I started off writing a post about my Passover experience. Detail by detail. Seder to Seder, meal to meal, joke to joke. But it didn't feel sincere, when all I can think about is how disconnected this year was compared to every observant Passover I've had since 2008.
For the first year since 2008, when I had the world's greatest experience in Chicago thanks to Rabbi Asher Lopatin's help finding me a seder, I was spending Passover mostly by myself. The past three years I enjoyed the tale of our Exodus from Egypt with Evan's family -- the first two years in Florida, poolside, visiting his grandmother, aunt and uncle, and last year in Monsey with cousins. Those were family holidays, how I always envisioned Passover to be. In Florida, four generations gathered around a large seder table eating matzo and cracking jokes.
Even the first year I observed Passover in Chicago, the seder was a family experience. Led by a grandfather at the father's house with grandmother and the orphans of the community around the table.
I'm not saying this year didn't feel like family, but it wasn't the same. The seders were outstanding, filled with intelligent queries and questions of why, why, why. And there were families there, generations represented, but they weren't my family.
An old friend (circa 2006 when I was working at The Washington Post) stopped in last week for the first seder (her first, as far as I know) while working on a story for GOOD magazine. We spent a lot of time talking about my conversion and what I'm really looking for in life, the thing that Judaism was meant to represent for me -- community, family, connections, belonging.
The pursuit of family.
There's something about the seder that asks us all to be a part of a continuum, from generation to generation, and for so many -- even the most secular of Jews -- the seder creates a consistent timeline within a family. For about three years, I was part of a continuum, a story within a family that could serve as a history.
And now? I'm an orphan, a random. And I'm trying so hard to remember that family is more than immediate connections made through marriage or birth. I'm trying to remember that the Jewish community is a family all its own.
But for some reason, I feel so outside of the community. Self-imposed out of fear? Fear of rejection, chastising? Perhaps. I don't know where I've gone wrong or how I ended up here, but despite the inclusion I received at seders and end-of-chag meals, I still feel like that piece of furniture that no one can seem to place. Who bought it? Where do we put it? Should we throw it out? Put it in the attic? It's as if no one knows what to do with me, and worse yet -- I don't know what to do with myself.
Passover, I think, was eye-opening for me. It made me long for something I've lost -- my Jewish family. So the question is: How do I recover what I had, what I lost, and what I need?
(Note: I don't want this to sound like I am diminishing the amazing friends who keep me afloat -- I'm looking at you @melschol -- but there's so much more that I long for. I crave memory, family, history.)
The Pursuit of Happiness
Sunday, April 15, 2012
I can only imagine how it was. Perhaps it was something akin to how I felt when, during my compulsory army service in Israel, I had to do the Seder on base with 3 other religious guys and in between guarding shifts. I went through the motions and dotted all the i's, but it did not feel like a seder, so far away from my family and my traditions.
ReplyDeleteOf course, it's not nearly as challenging as what you must have felt. For me this was a one-time thing, a short-term deviation from the normal way of things. For you this has become, over the past year, a new quest for belonging.
There are no easy solutions to this, but it might help to take a macro perspective on your life to understand better why you feel this way, since it's likely that Pesach just brought to the surface things that were bothering you for a while. In your journey to Judaism, it would seem to me [from the little that I know] that your divorce was the first real setback. Until that point, you set goals for how you want your life to be, who you want to be, and through hard work and determination you reached them. Several conversions, a scholarship to YU, and many others. Marriage might have signified the end of a long road, in some sense - a new family to share a life with, and the final acceptance into the Jewish community. [As an aside, in Israel at least there has been much discussion about this last point - about how people that remain single past their 30's find it hard to fit in, or feel accepted, in many communities].
With your divorce, in addition to the pain it involved and would involve for anyone, it might have felt like an additional double-blow: feeling like you have been sent back a step, perhaps even judged harshly by G-d, and loosing that connection, that place, in the community. And why should you suffer so much, after all that you have gone through? It seems painfully unfair. I remember feeling stuck during the years I went on blind-dates, feeling at times like G-d had deserted me, feeling like my married friends were leaving me behind as they built their new lives. I can only surmise that you feel something similar, only worse, having been there and then having it taken away.
I think the most tragic thing is that there are no real shortcuts, IMO. The classic family is the only place we feel we can really build something together with another, to link with previous generations and send into the world a new generation of children whom we will teach about how we see the world through our faith.
I assume this is no consolation to you, but I believe that you are a fantastic person, and that in time you will find your Bashert, whomever he may be, and that once again you will feel that sense of connection to generations past, present and future. Just keep being true to yourself, follow your heart, and trust that Hashem will take care of the rest.
I get that you want more, but for so many young adults (BTs, FFBs, Converts, and everywhere in between) - community is family. As our generation becomes ever more transient, always moving on to the next big opportunity and in search of our place in the world, less and less of us get to be a part of our biological families for these moments, and more and more we have to embrace the family that is the Jewish community.
