Omer 2024 Day 37

Day 36 | Day 38

Day 37: Gevurah in Yesod, Strength in Connection

My Grandpa Earl used to take us to the park near his house that had a little bridge over a drainage ditch. We liked to drop rocks into the water, but there was only enough water to make a splash if it had rained a lot recently, so it was usually dry or just muddy. In those cases, he would make splashing sounds with his mouth from small "plops" to loud "PLUNKs" and everything in between.

There is a creek behind my house and my kids have inherited the near-universal human desire to throw rocks into it. This creek, being an actual creek and not just a drainage ditch, always has water in it, but I still like to mimic my grandpa and put a little extra oomph into the splash their rocks make, and as I do, I tell them about Grandpa Earl.

I tell my kids stories like this about their great-grandparents all the time. I tell them about painting watercolors with my Grandma Loretta, decorating cookies with my Grandma Ruby, and watching baseball and eating donuts with my Grandpa Howard. Each story is a cherished memory, and as I share my past with them, I hope they will draw strength from the fact that love endures beyond death, that the legacy of their great-grandparents can reach them even if they never met, like ripples in the creek reaching the shore.

Response to Rabbi Ain's Pandemic Questions

I recently read an article by Rabbi Dan Ain in Tablet titled "The Four Questions of the Pandemic." I thought the premise had potential and I opened the article expecting a nuanced and thoughtful piece about what it means to lead and make community in these difficult times. As an active member of my Jewish community, a Jewish parent, and a Jewish professional, I knew that Rabbi Ain would be taking on tough issues with no easy answers. To my surprise and frustration, the article I read had neither nuance nor deep thought. Instead, Rabbi Ain took 1000 words to essentially say "I'm done."

So I'd like to take a few moments to unpack some of Rabbi Ain's accusations about the Jewish response to the pandemic and attempt to offer something of the nuance and thought I'd been hoping to find. Let's begin with Rabbi Ain's first accusation.

"If I can place my finger on the pulse of what’s been so dizzying to me—among an array of upside-downness—it is the refusal to ask questions. It is as though Jewish leaders took an oath of silence regarding pandemic measures, when Judaism itself is built on a foundation of inquiry and engagement." 

First, I would suggest that Rabbi Ain needs to reach out to more people in the Jewish community and Jewish communal leadership. Plenty of people are asking questions. I am in three separate Facebook groups specifically dedicated to conversations among Jewish professionals about Covid, in addition to the regular questions about Covid in pre-existing Jewish professional groups. Just within the synagogue world Rabbi Ain and I inhabit (let's leave aside other Jewish organizations like JCCs for now), these groups include rabbis and cantors, religious school educators, executive directors and program directors, and parents, all looking for ways to balance the competing Jewish values of communal gathering and public safety. On a more local level, congregants are definitely asking their synagogues what the health guidance is and when their favorite or most-needed aspects of the community will return in a mode meaningful to them (whether in-person, multi-access/hybrid, or virtual). Most synagogues I know have convened committees and task forces dedicated to asking questions and reevaluating the ever-changing guidance about Covid. Rabbis, directors, educators, and programmers are talking to our counterpoints at other shuls to compare notes. When synagogues make changes to their mask or vaccine policies, they send detailed information about the changes and are often transparent about the source of their policy (whether it is guidance from the CDC, their local health department, doctors within their membership, or a combination). Jewish leaders love to cite our sources, after all. If these are not questions that Rabbi Ain's community is asking him or steps that he and his leadership are taking, perhaps he should be asking himself why that is and how he can encourage that, rather than accusing the Jewish community at large of silence.

Count the Omer Week 7: Malchut

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One of my daughter's favorite books is The Berenstain Bears Trouble With Friends. Each Berenstain Bears book begins with a little rhyming lesson. Here's the beginning of Trouble with Friends:

When making friends,

the cub whose wise

is the cub who learns

to compromise.

When my daughter reads it, she sometimes says "When making friends, the cub whose wise is the cub who learns to supervise." In the story, the two friends have a lot of fun together, but also struggle with their own bossiness as they each want to lead their activities.

