God 101

“Have you talked to your son about God yet?” someone recently asked me. Hmm, I thought, no I haven’t. I probably looked puzzled enough for the inquirer to continue, “What religion are you bringing him up in?” There was a long, uncomfortable pause and finally I said “None.” She didn’t give up, “Well, what religion are you? Jewish?” I just nodded (am I?) “Passover is coming. Are you going to celebrate it?” I nodded (liar!!) “At some point, you’ll need to introduce God into his life.”

That short discussion got me thinking…about many things.

Before I can set out to establish my son’s relationship with God, I had to figure out what mine was. Questions kept popping into my head. What religion am I? Well, let’s think about that one.
What’s Jewish? Isn’t it just my “nationality”? Is it not still printed on line #5 in my old worn out Soviet Passport? Isn’t being Jewish the opposite of being Ukrainian (at least back in the Soviet Ukraine that’s how it was)? Does the fact that I came to the US on the grounds of religious prosecution on a refugee status make me Jewish? Or does the fact that I’ve been called a “dirty Jew” since I was two years old count towards my Jewish-ness? Maybe it’s my name, which in Hebrew means “a happy song” given to me by my parents because it sounded Russian enough? Perhaps it’s my Yiddish nickname “sweet face” – shainer punim – that my grandfather gave me when I was born?

I tried to become more religious for years. Even went to the temple regularly, albeit a reform temple. Main reason – I wanted to be able to tell people that I am Jewish, without the longwinded explanation that came with the statement. My attempts didn’t work out, at least not yet – never says never, right? I had a hard time really connecting to the words spoken by the rabbi, maybe because they were in a language that was even more foreign than English. Oy, who am I kidding – I couldn’t even connect to the English words.

The only Jewish holiday I understand and appreciate (and follow) is the Day of Atonement – Yom Kippur. It’s simple in its profound meaning and requires that you are sincere about accepting and atoning for your sins. Check, check – got it!

Recently, my grandfather asked me “What kind of Jews are we? We don’t even know how to celebrate a Passover. Sweetie, do you feel Jewish at all?” I answered, “Yes. I do. You are Jewish and I’ve inherited your sense of humor. Therefore I am Jewish too. I laugh therefore I am …Jewish.” We laughed together.

What, I suppose, makes things even more interesting is that fact that I am married (happily, head over heels in love!) to a Turkish man whose relationship with God requires its own long thesis. What’s interesting though is that in naming our son, we used the Old Testament for references. After months and months of grueling debates we picked Adam to be our first son’s name. In the dictionary it said “This is the Hebrew word for a 'man'. It also literally means a "man" in Turkish. According to Genesis in the Old Testament Adam was created from the earth by God. A man of earth! What a message to the universe!

Well, all that is well and good. And being inquisitive, in a purely rhetorical kind of a way, is a healthy exercise, but it still didn’t bring me any closer to the original question. What will I tell my son about God? I had to begin somewhere. So, I started formulating my position on the whole “God question.” A sort of God 101:

• Jewish or not, God and I are on the first name basis, except I often imagine him to be George Burns, just like in the movie “Oh God”. So, I guess my God’s name is George?
• God and I have known each other for a long time. How do I know that? Well, for starters, we often understand each other without words. Sometimes it’s a breeze, sometimes it’s the subway train humming the first few notes from the “West Side Story”, sometimes it’s a white butterfly….Then, you know the feeling, you get comfortable with each other. You can voice your opinions knowing that you’ll be loved no less. So, I often voice my opinions…and they are not always pretty or even well thought out, sometimes they come with tears and begging. He always listens…
• I imagine that instead of, or maybe in addition to, to the houses of worship, God lives on the internet. Seriously. I mean, I know that he is everywhere (do I know that for sure?) But the World Wide Web (how else could it be?) is where he receives his messages from humans, from our souls.
• I regularly communicate with God through emails. Because I don’t know his exact email address (God@hotmail.com?) I send my messages to someone who loves me. The email system always delivers them promptly and even confirms with a nearly divine conclusiveness “Your message has been sent”
• When it’s more urgent, or I am simply tired and desperate, I pray. There is a special place in my home where I stand on my knees and speak to God (in my mind’s eye God wears a baseball cap, has large glasses and barely noticeable all-knowing smile). That place is in my kitchen. It’s sacred. It’s by the oven.
• Sometimes I cry, then I always feel guilty about it. Sometimes my prayers are soft whispers. Sometimes I say “thank you”. Sometimes I just look up and say nothing at all. He always listens…
• Even after all the years of spiritual studies, I still get mixed grades on my spiritual exams. Let’s be honest, I often fail them miserably (the same way I failed ESL – English as a Second Language  multiple times). Then I curse at myself, I scream inside. He is always patient. He always listens...

