theemumemoirs

[theemumemoirs]

Subject: Lone Man with an Accordion

This photo was taken on my study abroad trip to Germany. I wrote a bit of a journal while I was there. It is around 50 pages or so, and I thought, one day, I would turn that journal into a novel. Something writers never really mention is how, in the process of looking over autobiographical work, your mindset tends to move and transition with you, bringing your self back in time, back to certain moods, thoughts, and relationships. It's quite painful. One day I hope to share pieces of that trip here, but for now, I share with you a stranger, playing an instrument for no one but himself, the water harmonizing with his tune.

[theemumemoirs]

Subject: The Chabad Family on Seward Street

Prior to leaving for my college experience, my religion had never been a central part of my identity, merely a footnote. I had always loved being Jewish, but that love did not revolve around the religion itself, rather, the traditions performed specifically by my own family. As time went on, my parents became less religious. I began to see that the truth of the matter is that my mother's religion was rooted in guilt and shame (parts of Judaism tend to ask that of you) and my father's religion was an act, directed by my mother in order to give us children a beautiful glimpse into a world connected to us by blood and history. His faith was individual, private, and based primarily in logic.

Once I left for college, I noticed a sizable gap in my world. My mother had not come in for bedtime prayers since I was 8; as a family we had not celebrated Shabbas since I was 13. But among so many students with their goyish cherub faces, prep school backgrounds and crosses around their necks, I felt suddenly isolated without knowledge of exactly why.

Rosh Hashana is one of two most holy days of the Jewish year. It is technically our new year celebration, but it is far more than noise makers, fireworks, and smiling plastic faces in Times Square on TV. It is a holiday of reflection, of self-examination. It is 3 days of meditation, rumination, love, and humor. My first Rosh Hashana away from home, I wandered into the school gardens, where I knew there was a creek--perfect for the annual Tashlik, a ceremony that involves throwing pieces of stale bread into moving water. We say our prayers, think of something we want to better in ourselves and our actions, and thrust crumbs into the ripples and away from our earthly bodies. For 18 years I had done this with my family and my congregation. This year, alone, the task felt artificial and silly. I was about to turn and leave when I saw a family on the crook's little wooden bridge. A mother, father, two young boys, and twin toddlers strapped tight into a stroller, rocking back and forth in their song and throwing bread into the water. Once they saw me, there was absolutely no hesitation--they called me over.

When I explained my presence, they were overjoyed. My spirituality being tethered to me, despite the lack supervision or consequence if I did not partake, inspired large smiles and jubilant energy. I cooed at their youngest and nodded towards the boys and became hooked on their mission, to bring Judaism to our campus. I had found an anchor to hold my faith's ship in my years at sea. I would go on to take a Sinai Scholars course, learn to make challah, learn how to observe shabbas in a way I never had, and learn to love my faith more than I thought possible.

I took these photographs 4 years after we met, and these photos are nearly 4 years old themselves. Their family has grown since then, thus making this portrait obsolete, but the same love that emanated from them on the bridge is present here in these faces.

This year, I return to college for my 5 year reunion. Memories of my college years are hardly the best, but the chance to feel the warmth of the Rubin's open home once again is a chance I would not pass up for the world.