of what I write below would have been missed if I didn't insist on following that magnetic pull that drew me there.

The other day, when we were talking with our friend C about the strong, insistent pull to attend every single Shabbat service (a feeling she shares completely), she said that it's hard to miss any sermon because the wisdom in them is so universal that you always feel it is speaking to you.

Boy did I feel that last night.

Rabbi spoke about several different things, but the piece that riveted me the most was when she talked about engagement and connection. She said that we have to pay careful attention to our inner critic, because while some of what it tells us about our flaws are true, it will convince us that we are not worthy or that we are not good enough for Judaism or God. We may feel that because we are weak in this or that area, far from what we strive to be, or because we don't do a certain thing "enough" or "the right way," that we don't belong or shouldn't be participating. But that's not true. God doesn't expect perfection, and we are worthy to join in with our community no matter what. We are not just connected to God when we're happy and things are going well and we feel good about ourselves and our choices and behavior. We are connected to God all the time.

At the meditation workshop on Thursday evening, Rabbi had asked how I was doing, and I said, "Amazing! I'm still riding the high." Last night, she said in her sermon, "Life is full of milestones where we feel particularly close to God, such as a wedding or the birth of a new baby or a conversion. Cherish the spiritual highs and remember them in times when you may not feel so connected to God. Use that to get yourself through and to remember that you are connected and you belong here no matter what your current emotions or circumstances."

Though, as C said, the beauty and wisdom of a good sermon is that each person feels that the rabbi is speaking directly to them, my heart stopped when she said that. It truly felt like she was talking specifically to me. And it was a great reminder that I may not always feel this sheer joy and excitement. At some point, it may feel so normal and routine that I have to actively seek out ways to keep that spark. While I'm using somewhat of a lifelong committed relationship metaphor, I'll take it a step further and say that if you love it and remain connected and involved and seek out opportunities to reinvigorate yourself as you desire, then this isn't so hard as it may be if you are less interested in doing so or take a more passive role. I know that my relationship with Judaism will evolve, and I have to be realistic that, if not lows, there will at least be plateaus, and I have to be able to feel that without being threatened by it, and then remember the joy and intensity of this early love and build on that to reconnect.

After services, C got stopped by a few people who wanted to compliment her on her solo last week. We went up to the oneg without her, and then about ten minutes later, I told Nicole I wanted to go back down to the sanctuary and rescue C. As I bounded quickly down the steps and into the hallway, who was heading in my direction but Rabbi! The same rabbi that I am always too shy to pull aside and talk to in group settings (which is all the time) when everyone is competing for her attention. The same rabbi that I sent my mikvah journal entry to because I so wanted to process it all with her and had to acknowledge sadly that there wouldn't really be an opportunity since we have had no chance to talk privately since then. She is never alone, and we certainly never just happen upon one another alone.

I said hello and then, lamely, "I'm going to go find C." Rabbi didn't allow me to nervously skitter away, instead stopping me to tell me she had just read my (long, emotional) thank-you letter. She said that I write beautifully and that my writing had moved her to tears three times just that week. She thanked me for sharing that with her, and then hugged me. Rabbi thanked ME. What??? And for writing, when she writes the most brilliant and beautiful articles in our newsletter that is like another sermon? I'm just a humble, adoring fan. A mere student. A learner, a consumer. I was floored that SHE was thanking ME. I still am. When I told Nicole later that I struggled to grasp that, she said immediately, "It's like you with your teens at work. You may be the professional and the one in the helping position, but you always feel privileged when they let you in and you feel fulfilled and rewarded by so much of your interactions with them, especially where you feel you have had an impact. You feel like you learn just as much from them." She can be so wise sometimes.

I told Rabbi that I'd wanted to talk to her about everything that was going on in my head and my heart during the mikvah, but that even if I'd had the opportunity, I tend not to be as articulate verbally. My inhibitions get in the way and I tend to stumble it out, missing some details and awkwardly repeating others.

