My Judaism is a wild dance, red wine on my lips, Uncle Robert on guitar, and AuntCaren on tambourine. My Judaism is my father bellowing the wrong words in Hebrew because he chose our tribe when my mom chose him, and he's still learning, and he will never give up.
(My Judaism is not afraid of failing, because I know I'll get it right some day. )
My Judaism chose not to be a mother at 19, to ask for help where she knew she would find it: And my Judaism is the rabbi who looked into my frightened eyes and said "anything you need."
(My Judaism accepts the past, makes peace with it, and moves ahead.)
My Judaism held my mother in her arms when she took her last breath, in the very bed where she nursed me when I was a baby. My Judaism screamed FUCK CANCER at the top of my lungs, then smashed a mirror, and tore her shirt.
(My Judaism will not say "blessed is the true judge," because cancer is bullshit, and my mom should still be alive. )
My Judaism is latkes and presents and spinning the dreidel, and being tucked safely into bed at night with the doll my parents got me for Hanukkah. My Judaism is guiding my daughter's hand when she lights the candles on Shabbat, it's pouring grape juice in a glass of my son so he can lead kiddush. It's sprinkling salt on challah, and breaking it for the three of us. My Judaism is imagining what's next, and how to make the world a better place.
(My Judaism is, and was, and will be. )
And for now, today, I'll drink more wine, and celebrate this sweet new week.