Book of Life

Rosh Hashana, the Jewish new year, and Yom Kippur, the day of atonement, recently wrapped up. These are the holiest days of the year for us Hebrews. I'm always extra emotional around this time of year, mostly because I miss my mother, and I miss having a community of other Jews to have holiday meals with. We belong to a wonderful temple, but we haven't really made ourselves a part of any Jewish community. In Savannah, we'd have lunch and dinner with old friends, and it was always a wonderful time. This year, we did get to have Rosh Hashana dinner with our friends the Crows, who have an older boy and twin girls. It was the most fun chaos you can imagine. It felt like home.

I don't talk much about the observant part of my being Jewish, mostly because I firmly believe that everyone's religious life, or lack thereof, is a deeply personal experience. I expect everyone to respect each other's lifestyles and beliefs (or lack thereof). But I'm going to talk about it here because, hey, it's my blog.

Our special Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur prayers include this:
On Rosh Hashana it is written,
on Yom Kippur it is sealed:
How many shall pass on, and how many shall come to be;
who shall live and who shall die;
who shall see ripe old age and who shall not;...

It's the "how many shall come to be" part that struck me this year. Last year on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, we knew I was pregnant but didn't yet know we were having twins. We certainly couldn't have predicted the 3 months in the hospital, or the perfect little chunky monkeys we have now. Things turned out so well, and they could have gone so wrong at any time. And that realization turned into me sobbing as we read this on Rosh Hashana morning. You may have seen my post about being inscribed in the Book of Life. Jews traditionally believe that on Rosh Hashana, your prayers and deeds determine whether you get written into the Book of Life or the Book of Death. And on Yom Kippur, your prayers, repentance, and charity seal the deal. I don't necessarily believe that God takes out a pen and writes my name in one book or the other, but I appreciate the imagery and metaphor. And I appreciate the chance to hold and love Brady, Bayla and Harper. I don't know what I did to "deserve" these wonderful children and this great life, but I am thankful for it all.

When Shawn and I first started dating, we had a big talk about my being Jewish and wanting a Jewish home. He was totally on board and now even participates in our (admittedly sparse) Jewish life. But I would like our children to know that they're Jewish, to know the history of their people, and to care about being a Member of the Tribe. I get excited when I think about Hebrew school and bar and bat mitzvahs, matzo ball soup and charoses (not so much about matzo), about Sh'mah and Hamotzi and other prayers, about "I Have a Little Dreidel" and "Mah Nishtanah," about Jewish mother jokes and tradition.

And at this time of year, when I actually make it to temple, and this year, when I have so much to be thankful for, I'm kind of hit over the head with how inspiring being a Jew is. we pray for ourselves, and we thank God, but we also pray for others-- in a nutshell, we want everyone to be nice to everyone else. And so because I feel every religious experience is a personal choice, if that's the only lesson my children get from Judaism, I'm okay with that. If they turn out to be good people who care about social justice (which is such a Jewish concept-- I'd explain more but this blog post is long enough already), and just occasionally make mazto ball soup, I'll be the proudest Jewish mother ever.