lost in let's remember
My mother, when she was in college, played the organ at church services, and my ex-girlfriend’s mother is a church organist in New York, and now my boyfriend is a church organist too. Let’s not dig too deep into that, agreed? The point being that like any good little Jewish girl I celebrated Yom Kippur, the holiest of holy Jewish days, by going to Catholic mass.I didn’t dip my fingers into the holy water (I wouldn’t have known what to do next) and I didn’t cross myself when everyone crossed themselves, but I answered and also with you when the Deacon said God Be With You. I listened to the sermon, which was smart and funny and well delivered, and which was essentially about tolerance. And I sang when Operaman raised his arms, because – did I mention this part? – for This Sunday Only he was also the cantor, standing right up front leading the congregation through all the songs. Their previous cantor quit and their organist broke her arm, and a week later in walked an opera singer with a minor in organ. So.
I got down on my knees and prayed, just like in California Dreamin’, just like the religion I was raised in expressly forbids. But after short consideration I decided that I don’t believe God cares if I’m on my knees or not. I decided that since I don’t believe in God so much as I believe in something big and beyond reason that I might as well call God because I don’t have a better word, there’s definitely no problem being full of awe and thankfulness and atonement and the other things that Yom Kippur is about, things that I think are Important, on my knees in a Catholic church. I bowed my head and folded my hands and whispered what I could remember of the Kaddish.
Operaman isn’t Catholic, either. He’s a nonpracticing Lutheran who likes music. I’ve decided, at thirty, that it’s ok to sign up for things I still have reservations about. I’m ardently patriotic, for example, though America sometimes makes me furious and sad. I’m an environmentalist even though patchouli and the oversimplified slogans that go with it make me roll my eyes. And I respect religion for the – may I reclaim this word, please? – values it holds dear: community and generosity and gratitude and Living One’s Ethics.
And I’m Jewish, I guess, because I sure like Passover, and because I soaked up all that bookish wry sarcastic skeptical stubborn Jewish character, and because it’s no use being nothing just because nothing’s perfect. But I’m the kind of Jewish that went to mass for Yom Kippur, and then went back to my tattooed Christian boyfriend’s apartment for Dutch baby and bacon. Hosanna! Good yuntif.
posted by tortaluga @ 6:52 PM
3 Comments:
As a jew who spent this Yom Kippur at the Vatican (followed by a large pasta lunch in Rome because pregnant people aren't supposed to fast, right?) I whole heartedly agree with your assessment.
Love,
La
you rock. I will remind myself to read this again before I go to another service in virginia.
i am constantly amazed by you
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