The final week of the Omer is the week of malchut, leadership. Watching toddlers navigate friendships is an interesting lesson in leadership. When do they supervise and when do they compromise? In the story, the main character, Sister Bear, has an argument while playing school with her new friend, Lizzy, because they both want to be the teacher. Sister decides that it's better to play by herself so she can do what she wants, but she quickly learns that it's lonely to play by herself. The two friends make up and decide to take turns being the teacher, so they can play and both lead sometimes.

Leadership requires relationships, because you can't lead no one.

Counting the Omer, each sephira each week is an aspect of God that we should strive to better in ourselves. The week of malchut is the final week and the closest to God. As such, our leadership should reflect the fact that we are made in God's image. We should strive for leadership like God's that is kind and thoughtful, creative and constructive.

Thank you for counting the Omer with us this year! My daughter is very excited to celebrate Shavuot with ice cream. I hope you do the same!

Chag Sameach! 

Count the Omer Week 5: Hod

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It's week five of the Omer, the week of hod, glory and humility. I asked my daughter if she knew what glory and humility meant and she's only three, so she said no. So this week, I'm going to reflect on the hod of motherhood and parenthood.

"Now the man knew his wife Eve, and she conceived and bore Cain, saying, 'I have gained a male child with the help of God.'" Genesis 4:1

I have two amazing daughters. They are inquisitive and smart, funny and caring. Bringing them into the world and raising them to be women of poise and purpose is the best lesson in hod that I will ever get. The process of giving birth defined glory and humility not as the opposites that they may seem, but as two sides of the same coin - a process of hope, life, fear, and pain. Every day that I have to explain the world to them, to try to define things that I have long since taken for granted, is another reminder that the world is a majestic and fascinating place, and that no matter how much I know, there will always be a "why?" that I can't answer. Being responsible for these two lives and helping to mold their understanding of the world is a humbling power.

This week, try asking yourself "why?" for everything. Why is the sky blue? Why do some of your friends live far away? Why is that plane flying up there? Why did Elsa freeze Anna's heart in Frozen? What is your favorite color and why? Why is it bedtime? Why are we counting the Omer?

Asking "why" is an acknowledgement that we don't know everything. Answering the "whys" of life is part of this lifelong learning in which we're all engaged.

Count the Omer Week 4: Netzach

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Week 4 is the week of netzach: eternity, endurance, or victory. Those are difficult ideas for my toddler to conceptualize enough to talk about, but that doesn't stop us from counting the Omer.

My daughter loves to play games. She got Candy Land for Chanukah and this is how she plays it:

Everyone is assigned a little plastic pawn, whether or not you are actually planning to play the game, and she lines all the pawns up at the start. If two people are playing, all four pawns still stand at the start. Everyone is included. Her baby sister is allowed to hold her pawn and sneaks it into her mouth to chew on when no one is looking. We pick cards and move our pawns accordingly until someone wins. When my daughter wins, she celebrates for a few seconds, and moves right on to setting up the pawns at the start for another game. When she loses, she does the same. We play an endless loop of reaching King Candy's castle and returning to start until she decides it's time to play something else. A victory is not the point, it's playing the game itself. 

Rather, I should say that the time spent playing together is the victory. The game is finite, but the relationships between the players endure.

Count the Omer Week 3: Tiferet

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"What's something that's beautiful?" I asked my toddler today.

"A rainbow," she said. "Because of the colors."

Scientifically, rainbows are a reflection of sunlight bending through raindrops that cause an arc of light across the sky. The colors of the rainbow, each color blending into the next, are indeed beautiful. Every time I see one, it stops me in my tracks. 

In the Torah, the rainbow is a symbol of God's promise to Noah that God will never again flood the earth. It is a symbol of compassion and hope.

This is the third week of the Omer, the week of tiferet: beauty, balance, compassion. Think of something you find beautiful and hold onto that feeling this week.

Count the Omer Week 2: Gevurah

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We are in the second week of the Omer, which is the week of gevurah - strength, power, justice, and bravery. This year, I'm sharing my conversations with my toddler about the seven sephirot of the Omer.

"Who do you know who is strong?" I asked her.

She answered, "Me. I'm strong. And [a friend at daycare], and daddy."

