I was born and raised in NYC, the epicenter of
arrogance and contempt for weakness.
I was an anxious kid, as I recall.
My native tongue was not spoken in my home.
There was an unspoken rule about
being seen and not heard.
I was trained to keep a low profile.
The pursuit of happiness or holiness
or fulfillment of any kind
was not for us.
We were proud outsiders as Jews, ironically.
The shame still resonates.
I’m in violation of the basic rule:
don’t want anything.
The sound of Hebrew prayers
can trigger my shame.
I know many prayers by heart,
I know the syllables and melodies
but not the meaning of the actual words.
I know many people pray this way
and are comforted by the familiar
liturgy, music and community.
I don’t seem to be wired this way.
The pretense is still painful
after all these years.
So I strive to generate some forgiveness
for the failures of my growing up life.
and the high cost of assimilation
paid in full by my parents and grandparents.
I make meaning from scratch everyday,
only connect
and take refuge in silence
where I might find God.
