Reactions

So, Friday night, I got two reactions to my tzitziot.  One was a man doing the adult equivalent of staring: I watched his gaze travel the length of them when he came into synagogue.  The other was from the Rabbi's daughter, "Leah" (I cannot get consent for real names from that family because I can never tell them about this blog: they would learn that I am bisexual, and they would also read bad things about themselves, and I can't let either of those things happen): she asked the tefillin question.

I was so, so glad I had mentally role played, over and over again, how to answer that question, because I was able to calmly answer truthfully.  Then she took it one step further.  She asked, "Don't you know it's forbidden for women to put on tefillin? Don't you follow Jewish law?" In the moment, the best response I could think of was something about how, in the Conservative movement, Jewish law changes over time; and I used ordaining female Rabbis as my example.  Poor, sheltered "Leah" did not know there were female Rabbis, at all, anywhere! It would be one thing for her not to approve of female Rabbis...but not to know they exist?

Miscellaneous Musings

Yes, a second post today.  Trying to kill time till I call my mother (totally ready for the Sabbath), and I have things to say.

There is an unintended consequence to my not being in pain.  For a very long time, I used pain as the buffer between me and God.  In other words, if I started getting too close to God, I caused myself pain (usually by scrunching my toes), and that pulled me back.  Now, I physically cannot do that.  I cannot protect myself from close spiritual interactions of the supernatural kind...close spiritual interactions of the supernatural kind are not safe for my mental health.  My farther suggested I break off in the middle of stuff, and tell God I would love to get closer but it isn't safe, and then finish stuff...we'll have to see if that works.

One of the Rabbi's sons is going to attempt to start a fight with me over my fringes tonight, I just know it.  He's an angry person (doesn't agree with his parents' religious views, visibly fights them), and he will start a fight with just about anybody who will fight him.  However, I've got one up on him.  I know I'm coming in fringes, and I know how he will react.  He doesn't know I'm coming in fringes.  Therefore, I simply do not have to fight him.  Period, end of story.

Totally Radical

For the longest time now--think months--I have worn my tzitziot (carefully, ritually knotted fringes on holy undergarment) tucked into my skirt, brushing against my legs.  I simply didn't like getting reactions to them; and I always got reactions, wherever I went, because they're just that unusual on a woman.  (In my entire life, I have met two other women who wear them: both were Rabbinical students at Hebrew College, a nondenominational Rabbinical school in the Boston area.)

Last night, I decided I was going back to wearing my tzitziot dangling loose, brushing against the outside of my skirt.  I would wear them that way everywhere, that is, except the Orthodox synagogue I go to now.

Then, as I wrote to God, thought about things, and went on with my evening, I changed my mind: I am going to wear them dangling loose EVERYWHERE, including to synagogue! I am tired of hiding who I am.

Given who goes to this synagogue and how they behave (for instance, there are women who wear the big prayer shawl, and this is the same commandment), I may get no reaction at all.  However, I have prepared myself for three questions, which I will answer with the simple truth:

1. "Do you wear tefillin [phylacteries]?" The answer to this one is a simple "yes," because I do.  Just as I am tired of hiding my tzitziot, I am tired of hiding my tefillin.  I will not bring it up if nobody else does, because why start fights? (In their world, tefillin on a woman are more controversial than fringes or kippah.)  However, if they bring it up, I'm ready to stand for what I stand for, with a truthful answer.
2. "Are you a Jewish feminist?" The answer to this is another simple "yes," because that's exactly what I am.  It's funny: once, in college, someone said to me, "So-and-so says you're a Jewish feminist.  Are you?" In that moment, I burned with shame and turned down the title.  Thinking it over in later years, however, I realized that's exactly what I am.  I do everything a man does (I will not say I do it "like a man," because I do it with my own feminist flair), and I believe I am obligated to do so, just as much as a man is.  That makes me a feminist.  My father told me this morning when we talked that I am definitely a Jewish feminist, but coming from our family he wouldn't expect anything different of me.
3. "Are you [a] lesbian?" This question gets answered in the negative, because I am not.  They will ask, because in their minds, I am behaving "like a man;" and in their minds, lesbians behave "like men."  However, I am not lesbian! They will not think to follow the question up with, "are you bisexual?" so  my secret is still safe.

So, I would say I am prepared! Negative reactions, positive reactions, confused reactions--I can handle them all! Bring.  It.  On.

So Proud!

I am so proud of myself.  You must, must, must read this story.  (I almost said "hear," but this is a blog, so "read" is the appropriate verb.)

