Lately I’ve been seeing a lot of my Rabbi, not in temple, but at the supermarket. I’ve seen him at ShopRite, Stew Leonard’s, Costco, Stop & Shop, and the Big Y. That’s all of my area’s major food stores. And every single time, I have pork in the cart, glaring up for God to see.
Knowing my Rabbi, he does not judge. This is a Reform Rabbi who is well known in the area for bonding well with other religious leaders, having a practical perspective on Jewish tradition and understanding that not everyone will adhere to the same laws he does. However, no matter what, I feel shame. I call it the Bacon Shame.
But I only feel it when in the presence of my Rabbi. As if he is some shining Hebrew National hot dog made to woo me away from the evils of slit-hoofed animals. Why should I feel this way? I am a Reform, non-kosher, not very religious Jew. How could this sort of guilt have been cultivated in me?
Maybe it’s merely the fact that whenever I see a Rabbi, I feel guilty. Who knows what I’ve done recently? Is his gaze channeling God’s? Will he go back to God and tell him I didn’t lay tefillin that morning? Do they know I don’t lay tefillin? Can they sense that?
Perhaps it is actually a deeper guilt. As the grandson of a Holocaust survivor, I am given the greatest guilt of all. “When are you going to find a nice Jewish girl Geoffrey?” my grandpa says. I always say, “When I can afford one.” Not to knock Jewish women. It’s his joke, not mine. I suppose when you are an 86-year-old Holocaust survivor, you are entitled to some remarks.
Can I reconcile the life I live and am happy living with the expectations of my grandfather? Yes, I have no problem doing that. Where my conflict must be is in the Jewish person I think I should be. Who is Mr. Goes-to-Shul with his tallis on and knows all the prayers to pray to God that he passes the bar exam. Why I am compelled by this idiotic concept is unknown to me. It only bothers me when I see my Rabbi in the grocery store. It only hits me when Grandpa wants great-grand children (he’s got three other grandchildren–why’s it always got to be me?).
In order to live with myself, I remember something brilliant Rabbi says: “If you do not believe in the practice, it is meaningless. If you just go through the motions, you might as well not have done it.” Some might take this as a get-out-of-jail free card. I take it as a way to be more honest with how I am as a Jew.
Maybe I should just pop into a Woody Allen movie, have a BLT with cheese and forget about it.