And after all this introspection, I gathered all my courage and finally decided to introduce God into a  conversation with my young son.

Me: “Hi sweetie, do you know what God is?”
Adam: “Yes! No! I don’t know, Mama, what is it?”
Me: “It’s too late now, but I’ll explain it to you tomorrow.”
Adam: “No, no, I want to know now!”
Me: “Okay, but you have to promise that you’ll always remember what I tell you”
Adam: “Okay!!”
Me: “God is love. The essence and the energy of love. Do you understand?”
Adam: “Yes Mama. I understand”. Thinking a moment. “Do you love me?”
Me: “Of course I love you. So much”
Adam: “Me too”, smiling sheepishly “Can we read five books tonight?”
Me: “No Adam two books and that’s it”
Adam: “No, at least four!”
Me: “Okay three”.
Adam: “Fine”
Well, that didn’t go so bad, huh? Nobody said “God 101” was going to be simple course.

To Paris and Back

In the air
“Flight attendants, please be seated for take off”, a reassuring and confident (always a hesitant traveler, I desperately wanted to believe that it contained both of these attributes) voice of the pilot resonated through the speakers. The engines roared, the airport structures started to flash through the window like in an old black and white movie, and in just seconds the plane was in the air. Every single time I fly, I am genuinely surprised when this happens. Could this heavy metallic bird lift its weight up and stay in the air? A miracle.

I looked out of the window and a breathless “wow” escaped out of me. It was a dark and clear late evening. No clouds to mess with the view. New York, in all it’s glory below the belly of the airplane, illuminated by hundreds of thousands of lights. I thought to myself “this looks like an overturned contents of a jewelry box.” I imagined that the sparkling is generated by diamonds, pearls, emeralds, sapphires, aquamarines….all scattered around and glistening.

I sat like that glued to this incredible show of lights until we reached the Atlantic Ocean. My eyes fell on my wedding ring…a much more modest diamond and most important one in my jewelry box. I smiled.

The lights in the cabin were turned off and I dosed off for a while only to wake because of a small commotion around the lavatory. “We are still in the air. The big metallic bird is still flying”, a comforting thought registered in my mind. A window, my constant companion, lured me back into the abyss beyond.

Stars! More jewels, sprinkled generously on the vast black background. I thought, “this high up – are we closer to God?” And just then, a shooting star, exploded, painted a trajectory and disappeared. “Is that a ‘yes’?” I pondered…

First day in Paris
I love New York, almost as if it were a person. I feel married to it and it's a great marriage - loving, supportive, passionate. The first day I spent in Paris, though, this city managed to steal my heart. I felt that I've begun an affair that could last a lifetime. Or maybe it was the beginning of a stereotypical French-inspired fling. Time will tell.

I was eating a scrumptious chicken sandwich, watching Parisian life buzz with activity, I couldn't help but wonder...Is it okay to cheat on NY? But I knew it was a rhetorical question – it was too late. Paris’ magic has already seeped through and under my core. Like a fast-acting drug, it was making my head spin, creating an un-wipeable grin on my face.

How did it happen? When was I “drugged”? Hard to say. It all seems like a blur (is that the first confession AAA members make at their meetings?)

Could it have been the views from the tour bus that took me around the Sienna?
Could it have been the wind blowing through my hair?
Could it have been the view of the famous Notre Dame or the "0km" mark on the square in front of the cathedral from which all the roads in France are calculated? Could it have been the smell of croissants and coffee?
Could it have been the Louvre? Mona Lisa who may be smiling because she just had a third child?
Could it have been two vivacious elderly French ladies who seemed to have argued and then hugged each other before parting their ways?
Could it have the bridges, the intricate architecture, elegant lamp posts and myriad other things?
Of course it could.