ReplyDeleteWhile you can never recover what you had in your exIn-Laws, you can build your own future. I think you are so in your head over where you fit in, that you don't give people a chance to just welcome you with the open arms they would on their own. You can be a part of this communal family, if you'll just start to let down the fences and let people closer.
I hear you. If it's okay by you, I'll hold you in my prayers.
ReplyDeleteoh my, how i understand what you mean! this is one of the reasons i did not convert (yet) - i'd feel i'd have to adapt to other people's scripts, leaving my own family traditions behind. cutting off my roots. however, you were braver than me so far - starting a new life, reorienting yourself towards judaism, getting through two conversion processes, and feeding your neshama as well as you could. now, from what i read here, it feels you are in a process of reorientation, or rather of reconnection to judaism. i don't think you have lost your jewish family - maybe it is just a new opportunity to feel what you (or your neshama) need for reconnecting to the tribe, to find a place to feel at home. and i guess it is only you yourself who can provide this space within yourself.
ReplyDeletei wish you all the best as well as courage, strength and hope for your adventure towards a judaism that not only fits you - but that IS you. feel hugged and appreciated!
I had the big multi-generational family seders as a child, but they disappeared when my grandmother passed. My mom lives hundreds of miles from me and my father's family isn't Jewish, so I haven't had a family seder like that (outside of myself, husband and kids) in years. BUT, I've had some wonderful seders with friends. Last year, while my husband was overseas in Iraq, I had the pleasure of a lovely seder with a dear friend who's claimed my kids as his grandkids, lol. This year was a very not-so-traditional seder with many friends. I say not traditional because the seder only was able to last for all of 5 minutes. There were about a dozen kids, and all but 4 of them are special needs. A traditional seder just wasn't possible. But it was by far one of the most wonderful, enjoyable seders I've had in a long time and can't wait until next year. That meant so much to me when I have such a disconnect from my family seders in the past.
ReplyDeleteComing off of a recent divorce, I can only imagine how hard it is to have that warm, cushy feeling of family you once had. Hopefully you're able to find a community of friends that, with time will create that feeling for you again. You're more than welcome at my table next year (if you happen to be in Northern California at the time and don't mind the craziness of the aforementioned seder, lol). :D
Hmmm. Okay, going to problem solving mode here.
ReplyDeleteHow about getting super clear which mountain you want to climb, and then sharing your plans to climb it with a pso -- potential significant other, a handy web-type acronym I just made up. Just think in two minutes EVERYONE on twitter will be using it!
As always, your insight is invaluable. You know me so well! This is why I miss you guys so much. So much of what you have said is accurate, and it's just now starting to resonate. I have so much work to do to recover from my divorce, and I'm no reevaluating what that looks like. Thank you!
ReplyDeleteI think the great thing about converting is that there are some aspects of traditions that you can bring with you into your Jewish life. The bummer for me is that I didn't really grow up with any defined or committed traditions that helped me define holidays or experiences. So it was like a blank slate almost. When you get married, you find those traditions with someone else, or even in their family. When you're alone, it's hard to feel the traditions when they seem so far away.
ReplyDeleteHUGS to you, too Katharina!
Of course :)
ReplyDeleteIn my head. This is the honest truth of it all.
ReplyDeleteI need to re-establish a life lived for me, myself, and I.
Hey, and of course - you are always welcome to our holiday festivities if you happen to be on this side of the Atlantic. We'd love to temporarily "adopt" you... :)
ReplyDeletei get you. but the blank slate is also an opportunity - create traditions that resonate within you, that nourish your soul. i just wish you the insight and strength to get there - and find out what (and whom!) you really need.
ReplyDeletea void can be filled most satisfyingly from within - not from without. all the best for your journey!
This so hard! Hope you find some answers :)
ReplyDeleteI just spent a glorious month in Israel with my husband's family feeling all warm and fuzzy. Then we came home and my 1 yr old son became seriously ill (he's better now). We were in the hospital for most of Pesach. It was very lonely at first with my husband at home with my daughter. Then slowly all the Jews/Israelis came outta the woodwork to help and support us during our hospital stay! Words fail me-- It was such an incredible feeling...
Maybe you need to embrace this- the Jewish community- and the rest will come later? Give yourself some time to heal. I hope you find what your looking for :)
Last year, I went through something similar. I was on my own search for community. I ended up spending both seders alone. I was forced to confront that I had no immediate family because i was not married and had no children. Most of my married friends had community or shuls because of their children and still had family to celebrate passover and other holidays. My siblings are non observant and parents were in florida. No friends adopted me. it was a hard week as everyone else i knew had a sense of family and community. Not without some soul searching, questioning of g-d to how my path was chosen, how i chose the path and what i truly desired. It was a few days of depression and sadness. it is not the same to pay for a seder to be with strangers. It is a challenge not to have community or family and children to celebrate with. There were lots of things that represented losses. this year, it was better though i still have no family or community.
ReplyDeleteWe are alone here in Winnipeg without family, but we always gather our community of waifs and have a wonderful seder. If you ever find yourself up here, you are always welcome at our table.
ReplyDelete