I love that her first response was herself and I love the confidence with which she said it. I love that her list is diverse - she named three very different people. It's an important reminder that there are different kinds of strength - physical, emotional - and also that one's strength does not need to be measured against another. Is my daughter as physically strong as my husband? No, because she's three and he's an adult. But that doesn't mean she's not strong.

When I asked her how she was strong, she said, "Like this," and stretched her hands up in the air as high as she could, demonstrating how tall she is. She has grown a lot in the past year, both in height and in maturity, and she is always reaching for new heights.

How are you strong? How can you empower others and create a more just world? How can you grow and stretch yourself in the coming year?

Count the Omer Week 1: Chesed

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The first week of the Omer is the week of chesed (loving-kindness). Because we start counting the Omer on the second night of Passover, the entire week of Passover takes place in the week of chesed, so let's take a moment to examine the loving-kindness in this holiday.

Passover commands us to love the stranger and to feed all who are hungry. Even as we focus on the history of our peoples' enslavement and liberation, we are encouraged to broaden our thinking and draw parallels to present-day suffering. It is an exercise in empathy.

I asked my almost-three-year-old daughter what she thought of loving-kindness and, as is usually the case with toddlers, she brought insight and understanding to a difficult concept. We broke down chesed into two parts:

Love

"Who do you love?" I asked her. I expected her to answer with a family member, maybe me, her dad, or her sister. Maybe a grandparent, uncle, or cousin. Instead, she answered, "Judah and Asher," two of her best friends who moved away last summer. Chesed, as my daughter reminded me, is not bound by blood or time or distance. We love the people we love, family and friends, near and far. At Passover, when so much of the holiday is spent with family and friends, hosting and attending seders (virtually again this year for many of us), the people we love are at the forefront of our minds. We spent our seders this year telling the story of the Exodus, but also reminiscing about past seders with friends where we drank too much wine, and laughing about the weird combinations of Passover foods that our daughters' Great-Grandpa Marvin (z"l) used to enjoy. It is a holiday that invites love into our homes.

Kindness

I asked my daughter, "How are you nice to people?" In reply, she told me that she had been playing at daycare with a friend in the play house in the backyard. Another friend wanted to join them and my daughter told me, "I opened the door and told her she could come in the house with us." Inclusion is an important aspect of chesed. We show our friends that we care about them by inviting them to join us, instead of leaving them out. When someone reaches out to us, we invite them in. On Passover, we recall what it meant to be the other, to be downtrodden and oppressed, and to cry out for help. Then, we recall the joy of finding an outstretched arm guiding us toward safety, love, and home. How are you nice to people? By extending an outstretched arm and an open door.

One! One week of the Omer! Ah ah ah!

Abraham and Lot

Last weekend, I found myself in a discussion about high school reunions. I have not attended any of my high school reunions and had myself removed from the school's call list shortly after graduating. It's nothing against the school or my classmates; I just have no interest in seeing most of the 800+ people in my graduating class and the ones I do care to see, I've kept in touch with. I live 700 miles from my hometown. I left for educational and professional opportunities and at this point I have no intention of moving back. I've stayed in touch with some family and friends who are still in the area, but I've drifted apart from others.

How do we choose with whom we remain in touch and which relationships we let slide?

This week we read parsha Lech Lecha (Genesis 12:1-17:27). There is a lot to unpack in this portion, some of which I've discussed on this blog before. This year, however, I want to focus on the relationships between Abraham and his family.

Midrash tells us that Abraham's father was an idol maker and that when Abraham was a young man, he was left in charge of his father's shop, where he mocked the customers and smashed the idols. When God came to Abraham and told him to go forth from his home to a new land, Abraham left and never returned. He and his wife, Sarah, along with his nephew, Lot, traveled together throughout the region until they had both amassed too many flocks, servants, and herders to share the same land peacefully. After some arguments among their herders over land use, Abraham and Lot decided to part ways amicably. Later, when Lot was taken captive during war, Abraham rallied his men on a successful rescue mission.

Unlike when Abraham left his family at the beginning of the parsha, the separation of Abraham and Lot did not mark an end to their interaction. Did Abraham actively avoid contact with his father after he left or did they just drift apart? Why did Abraham and Lot remain close, despite their competition for land? Why have I remained close with some people over time despite great distances between us, while allowing other relationships to lapse?