Yet, among all this beauty, there was a turning point – the first time I saw the sun rise on the Champs Elysses. The bright, bold, blinding sun, stretching its rays, smiling, warming up freshly washed, broad sidewalk …I couldn’t help but return the smile, thinking “I could really get used to this”. The symbolism was unmistakable: in the beginning of the day I walked towards the sun (and the Egyptian obelisk) in the direction of my new Parisian office, and upon return the sun was saying good bye to me just slightly to the left of the Arc.


Love at first sight
In the elevators of the Eiffel tower, I really experienced the feeling of “butterflies in your stomach”. I promised the majestic lady – the Eiffel Tower - that we were going to see each other soon. She shone her bright lights on me and said, "Of course we will. You won't be able to stay away. What can I say, Chérie, I have that effect on people." “What a lovely French accent”, I thought, walking backwards away from her. She thought I wouldn't notice, but she blew me a kiss...


What I learned
One night, I had a fancy dinner at my company’s headquarters, in a room that looked like French kings just stepped out of it. I felt like I was in a museum. My colleagues around the globe looked at each other nervously, not willing to break the silence, clearly shy to speak.

To make things a bit more casual, I proposed that they share their childhood dreams with everyone, namely what they wanted to be when they were growing up. Usually, people don't dream of being in insurance.)So, the stories are often wild. It was no different this time. I heard everything from a flamingo dancer to a famous writer to a cook to a rock star to a train operator…to a flower.

And then in one flash, light bulb, “Aha” moment, I realized – all the people around the world are the same, we are one big whole. They dream, they love, they cry, they live, they love, they laugh, and they come to boring long meetings and day dream about what they wanted to be when they grew up. Now, I know it sounds ridiculous that it’s actually somehow surprising to me. Theoretically, I’ve always known this, but sitting at this elaborate table, in Paris, eating one of the most amazing dinners (albeit small) I’ve ever had, drunk from the enormity of it all, with my new-found friends from Japan, France, Italy, Spain, Portugal, Ireland, England, Belgium, Switzerland, Germany...more than ever I felt connected with the rest of the world. I will miss them.


And back…
The car service pulled up. I rang the door bell. John’s face lit up. Our son was crying hysterically “Go back, Mommy, go back!”, upset that I’d disturb his idyllic daily routine with Daddy who adores (and spoils) him.

“How was it?”, John asked, relief and happiness on his face. “It was amazing. I’ll tell you all about it later. How was it here?” John lowered his eyes, “It was great. I love being with our son but without you this isn’t a home…” I kissed his scruffy cheek (didn’t he shave all this time??) and thought “Ah, Paris, the shootings stars, the ebbs and flows of the river of life…It’s here and now that I am closest to God.”

It's been real

Dear 2008,
We need to try to make some kind of peace. Otherwise we'll be at permanent odds and that won't help 2009 any. So, instead of New Year's resolutions, I need a resolution with the old year. So, here it goes...You have been quite a year to remember. And, yes, I say it with some bitterness and sarcasm. Financial markets fell, fortunes got erased, jobs were lost, betrayals appeared in vogue, friends divorced, relationships suffered from impasse, funerals became too frequent ... Bad things happened to good people.

I also say it with a good doze of gratitude and humility. A bit contradictory? Please, allow me to explain:

• I am angry, heartbroken, and sad that my grandmother died this year. I feel that we could have spent much more time together. But I am grateful for the years we've been each other's soul mates and that I helped her take her last shower.
• I am anxious about the time when I'll have to say good bye to my grandfather as well. Yet I am liberated from that fear by seeing him gobbling up life by fistfuls.
• I am sad and guilt-stricken that my parents are far away, that my mom is ill and that she doesn’t know how lucky she really is. But I am aware that it’s a gift to have parents at all, and that Seattle is still closer than the heavens.
• I am disappointed with myself for allowing others to dictate my view of the world, for letting myself forget my own set of values. But I feel lucky that I crawled my way out of the emotional and spiritual ditch.
• I am still shocked by all the news of the “stable” and powerful financial giants crippled or dead. Yet I feel grateful knowing that my gut has some brains and I should always listen to it. Plus, I am wiser today than I was a year ago. I know for sure that everything unimaginable IS still possible.
• This year, still, I haven’t become the mother I want to be. I am still haunted by my “shadows” of someone I would rather not know. Yet, I am uplifted because I know that I am forgiven…unconditionally and always.
• This year I attended a record number of funerals and I learned that I hate the smell of funeral homes. But despite it all, these experiences reminded me yet again to appreciate harder, to love better and live each day to the fullest.
• I am still a bit breathless from the feeling cold metal of the mammography machine pressing against my breasts and the chilling thoughts of “what if”. But I am counting my blessings, thank God and breathe out.
• I am still searching for wisdom and Light. But I am more at peace now because I am beginning to realize that the journey itself is the reward.

