My momma, my hero

I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting this week, stemming from the fact that I moved back to Indiana one year ago this past weekend and that Tuesday was Rosh Hashannah, the Jewish new year and Day of Remembrance. So I’m just going to record some of my ponderings. Just a warning, this will probably be a very patchwork entry.

Time has been absolutely flying by lately. I have no idea how suddenly I’ve been home for a year, at Humpty Dumpty for a year, living in my apartment for a year, and in a happy relationship for almost a year. Sometimes I feel like camp should just be ending, like I should just be moving into that crappy apartment I rented for a few months in Raleigh, and looking for a job besides the coffeeshop. Even crazier in my mind is that it’s been two years since I moved to Raleigh in the first place. I very much miss living with Bette and Ang. That was really a pretty ridiculous and amazing year. I’m a little worried that time will continue to speed along, and what if I forget to enjoy things as they fly by?

At the end of services on Tuesday morning the president of the temple sisterhood (I think) made a few announcements. First she said, even though resolutions are not typical on the Jewish new year, this year make one. Make a resolution to thank the parents of Jewish children who might not have always been Jewish, or who still aren’t. They gave up their religion to give their children Judaism. Thank them for that. I snuck a look at my mother, who was sitting next to me, and saw tears dampening her cheeks. After services, I gave her a hug and thanked her. Sometimes I forget all that my mom has done for me in the religion department. She was raised in a very Catholic home. When she and my father, a non-practicing Jew, got married, they decided to expose their kids to both religions and let them choose. In sixth grade I told my parents I wanted to start attending Sunday school at our reform temple. (I know, what kid wants to go to Sunday school? That’s a whole other cup of tea my friends.) So I embraced Judaism and I took my family with me. My brother did not get hooked like I did, which was fine with my parents (because they are amazing and have never pushed us to do anything we didn’t want to do) but my mom and dad jumped in. They started taking basic Judasim classes together at our temple and my mother even considered converting until her parents threatened to practically disown her. So she didn’t. In the past 12 or so years she has been my biggest Jewish supporter. She helped me run a monthly after-school dinner/homework help program through my youth group IFTY, she attended services with me (and still does), she asked me to bring a mezzuzah back from Israel for the house, and she makes a damn good brisket and kugel on holidays. She even recently told me she would love to go to Israel. I’ve always been thankful that my parents gave me the choice of my religion and supported me, but I’ve never thought of being thankful for my mother and the sacrifce she made. She didn’t get to pass down her beliefs to her children. Instead she had to learn a whole new set of beliefs. I can only imagine how hard that must have been and must still be.

Wow, I actually had more to write about the arrival of aproppriate fall weather and scarves, but I’ve gotten myself into somewhat of an emotional state, so I’ll save the crunchy leaves for later.

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