We live in a small town. Not a tiny town, but small enough that you tend to run into the same people over and over. In fact, today, I ran into someone I know from attending Temple on Friday nights.
Normally, this would be a totally uninteresting encounter, but the place I "ran into" this person from the temple was at the local office for economic support. Economic support, as in.... the place you go when you are bordering on not being able to support your kids on your income and you sign up for things like medicaid, food stamps, and things of that ilk.
Granted, I'm not ashamed of needing help. I need help. The help is temporary, and there will be a point in my life where I don't need to turn to the government for assistance. But, I have to admit having a conversation with people you know from other realms of life WHILE standing in the stinky, crowded, depressing "economic security" office is a little disconcerting.
The conversation goes something like this:
Her: "Hi, how are you doing??!!"
Me: "Fine.... "
Awkward silence...
Me: "Well, obviously things COULD be better or I wouldn't be standing HERE looking for economic security, but all in all I can't complain."
Her: Strained smile as she tries to decide if I am joking....
Well, you get the picture.
And, since we are on this topic, I thought I might post something I wrote awhile ago when I realized my "facebook friends" were all joining some group that wanted to force women like me to get mandatory drug testing so we could qualify for benefits.
Enjoy:
I'm on welfare. I'm white (not that it should matter what color I am). I'm educated. I have not only a bachelor's degree, I have a master's degree. I work four jobs totaling more than 40 hours a week. I do have three children, but they are all from the same father. Right now I need assistance. And, I, like many many many other women my situation who are in our place through no fault of or own (divorced, widowed, abused, abandoned), am human.
Requiring me to take a drug test assumes that people who are in my shoes are more likely to be drug users (we aren't). This assumes that we don't have the right to privacy (we should). And assumes that we need public assistance because of some kind of character flaw. And, I can tell you that the overburdened public system that administers welfare is not going to be helped by adding more levels of "administration".
MOST people who get welfare are poor not because they don't want to work, but because they can't FIND work, or never had the chance to get the same kind of education people take for granted. Many people on welfare have an education, but lose their job, become disabled, become ill, end up caring for sick or aging parents (or children). These things can happen to anyone of us, at any time, no matter how much education we have, and how moral we think we are.
As for, who gets welfare? We are your friends, your classmates, your child's teacher, your neighbor, the person who attends your church. You don't know about us, because the process of getting welfare is humiliating, dehumanizing, and embarrassing. We aren't going to tell you, especially when you project an attitude that we are somehow "worse" than you are because you have been lucky enough so far to escape the need for some assistance.
How many of you know the stats on welfare? Do you know that MOST people who receive welfare are white? Most welfare recipients are American citizens? Most welfare reciepients not only work, but work more than one job for long hours at terrible pay doing jobs no one else wants?
And, as for the small minority that meet your view. Do the children of drug addicts deserve to eat? Do the children of women "who pop out all those babies" deserve to be fed? How about their elderly parents? If that addict was your brother/father/mother (its possible) would you be so glad to watch them starve?
For shame.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
A Starting Point: So, why did you go and turn all Jewish, anyway?
So, I thought I'd start out this new blog by answering the question of how I got here. This, of course, is the truncated and semi-sanitized version. But, a starting point, since everything here is about starting. So, here you go:
So, why did you go and turn all Jewish, anyway??
I’ve always been interested in Judaism. Although I am old enough to have few clear memories of my childhood, one memory that sticks with me is when I visited a synagogue with my Girl Scout Troup when I was about 8 years old. The Rabbi took the Torah out for us, and I still remember the feelings I had. I was filled with awe, and the experience, although brief, left a lasting impression. I continued to be interested in a Jewish life and the Jewish people. In high school I babysat for an orthodox family who kept kosher, and after I would get the children to school in the morning, I would sit and look through their Hebrew lettering books and wish I could read. I had my first thoughts of actually becoming Jewish on and off once I went to college. However, a good Catholic girl doesn’t shock and upset her entire family by converting to Judaism! When I finally did approach my mother with the subject many years later, she was not unsupportive, but at that point I was married and had children and she counseled me to wait until my children were grown so as not to upset the family situation further. I agreed with her on a practical level, and I kept my feelings to myself, although I often secretly imagined myself Jewish, and prayed for guidance.
