Everything's Not Kosher
I asked my mother if it bothered her to read my list of transgressions. She told me "why does it matter if you sin differently than me?"
I lost my virginity and then I ate pork. It was also the night I met a prostitute for the first time, but I swear it’s unrelated. Really.
I was 19 and frustrated. Judaism didn’t make sense anymore. The idea of believing and praying to a God I wasn’t convinced existed was slowly strangling me. When the opportunity came up, I let the ball start rolling. To experience a different life, I needed to follow the old adage “one sin is followed by another” and ignore the subsequent guilt.
I did everything wrong. I dressed immodestly. I broke the Sabbath. I went to a Church service because I wanted to know why the hell my religion didn’t approve. Then, I went to college. Learning isn’t against Judaism, per se, but it was heavily discouraged by the community I grew up in. College encourages independent thinking - we’re not supposed to do that. Religion did our thinking for us.
If I’m ever brought in front of a heavenly court, they’ll take these confessions and banish me for life. If they’ll give me a word, I’ll defend myself. I’ll tell them or God or whoever is doing the sentencing that the real world is too rich. It’s full of joy and experiences and moments I’ll never regret sinning for. If there’s a God and He created this world, can’t He accept that I wanted to live it?
The other day, I ate crickets. Little bugs in a bag. They tasted like bland peanuts with a few too many shells. I didn’t like them, but I was over the moon excited. Something I spent my life being told was the grossest thing in the world, and I was eating it. Crickets aren’t Kosher*, Leviticus 11:41 calls them “despicable”. But when I ate them, I didn’t die. I didn’t vomit. I didn’t get sick. I just ate them and thought it was interesting. Maybe I’ll eat them again.
There’s probably a lot of truth to the rules I grew up with. Random sex does increase the risk of STDs and babies that aren’t cared for. Not having the Sabbath took away 24 hours of peace I used to love. I’ve seen college kids think too much like each other, and not question life at all. Yet I still agree with my original motivations. Life shouldn’t be a bunch of rules I can’t break “because He said so”.
Growing up Jewish was sometimes the most beautiful thing. I got the Sabbath - weekly Friday night dinners with my family and friends. I absorbed the morals of the Ten Commandments - I’ve tried not to disrespect my parents. Jewish traditions taught me depth - they showed me the layers and layers and layers of my heritage.
I preach Judaism’s beauty so often that sometimes I think I’m a fraud. Do I really have a right to the religion I’ve willingly let go of? I’ve hosted hundreds of guests for Sabbath at my house. Without a mezuza (a Jewish amulet) on my front door, my home doesn’t feel complete. I get excited when I see orthodox Jews outside - they feel like family in remote places.
I redeem myself with the same reason I left. I want to have it all. The beautiful traditions of Judaism and the endless freedom without it. If taking some rules and rejecting the ones that don’t make sense is the only way to do it, I’ll keep doing it. After all, “God will forgive me, it’s His trade” (Heinrich Heine).
Thank you, Yannick Schandene, for the conversation that prompted these thoughts.
The title alone lifted this to the top of my morning reading!
As always, I was caught up in your honesty. Interesting and Inviting.
Curious now if the Jewish people have an equivalent of the mystics as we do in Christianity? That was what shifted me from the religious constriction of answers to the relational conversation of questions.
It is always a pleasure to read your work! I look forward to the next.
A thoroughly enjoyable read, Yehudis! I enjoyed your pacing and structure exploring your various anecdotes across the different domains of life experience.