I remember, back in high school, one of my first friends was this American boy who wore torn jeans and a baseball cap backwards. We were both in the same summer history class, only for different reasons. I was there because I was a new immigrant who didn’t speak English, but there were no ESL classes in the summer and the school officials had to be put me somewhere. My friend was there because he failed history in the Spring semester and had to make it up, otherwise he wouldn’t see the 11th grade. We helped each other – he knew English, I knew history.

When we finally finished six grueling weeks of summer school, he extended his hand and said, “Good luck, Rina. It’s been real!” I said, “What? Real? I don’t understand." The boy smiled, “Yeah. It’s been real. You know, it means, ‘it has been pretty shitty, but it’s over, so no hard feelings’. Got it?” We shook hands and parted our ways. But I’ve never forgotten the phase.
So, Dear 2008, it’s been real. No hard feelings. Thanks for the memories. Thanks for the lessons.

The great equalizer

Today, for the first time, I saw what a non-sectarian cemetery looks like. I can't stop thinking about it.

When we drove through the gates, my eyes kept searching for the mausoleums, angels made of marble and monuments of various size. But I found none of it, except for grass, trees, open and peaceful space all around.

I looked closer. There were small plaques on the ground with the names and dates. Some were carrying small religious symbols.

We all walked into a beautiful modern building at the center of the cemetery. Embarrassed by my ignorance, I asked "what's the process here...how does it all work? (me and my constant need for the plan and the process...) The cemetery employee handed me a rose and said "you just say good bye and place a rose on the casket, if you want to. We'll take care of the rest..."

Now, sitting at home, I can't stop thinking about all of it. The wide rolling fields of green grass, tall trees and small plaques. No one stands out here. Everyone gets the same amount of space. It just seemed so peaceful, so right. Is that how God, the Higher Power, the Guiding Light intended it? Even though it was a non-denominational, non sectarian cemetery, I felt closer to God there than in many other places. I could hear a gentle whisper in the air, "You are all my children. I love all of you deeply and equally".

Non-sesectarian, non-discriminatory, a place where "they take care of everything", even the mysterious Her Highness Death - The Great Equalizer.

Fathers and daughters

The resemblance was striking, yet the two figures standing in front of me on the subway platform seemed to have been made out of different material.

The man looked rugged, with large callus-covered hands. The kind of hands that are not afraid of anything and no job to them is dirty. Both hands were busy – one holding a large pink travel bag and the other “Dora the Explorer”-themed lunch box. The man himself was a sort of mix between Manny, from the Handy Manny show, and Shrek, from the popular children’s animation (since the birth of my son, I’ve resigned to the fact that characters from the cartoon network have become my primary points of reference).

His whole large square figure was completely transfixed on a little, delicate, white and pink, thin (my Russian heritage, where detection of bones on a child meant the kid was malnourished and his parents simply didn’t care, is demanding that I say ‘bony’) creature standing next to him.

If I were to dissect each one of her features, a resemblance to Manny the Shrek (her father) would be undeniable. Yet, Mother Nature arranged it all in such a lovely sweet package, it was hard not to smile looking at the girl. With her pink ballerina slippers over her right shoulder, tied together by the long shoe laces, she was explaining some dance routine to her father. While delicate toes were moving in a wonderful coordination, worthy of any great subway performance, I could’t stop observing her father's reaction.

As the girl demanded that he would repeat the dance steps, he tried to imitate her with all his being, seemingly forgetting that he was surrounded by other subway riders. He was so consumed by the pink wonder that was his daughter, he was looking at her with the intensity that I can only compare to watching a thread going through the needle’s ear.