I finally became committed to conversion about 2.5 years ago. I like to joke, but half seriously, that I finally considered Judaism when my life was such a mess that converting couldn’t make things worse. I know that doesn’t sound like a resounding affirmation of my commitment, but I hope that my meaning is clear. I had 100 excuses why I couldn’t convert, and only when each excuse was ripped from me one by one did I finally allow myself to consider changing my entire life around to become Jewish. I do know that I had come to the point where I was spiritually and nearly physically dead, without hope for the future, and lost in an darkness that did not include a benevolent creator.
I am not sure how long I existed in this state of desperate spiritual emptiness. I struggled deeply with the existence of G-d. And, although I claimed not to believe, the thought of there being no ultimate creator, no higher power, filled me with such profound emptiness that I continued to struggle, to look, and to try to find answers. I was sure there was no G-d. But, on the other hand, I was sure I had to believe in one.
Around this point, I started to have dreams where I was sitting in front of a book filled with Hebrew characters. I realized that I had this deep desire to read Hebrew, and I started to look for a class on Biblical Hebrew. Soon after, I took on the name “Eve” (which means life) as an affirmation of the fact that I refused to lay down and die. After this, I don’t remember clearly all the details. I know that I essentially put my toe in a puddle, only to find that the puddle was an ocean, and I was caught in the undertow. From that moment on, my journey was instinctual, unconscious, and driven by a deep need to connect with the truth I sensed in Judaism. Three and a half later, I am here, without a clear, conscious idea of how I ended up where I am. I can only say for certain that I belong.
I converted orthodox 8 months ago. I have three children who have not converted, and I am married to a frum from birth sabra (oh my). I’d like to say that Judiasm solved all my problems, however, that would be a lie. Life is still complicated, challenging, and sometimes impossible. Yet, Judaism has given me a spiritual core, and a sense of peace. This is the faith I had been searching for my entire life, and I have finally come home.
So, why did you go and turn all Jewish, anyway??
I’ve always been interested in Judaism. Although I am old enough to have few clear memories of my childhood, one memory that sticks with me is when I visited a synagogue with my Girl Scout Troup when I was about 8 years old. The Rabbi took the Torah out for us, and I still remember the feelings I had. I was filled with awe, and the experience, although brief, left a lasting impression. I continued to be interested in a Jewish life and the Jewish people. In high school I babysat for an orthodox family who kept kosher, and after I would get the children to school in the morning, I would sit and look through their Hebrew lettering books and wish I could read. I had my first thoughts of actually becoming Jewish on and off once I went to college. However, a good Catholic girl doesn’t shock and upset her entire family by converting to Judaism! When I finally did approach my mother with the subject many years later, she was not unsupportive, but at that point I was married and had children and she counseled me to wait until my children were grown so as not to upset the family situation further. I agreed with her on a practical level, and I kept my feelings to myself, although I often secretly imagined myself Jewish, and prayed for guidance.
I finally became committed to conversion about 2.5 years ago. I like to joke, but half seriously, that I finally considered Judaism when my life was such a mess that converting couldn’t make things worse. I know that doesn’t sound like a resounding affirmation of my commitment, but I hope that my meaning is clear. I had 100 excuses why I couldn’t convert, and only when each excuse was ripped from me one by one did I finally allow myself to consider changing my entire life around to become Jewish. I do know that I had come to the point where I was spiritually and nearly physically dead, without hope for the future, and lost in an darkness that did not include a benevolent creator.
I am not sure how long I existed in this state of desperate spiritual emptiness. I struggled deeply with the existence of G-d. And, although I claimed not to believe, the thought of there being no ultimate creator, no higher power, filled me with such profound emptiness that I continued to struggle, to look, and to try to find answers. I was sure there was no G-d. But, on the other hand, I was sure I had to believe in one.
