I saw a girl wearing hijab today. I guess that's nothing new--there's a lot of girls who wear hijab here at UNL--but I think I'm becoming more and more aware of it. It's not that I didn't notice them before; it's just that I feel as though somehow we are connected now. There aren't a lot of other girls wearing long sleeves and making an effort to dress modestly during the month of August, and when we passed each other on the sidewalk, the girl smiled at me. I smiled back, of course. It was like we acknowledged with just that small, fleeting smile that we shared something special even though we didn't know each other.
I have such admiration for those girls in hijab. It's one thing to be wearing a skirt and entirely another thing to be covering your head, neck, and in some cases, even your face. Hijab is just so striking, so mysterious; I used to find it intimidating, like those girls were from some other world that I would never know, but now I find myself closer to that realm. No, I am not covering my hair at this point in my life, but the idea behind our way of dress remains the same. We are embracing our inner beauty, leaving something to be discovered.
(Besides, I get cold now in short sleeves.)
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Monday, August 27, 2012
Comfort Zones
I'm not going to hide it--after Meir and I broke up, I definitely comfort zoned myself. At that moment, Judaism was so connected with him and the life we'd wanted together that I just couldn't bear to be reminded of what I'd lost. So, I pulled on jeans every day for a week, used my computer on Shabbat, and tried to order shrimp at Ruby Tuesday (which I just couldn't bring myself to do).
The thing was, I had thought all of that stuff would make me feel better. I had thought that wearing jeans and sneakers would make me feel more like myself, that texting on Saturday was going to somehow solve my problems. After less than a week, though, I realized that what I'd thought was my comfort zone was no longer really my comfort zone. When I slid on a skirt and long sleeves, I felt instantly better, like I belonged to something and there was something solid that was mine regardless of what was happening in my life. I'd never doubted that my decision to convert was for me and me alone, but something about having to stand on my own two Jewish feet for the first time was wildly strengthening. The next day I started davening again, started saying modeh ani again, started washing again when I got up. I put away the jeans, and I got out the siddur. I know now where my real comfort zone is.
So, instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, missing Meir, and focusing on all the hard things going on right now, I'm choosing to use this time to really establish my Jewish identity. In fact, I think this period in my life could really be a blessing from Hashem even though it is a bit uncomfortable and scary at times. Baruch Hashem for triumphs disguised as trials!
The thing was, I had thought all of that stuff would make me feel better. I had thought that wearing jeans and sneakers would make me feel more like myself, that texting on Saturday was going to somehow solve my problems. After less than a week, though, I realized that what I'd thought was my comfort zone was no longer really my comfort zone. When I slid on a skirt and long sleeves, I felt instantly better, like I belonged to something and there was something solid that was mine regardless of what was happening in my life. I'd never doubted that my decision to convert was for me and me alone, but something about having to stand on my own two Jewish feet for the first time was wildly strengthening. The next day I started davening again, started saying modeh ani again, started washing again when I got up. I put away the jeans, and I got out the siddur. I know now where my real comfort zone is.
So, instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, missing Meir, and focusing on all the hard things going on right now, I'm choosing to use this time to really establish my Jewish identity. In fact, I think this period in my life could really be a blessing from Hashem even though it is a bit uncomfortable and scary at times. Baruch Hashem for triumphs disguised as trials!
Sunday, August 26, 2012
The G-d of Israel
As a Jew-by-Choice, I am hyper-aware of the deeper differences between my ways of thinking and the ways of thinking that I feel I should become more aligned with. What I mean to say, I guess, is that there are certain beliefs and attitudes that lots of Jews possess that go without saying, and because these values and perspectives were not necessarily instilled in me as a child, I get caught in the tension between what I think I should feel and what I actually do feel.
When Rabbi Gross posed the question, "Who is the G-d of Israel?", I realized that my response to this seemingly simple question would most likely be different than what someone raised within the Jewish faith might say. For example, I grew up with my view of G-d focused on His compassion, His forgiveness, and His love. I am not suggesting that Jews do not hold these views of G-d as well (in fact, they do!); what I'm trying to point out, though, is that I believe that Christianity stresses different aspects of G-d's character than does Judaism. So, instead of trying to give the "right" answers that I sometimes think I should try to give as a convert-in-process, I'm going to be honest and candid in my answer.
The G-d of Israel is my everything, my reason. He gives meaning to the meaningless and hope to the hopeless. He gives comfort and supplies strength when I have none. Just because I know He exists, I can face my tomorrows, and I can trust that He will take care of me--even if it's not in the way that I'd prefer in that moment. The G-d of Israel believes in me, and He set out a purpose for my life; I'm not just breathing in vain. He has expectations of me, rules for the way I should live, and He knows my potential. The G-d of Israel created me with a Jewish soul, and even though it's difficult sometimes, He is guiding me through to acknowledgement of that soul. He has provided through Judaism a way of expressing my love for Him tangibly and physically--through my behavior, through my speech, my dress, my eating habits, and my loyalty.
