11/28/2921 - Family

I remember visiting a previous girlfriend's family for Thanksgiving. They were so welcoming and treated me as if they had always known me. We cooked, played charades, watched football, and ended the evening by chatting in a big circle over some drinks. It was so fun and festive and her family was genuinely interested in what I had to say and laughed at my cheesy jokes. I know the jokes weren't funny, but they laughed anyway. Yet the entire trip, I was so on edge, it felt like I had run a marathon. I didn't know how to react to anything and it felt like I was walking on eggshells. Despite the warmth of the household, I was secretly wishing the evening to be over because I was so uncomfortable.

Then I realized I was on edge because I had never really experienced a holiday in a functional household. Dysfunctional is a very harsh word, but I cannot think of another way to phrase it. There was undoubtedly some very joyous holidays in the Gomes family. I'll always remember running down the stairs on Christmas morning with my sisters or waking up to the smell of a large breakfast on Easter. But there was always drama on holidays. Some big fight between my parents or my sisters, my cousins only speaking in Portuguese around my mom's side of the family (white Americans) just to gossip, my mom crying, or my other sister getting high in the bathroom with whatever drug she discovered that month.

I mean, sure, sometimes I liked to stir the pot by bringing up politics during dinner, but who doesn't? But I still speak to one my sister, Nicole, about how we generally dreaded November and December because it felt like if we didn't calculate our every move or word, a fight would erupt. We joke that we know it's bad when we're jealous of the National Lampoon's family. But again, there were some very joyous moments, not everything was bad.

So, with that in mind, the holidays are unknown territory for me as an adult. 

It's always awkward at work when our team goes around in the meeting asking what we're doing for the holidays. I can't say "nothing" because then they'll ask why but I hate lying to them. But I lie anyway, I usually say I'm visiting a sister in New York or staying local with my parents. But it pains me every time to lie like that. But revealing the nature of my family is something I try very hard to keep private until I am close with someone.

Very recently, I was early to Hebrew class and Gerdy and I were chatting and she was asking questions about my family. I kept providing vague answers but she kept probing until I eventually had to drop my guard and admit that I don't speak to my family outside of my sister, Nicole. I just really can't lie to people and if someone pushes enough, I'll tell the truth. She paused for a moment, I assume because she wasn't expecting that, and immediately, jokingly, asked if she could adopt me. When I laughed she told me that she was being serious. She said she is always one phone call away and would be happy to talk to me if I ever needed help, guidance, or someone to talk to. I know she wasn't saying it just to be kind. I've learned that Gerdy is a very deliberate woman and meant what she said to me in the fullest.

It took everything in me to not cover my camera and let the tears flow.

The same thing happened during one of our meetings when you brought up the first entry I wrote about my situation with my dad. You assured me that there was nothing wrong with me and that you were in my corner for support. When you told me that I was brave, the tears started forming; I don't think anyone has called me that before. But this feeling of warmth and love you provided was overpowering in the best way possible. The tears that formed from both you and Gerdy were not ones of sadness, but of pure and unexpected gratitude and love. There was not a single tear of sadness.

Just like my previous girlfriend's family, the warmth of welcoming me to this community is something extremely foreign to me and something I was not expecting to be so emotional for me. I can't count how many times the beauty of Judaism, the community, and God has overwhelmed me to the point of becoming emotional. This has by far been, and will continue to be, the most moving part of my life.

Anyway,

One of the first things I learned about Judaism is how family centric it is. It did cause some hesitation for me before making the first step toward conversion until I realized I am probably not the only one. But it does make me wonder if I am truly experiencing Jewish holidays to it's full extent if I am celebrating them alone. While I have wonderful friends that wish me a happy Hanukkah or say Yom Tov, I imagine it's different to celebrate with the Jewish community. I am grateful some of my friends ask to participate in some things, but often times I want to discuss something I read in a Jewish text or debate about a thought on God. Most, if not all of my friends, are agnostic or atheist and I want to respect their boundaries on religious views.

I guess I just don't know how to celebrate a communal holiday alone.

However, I am very excited because a friend of mine was telling her coworker about my conversion and her coworker offered to reach out to me because she went through a conversion process when she was 16. She's also Latina and part of the LGBTQ+ community. It's incredible to me that someone so similar to me offered to reach out without knowing anything about me other than converting.

