My third year in “being” Jewish, participating in my Judaism… was, by no means, supposed to be a day in which I knew exactly what was supposed to happen, when it was going to happen, how I was going to make it all happen… there are moments where I still have difficulty explaining WHY it happens…
So, no. Third year “IN” (while still not being certified, classified or signed off of being OFFICIALLY “in”)... was not going to be easy.
Not an ounce of me expected it to be. Again, that’s part of the entire dynamic. I am, and thankfully I know it, very much a “Stranger in a Strange Land.” Foreign and happy to adapt? But also familiar and confused by the basics? Entirely born Jewish but not raised as such. This makes Jewish “things” potentially… difficult.
My Passover with my “non-Jewish” family was lovely. A two hour extravaganza of sharing and celebration. Conversation and Acceptance. My baby brother, while disappointed by the lack of challah and latke, is happy to celebrate and learn. I have promised latke latter in the week! My Mormon raised father (of step-ish shape) is happy to navigate conversation without political combativeness- a large feat for my opinion driven and well learn-ed father. My mother, potentially chaos driven by not one but TWO broken baby birds (Ace has juvenile diabetes and I have my TBI), sits at the table, matriarchal strength ever and always at hand… observing, injecting knowledge, mediating conflict… ruling with subtle strength.
Only some daughters are so lucky to learn from and live with such a well structured mother.
A time zone away another half of my heart, my Jewish family, celebrates.
And while I love my family I am also heart broken to not be with my family.
SO heartbroken to not be with Littlest on his first Passover because only a year ago (during Passover) his existence was announced to us. While I had my suspicion that he was present I rejoiced with surprised at the declaration. So heartbroken to not let him pass through my arms while family spoke or change his clothes to let parents organize the seder or opt to tempt him with an appropriate table nibble.
Heartbroken to not be with Little Marx. Last year I did take a turn with titters and giggles about some “nonsense” or another. A simple and delightful break from and otherwise obligatory day. Just sensitive, girlish driven moments of laughter and song and silliness. And to not be with Little and her friends today… heart wrenching.
It is sinkingly sad to not be with Anna to help with the meal. This year I was in charge of the only the meal alone! Two courses wore me out to the core and if not for an entire bottle of wine I would have lost hope. I did not navigate my interfaith family through a seder plate. We all sat down to dinner. I did not navigate or compose my own Haggadah. We sat down with and looked over select portions of OTHER Haggadah (because next year I will have one of my own composed). I did not worry and fret on where the furniture had to be to accommodate my familys guests. I certainly did not have to manage all of that with a brand new human Marx at my hip.
If I’d been there I’d have made myself as useful as possible doing dishes, cooking, moving furniture, changing diapers… any simple (or complicated!) chore.
I miss my secondary Sisters. My siblings in arms, one my fellow Gothy alto and the other my fellow English major. Both knowing bits of my heart that can not, without dark and twisty words, be explained.
And, after having watched what seems like a silly gift from my friend Jamie, heartbroken completely to not have learned new songs from him in this last almost year. Months without his choral advisement. Months without having access to bending his ear over a glass of beer. Months without a friend telling me to stop apologizing for things that are simply not my fault. Months without having a friend that can get me to listen to reason without making it sound like I’ve been stupid and silly for not having heard reason before.
Oh dear. I have been gone from them, my family, for almost a year.
Tonight I had to miss them but also learn to be singular… and then plural with “new” and “unfamiliar” others in a another language. It wasn’t as much agony as I thought it to be. Simply an eventual and potentially expected conundrum.
“Do You Want to Build a Snowman” is actually about a shared experience that ideally could be replicated through invitation… only both people present to the memorable event are remembering it differently.
It is the silly apologetic moment of the movie “Frozen.” Elsa, a little terrified of hurting or messing up. Anna, her memory is a little erased that terrified or messing up is even a possibility. Anna is happy to rebuild a memory that Elsa is forced to remember the consequences of.
I may have over English/Literature geek majored the stuffing out of the story… but it’s kinda… PASSOVER as heck.
All sorta reminding me that love is a little about knocking on doors you don’t expect to open… but also opening doors before it is too late.
