Shifting Identity

What it means to me to be a Jew has changed and evolved throughout my life. There have been times when I might have been uncertain if I liked it. There have been times when I sought spiritual inspiration elsewhere or times when I saw myself as more of a member of the community of humanity than of the Jewish community. There have been times when I have felt embarrassed by my community, even times when I've spoken lashon hara (smack). (I regret these now but I'll save that discussion for another time.) 

All that said, there has never been a time that I did not see myself as a Jew. It is who I am. Full stop. And it makes me proud to say that that is who I am. 

I grew up among a handful of Jews in Corvallis, Oregon. My parents taught me that being a Jew means being compassionate to others. "We were slaves in Egypt, so we know that we must treat others with kindness." That was foundational and has influenced my decision making throughout most of my life. 

I gravitated to others who were similarly-minded. In high school, as I was going through a period of  identity questioning, a reconstructionist rabbi, Rabbi Michael Tayvah, took me under his wing. He persuaded me to go on March of the Living with him, a trip that would change my life. Through a week in Poland visiting Holocaust sites and then a week in Israel I found myself fully immersed in layer after layer of what it meant to be who I am. I found strength and pain in the stories of the Holocaust and I discovered a rich culture of modern possibilities for us as Jews. It was easy to get swept up in the joy and strength of Israel on its own terms, but Michael also made sure I knew of the complexity of the place. He talked to me about Palestinian refugee camps and about work he had done in building peace. I don't remember the details of what he said, but I remember watching his face as he loved the land and the spirit and none of this conflicted with his being aware of so much work to be done. 

Much later, immediately after the first Trump election, I saw that people were becoming radically divided. I wanted to become active right away and stake a claim on holding us together instead of ripping us apart. I quickly found a Muslim-Jewish interfaith organization and began organizing a local chapter. For the next few years, it would become the center of some of the proudest work I did (outside of my teaching job). We created relationships. We volunteered together. We learned together and we trained in difficult conversations. 

The most important thing I learned from this group was the importance of stories. When we were coached on how to talk about difficult topics, we learned the key was to share stories. Information can be refuted or challenged with counter-information, but your story is always your story. Stories can coexist.

But then I learned that some people simply could not hear mine. 

In the past few years I have sometimes felt that I was choking on my words. Anything I said in these contexts was subject to scrutiny. I have found myself reduced, my stories erased with "yeah but what about..." There will always be stories. One person's story should never erase another's. 

This blog is where I come to tell my stories. Come under the table and listen.