Today I was out doing my grocery shopping, and I passed a man out on the street asking for spare change.  This has become a common sight in my life since I moved to New York, and I must admit that sometimes I give and sometimes I don't.  Today, I didn't, because I don't have a lot of spare change this week and I want to save it to put in my box tomorrow.

I'm wearing a black velvet kippah today (not the ultra-Orthodox one; the other one, from my brother's Bar Mitzvah), not one that screams "Jew" from a mile away.  However, as I passed close to this man, he noticed it, and loudly said something derogatory about Jews.  I don't know what it was because I only caught "...JEW," but I did catch the voice tone, and it wasn't nice.

I was really, really tempted to just keep walking.  I didn't think I had the courage to face him down and stand up to him.

Here's the thing, though: when I first started wearing a kippah all the time, publicly, I knew I was choosing to represent my people: all the time, publicly.  I knew I would have moments like this, and when you're representing, well, you're representing.

So I turned back around, marched back to where the man could see me, and, just like this, said, "DON'T.  INSULT.  MY PEOPLE."  Then I spun back around, and continued on my way to the store.

And on my way home, when I passed him again? He didn't have a thing to say to me.  Ha!

So very proud of myself.

Living the Dream

*First of all, the full name of the man who healed me, used not only with consent but with encouragement, is Joseph Antoine Alston.  I promised him I'd throw that into my next entry.*

I am living the dream.  I never imagined feeling this good, this consistently, again.  Tonight my feet were cold, and, almost without thinking about it, I went and put on socks.

Read that again, people.  I WENT AND PUT ON SOCKS! I haven't gone to sleep with socks on in forever.  And, OK, so I haven't gone to sleep yet, but I'm very close...and it isn't the socks keeping me awake.

This is going to stick.  This is going to last.

I am discovering who "able-bodied-Sarah" is again.  Do remember, I haven't been consistently able-bodied since my first month of high school, nine years ago.  Nine years of time is a lot to lose, but it isn't too much...because I am going to gain it back.

On that, I am determined.  Whatever I lost in my RSD years, I have within reach again...life is mine to claim.  I will "grow up," and I will live...this story can have a happy ending, after all.

Gratitude again to Joseph Antoine Alston.

The "Magic Touch"

It's completely OK if you don't believe me.  If I hadn't experienced the following for myself, I probably wouldn't believe me either.

That being said:

There is a man up near my grandmother's house in Massachusetts who can heal by touch and gentle exercise.  Due to lack of consent to use his real name (not that he refused, and in fact he would probably agree; I just forgot to ask), I will call him "Samuel."

I came to "Samuel" in tremendous pain.  I almost don't need to say that part; if you've been reading this blog for any length of time at all, you know how bad I've been feeling.  For three days, I allowed "Samuel" to work his "healing magic" on me: gently touching the parts of me that hurt, and having me move around, mostly while lying flat on my back.

Oh.  My.  Lord.  And I don't say that often.

After three sessions with "Samuel," I am very nearly pain free.  I have kept my bedtime medication regimen the same because I know I need to sleep, but I have not touched pain medication during the day since the day before I saw him.  This is not some great act of will power; I simply haven't needed it.

I am back to full Sarah walking speed; I haven't moved this quickly or freely since pre-RSD.  I don't mean pre-diagnosis; I mean pre-RSD.  That's nine years, people.  NINE YEARS.

And the best part? It is easy to keep his results in place.  All I have to do is lie on the floor, with my head cushioned, and move my hands and feet freely...for twenty minutes a day.  That's it.

"Samuel" is a worker of miracles.  My gratitude to him, and to the God that both he and I believe in.  Miracles.

Vending Machine Religion?

*DISCLAIMER: The term "Vending Machine Religion" originated with my mother, not me.  For thoughts that did originate with me, see below.*

Today I have been reading backwards on a very Christian blog I check regularly.  (Will not give any identifying details; this is the internet, the blog writers could see this, and I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings.)  Over the course of their blog, I have noticed a disturbing trend: at least according to how they write it, they pray for X and God gives X; they pray for Z and God gives Z.

No.  No.  I'm so sorry, but no.  Of course America is a free country and you can believe whatever you choose, but to my mind at least, God is so much more complicated than that! A true relationship with God is one involving both giving and taking--and yes, I do mean the human and God both give and take.

I do pray for specific outcomes.  I do.  I don't even know why, given what I just wrote above, but I do.  But I would never, ever actually believe that God is doing something I asked because I asked it. That is giving the human too much power.

In the end, I think that's my main problem with their blog: they are giving humans too much power in their relationships with God.