He tried earnestly to follow every step the girl was describing, sighing with relief every time she gave him her approval. On his face I could simply read, “my sweet little girl, what a smart little cookie you are growing up to be.”

I recently read that true gifts of love are not flowers and chocolate (contrary to the Valentines and Mother’s Day advertisements). The true gift of love is undivided attention.

If I had to sum it up in one word what I was observing that day, I’d say it was pride. No, I lie. I am not eloquent enough to be able to come up with one word that could adequately describe the love a father feels for his child. It was pride, joy, awe, spirit, hope, worry, appreciation, dedication, responsibility, generosity, respect……….… Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he was smiling. He was clearly engaged in a participatory listening (a sure symptom of true love). Wow! That’s the kind of love this little ballerina was soaking in. In her father's eyes I saw the warm rays of adoration that nourishes the child’s spirit.

There is a Russian saying that roughly translates into “whatever is hurting one, that’s what one talks about.” I wonder, is that why I am compelled to write and to idolize a father and daughter that I saw in passing on a subway (honestly, what do I know about these people?)

Maybe the answer is in the fact that it took my father nearly 30 years to find the generator that makes an abundance of love rays. I am grateful for that – I get to bask in their glory as long as we both shall live. But somewhere deep within will always live a little nugget of envy – why wasn’t it always that way? Why wasn’t my father showering me with his love since the beginning of time, my time? Why? Why? (Don’t I sound like a three-year-old?)

Whatever the answer, there is a soft spot in my soul. The soft spot for little girls in pink who remind me of me, and their Shrek-looking fathers, who remind me of the father I’ve always wanted.

Landlord

Yesterday I was standing on a back porch of my new house. my son was taking a nap, so I knew I had a few uninterrupted moments alone.I was holding the wooden railing (or perhaps it was holding me?) and looked all around thinking "I am now a landlord. I own this piece of earth...
Landlord - speaking literally, I am the lord of this land." That sounded so funny I laughed out loud.I looked up at the sky. A plane was gliding through massive blueness of the sky. Clouds hugged it in their fluffy shawls. The untouched snow on the ground glistened under the sun. Two black crows hopped around making three-pronged footsteps. I saw the neighbors fixing an old Buick. The cold winter air was like a decongestant medicine for the soul.
In the movie "Birdcage" there is a beautiful scene with the two main characters played by Robin Williams and Nathan Lane - a gay couple, deciding the rest of their lives. Williams' character offers the other to co-sign a contract for a night club they founded. "Sign here" says Williams "and give me half of it". "Who owns it now?" exclaims Lane's character in bewilderment. "You do" says Williams. "You own half of my life or I own half of yours. What difference does it make?"
World lord. Yes. This is who I am. I own this land, the sky, the plane, the cold air. I own this world. My world...and it owns me. We are partners. We have a contract and it’s cosigned.
Landlord, World lord...a humbled human, a crow....What difference does it make?

Alexander Rosenbaum - "On the plantations of love" (translated from Russian by Rina)

Again my night is dark and my day is white
Whose fault it is that you are the only one in my life?
Even yesterday, I was different...
I miss you so much, my love.

Even yesterday, I couldn't say these words,
Even though your eyes were adoring me with warmth.
Now I became your slave.
And I am not asking to be freed.

On the plantations of love, there are no locks or keys.
I am not going to run away, don't try to catch me. Why?
When you are far, I can't move my hands and I can't find a rhyme.
I tried to sing, but my voice was breaking and the melody was escaping me.

I feel good when the fire is burning in my soul.
When I feel that I am necessary to protect you from the enemies
If you command me, in that moment,
I am going to catch an arrow in flight, for you, my love.

Like a stretched string, my soul is ringing and screaming!
Forgive me for what's to come - I live in a hurry.
I was born out of love, I came to this world to find you in a crowd,
And to take you by the hand, forgetting that it's not allowed, and to sing you these words.

The first ray of sunshine, the light from a lamp, cold tea...
My eyes hurt from the cigarettes, my head is pulsating
There is a cat on a roof with a tale up to the sky.
The cat and I miss you, my love!

On the plantations of love, there are no locks or keys
I am not going to run away, don't try to catch me - why?
When you are far, I can't move my hands and I can find a rhyme
I tried to sing, but my voice was breaking and the melody was escaping me.