If it's ancient history why can't I let it go?
Something made me peruse my blog today... I rarely review or edit my work, as has been my habit forever.
And then passing through my 2008 postings, I came across one that had 59 comments! 59 comments? Who bothered?
It was a piece I had written, named "Ex-Hasid" (as of yet NOT defined in Webster's)...
Eyeing the comments while racing my mouse's scroll downward I realized that things within society will never change. Everyone has an opinion. Now, if it were just an opinion it wouldn't be half as bad as people actually believing their opinions are "what it is", no questions asked, no arguments allowed - facts.
Self hate, inward racism, denial of the possibility of choice, or the freedom to allow oneself to let another person believe other than they do is a hopeless dream I need to give up on. For those who claim victory and freedom, by imposing their belief system on others will never love themselves. Allowing others to live, make mistakes if they need to is the key to growth within a humane society. However, alas - how humane is our society after all.
I am a Jew. Proud of my traditions, have a rich and deep history. I am an American, a hard working, patriotic person. My up's and down's, roll with the punches deal - just another 30 year old New Yorker.
I had people over on Friday night... Clearing the table, there were two pieces of chicken that had been sitting out for a while, and I commented "what a shame, Mike, it hurts to see the chicken thrown into the garbage bag, now that you've told me about the Haitian kids in the Dominican Republic..."
There were six people in my home, who I had never met before. Everyone was clustered out in this little 6 x 6 "backyard/deck" Brooklyn luxury where the grill had been going. Alcohol had ignited some personalities, and this little firecracker guy with a big sales "shpiel" and a big mouth came at me, spewing hate:
"Haiti!?!? What have you done for the people of Israel!?!?!?"
That came at me like a ton of bricks (and ruined my buzz!). I was aghast at this public attack, as though I turned my back on my country, my land, my people, all that should only matter to me. My thoughts were running amok with all the answers I wanted to hit this little shit's head with, but the conversations continued to flow, the murmurs of voices rising and falling and drinks continued to pour... I inhaled and sat down.
Lighting a cigarette, I noticed another guest staring at me... He had been quiet most of the night. At 21, the Emo look worked on him... Dark parted hair, 3 day shadow, brooding eyes, pensive look and a great suit. He was religious and observing the Shabbos, wearing a yarmulka, a pin-stripe suit and wouldn't eat my food or smoke a cigarette. I turned to him, my eyebrows raised in question. He had observed the going-on's with more thought than I knew.
He turned, leaned in closer and said "so what have you done for the Land of Israel"?
I took a breath and didn't know what would come out of my mouth next. I was having to defend myself for having compassion? Mike and Joel had gone to the Dominican a few weeks ago and came back with stories of crowds of Haitian orphans laying on the street, begging for money. How emaciated they were and wildly scattered around like packs of dogs. I would not have been able to personally witness it... Coming out of a bar in the middle of the night, and a pack of kids without any shoes begging for food. How would I say no? They would see I was obviously an American, I had money to fly on an airplane, money to stay at a hotel, money to buy food and drink and party, yet nothing for them... I had been unable to shake that from my mind for a while.
As my guest gazed deeper in my eyes, I fell for the dark eyed boy look that has always been my weakness and decided I would not tell him what he wanted to hear.
Was it my IRS return from last year he wanted to see, I asked him, for the amount of charity checks I had written? Did he want an exact dollar amount for the money I sent to the families of victims of suicide bus bombers, perhaps their mailing addresses as well? No, no - vehement shaking of the dark, shiny head. So what is it?
Don't you understand? A soul is a soul. Do you believe in God? You do, yes I can see that - you are nodding in agreement and looking at me as though I am crazy for asking that question at all.
God, mine, yours - ours - created souls. Little souls in the form of children. White, brown, black, yellow... eyes of blue skies, dark marbles or stormy winds. Children, little children who laugh, and cry and can play with branches or play-stations. Children that can survive parentless, escaping to different countries and cultures. Children that can see a tomorrow, a future and forget and forgive the horror, the shame, the loss of yesterday. Geographic doesn't change that. Color can't change that. And turning away can change that.
Don't question what I have done. I have done nothing at all. What have you done? You have judged me, you have scorned me for what I have not done.
Stop questioning... Be who you are, and make yourself happy. Usually works when you make someone smile. I really haven't done anything at all, made a few donations to the "Hope for Haiti" telethon, which was making me cry. Ten dollars to the Red Cross. But, I have already forgotten.
How can life get stacked up like that, red and black columns of who you have done what for. Because someone on Friday night put me in their debit column.
And I am a child of God.
Or am I?
Ancient history, in a modern world.
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