It’s a hard life. And not just because of these new and strange diet restrictions, which frankly I’ve quelled by replacing my usual fare with a lot of chocolate and Passover cake. No, something much more tumultuous is brewing.
I keep thinking back to my conversation with a certain head of the local RCA chapter, and his agreement to meet with me. “At a certain point though,” I remember him saying, “You will have to move to an Orthodox community.” I always knew this would eventually have to happen, and to tell you the truth, I know that it’s for the best—if I don’t do it now, who’s to say I ever will? But suddenly and swiftly—hours before Shabbat Friday night, no less—I decided that waiting for that step to occur was really just putting off what is my destiny.
My destiny, of course, is to move to New York, the land of Hasidic enclaves and kosher restaurants.
Suddenly, I thought about how shrunken and desolate my soul would likely become if I were to submit myself to two more years here in Virginia, at a Southern school that can boast only a nearby Reconstructionist (sorry, “unaffiliated”) synagogue. No one else seems worried for me, even my rabbi. But I’m just not Reconstructionist. And like that head of the local RCA chapter said, “Eventually I will have to move to an Orthodox community.” Why put it off? That makes no sense.
I’m not the type of person you want to toss into this kind of adventure. Because I will throw away everything stable and serene in my life to accept that challenge. I’ll, for example, apply to CUNY for the spring, even though it will have been my fourth attempted try at college; and I’d have to pay quite a bit out of pocket. “I’ll make it work,” I thought, “I’ll apply for in-state residency after a year. I’ll find a job; a place to live. I’ll live in hostels!”
On the other hand, I’ve been working for two years toward this local school’s Guaranteed Admissions agreement with my community college. They’ll pay my full tuition; even for health insurance. It’d be close enough to home that I could occasionally come back to visit my friends at the synagogue. The people are nice and the teachers are good. A secure and content future. The school is rather prestigious, too.
But the problem is, of course, that its tiny Jewish Studies department can’t prepare me for advanced studies.
And it’s certainly no Orthodox community.
*Picture #1: My sister’s rendition of the first thing we saw when we visited New York. It was actually a Sunday.
*Picture #2: My rendition of what happened when I realized I could never be Reform.