The G-d of Israel is the creator of everything, and although we've heard it all before, it never hurts to really let the truth sink in: without Hashem, there would be nothing. He has complete control, has ultimate wisdom, and He's my biggest cheerleader. The G-d of Israel, the same One who has the plot of history perfectly intertwined with the future, hears every single word that I pray. He is omnipotent, He is omniscient, and He's bigger and better and stronger and wiser and more awesome and powerful than I could ever even begin to fathom. Just the sound of His name sends an exciting shudder down the spine. I try to wrap my mind around His perfectness, and it's frustrating when I can't. But then again, He's G-d: that's the whole point.
When Rabbi Gross posed the question, "Who is the G-d of Israel?", I realized that my response to this seemingly simple question would most likely be different than what someone raised within the Jewish faith might say. For example, I grew up with my view of G-d focused on His compassion, His forgiveness, and His love. I am not suggesting that Jews do not hold these views of G-d as well (in fact, they do!); what I'm trying to point out, though, is that I believe that Christianity stresses different aspects of G-d's character than does Judaism. So, instead of trying to give the "right" answers that I sometimes think I should try to give as a convert-in-process, I'm going to be honest and candid in my answer.
The G-d of Israel is my everything, my reason. He gives meaning to the meaningless and hope to the hopeless. He gives comfort and supplies strength when I have none. Just because I know He exists, I can face my tomorrows, and I can trust that He will take care of me--even if it's not in the way that I'd prefer in that moment. The G-d of Israel believes in me, and He set out a purpose for my life; I'm not just breathing in vain. He has expectations of me, rules for the way I should live, and He knows my potential. The G-d of Israel created me with a Jewish soul, and even though it's difficult sometimes, He is guiding me through to acknowledgement of that soul. He has provided through Judaism a way of expressing my love for Him tangibly and physically--through my behavior, through my speech, my dress, my eating habits, and my loyalty.
The G-d of Israel is the creator of everything, and although we've heard it all before, it never hurts to really let the truth sink in: without Hashem, there would be nothing. He has complete control, has ultimate wisdom, and He's my biggest cheerleader. The G-d of Israel, the same One who has the plot of history perfectly intertwined with the future, hears every single word that I pray. He is omnipotent, He is omniscient, and He's bigger and better and stronger and wiser and more awesome and powerful than I could ever even begin to fathom. Just the sound of His name sends an exciting shudder down the spine. I try to wrap my mind around His perfectness, and it's frustrating when I can't. But then again, He's G-d: that's the whole point.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
A Little Background
Hello and Shalom!
I'm not very good at keeping up a consistent blog, but for the sake of my friend (who I won't name), I'm going to do my very best at recording some (or a few) of the trials and joys that are being thrown at me during this time in my life.
I'll start off by saying that I grew up as a Christian. Practically everyone around me--my parents, extended family, neighbors, friends, schoolmates--had some sort of tie to the Christian faith, and it was a huge part of my life. I can probably count on one hand the number of Sundays that I missed church growing up, and I did the whole youth group scene as well. Which was wonderful. I loved it. I'd never trade those memories. The thing is, though: my mom always talked about the Jewish people. I remember the exact moment when she told me I wasn't a part of G-d's chosen people, and I just sat down in the middle of the floor and cried (I was probably about four). Although she assured me that Christians also occupied a special place in G-d's heart, I just couldn't shake the feeling that Judaism was special to me. It would be years, though, before I would start to struggle with the issue.
I'll save the rest for later posts, but here I am--17 years later--in the process of an Orthodox conversion. While I'd say that I'm loving most of it, it would be a lie to say that the process isn't an extremely difficult one. I wish I could say that those days when I just want to pull on a pair of jeans didn't exist, but I can't. They do. Late night cheeseburger cravings, stolen glances at the shrimp cocktail during the Super Bowl party, a terrible urge to hit the mall on a Saturday afternoon--they don't go away. It's okay, though, because with every active choice I make to be Jewish throughout the day, I am reminded once again of the journey I'm taking.
And it's a good one.
I'm not very good at keeping up a consistent blog, but for the sake of my friend (who I won't name), I'm going to do my very best at recording some (or a few) of the trials and joys that are being thrown at me during this time in my life.
I'll start off by saying that I grew up as a Christian. Practically everyone around me--my parents, extended family, neighbors, friends, schoolmates--had some sort of tie to the Christian faith, and it was a huge part of my life. I can probably count on one hand the number of Sundays that I missed church growing up, and I did the whole youth group scene as well. Which was wonderful. I loved it. I'd never trade those memories. The thing is, though: my mom always talked about the Jewish people. I remember the exact moment when she told me I wasn't a part of G-d's chosen people, and I just sat down in the middle of the floor and cried (I was probably about four). Although she assured me that Christians also occupied a special place in G-d's heart, I just couldn't shake the feeling that Judaism was special to me. It would be years, though, before I would start to struggle with the issue.
I'll save the rest for later posts, but here I am--17 years later--in the process of an Orthodox conversion. While I'd say that I'm loving most of it, it would be a lie to say that the process isn't an extremely difficult one. I wish I could say that those days when I just want to pull on a pair of jeans didn't exist, but I can't. They do. Late night cheeseburger cravings, stolen glances at the shrimp cocktail during the Super Bowl party, a terrible urge to hit the mall on a Saturday afternoon--they don't go away. It's okay, though, because with every active choice I make to be Jewish throughout the day, I am reminded once again of the journey I'm taking.
And it's a good one.
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