She hugged me and thanked me for giving of myself to her, for opening up and letting her share in my experiences. I'm so moved that it touched her so much, and so grateful for the perfect series of events which led me to run into her there alone in the hallway. It was just the quiet moment I needed with her after the intensity of last Friday, all of which was shared with so many other people. It gave me such happiness, and that last piece of closure I didn't even know I was craving.

Then Nicole came out to find me and joined us. I told Rabbi how something had changed in Nicole when I converted, as she has since begun attending Torah study and classes, and that I'm so enjoying being able to share that with her and talk about it afterward. I said we almost hadn't made it tonight, and that I was freaking out because there was no way I could go another seven days before going to a service. She said, "I love it," and her smile lit up her whole face.

We almost didn't get to hear this sermon which spoke more powerfully to me than possibly any others, and I almost didn't get to have that one private moment with the rabbi to thank her and hug her and feel a little emotional with her.

If I had said, "Yes, let's just go have dinner and miss services." If I had said, "Yes, it's getting later than we anticipated because of heavy traffic, let's just go straight home." If I hadn't followed that invisible, stubborn wire that was tugging me toward temple no matter what the obstacles. If C hadn't been detained by adoring fans after the service. If I wasn't close enough with C to want to go rescue her. If I hadn't left, without Nicole, just to go check on her right at the moment that Rabbi was coming up. If Rabbi hadn't been down there for whatever reason. If Rabbi had had even one other person with her as is almost always the case because she is everyone's rock star and they all want to talk to her after anything she leads. If Rabbi had let me get away with, "I'm going to go get C" and had just smiled a greeting as I bounded down the stairs.

I may sound a little dramatic, but I can't overemphasize the importance and specialness of that moment. If it sounds dramatic, then that just means I'm not able sufficiently to explain why it was all so special to me. I replayed it in my mind giddily all night. And it was so close, a thousand times, to never having happened.

My Shabbat Obsession

I was going to title this “My Love Affair with Shabbat,” but the word "affair" implies temporariness, a fleeting fit of passion, or at least one that cannot be maintained with any level of intensity throughout a lifetime. On the contrary, Shabbat is one of the things that cemented my love of Judaism, and my appreciation for it and enjoyment of it only grows with time.

I heard it said once that Shabbat is like having a holiday every week. Actually, I think I read that in one of my books for class in a chapter about the loss of holidays from other faiths when you convert. The piece was talking about how “it’s only hard to be a Jew if you don’t like being a Jew,” and spoke about focusing more on all the holidays you and your children will gain with Judaism as opposed to the few you lose. I think that is where it referenced and celebrated Shabbat as “a holiday at the end of every week.”

What a fitting description, as I look forward to Shabbat all week, more than I ever did with an ordinary weekend. I feel excitement as the sun starts to set on Friday evening, and I’m quite distressed if I can’t go to services to celebrate it with people who are equally joyous.

It’s funny to remember back to when we first started attending services and how we would try to get out of it sometimes. We were just sooo tired at the end of the week and didn’t feel like driving out to something that didn’t start until 8:00PM when we just wanted to be in our pajamas with a movie and a snack. One of us would bring it up pretty passively and then feel great relief when the other said, “Well, let’s not go this week. Let’s just read from one of our books and we’ll go next week.” We never missed more than one week at a time, but we certainly enjoyed those “breaks” and it felt like a treat. Now it feels like we are missing out, like we are being forced to stay home from the party, and no amount of recognition within our home feels quite the same. We will re-arrange or reschedule or say no to the craziest things in order to make sure we can go, and it’s not out of a sense of obligation, which is very unfamiliar to me! 

I used to live for the sermon, and most of the rest were details that took away from that, or at least were just too long in comparison. Now that they are so familiar and I have more context for them, I live for every single one of those very details. The Sh'ma has become my favorite piece, the piece I wait all week for, as "Shalom Rav" has become for Nicole.

