Confessions of a Jewish Quaker
Jewish Quaker? That would be me. Let’s begin.
The heavens are forecast to open tomorrow, bringing enough rain to decide a grocery run would be prudent today. Yes, I like my vegetables and wish to keep my doctors (and me) happy.
Oh wait, wait, do you hear that? It’s Winnie the Pooh wanting in on this conversation. (What can I say? Lifelong Pooh fan, here. Incorrigible.)
Pooh points out that an expotition (in bear-ease, an expedition) to the store is actually an excuse to get some of their damn good coffee. You know, that coffee with the insanely sweetened creamer, something that is dietarily verboten in my own home.
Having dispatched my responsibilities to the vegetable kingdom (and myself), I’m finally at the coffee bar, doctoring my brew with a medley of ingredients that would scare the daylights out of me to actually identify. (Yeah, yeah, purposefully nearsighted human, here.) Paid with the ol’ iPhone (just showing off that I’m technologically able to do so at my age!) Just as I’m getting ready to leave, the cashier said, “Let me put a paid sticker on your coffee cup, so the other cashiers know you’re kosher when leaving the store.”
Kosher. Don’t hear that word too much around these North Carolina parts. And I was shocked, absolutely taken back, noticing an obvious internal hesitation on my part for responding, in kind, with the term kosher. What?! The October 7 attack, that’s what. The aura of anti-semitic fear I’ve heard about my whole life, but am now experiencing, at my, shall we say, advancing age. (Like really advancing! Get real, Jan!)
Ah, but here’s the catch. I’ve been a practicing Quaker for almost 20 years. Does this mean I’ve rejected my Judaism? No, I don’t think so. Apples and oranges, perhaps? I do have a personal preference for the manner of worship, one over the other, but it’s not a rejection.
I’ll always be Jewish. Always. It was the warp and woof of my upbringing, with no desire on my part to disentangle. None. However, my Quakerism is as intrinsic to my spiritual embodiment as is Judaism. Those apples and oranges are back. Although different, both are wondrous forms of nourishment.
Wow, talk about a diversion from my shocking hesitation in replying to the cashier. Hesitant and scared to use the word kosher. Which I did, anyway, in my reply. Making a stand, if only in the face of my own insecurities. But that’s really not sufficient, in my eyes, at least. For the first time in I don’t know how many years, I recently bought a Mezuzah and placed it in my doorway. A small gesture of sharing with the world that I am also a Jew. (And, now, your Judaism 101 unit for the day: the Mezuzah’s purpose is educational, to constantly remind a person of God's/Spirit’s commandments.)
You may be asking yourself “What’s her point?” You know what? I’m wondering the same thing. What the heck? And the “heck” is that each of us, every single one of us humans, needs to grow into our unique healthy wholeness - whatever form that wholeness may take. As long as we don’t victimize others.
Oh no, oh no! I’ve now fallen into pontification territory. Oy! So sorry! Out with the soapbox and in with the Persian poet, Rumi, for his lovely take on wholeness:
“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I'll meet you there.”
Sound alluring? Let’s go!
especially lovely