Around this point, I started to have dreams where I was sitting in front of a book filled with Hebrew characters. I realized that I had this deep desire to read Hebrew, and I started to look for a class on Biblical Hebrew. Soon after, I took on the name “Eve” (which means life) as an affirmation of the fact that I refused to lay down and die. After this, I don’t remember clearly all the details. I know that I essentially put my toe in a puddle, only to find that the puddle was an ocean, and I was caught in the undertow. From that moment on, my journey was instinctual, unconscious, and driven by a deep need to connect with the truth I sensed in Judaism. Three and a half later, I am here, without a clear, conscious idea of how I ended up where I am. I can only say for certain that I belong.
I converted orthodox 8 months ago. I have three children who have not converted, and I am married to a frum from birth sabra (oh my). I’d like to say that Judiasm solved all my problems, however, that would be a lie. Life is still complicated, challenging, and sometimes impossible. Yet, Judaism has given me a spiritual core, and a sense of peace. This is the faith I had been searching for my entire life, and I have finally come home.
Naked in the Garden: The kinda new blog from a kinda new me.
I've blogged, before. A long time ago, in another life, I used to write a blog. The blog was about this stay at home mom with three kids. I made people laugh, or so I hear. Somewhere in there, however, my life simply got too complicated to blog about, at least for me. So, I stopped writing.
I've tried to go back for some time to the old blog, and I have from time to time posted things. But, I couldn't figure out a way to post most of the things I wanted without some kind of weird, jarring, disconnect between the "old me" that wrote the "old blog" and the person writing this one. Granted, I'm not pretending I had more than a few people who regularly read my writing. Still, I couldn't, mentally, get over that emotional chasm. My new life was and IS still in the "closet" to some of those people who do check in from time to time. So, the end result was: I didn't blog anymore.
But, I missed the outlet. I missed sitting down and writing something and sending my ideas and thoughts out into cyberspace, even if no one but me ever reads anything that I write here. Most bloggers will tell you that they write mostly for themselves anyway. If anyone reads about, or cares about, what they write, well, this is just icing on the cake.
And so, with that in mind, I hearby inaugurate my "new" blog. However, just cause I think there is some good stuff there (in my less than humble opinion) here's where you can find my old blog.
http://forthisiwenttocollege-hmama.blogspot.com/
You might actually find that I recycle some of the posts from that blog here when I feel they are useful, relevant, and interesting. But I am hoping this "clean slate" mentality gives me the chance to continue to write without feeling I have to figure out how to bridge the gap between where I was then, and who I am now. So, lets see if I can write more often than once every six months. I hope you will come join me in the garden. I promise to be appropriately dressed for visitors, at least most of the time.
I've tried to go back for some time to the old blog, and I have from time to time posted things. But, I couldn't figure out a way to post most of the things I wanted without some kind of weird, jarring, disconnect between the "old me" that wrote the "old blog" and the person writing this one. Granted, I'm not pretending I had more than a few people who regularly read my writing. Still, I couldn't, mentally, get over that emotional chasm. My new life was and IS still in the "closet" to some of those people who do check in from time to time. So, the end result was: I didn't blog anymore.
But, I missed the outlet. I missed sitting down and writing something and sending my ideas and thoughts out into cyberspace, even if no one but me ever reads anything that I write here. Most bloggers will tell you that they write mostly for themselves anyway. If anyone reads about, or cares about, what they write, well, this is just icing on the cake.
And so, with that in mind, I hearby inaugurate my "new" blog. However, just cause I think there is some good stuff there (in my less than humble opinion) here's where you can find my old blog.
http://forthisiwenttocollege-hmama.blogspot.com/
You might actually find that I recycle some of the posts from that blog here when I feel they are useful, relevant, and interesting. But I am hoping this "clean slate" mentality gives me the chance to continue to write without feeling I have to figure out how to bridge the gap between where I was then, and who I am now. So, lets see if I can write more often than once every six months. I hope you will come join me in the garden. I promise to be appropriately dressed for visitors, at least most of the time.
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