Normally, as many of you are well aware, I absolutely prefer to hide my light under a rock. Nonetheless I am just so damn tickled at being part of Reform Judaism magazine's recently-published feature The RJ Guide to Reform Judaism: 30 Stories, which explores through several first-person narratives what it means to be a Reform Jew today, with all the complications, celebrations, insights and ideas that identifying with our movement can bring about.
So what does it mean to me, you may ask? For those of you that know me, and know my story (Catholic upbringing, conversion, blah blah blah future rabbi-cakes), obviously you know that it means a great deal. I meant what I said when I wrote that having attended Catholic school was probably one of the the most influential factors in my decision to convert to Judaism. Our school environment was filled with reverence and the understanding that G-d's presence was real; that in fact, S/He was in the room with us. To that end, every lesson began and ended with a prayer; if we heard a siren outside the window we immediately stopped what we were doing to pray for the person in trouble - a habit I still carry to this day, though without the Hail Mary text. Which is interesting, given that my office is next door to a firehouse. The nuns warned us never to get used to the sound, and never to tune it out - if we did, we could miss an opportunity to ask G-d for help on behalf of someone who might not be able to ask themselves.
The memories of those classrooms are more vivid and concrete than any other classrooms I ever sat in - the way the light poured in through the windows, the set-up of reading and math and coloring areas, even the taste of the pretzels that came in those industrial cardboard boxes. We thanked G-d for all of those things, and others too, on a daily basis: every morning began with singing about the miracles and marvels around us, and every day concluded with the nuns blessing us to leave and return in safety.
Sound familar? It did to me when I started exploring Judaism. It was amazing that so much of my original faith was there, waiting to be reclaimed. When I switched to public school, I lost that sense of reverence, of safety and sanctity. But what I never knew was that it was there all the time, and I was lucky enough to find it again. Heaven knows that I probably overparticipate in congregational life - my friend Danielle once remarked that when you convert, you overcompensate so hard for not being born Jewish that you end up on all the committees and you know you'd end up giving your car to someone if they asked for it nicely. But what I get back from all of my participation is that same sense again - of light coming in, of protection and safety, of knowing that I'm blessed whenever I leave, and whenever I come home again.
So I'm very proud to represent my congregation in 30 Stories. For more about it, or to read the narratives themselves, click here.
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