She, Sam, was telling me that during her conversion she struggled because she didn't have someone, like a mentor, to speak with or relate to. So she offered to be that person for me. She also said it would be refreshing for her to be re-inspired by someone equally as passionate about Judaism as she was during her conversion. Talking to Sam has truly been a huge step in my Jewish journey because she is always happy to chat or debate something. Having a Jewish friend to say Good Shabbos to and to speak so candidly about God with has been very comforting and personally valuable.

It's another example of the hospitality and love that Judaism has showed me. I hope to be a source of that one day as well.

I've been reading a novel called The Lost Shtetl (spoiler alerts). It's about a small Jewish community in Poland that has gone undiscovered for 100s of years and is so secluded that they were unaware that WWII ever happened. The main character, Yankel, is an orphan who lives with different family members not of their own will, but because of the their obligation as family. This leads the families housing Yankel to become extremely resentful of him. Throughout the book, Yankel feels isolated and tries so hard to become part of society by working hard and being faithful, yet he continues to be condescendingly shunned because his mother was a sex worker. I still haven't finished the book, but I resonated with Yankel. Our situations aren't the same at all, but his feeling of isolation and yearning for belongingness is something I've felt as well. 

I still feel like a pariah who carries the weight of my family's history like a ball on a chain. My past has been something that has interfered, and ultimately ended, some relationships, both platonic and romantic. Which I can understand, it's pretty heavy stuff. Like Yankel,  I was knocking at doors that would hardly crack open for me. But WHC swung open the door before I could even knock.

I haven't finished the book, but I highly recommend it. It has acquainted me with some Jewish terms and practices I was unaware of.

As I continue to study, I have found that Judaism perhaps isn't exclusively referring to blood family when it discusses family. In fact, I found very little references to family specifically, but many references to social life. I still remember the "fiery sermon" you spoke of in service a months ago. The one where the rabbi visited a member that hadn't attended service in some time. No words were exchanged, but the rabbi moved a hot coal away from the fire until it the embers were barely burning, only to push it toward the fire and watch it illuminate almost immediately.

My dilemma is that my mind has been very literal and linear when it comes to discussing family in Judaism. I had settled into a mindset that my past and my family had created a dark cloud above my head that follows me everywhere and repels people before we have a chance to get close. But I read a very liberating passage in Jewish Literacy, "Most Bible commentaries explain that God will punish the children of evil people only when they continue the evil perpetrated by their parents." While my past will always be a part of me, it is nice knowing that it doesn't necessarily define me. It has certainly shaped me, but it doesn't show who I am. But one thing my past and my family created was this innate insistence within myself to remain isolated. To practice religion independently and study and philosophize alone.

The first sentence in the passage of Everyman's Talmud, chapter: Social Life, is, "Man was not intended to live alone but as a member of society." I didn't think much of it since I have voluntarily secluded myself for many years, but a few sentences later it presents a thought-provoking parable. 

"It is like a company of men on board a ship. One of them took a drill and began to bore a hole under him. The other passengers said to him, 'What are you doing?' He replied, 'What has that to do with you? Am I not making the hole under my seat?' They retorted, 'But the water will enter and drown us all!'"

It had never occurred that perhaps my voluntary seclusion could be harmful to others. My mom always said that everyone is secretly a Gemini (like she is); we're meant to socialize and be with others. Maybe what I initially thought was a favor to people around me, was actually doing damage. Maybe I was the family behind the door Yankel was knocking on; barely cracking it open to bring in a person willing to step into my life.

All this time I have obliviously believed that my lack of blood family would hinder my relationships and belongingness to Judaism. But now I see that it's not true. I think family and community are synonymous, some of us just so happen to be related. I don't even think the reference to community is exclusive to practicing Jews. I have wonderful non-Jewish friends, like Abbey and Phillip, that want to partake in Jewish events and support me. And now I have Sam, a Jewish mentor of sorts. If I continue to isolate myself and not share this huge part of my life with those close to me, I am damaging the friendship as much as myself.

I don't want be Yankel's family who refuses to the open the door when someone wants to come in. I want to be someone that keeps the door open.

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I'd like to thank you again, Rabbi Shankman, for the kind words you said to me that day. And I'd like to thank you, as I continue to do during my life, for willingly being by my side during this beautiful and emotional journey. It truly, truly means more than you know.