Friday evenings are joyous, and then I love waking up on Saturday morning. That might be the single happiest moment of my average week. I feel the majority of Shabbat still ahead of me and get to engage in fascinating, thought-provoking conversation at Torah Study. I’m there by 9:00AM, regardless of when we finally got home from the oneg the night before. I leave feeling invigorated and looking forward to the rest of my day, which I do my best to make restful.

Last week was my first Shabbat as a Jew, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I woke up Saturday practically wanting to sing, and cheerily bounded off to my first Torah Study as a Jew. If I still had any question about whether I “feel different” since my actual conversion, this answered it – I have only once before spoken up in Torah Study, around a comparison to Catholicism which was a familiar and comfortable subject, but last Saturday I spoke up several times and really engaged in the conversation. Something clicked for me to make me feel like I have a right to belong and participate in a way that I didn’t feel before my conversion. I feel more confident and relaxed now, and less like I’m being tested or have to feel like a self-conscious visitor. The same was true for Part 3 of our four-part “Taste of Great Jewish Books” course – this past Tuesday’s class is the first one where I really spoke up and participated in the broader discussion instead of just absorbing in awe.

Similarly, I think my appreciation for Shabbat has grown even more since I became fully Jewish. It has always been joyous, but now it is ecstacy. Having a "Shabbat date" (yes, we're nerds) of reading over coffee at Starbucks that afternoon was pure contentment. Cherishing Shabbat and celebrating it and keeping it holy makes me feel so close to my God and my people. You’d think something that is a commandment would feel restrictive, but on the contrary, it is utterly liberating!

My Conversion, Part III: The Public Welcoming

After the service, Rabbi told us to take our time celebrating in the sanctuary while she went up to do the blessing for the congregational dinner. I used this time to open gifts with everyone there. I was so blown away by everyone's generosity - I received such beautiful Judaica, all of which will be remembered forever for this most special moment in my life. We got mezuzot from A&A and from Nicole's boss, a "Woman of Valor" tzedakah box from Nicole's non-Jewish colleague who sent it along with her boss, a "Woman of Valor" framed poem from Nicole's family, a challah cover and kiddush cup from Jen and Heather, and a tree of life kiddush cup from Allyson.

I finally interrupted the schmoozing and asked if we could go upstairs to eat, as it was now 6:45 and the dinner was to have started at 6:15. The Sisterhood had sweetly reserved us the center table, so we didn't have to worry about being separated when we came in late. The dinner was okay, and I felt good about having my group support the Sisterhood by attending. It was also just a nice, relaxed segue into the 8:00 Shabbat service. This was my first Shabbat as a Jew, and I just so enjoyed spending time with everyone, chatting and laughing and sharing details of the day (there were many curious questions about the mikvah!).

Rabbi had warned me that my welcoming would be a very small part of the service because it was a special Sisterhood service and they had a very full program. This was more than fine with me because I had agreed to the option of having a private ceremony long ago so that I wouldn't have to spend too much time in the spotlight and could be more comfortable and enjoy the moment. The smaller, the better! But it was still beautifully more than I had expected.

First of all, I was in the program: "Temple Tikvah celebrates the conversion of Rachel ____." This was such an honor and made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. We had been given a packet when we walked in, as the Sisterhood had prepared an entire service in one packet instead of having us flip back and forth through the books with supplementary materials. It was nice and in order for us to follow it. And after a few pages, I noticed at the bottom of the next page a responsorial piece for my conversion. I became nervous but also touched and excited.

I was called to the bimah, and Rabbi said some nice words about having had the honor to serve on my beit din and be at the mikvah. Then she gave me the microphone so I could say a few words to this beautiful, warm community. I said:

"I want to thank you all for being so welcoming of me in the past year and a half since my wife and I first nervously stepped foot in Temple Tikvah. It has been an incredible community in which to be on this journey. You have all been so kind and supportive while I have been undergoing an incredible transformation in your midst that you were likely not even aware of. Rabbi R has been an amazing teacher and mentor, and I am proud to call Temple Tikvah home, now more than ever. I look forward to celebrating the milestones of life alongside all of you. In the words of the convert Ruth, 'Wherever you go, I shall go, and wherever you stay, I shall stay. Your people shall be my people, and your God shall be my God.' Thank you for welcoming me home."

