Got God???

It would have been much more simple if I'd just gone along with the way things were. My dad would insist that was the way it was meant to be. But I was the way I was meant to be as well. The best of our home were the holidays. The traditional foods, decorations, blessings -- I loved all of that. And then we'd walk the short way to the synagogue -- the orthodox synagogue where my father worshipped. Women didn't sit with the men; our seats were in the balconies that lined the sides and the rear of the sanctuary. I did not like this very much; not being a part of it. (If you know me or have been following my blog I imagine you'd expect me to feel that way.) Some of the women prayed; many whispered to each other. Most sat and listened without understanding the Hebrew service. I was also sent to Hebrew school after public school several days a week, where the teachers were ill prepared to educate girls. We were supposed to be home learning to prepare gefilte fish. The boys would reach 13 years old, celebrate their bar mitzvah, and join the congregation. There was no such ceremony for the girls in the orthodoxy. When I was almost 16 I begged my dad to permit me to stop going to the classes. The teachers really didn't know what to do with me at that point, and it was past time to "self-graduate." He laughed and scratched his head, as he always did when faced with a conundrum. We talked once about my discomfort with the synagogue. He reminded me that in "our Father's world" one can prayer anywhere. I chose the beach; the sea. That became, in more than one way, my sanctuary.

Our home was not orthodox. And somehow I received a much more liberal message than was sent. Or I wasn't listening to any but my own voice. I married a classmate from college who was, of course, not Jewish. My dad was not a happy man. He argued with the rabbi who would perform the ceremony for weeks before the wedding. He attended under duress. It was a small gathering. My dad died a month to the day after my wedding from a post-operational embolism. My mother insisted it was my fault; I had caused so much stress by marrying the guy I was in love with. That was a load to carry around.

Years later, with three kids and a great old house two blocks from the ocean, I accepted a job at the local temple (a conservative synagogue) teaching "Yiddishkeit" to the kindergarten children. Yiddishkeit is the culture of Judaism: the music, the calendar, the life. The part of my up-bringing that I loved the most. I taught at the temple for nine years. With my husband's christmas trees, and the easter bunnies, and a deeply growing spiritualism that would eventually sustain me. We were part of a community. Several actually: the folks from the university where my husband taught; the neighbors of many faiths; the people from the temple. When my first son and later my second son were ready to be bar mitzvah, I fought and won the battle to sit beside him, to be called to the Torah, -- all honors typically given only to men. We changed the congregation forever. Then our visionary rabbi was forced out of his job. His replacement fired me. By that time I was teaching classes at many levels, including a post-confirmation class on Sunday mornings. I called it "In Search of Questions;" we listened to and spoke with interesting folks in our community and then, after the guests would leave, we'd discuss the conversation. A young woman from the community was engaged to a Chinese/Irish young man. They came to share their struggles with the class. When they left, the students addressed what would happen if they brought home the equivalent of this young man. Hell-fire and damnation; parents in mourning; a fairly unanimous nightmare. My oldest son was in the class. The others insisted he say what would happen in his home. His answer was, "My mom would take a crash-course in Chinese cooking." This got back to the new rabbi and I lost my job.

Worse than that was being called into the Hebrew School a few months later to be told to remove my adopted, transracial, Jewish daughter from the school. "She doesn't belong here." She couldn't learn the Hebrew language; she didn't have to. I wanted her to have that community.

None of this was the teachings of any God I could ever believe in. I truly believe that God didn't enter into it at all. The people in authority there hadn't discovered God yet.

Through the years we celebrated the holidays our own way -- with joy, love, and sharing of both. We celebrated the Jewish holidays, forgoing the synagogue and taking our prayers and thanks to the sea instead. We celebrated Christmas Tree, and easter bunny and the solstice and the equinox. We celebrated the harvests and all the seasons. We gave thanks for all of it and for each other. I think my mom probably thought me a heathen; I never tried to explain to her what she was poised to reject. That God for me was the universe and the energy it created that answered the energy we created. All that is good in the universe and in people -- that's what we are always thankful for. And all faiths -- calling this great and beautiful force by various names -- at their essence want the same things: peace, love, acceptance.

All of this brought on by the advent of the holy days. Happy autumn equinox; happy turning of the wheel; happy, happy new year.