Jonathan Safran Foer, one of my favorite authors, has written many words in a lot of pleasant ways. One such nicely-put-together sentence of his is as follows: "I regret that it takes a life to learn how to live" (from Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close).
Although I do not quite share the sorrow expressed, I do love the sentiment: that it takes a lifetime to learn how to live. In particular, I'm quite fond of the concept of identity, and the fluidity of identity, and how even though it probably takes a lifetime to learn who one is, that's likely most of the fun.
My identity has shifted many times throughout my (nearly) twenty-three years thus far. I grew up in Portland, Maine, where through most of elementary school I was likely too shy to concretely identify as anything but just shy. High School was better, but still I was struggling with deciding who I wanted to be, how I wanted to act, and what it was that I most cared about.
In college, at the lovely Clark University (home of the Freud statue), I learned more about myself. I became involved in fun things like student film-making and radio show hosting. And through taking many, many introductory and 100-level courses, I began to sift through topics to determine what I most cared about. And finally, after suffering through things like The History of Math and Quantitative Methods in Geography, I realized that what I love, really, is people.
Psychology was an easy choice to make for a major, but still I struggled with deciding on a minor. Women's Studies? Sociology? Peace Studies?
It was around Sophomore year that I realized I was taking an absurd number of Jewish Studies courses. Not only was I infatuated with course offerings dealing with modern topics like American Jewish Life and Women in Jewish Culture, but I found myself also drawn to courses covering biblical and midrashic topics.
Let me backtrack, because my religious education began long before Clark. In elementary school, I was one of those kids who was "the Jewish one", and so my mom would occasionally come into a class or two to talk about Jewish holidays. And throughout middle school and high school, it remained exciting to be one of very few students at my schools who was missing class for Yom Kippur.
My parents gently urged my siblings and me to include Reform Judaism in our lives. I successfully completed my Bat Mitzvah, my confirmation, and attended Religious School at my synagogue while attending public school, additionally taking part in a Conversational Hebrew course for high school credit. Fairly regularly in my youth I attended Shabbat services, and on Friday evenings my family and I would light Shabbat candles and enjoy a home-cooked meal.
So I grew up Jewish, but I didn't quite feel Jewish. When I arrived at Clark, I attended one or two Hillel Shabbat services, but then gave up entirely. Judaism was a part of who I was, because I had grown up with it. I cared very deeply for it, but not quite in the observant way I'd been raised.
So when Judaism was re-introduced to me as an academic endeavor, it was absolutely wonderful. Here was a topic that I knew loads about, that was interesting to think about, and that could be applied to another topic that I care very deeply about: people.
Through studying with fantastic professors (Everett Fox and Shelly Tenenbaum as wonderful examples) I discovered two topics within Jewish Studies that were very close to my heart: dealing with suffering, and feminist issues. Post-graduation I planned to continue being involved with both of these. And in minor ways, I have pursued one of these endeavors: in the Spring I plan to teach a course at my synagogue (Congregation Bet Ha'am) regarding Midrashic texts, and I plan to use some wonderful feminist texts as examples (shout-out to Judith Plaskow who is a Clark alumni).
Yet the Chaplaincy/Hospice work I initially planned to pursue while learning about coping with suffering with a Jewish lens feels like something I would love to do in a bit more time. It's serious work, and important work, and at times I feel too naive to possibly know what to say to someone who is suffering.
Or, really, to anyone at all. Those who know me will know that I am quiet. Which is why this endeavor, of film-making, of interviewing my community members, of figuring out my Jewish identity through listening to others discuss theirs, feels like such an exciting and terrifying thing to do. I am not sure where this project will lead, or what I will discover about identity, but I am so excited to begin and to see where this journey takes me.
So as I work on this short film for the Maine Jewish Film Festival regarding Jewish identity in Maine, you can follow along! Read my thoughts about this project and see things like stills from film-shoots (oooh, fancy!) and probably I'll include some links to cat videos because cats are just, really, the best thing ever.
Although I do not quite share the sorrow expressed, I do love the sentiment: that it takes a lifetime to learn how to live. In particular, I'm quite fond of the concept of identity, and the fluidity of identity, and how even though it probably takes a lifetime to learn who one is, that's likely most of the fun.
My identity has shifted many times throughout my (nearly) twenty-three years thus far. I grew up in Portland, Maine, where through most of elementary school I was likely too shy to concretely identify as anything but just shy. High School was better, but still I was struggling with deciding who I wanted to be, how I wanted to act, and what it was that I most cared about.
In college, at the lovely Clark University (home of the Freud statue), I learned more about myself. I became involved in fun things like student film-making and radio show hosting. And through taking many, many introductory and 100-level courses, I began to sift through topics to determine what I most cared about. And finally, after suffering through things like The History of Math and Quantitative Methods in Geography, I realized that what I love, really, is people.
Psychology was an easy choice to make for a major, but still I struggled with deciding on a minor. Women's Studies? Sociology? Peace Studies?
It was around Sophomore year that I realized I was taking an absurd number of Jewish Studies courses. Not only was I infatuated with course offerings dealing with modern topics like American Jewish Life and Women in Jewish Culture, but I found myself also drawn to courses covering biblical and midrashic topics.
Let me backtrack, because my religious education began long before Clark. In elementary school, I was one of those kids who was "the Jewish one", and so my mom would occasionally come into a class or two to talk about Jewish holidays. And throughout middle school and high school, it remained exciting to be one of very few students at my schools who was missing class for Yom Kippur.
My parents gently urged my siblings and me to include Reform Judaism in our lives. I successfully completed my Bat Mitzvah, my confirmation, and attended Religious School at my synagogue while attending public school, additionally taking part in a Conversational Hebrew course for high school credit. Fairly regularly in my youth I attended Shabbat services, and on Friday evenings my family and I would light Shabbat candles and enjoy a home-cooked meal.
So I grew up Jewish, but I didn't quite feel Jewish. When I arrived at Clark, I attended one or two Hillel Shabbat services, but then gave up entirely. Judaism was a part of who I was, because I had grown up with it. I cared very deeply for it, but not quite in the observant way I'd been raised.
So when Judaism was re-introduced to me as an academic endeavor, it was absolutely wonderful. Here was a topic that I knew loads about, that was interesting to think about, and that could be applied to another topic that I care very deeply about: people.
Through studying with fantastic professors (Everett Fox and Shelly Tenenbaum as wonderful examples) I discovered two topics within Jewish Studies that were very close to my heart: dealing with suffering, and feminist issues. Post-graduation I planned to continue being involved with both of these. And in minor ways, I have pursued one of these endeavors: in the Spring I plan to teach a course at my synagogue (Congregation Bet Ha'am) regarding Midrashic texts, and I plan to use some wonderful feminist texts as examples (shout-out to Judith Plaskow who is a Clark alumni).
Yet the Chaplaincy/Hospice work I initially planned to pursue while learning about coping with suffering with a Jewish lens feels like something I would love to do in a bit more time. It's serious work, and important work, and at times I feel too naive to possibly know what to say to someone who is suffering.
Or, really, to anyone at all. Those who know me will know that I am quiet. Which is why this endeavor, of film-making, of interviewing my community members, of figuring out my Jewish identity through listening to others discuss theirs, feels like such an exciting and terrifying thing to do. I am not sure where this project will lead, or what I will discover about identity, but I am so excited to begin and to see where this journey takes me.
So as I work on this short film for the Maine Jewish Film Festival regarding Jewish identity in Maine, you can follow along! Read my thoughts about this project and see things like stills from film-shoots (oooh, fancy!) and probably I'll include some links to cat videos because cats are just, really, the best thing ever.