Abraham charging into battle after his nephew is a big gesture, an obvious display of affection. This week, I'm wondering who I would charge into battle for and who I could take just five minutes to call as a small, but important touch point of ongoing relationship building.

Shabbat Shalom.

A rhetorical question

​In November, just days after the election, I got in a Facebook-friendship-ending argument with my uncle about fear in the age of Trump. 

The argument spanned many topics, but for the bulk of it, I argued that the millions who voted against Trump (myself included) had legitimate fears. These fears were based on his campaign rhetoric that attacked, among others, women, minorities, immigrants, LGBTQ individuals, people with disabilities, Muslims, and Jews, while dog whistling to the scum of our society, and based on history (as a history major who focused domestically on the Civil War and internationally on WWII, I know a thing or two about what happens when hate is given power).

The fears I confessed from my heart were reduced by my uncle to "liberal talking points," and he assured me that, "None of what you and millions of your like minded people think will happen will actually happen."

I unfriended him for many reasons (not all political), which just came to a head in this argument. I was tired of being belittled and devalued, because of my age and gender, as if my experiences as a millennial Jewish woman counted for nothing if they did not lead to the same life conclusions as a white Catholic baby boomer. I was tired of having my education treated as if I'd been brainwashed. And I was tired of talking to a brick wall who, for all his expressions of love for his family, somehow thought that a movement based on hate and resentment would make America great.

At the time, just days after the election, from my grief and despair, I offered this tiny shred of something-like-hope. I would not (and could not) expect better of Trump than he had proved he was capable of, but I suggested that he could (the onus being fully on him) attempt to rebuild the bridges he had burned with over half the country.

In that time, he has built bridges only with dictators and white supremacists. My fears and the fears of millions proved not to be "liberal talking points." They have come to pass.

Photo from Politico

There are Nazis in the streets of Charlottesville. Emboldened by a president who espouses so many of their views and refuses to condemn them, they descended on Virginia wearing Hitler quotes on their t-shirts, waving Confederate flags, and brandishing torches, proposing to take our country from us.

Their definition of American greatness is at odds with America. Their voice is not one of "many sides" to count in the debate about who we are; it is not even a choice. Our ideals, as expressed in our founding documents, in our songs, speeches, and poems, are not hatred, xenophobia, and violence, but life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, the great American melting pot (or salad bowl), a place to breathe free, where we offer liberty and justice for all. Any "side" that rejects these fundamental ideals has no place in our national conversation and deserves no voice in shaping our national identity. The fact that the president offers them a seat at the table and a voice is embarrassing, disgraceful, and horrific.

And, so, I have a rhetorical question for my uncle, who is not a bad person at heart: "Is this the America you wanted?"

Coming Together on Thanksgiving

This Shabbat we will read Chayei Sarah, the life of Sarah, which recounts Sarah’s death and burial, Isaac’s marriage to Rebecca, and the death and burial of Abraham.

As so many of us come together with family for Thanksgiving this year expecting harsh political disagreements, I am reminded of Abbey Bartlet’s wise words on The West Wing:

“What most people find it important to remember is that, in the end, the two sons [Isaac and Ishmael] came together to bury their father.”

Skip to 1:30 for Abbey's story

If you are celebrating Thanksgiving this year in a politically-divided home, I hope that you and your family will be able to set aside your differences and truly have a happy Thanksgiving.

Politics, Pain, and Prayer

I unfriended my uncle on Facebook yesterday. I'm sure that he believes it is because we disagree (to put mildly) on almost every political issue, but I have many family members and friends with whom I disagree politically and it has never come to that. This is not really the appropriate place to get into the reasons we aren't "friends" anymore, but I mention it because trying to express myself to my uncle, whose callous disregard for experiences and feelings that are not his own has often left me frustrated, finally helped me put into words the emotions that I have been struggling with since Tuesday night. Much of the feelings below are excerpted from the last Facebook conversation I will ever have with my uncle.

First, of course, I am disappointed that Hillary didn't win, though I am heartened by the fact that she won the popular vote and won my home state of Illinois and my current home, Virginia. I am confident that her vast experience in law and government would have served this country well.

