| anger~healing~soothing~hoping |
[Aug. 17th, 2006|08:13 am] |
I have been so angry with G-d for so long, that it feels odd to want to publicly run into his arms. But I do. I do. I still don't understand why he made me this way: A Jew born to a sick abusive Jewish father and a Catholic mother.
My arm hurts today, so does my hip, and it isn't just the rain. I am glad it is raining. It is a soft gentle summer rain, like tears from above. To step forth as a Jew is to let go of my anger and hate, and ultimately, to forgive my father. This is not to say that I plan to spend time with the man, in fact if I see him, I'll likely call the police. He is sick and dangerous. But I understand his source of anger now. I don't see him as evil. I blame him for my injuries, but not for his state of mind. He got that from his mother.
I have recently learned that even though my grandparents were born in the US and were 'safe' from the Holocaust, they had extended family in Poland, much of whom disappeared somewhere near or at the Warsaw Ghetto. As a child, when beaten, I was told I didn't know how good I had it, I didn't know how bad others had, it, after all, it's not like I am going to die at a camp! He beat me so I could appreciate not being beaten. That is very sick logic, but his mother did it to him, because she couldn't stand that she was 'safe' from the suffering when her cousins were not. Survivors guilt bent her soul. I know that now. She died when I was young. She died shortly after she found out that I had been raised Catholic. She lived several states away, and we rarely saw each other. But I had just had my first communion, and I told her, I thought she would be proud, I knew Jews had similar rites of passage, but she wasn't proud. She had no idea I was raised with religion. She shook me, and begged me to remember who I really am, that I am really a Jew, and she gave me her Menorah (it was on or near Chanukah) When my secular Jewish father married my Catholic mother, it was agreed that we would be raised to without religion, and be exposed to both sides of my culture. At the time, I suspect that my mother was essentially Christian, but not much of a practitioner, even though she was a nurse at a Catholic hospital.
But then when I was six weeks old, my father's rage broke loose. He nearly killed me (this would be the first of many near death experiences at his hands). I survived, but despite my young age, still have flashes of memory of the terror. I have had PTSD since I was 6 weeks old, I finally learned to let that terror go last year through extensive therapy, and with the understanding that the terror came from survivor guilt (and probably a dash of other mental illness as well) I was able to forgive him. At the time though, my mother thought I was going to die, so she had me baptized in order to save as much of me as she could (we'll skip over the fact that she stayed married to him for another 12 years) and raised me Catholic.
~
So I spent most of my life angry at G-d. If G-d chooses his people Israel, then he chose me to be not chosen, or half chosen, or chosen for traumatic abuse that would leave me disfigured and disabled for life. And yet, being angry at G-d means I believe in him. And for better or worse, have always had a relationship with him (though I still prefer to think of the divine as genderless or feminine-something I need to learn more about in Jewish tradition). But it is there, the relationship/belief.
It is a series of events that brought me to finally contact a rabbi. On ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) jbcs someone commented that conversion is three-fold, and not just between the individual and G-d, but also a commitment with the community. I have never made that commitment, and I ought to do so. I am a Jew, and I am ready to do what it takes to be a legal member of my own tribe. G-d made this way for a reason, and it is time to seek guidance to better understand that reason, time to further my education, time to face my fears (I am so afraid the rabbi won't like me) and move forward.
On my 30th birthday, a dear friend who is Orthodox told me not to worry about converting so late. Rabbi Akiva was 40 when he converted, and he went on to do great things for the Israel. I wept when I heard this. I had known about Akiva's death, but nothing about his life. I just assumed that based on his death that he was a born Jew.
Assumptions are dangerous.
So three hours to go, a cool evening summer rain, when I am done I will pick up a rental car and drive 10 hours to see my mother, who supports my Jewish identity, and help her to prepare for my grandmother's 75th birthday. I can think of no better way to personally acknowledge this step I am taking by returning to my Catholic family and being a devoted granddaughter in the celebration of my elders. My extended family does not know of my plans to convert, but I feel that this timing is important. I can say with integrity that I saw the rabbi, and then came home with grace and peace. Hopefully they will understand (I don't plan to mention it this weekend, this weekend is about my grandmother, this is more of a planned hindsight thing).
I shall close now, for I need to get ready, figure out what I am going to wear, find some breakfast, and take the first step forward.
Thank you for reading along. |
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