Your People Would Be My People En El Subjuntivo

Your People Would Be My People En El Subjuntivo

Aside from the history of Spain emotionally destroying any trust Am Yisroel could have for a country, it's just not a good place to be a Jew. Judaism is a communal religion and I am fairly certain that I'm the only Jew for maybe three or four-hundred miles (which will remain an unspecified amount of kilometers). There's a (1) guy in A Coruña who is jewing up there. There are also Jews in Madrid and a few other cities. There's a whole network of orthodox Jews in Spain. Anyway, today was the first day I ate real foodz at a non-vegetarian restaurant. I've been cafeteria-ing and buying my own food, but today I couldn't find a market, open or closed. After explaining that I both don't eat ''carne'' and that I am a vegetarian. I still had to tell the server twice that I really wouldn't like ham. The tuna felt like the devil after reading my National Geographic (which is slightly different than the Spanish version: but theirs came with extra booklets about the universe...), but she wouldn't let me away without protein and she shouldn't've because all the hiking and carrying I did today burned up muscles I don't have, let alone feed appropriately.

Yesterday was my first Shabbat in what will be a series of lonely Shabbatot. I did every song and prayer and reading I've ever done to combat the [irrational] fear that I'm going to forget how to daven while I'm here. The V'ahavta struck some cords.

You shall love Adonai your God with all your heart,

with all your soul, and with all your might.

Take to heart these instructions with which I charge you this day.

Impress them upon your children.

Recite them when you stay at home and when you are away,

when you lie down and when you get up.

Bind them as a sign on your hand and let them serve as a symbol on your forehead;

inscribe them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.

Thus you shall remember to observe all My commandments

and to be holy to your God.

I am Adonai, your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt to be your God:

I am Adonai your God. Mishkan T'filah for Travelers, A Reform Siddur. CCAR. NYC, NY. 2009

One of my love affairs with Mishkan T'filah is the fluffy interpretations on the left side. This one is closer than some, based on the words in addition to the ideas. Some of the spins are : “Love your God...with every conscious act....Teach them [the words I commanded] to your children, talk about them at work: whether you are tired or you are rested...Keep them at the forefront of your vision. Do not leave them at the doorway of your house,...”.

I don't remember which phrase exactly triggered me, but I was feeling like I was moving backwards. I did not bring my mezuzah when I moved to a country that my people swore never to return to. For a potential, future, rabbinical student candidate---well, it felt counterproductive.

HOW DARE I DISRESPECT JUDAISM SO?

I've been maintaining the flexibility and durability and pluralism of Judaism for years. I converted in a shack for G-d's sake! Did I leave Judaism in Michigan? Sitting there, tearing and waving me goodbye? NO. (My conception of) Orthodoxy keeps making a mistake. Yes, I think that sometimes doing the actions will bring the intentions and that we should continue the tradition of crazy, possibly pointless, Jewish crap. However, let us not forget which way the goal is. I have no mezuzot, no tefillin, nor idea about what I'm looking for when I 'check/inspect' my tzit-tzit on my tallis. The knots continue to be there...

I love G-d with all my soul, heart and mind. And I am capable, maybe even more so, of awareness of G-d and Judaism and Mitzvot: even without a box falling off my head. It might just be me, but leather is usually more of a distraction, but I do love G-d. So, I'm Jewish and Judaism is Jewish l'olam vaed: when I'm at TBS or alone, when I'm in Israel or even in Spain. When I have a mezuzah and when I don't even have a doorway. I did bring my proof of conversion, a piece of paper in my bag, as a symbol of a commitment that not even an ocean can brake.