Along with that disappointment is fear. Many, myself included, are now grappling with a President-Elect whose campaign was built on tearing us down. Donald said, among many other insults that: women are either sex objects or else we are pigs who are bleeding out of our "wherevers;" Mexicans are rapists and drug dealers; Muslims celebrated 9/11 and are all terrorists; the disabled are deserving of mockery; Jews control the "global power structure;" African Americans all live in crime-ridden poverty in the inner cities; and I could go on. I am afraid as a Jew and as a woman. I am afraid not just for myself, but for friends and strangers dealing with bigots, misogynists, and racists - on Twitter and in real life - who feel emboldened by Donald's brand of "political incorrectness," which is really just a way of saying that they can't be bothered to be kind to others. I am afraid for us and for future generations, to whom we have sent the message that civility and truth do not matter. Our presidents have always been deeply flawed men, but they are role models nonetheless, in whom we hope to find some kernel of decency for our children to emulate and aspire to. I fear for a nation of children who might emulate Donald's pride in ignorance and his dismissiveness if not outright hostility to his opponents. He belittles people with whom he disagrees rather than addressing their concerns. He has no regard for the truth, facts, or grammatically-correct sentence structure. He has a huge ego. Sadly, this has gotten him far in life, but I would personally like to achieve success in a better way and I would hope that we expect better of the next generation.

Since I will be stuck with him as our president for the next four years, I have to hope that my fears will prove to be unfounded. But it is on Donald to build the bridges that he burned with women, minorities, and so many other people who are hurt and afraid. Trust and respect must be earned and he has a long way to go before he has earned that from me.

I will leave you with the Prayer for Our Country from Siddur Sim Shalom, the prayer book of Conservative Judaism, which I think we need now more than ever:

Our God and God of our ancestors: We ask Your blessings for our country, for its government, for its leaders and advisors, and for all who exercise just and rightful authority. Teach them insights from Your Torah, that they may administer all affairs of state fairly, that peace and security, happiness and prosperity, justice and freedom may forever abide in our midst. 

Creator of all flesh, bless all the inhabitants of our country with Your spirit. May citizens of all races and creeds forge a common bond in true harmony to banish all hatred and bigotry and to safeguard the ideals and free institutions which are the pride and glory of our country. 

May this land under Your Providence be an influence for good throughout the world, uniting all people in peace and freedom and helping them to fulfill the vision of Your prophet: "Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they experience war any more."

Count the Omer 2015: Day 40

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Day 40: Hod within Yesod, Glory/Humility within Foundation/Connection

Where are you (physically, professionally, emotionally) and how did you get there? Today, think about where you came from and the people who helped you get to where you are now. My successes and the core of who I am, I owe to my family. They laid the foundation for who I would become and continually support my growth as a person. No matter how far you go in life, it is important to maintain that connection to the people you love and to remember the foundation upon which your life was built.

Count the Omer 2015: Day 36

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Day 36: Chesed within Yesod, Loving-kindness within Foundation and Connection

Mother's Day

Today is Mother's Day, which coincides perfectly with day 36 of the Omer: loving-kindness in foundation. Love laid the foundation for my life. From the moment that I was born, I was loved. I learned what love is and how to show it from my parents.

Count the Omer 2015: Day 34

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Day 34: Yesod within Hod, Connection within Majesty

Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh

[God] took [Abraham] outside and said, "Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them." And He added, "So shall your offspring be." And because he put his trust in the Lord, He reckoned it to his merit. Genesis 15:5-6

I grew up in the suburbs of Chicago, where I could make out a few stars in the sky and took pride in always knowing where to find Orion's Belt. The stars have always made humanity look up in wonder, reminding us of the majesty and vastness of the universe. It is rare these days for me to see any stars living in light-polluted city after light-polluted city, but when I spend time in the natural world, I am amazed by its beauty. 

There is as much hope and promise in the stars today as there was when God promised a legacy to Abraham. The stars serve as a reminder of that promise, the foundation of the Jewish people, and of God's continued connection to us all.

