My sister-in-law was here visiting us for a few days, and life is always different when a guest comes to stay at your home.  David comes from a fairly religious Jewish family, and as you may know from my book, in my family it was more like “religion of the month” club.  We never really followed religious tradition; holidays were based more on getting together than faith.

When David’s family comes to visit however, we try to honor their beliefs and rituals.  A perfect example of this would be the traditional Friday night dinner.  One of my weaknesses in life is that I really don’t like being told what to do, and there are many, many rules involved in Orthodox Judaism.  For example, with Shabbot (the Sabbath) there is a specific time on Friday that everything is supposed to shut down so that the day of rest can be “ushered in”.

This past Friday David was frantically searching to find the exact time that Shabbot started (5:40pm), so that we knew when to light candles and have dinner ready.  This triggers so many issues for me.  As I am setting the table and trying to make everything perfect, I can feel myself getting frustrated by all the rules; no dairy with meat, don’t talk during the blessing, cover the bread so the wine doesn’t get jealous (that last one is not a joke).  My little shiksa brain starts thinking, “don’t tell me what to do!”  I’m running around like a lunatic trying to please everyone and reviewing my mental list. Challah, check.  Manishevitz (super-sweet wine), check.  Candles, check.  I can’t help but start complaining in my head, “If I were staying at their house and Easter happened to fall on that day, they wouldn’t be on the Internet researching how to roast a ham.”  Nobody googled why I like images of Tibetan Buddhas rather than Chinese Buddhas with the big belly!

I decided to turn on the TV while I was setting the table, and CNN came to life.  I was immediately bombarded with images of Japan and the aftermath of both the devastating earthquake and tsunami.  As I stood there, transfixed, I marveled at the awesome power of mother nature.   Buildings practically liquefied, entire towns were simply washed away.  As always, with my emotional nature I welled up with tears.  I stood in the living room feeling helpless as my eyes focused on the Japanese children screaming in fear while their parents, who were in shock, tried to calm their kids.  Suddenly, my nose was met with the savory aroma of the brisket that had been simmering in the slow cooker since morning.  I turned around and looked at the table that I had set.  In the image above you can see the silver Kiddush cup that David and I were given as a wedding gift, on one of the happiest days of my life.  The table was dressed beautifully; my great-grandmother’s napkins, the chargers from our wedding, and David’s Siddur (prayer book) from college awaited him at the head of the table.  I started to feel silly for complaining.  Who am I to complain?  Just across the Pacific Ocean, there are families that have been torn apart.  I may not like all the rules of organized religion (including that minor one about going to hell for being gay).  But on this night we connect with a tradition from David’s heritage.  We take 24 hours to be quiet and rest together.  A family dinner, as it were.  I don’t follow any particular religion, but that doesn’t matter right now.  I pull the parts from major religions that resonate with me, the parts that help me feel more connected to my true self.

As we sit down to dinner, I hope David’s sister can feel my intention.  David starts the blessing over the wine, and the words in Hebrew are lost to me, so I set my intention to direct this moment of peacefulness to the people of Japan.  I pray that they are able to reunite with loved ones, and begin to recover as best they can.  When I open my eyes we all begin to eat.  Maybe some traditions aren’t so bad?