Cue collective "Awwwww." Just that "Aww" filled my heart with joy - I'd had no idea my simple words would so touch these people.

Rabbi then took out my tallit, which we had given her to keep up on the bimah, and she showed it to the congregation. She said, "Earlier today, Rachel's beautiful wife, Nicole, gave her this gorgeous tallit. Nicole, come on up." She had us go down into the aisle so we were surrounded by our community, and Nicole held it up while the congregation gave the blessing, and then Nicole draped it over my shoulders. Then Rabbi invited the congregation to join in with the reading:

Rachel, we welcome you tonight as a Daughter of Israel, a full member of the Jewish community. We are blessed that you and Nicole have chosen Temple Tikvah as your spiritual home, and we offer you this ancient blessing in turn:

Y'varechecha Adonai va'yishmereicha
May God bless you and keep you,

Ya'eyr Adonai panav elecha vi'chuneka
May God's face of endless grace shine upon you

Yisah Adonai panav eylecha, vayesem lecha shalom
May God's countenance be ever turned toward you

May you find community and compassion,
Wisdom and wonder,
Answers and questions,
Privilege and responsibility,
Sweetness and joy abundant,
May your Jewish journey continue and bring you, all your people Israel, and all the world,
Wholeness, promise, and peace.

They couldn't have said anything more perfect, and it was so wonderful to see all those happy, proud, and emotional faces. Rabbi gave me another wonderful, long hug, and then I sat down and participated in my first Shabbat service as a Jew.

It was just a few minutes, and it was perfect. They made those minutes count. I felt so special and loved and welcomed without having to be completely awkwardly on the spot. I'm so, so glad I did everything exactly the way I did it, as far as what I did during the private ceremony versus the public.

At the end of the service, a Sisterhood co-president went up as the bimah officer to make announcements. She also happens to be the first person we ever met at Temple Tikvah when we were awkwardly and anxiously trying to figure out where to go our first Shabbat there, and she had helped direct us where to go. She related that story (embarrassing, but also made us relatable to the congregation!) and sweetly welcomed me, saying how lucky Temple Tikvah was to have me a part of the community, and then invited me up so she could give me a gift from the Sisterhood. It was Shabbat candlesticks in a beautiful velvet box. So perfect.

At the oneg (dessert reception held after services), soooo many people kept coming up to me to hug me and congratulate me, including a couple of people who themselves had converted or had a parent who had converted. I was so touched at how my conversion moved people, and so glad I found the courage to allow them to be part of it in some way.

The day was perfect. The beit din was anxiety-provoking, the mikvah was emotional and the most powerful experience of my life, my delicious Jewish lunch was relaxing and joyful, the private ceremony was intimate and meaningful, and the public ceremony was affirming and welcoming. It was just the best day from beginning to end. I'm so grateful for a rabbi who contributed to its specialness through the spiritual and connected way that she led everything. It has been such a treasure to build this relationship with her, to have her witness to and part of my transformation, and then to facilitate my conversion as someone who has gotten to know me quite well. I am so, so blessed to have been led to exactly where I need to be.

In the joyful afterglow, I feel content and at peace. I had a lovely first Shabbat as a Jew, full of rest and relaxation and love and contentment. I went to my first Torah study as a Jew, feeling more comfortable and like I had a right to be there and to participate. So yes, in case you wondered, it DOES feel different afterward, despite my day-to-day life looking pretty much exactly the same. I am indeed who I have always been, but a light switch went on inside me at some point. My excitement turned to contentment, my nervousness to comfort and peace. I am so, so happy.