| A Companion's Guide to Judaism |
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| Written by Aileen Nowlan | |||||
| Tuesday, 26 April 2005 | |||||
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At the “Jewniversity” of Pennsylvania, I lived in High Rise “Northodox” – home to hundreds of Shabbos-loving college students. On Friday nights the other gentiles and I would take the elevator up to our 18th floor apartment without fear of stopping on the first five levels. On these nights, I forcefully recognized I wasn’t Jewish. But the other six days a week, I was a certifiable, devoted groupie of the Jewish people. My adventures as a companion of Judaism began early, when an Israeli with young children moved in across the street. They had a daughter my age and a son my brother’s age, and from the start, we were together constantly. We were the recipients of their leavened food every Pesach, and once, a great big mixing bowl that Hadar and I traiffed making chocolate chip cookies. For a while, I couldn’t distinguish between the differences that were religious and the differences that were just family tradition. Their mother let them eat Honey Nut Cheerios, while we only got sweet cereal when we snuck handfuls from the box they gave us during Passover. My brothers and I made tents indoors out of blankets and chairs – which no one but us would enter – while their whole family ate in the outdoors tent they made for Sukkot. My status as a Jewish groupie has only grown over the years. I lived with two Jewish women, and I’d come home and eat Shabbat dinner with them every week. When I called my Jewish boyfriend on the Saturday I took the LSAT, I was greeted with, “Great! Glad it’s done! Now, back to the Torah.” Being a groupie involves some rites of initiation (a few Bar Mitzvahs and some humming along at seders will do), some sensitivity training, and a willingness to be ignorant and delighted at the same time. The persecution that drove my family over the ocean was slow and potato-related – but I soon came to realize that other peoples have different, perhaps darker, persecutions in their history, and that their persecution may have been even more recent than mine. Another key lesson for a Jewish groupie is that although you may act like a twelve-year Jewish summer camp veteran, you’re probably not going to be up to snuff when it comes to Jewish geography. And there are some subjects on which you may never have a legitimate opinion. A friend visiting me from University of Michigan spent hours debating the question of whether there is any kosher way to kill a giraffe with my housemate. “Neck’s too long!” my housemate insisted, “it can’t be done fast enough.” I had no thoughts on the matter. For all that is difficult, inaccessible, or just different about the people who surround me, there is even more that is worth the effort. My Jewish friends are of all degrees of observance. Some had gone from Bar Mitzvah to a secular lifestyle by college. Others maintained, rekindled or even discovered their own Jewish identity during university. Faith is an energizing force in the lives of those who count “Jewish” among their list of defining characteristics. These friends are fiercely loyal to tradition, but committed to facing the modern world with faith, humor, and thoughtfulness. Where do I fall? I suspect there might be a whole secret society of Saturday light-switch switchers and strangers at the seder, and I’ll count myself among them. No matter how many times I encounter Jewish prayer, ritual, thought, or tradition, I never seem to feel less newness or less wonder. Perhaps that's because every time I come with eyes open again in another way, and a richer perspective with which to welcome Judaism into my life.
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