Tenth Night

"Do you ever wonder if you really are Rachel?"

I went to the Tell Us a Jewish Story event last night, and as usual, left feeling renewed, welcomed, out of the dark into the light kinda road to Damascus like an ordinary evening thing that happens on Zoom, at the risk of mixing Christian and Jewish metaphors really badly!

The theme was the Ninth Night of Chanukah. You may note that there are eight nights. The Ninth Night was about how we take the light out into the world.

This is only my second Chanukah, and I’m not technically Jewish as of yet, as most of you know. But I once again started to lean toward thinking that I may be.

Here is the poem I wrote during the workshop. I’m not a poet so it’s not supposed to be as good as Jennifer’s or anyone who really works at it. I just dashed it off but at least this is from the heart:

I was afraid that the story was over.

I was invited to a party, and it was beautiful. I ate latkes and decorated a cookie. I watched the children draw pictures and color in suncatchers shaped like Menorahs. But like Cinderella when the clock struck twelve, after the party was over, I had to go back to the gray and lonely space I came from. Were the candles just a dream?

And then, light shines in the darkness. The story isn’t over. The page just turned.

I have dreams early in the morning about being welcomed into the community, seeing old friends and new ones. I wake up and I’m invited to a new party. I have not been forgotten. I am still invited.

It is only my second Chanukah. What is tradition to most of you is new to me. I don’t know what all the words mean and I prefer not to ask… it’s more fun to figure it out, even if I am sometimes wrong.

Someone will speak to me in Hebrew… at the synagogue, over What’s App, on the phone. Why is the language familiar? I learned the word for sun at the new party. The Menorah is like the solar system, with a candle that lights the others like the sun lights the planets.

Poor Pluto, that used to be the Ninth Planet, he now seems forgotten. Is he lonely? Is it like I thought the Ninth Night would be, when again I would disappear into darkness? You are not forgotten, Pluto. We celebrate you on the Ninth Night. I lit my own candle for you. You and I are not forgotten. We are just different. The Sun still shines on us. How do you spell the word for sun in Hebrew? I trust that someone will teach me.

In a time when I thought I would be alone, I am more together than I have ever been.

It’s just after midnight in Jerusalem. It’s the Ninth Night here.

I’m starting to feel like a part of the group at Jennifer’s story telling workshops. Nobody cares that I didn’t grow up Jewish. There is absolutely no exclusion at all. In fact, it seems to be helpful that I have a different perspective, as someone who doesn’t already know all the stories.

I suggested that for the Tenth Night, we all show up at Jennifer’s house for a party. I can bring deviled eggs! Just in case anyone forgot I was raised Southern.

When I told my mom about it later, she asked, “Do you ever wonder if you really are Rachel?”

She was referring to the fact that as long as I can remember, people have called me Rachel, even though April does not sound like Rachel. I always figured I was Rachel in at least one past life.

If I did convert, Rachel would be my Hebrew name.

I’ve had the opportunity to meet all different varieties of people who are active in their Jewish community, from Chabad rabbis to people whose traditions I’m not quite sure of yet but I’ll keep hanging around until I figure it out. Many of my friends fall into the liberal Jew camp (hi Jill!) and some do not. They have differing and complex views on Israel, yet that doesn’t seem to stop the people I am friends with from having relationships. While a few of my JVP former friend types have cancelled me, my new Jewish friends, like my old ones from high school and college, seem to be able to tolerate disagreement, even love it.

If I’m feeling up to it I’ll go back to the Reform synagogue I haven’t been to in awhile tonight. While I was working a full time job I’d be so exhausted that the trip seemed like too much, and it’s dangerous to take transit home that late at night (no really - I’m not just a scared white girl, there is tons of violence, gun and other, in the Philly subways at night), but it’s worth it to spring for a Lyft home.

I want to be able to pray for my father and my family with the people who know how to do grief and don’t run away from it. The junior rabbi’s father passed on Wednesday of last week. He and I corresponded a bit - we had gotten to know each other. We are in a similar place.

When I am with the various Jewish communities I’ve gotten to know, I don’t feel alone. I’m not a loner at all - I warn prospective employers that I’m an extreme team player and then they say I didn’t warn them. I am an extremely community-oriented person who for various reasons has been way too isolated for too long.

It’s wonderful to still be invited. Thank you.