Mourning Online

Over the past few years, almost every time that my grandparents were in the hospital, I found out through Facebook. It was almost a miracle eight months ago that my mom got a hold of me by phone when my grandma died before I saw it online. I was not so lucky last week when I woke up to the news on Facebook that my grandpa had passed away. My immediate reaction was grief, followed swiftly by the angry thought, Who posts this news on Facebook at 5:30 AM? It is terrible to see your grandfather's death mixed in with a George Takei joke and a cat video. My parents would have had to call me in the middle of the night in order to catch me before I saw it on Facebook, not that they could have gotten a hold of me with my phone on silent for the night anyway.

News travels fast these days, but I don't think I'm the only one who still prefers to learn some news the old fashioned way. I think this article, Grief in the Age of Facebook, sums up how we handle death on Facebook very well. Mourning online is new and strange and I'm not sure that I like it. I can see some of the benefits. My grandpa's funeral is tomorrow and I live at least 750 miles away from anyone who knew him. My family members have posted their own eulogies of him online with dozens of sympathetic comments in response. It seems to be a good way to express grief and to be comforted by friends and family near and far. It's like a virtual shiva, without the food.

And yet, I have not participated in these Facebook status memorials, nor have I changed my profile picture to include him. I did when my grandma died, but the sympathy, no matter how sincere, felt hollow to me. Facebook is where I post interesting articles and weekend photos. It's where I "like" a friend's bad puns and argue politics with family. No matter how close a relationship we have in real life, a Facebook comment can't convey the crack in my voice and a "like" is not a hug.

Despite all this, I felt compelled to write this blog post, which is not so different from a Facebook status. Mourning is hard and everyone handles it differently. Eight months ago when my grandma died, I didn't know how to mourn, and I still don't know what I'm doing now. While this virtual world can't replace old fashioned mourning, I will share this story of my grandpa with you anyway in hopes that it will help.

The last time I spoke with him was last month, on what would have been his 57th anniversary. After telling me about how much he missed my grandma, we started talking about the last time we saw each other - at my wedding almost one year ago. It was a nice ceremony, he said.

"How do you like being Jewish?" he asked.

"I love it," I responded. I am very open about my conversion, but none of my extended family members have really asked me about it, so I haven't talked about it much with them.

"You know, the Jews don't believe the Messiah has come yet."

"No, we don't."

"The Catholics think he came already." My grandpa was a devout Catholic and I got nervous that this would turn into a conversation about my eternal soul, but it went in completely the other direction. He said, "But, you know, I think there are plenty of ways to get to heaven or whatever you believe in. I think your grandma is in heaven." My grandma was not a devout Catholic. "As long as you're a good person, you'll get there; it doesn't matter what religion you practice."

I agreed.

Then he asked, "Do you do all the blessings? You know, wash your hands before you eat and bless the wine and bread?"

"Yes! We have a new wash cup that we got in Jerusalem this winter on Birthright."

"See," he said, "I know things about Judaism."

And that's how I spent the last conversation with my grandpa talking about religion, practice, and the afterlife. z"l Grandpa Earl, I love you.

My grandparents at my wedding, June 2012

Photo by David Loeb, Edward Fox Photography 

Merry Christmas

Trust South Park to hit the nail on the head when it comes to being a Jew on Christmas. Now add to all that the fact that up until two years ago you celebrated Christmas, your family still celebrates Christmas, and your favorite movie is still It's a Wonderful Life. Welcome to my life every December.

Last year was my first Christmas as an official Jew and I celebrated the Jewish way: Chinese food and a movie. This year I am going home to see my family (and by extension celebrate Christmas).

After telling my mom that I might be coming home for Christmas, I got the following text message:

I am beyond lucky to have such supportive parents and I am excited to go home and see them. We'll figure out how to celebrate Christmas while respecting my Judaism. So, here's to the balancing act that is life as a Jew by Choice.

Merry Christmas, movie halls!

How should I mourn?

As a Jew by Choice, how should I mourn my lapsed Catholic grandmother (z"l)? If I were going home for the funeral, I would have to sit through a Catholic mass that she would have hated and file past her open casket and explain why I want to throw some dirt on her coffin after they've lowered her into the ground. I would also have to explain why, after traveling close to 800 miles to be there, I would be skipping her wake to go to synagogue for Rosh Hashanah. But I am not going home for the funeral, so I won't have to explain these things to anyone. Instead, I am left to wonder how I should mourn (from 800 miles away) my non-Jewish grandma in a Jewish way and how I will mourn others in the (God willing far distant) future.

