Next week is going to be a tender week for me, what with the whole I’m about to be a full-fledged Jew thing and all. But there are some observations I want to download onto the blog first. Five days and change before my official conversion date, it’s interesting to note how different my circle of friends is now versus six months ago, when my journey to join the Jewish people began.
As you might imagine, being a regular worshipper and new member at my synagogue, I have made many new friends and acquaintances from there. Some I see every week, others I will soon begin to study Hebrew with. One will accompany me on mikveh day next week.
Pre-existing friends have been more scarce. Giving credit where credit is due, the stress of my almost homelessness, job search, and move back to Marina City–along with the business of finding and moving in with a new boyfriend–made it difficult for me for several months to reach out as readily as I would have liked. Emily Tastycakes I’ve seen twice all year. Pastry Chef Chris (who, himself, recently put out an All Points Bulletin for his friends on Facebook) I haven’t seen since Christmas. I miss them.
Some others, though, have left my life, either by their decision or, frankly, mine. It’s amazing how much stress society places upon us to have shallow spiritual lives. Anything that gets in between Western civilization’s nonstop quest for material happiness and simultaneous low moan about not achieving it is derided as a weak-minded pastime. It’s also amazing how persistent many people can be in false assumptions about Judaism.
When I first blogged about finding my Jewish spark, one longtime friend let me know in no uncertain terms how disappointed he was that my otherwise intelligent and formerly secular self would be so juvenile as to find any usefulness in religion or (ahem, God-forbid) God. I’ve never met a happy, non-confrontational atheist and nothing in our exchange changed that for me. He hasn’t spoken to me since.
A few months ago, another friend told me he didn’t mind talking to me about any other subject, but that if I wanted to remain friends with him, any mention of Judaism was off limits. I could talk, as long as I pretended that Jews didn’t exist. Ever try telling a black person to ignore the existence of other black people? Gay people of other gay people? Women of other women? Exactly. I told him, specifically, to “get lost,” unfriended him on Facebook, and went on with my life.
In December, another friend chose an hour before temple on the evening of my mother’s yahrtzeit (death anniversary) to totally disrespect my observance of Shabbat, then ask me for the umpteenth time, “You don’t really believe in all this Judaism stuff, do you? You really don’t believe that Jesus is your savior?” Um, no. I was so taken aback I ended the evening early and stopped returning his calls. He moved away without knowing why I was angry with him. But, honestly, there’s a limit.
The very first book I read during my conversion studies–Why Be Jewish? by David J. Wolpe–suggested an answer to societal demands that we take our spiritual lives lightly: why? Of all things ever to take seriously, why not take seriously questions like why are we here? How are we here? What else may exist in All That Is? Why not give extra weight to things like love, compassion, joy, justice? Going against the grain like that requires bravey, but in the end, we’re responsible for our own lives and our own hearts.
And most importantly of all, Wolpe noted that you can’t have a spiritual journey inside of someone else’s head.
I couldn’t agree more. I didn’t choose to be Jewish. The point of my conversion journey is that I realized Jewish is what I always was. Even if that wasn’t how I felt, knowing what I know now I would still choose to be Jewish. I’m that much in love and it that aptly describes who I am. And I’m an observant Jew, which means I don’t lead a secular lifestyle. Boy, that can throw some people out of their comfort zone.
That’s their problem. At this point, I’m very comfy in my mine.