At first glance, this post may seem like a divergence, an off topic from my usual subject of my journey of seeking the truth about my paternity and finding my self again. But that is exactly why this post is extremely relevant – it is about my identity. A key part of my self identity is that of my Jewishness. Ever since the tragedy in Pittsburgh last weekend, I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about the hate and sadness, about what the families must be going through. I have also been thinking a lot about being Jewish and what it means to be part of the Jewish community.
I was not raised Jewish; I was, in fact, raised Catholic. This is yet another part of my life growing up that I felt I didn’t fit in. In Sunday school, I was always the kid raising my hand to ask questions…more questions that the adults in my life didn’t want to answer.
When I went to college, my eyes were opened in so many ways. I met so many people with different backgrounds, religions, and cultures. I tried to learn as much as I could from all of them. I loved to help my new friends celebrate their cultural and religious holidays – from Diwali to Passover, I enjoyed all of it. The more I learned about Judaism, the more I wanted to know. There was something that drew me to it. When I moved to CA, I continued to learn what I could about Judaism. I constantly asked my Jewish friends for details on Jewish beliefs, holidays and practices. When I asked my (now) husband a question about Yom Kippur, he referred me to his mother. She gave me The Jewish Book of Why. I loved reading it and the more I learned, the more I wanted to know. I took a class at the local temple and loved that the rabbi let us ask why – in fact, she asked why herself quite a bit. I continued my Jewish education and eventually decided to convert to Judaism. It was one of the easiest, most right decisions of my life. I felt such happiness and comfort in my decision. When I went to the ritual bath, the mikvah, and the water washed over me, I felt such peace and sense of belonging. I was now part of a community that welcomed me, a place where are I knew who I was.
Now that I am reassessing everything about my identity, this is one part that is rock solid and unwavering – my Jewish self. And all the hate and anti-semitism in the world can’t change that. I chose to be a part of the Jewish community. As part of the conversion process, I had to choose a Hebrew name. I chose Simcha, which means “joy.” I chose Judaism to be part of me, I chose joy.