For answers, I turned to the internet with search terms like: "Jewish convert mourning non-Jewish relatives" and "Jews by Choice in mourning." It was generally unhelpful, with answers ranging from: "Converts shouldn't mourn non-Jews" to "Do what you want" to "You're required to practice the Jewish mourning rituals in full."

If my internet search has taught me anything, it's that how you will mourn is something you should think about before you are thrown into mourning. This is especially true for Jews by Choice. Since there is no consensus among Jewish authorities (even within the same movement) about how a convert should mourn non-Jewish relatives, it seems that we are left to piece together our own Jewish mourning rituals from a mish-mash of conflicting suggestions across the internet. I have posted some of the more helpful links I found below. If you have tips for me and other mourning converts, please leave a comment. Thank you.

Resources for converts in mourning

• The Rabbinical Assembly's (RA) position on converts mourning non-Jewish relatives is an interesting read, ultimately concluding that we should be required to follow all traditional Jewish mourning practices.
• Rabbi Gershom Bernard of Northern Hills Synagogue in Cincinnati offers a brief overview of the different schools of thought on this topic, ultimately agreeing with the RA's ruling.
• Tablet Magazine published this personal reflection from a Reform Jewish convert working out for herself the appropriate ways to mourn and remember her non-Jewish mother.
• Rabbi Ruth Adar, a Reform rabbi, has addressed this problem multiple times on her blog. With so few resources on this topic, her posts are a welcomed, insightful source of information and guidance.
• Chabad offers suggestions for converts to mourn non-Jewish family in a "markedly Jewish" way while distinguishing this mourning from mourning the death of a Jew.
• Anita Diamant, author of Choosing a Jewish Life and other great resources for converts and others hoping to build a Jewish life, has a book about mourning, with an excerpt available here. The excerpt doesn't really provide any answers on how to mourn, but offers a number of thought-provoking questions about the mourning process for converts. If you have the foresight to think about how you will mourn before you are actually mourning, these questions seem like good things to think about. I assume the book actually does answer some of them, since Diamant is usually good about that. 

My Conversion, Part 1: The Way I Was Raised

This month, I will celebrate the one year anniversary of my conversion. In honor of this occasion, I have decided to share exactly how I got here in a short blog series.

Part 1

I used to have moments of pure awe and amazement at creation. They usually happened on Sundays in the Spring when the sun was shining and the birds were singing and I was leaving church.

I was raised in the Missouri Synod Lutheran Church, a conservative denomination of Christianity. I never really liked church - I found it restrictive and confusing. It only got worse as I got older. In Junior High I started confirmation class, which is supposed to teach you the foundations of the religion, but the more I learned, the more I just didn't get it. It made me feel stupid, like the theology was obvious and I just wasn't getting it. Everyone else seemed to understand it, but even the foundational underpinnings of the religion didn't sit right with me. I completed the confirmation class, but didn't actually get confirmed. I left religion instead, just in time for teenage cynicism to set in. Those moments of awe I experienced as a girl were replaced with skepticism and anger. I was angry at the world for being so full of hatred and violence, angry at religion for being illogical, and angry at God for letting terrible things happen and leaving me without a religion to have faith in. Forget religion and forget God, I thought. Who needs them anyway? They only cause confusion and divisions and animosity without providing anything tangible in return.

I replaced God with superheroes. Later in high school, while I was still angry with God and boycotting religion, I came up with a theory about my sudden interest in superheroes - they were a substitute for God. The world of superheroes is generally a world of good and evil, right and wrong. A fictional person's faith in Superman is rewarded by at least a glimpse of his red and blue blur in the sky. The real world has more gray areas and the reward for real life faith in God isn't so concrete. This self-assessment might have pointed out my need/desire for faith and meaning, but it didn't lead me back to religion. Rather than grapple with beliefs, faith, and organized religion, I decided the unknowable wasn't worth worrying about. By the time I started college, I was agnostic.

Part 2 coming soon! Shabbat Shalom and Happy Passover!

UPDATE: Part 2: College and My Spiritual Awakening