#me and every jewish person ever who went to hebrew school or shul or anything | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wenevergotusedtoegypt · 8 months

Note

I’m sorry if you’ve already answered this or if the question is too personal, but I read that you grew up at a reform shul and I’m curious how you came to Orthodox Judaism. For context: I’ve been struggling with finding the Jewish tradition that I most resonate with and would love to hear your path. Thank you!

The least offensive and most normal asks always come from the most apologetic people. 😂

I would say that I grew up incidentally Reform, in that my family found ourselves in that movement not because of any conviction regarding its theology or mode of practice, and not after some kind of extensive investigation into the other available options, but because my mom isn't Jewish and this particular Reform shul was known for acceptance of interfaith families. We had previously been part of a program for interfaith families at the local JCC and a few of the families from that all joined the same shul.

Growing up, the Reform movement was sold to me as being so great because I could pick and choose the mitzvos that worked for/spoke to me. The problem was that there was no corresponding in-depth education regarding what I had to choose from. Although I attended Hebrew school for 5 years and then weekly services for another 4 years after that, I only learned about the existence of Shavuos for the first time my senior year of high school, for example, despite considering myself quite religious at that point in time. I don't think I even knew the word "halacha," let alone the halachos that might be applied to any given situation other than the most basic ("no pork" was one thing I knew - but I was a vegetarian at the time so that was moot anyway).

Nevertheless, I genuinely couldn't even have begun to imagine just how much I didn't know, and like I said, by the end of high school I considered myself quite religious. I was doing basically everything I knew about - more than almost any other Jew I knew, growing up in a very Jewish area - but I felt like something was missing. At the time, I believed that the missing piece was friends who were also religiously Jewish, since most of my Jewish peers at school were uninterested in engaging with Judaism on more than a cultural level.

So when I got to college, I immediately got involved in the campus Hillel. Now, many Hillels have really robust programming, but this particular Hillel did not. Shabbos programming only took place every other week. This was difficult for me to swallow, having attended Friday night services every week for years prior. And for the most part, the people I was meeting at Hillel were still more culturally than religiously invested in Judaism.

But there was one girl I met on Yom Kippur - the only other student who hung around the whole day - who seemed more interested in the religious side. One day, she suggested that on Hillel's next off week, we should go check out Chabad on Shabbos. I balked. I didn't really know anything about Chabad, except that I'd found their website before moving in for college, and clicked straight out of it after seeing their "myths and facts" page and included the following: "Myth or fact? Chabad only considers you Jewish if you're Orthodox. Myth! You are Jewish if your mother is Jewish or you convert to Judaism."

As I mentioned before, my mother isn't Jewish. I explained this to my new friend, and she pointed out that it was unlikely they were going to interrogate me at the door. We could just check it out and see.

I agreed to do so the Shabbos of chol hamoed Sukkos. I'd hardly ever eaten in a sukkah before - maybe just once or twice at my Conservative friend's house growing up. We never had a sukkah at home, nor had it been communicated to us at Hebrew school or otherwise that it was a typical thing for the average family to do (there was one on the premises of the shul, but no one really ate there - we went out during Hebrew school to look at it and that was about it). I loved it, and the warm feeling I got being there.

As time went on I kept having more moments like that: being exposed to knowledge or a practice, either by the shluchim themselves or by other people at the Chabad house, that I'd never known about before. And, well, I was Reform, and our whole shtick was that we did the mitzvos we liked, right? So I started doing that one, and I liked that one too, and that one, and that one was also for me. I realized that this was what I had been missing, not religious friends (well, also religious friends, but I don't think that would have been enough on its own).

But I was still Reform. Except I think at some point I slowly started realizing that I didn't really believe that these things were optional and up to me to choose; rather, since I had always believed that the Torah was directly from Hashem (although this was not what was taught in my shul), the logical conclusion was that when Hashem used it to say "do this" or "don't do that," He actually, you know, meant it. I also learned a lot more about the Oral Torah and the halachic system and just the frum lifestyle that explained things that hadn't made sense to me about Orthodoxy before, like not driving on Shabbos. And at a certain point it became clear that I was no longer aligned with the Reform movement in either theology or practice. That meant that I had to square with my halachic status as a patrilineal and eventually do a conversion, but that's another story.

12 notes · View notes

borderlineteacher · 5 years

Text

So I’m an orthodox Jew, as many of you know. “Modern orthodox”, if we must put a more specific label on it. This is all I’ve ever known, it’s all I grew up with. Of course I don’t live in a bubble and I am exposed to other religions but just personally, this is my religious identity. I grew up in a Jewish household (where I still live), I went to an orthodox Jewish day school since I was in kindergarten. My family is 100% shomer kashrut, shabbos, mitzvot, etc. Of course everyone has their own personal beliefs but we classify ourselves as Torah observant.

I have my qualms with religion. I think everyone does at some point to some extent. A lot of things in the Old Testament (which we call the Torah) seem a bit questionable to me, some ideas and rules and laws seem ridiculous and offensive, and sometimes I’m just like screw this. It feels like Hashem (G-d) is kicking me in the butt sometimes. Making me go through certain painful things, forcing me to deal with the hardships life throws at me. Lots of people go “off the derech”, which means “off the path of Judaism” because they have their doubts and anger towards Hashem. I am not one to judge. People can feel the way they feel, do whatever they think is best for them. That’s fine.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, especially over Shabbos (sabbath). Obviously I do not know what the future holds but I just have this gut feeling and knowledge that I will never veer off the path. I stayed by my grandmother’s house with my younger brother this weekend and on Friday night he wanted to go to shul (synagogue) like he always does with my dad but it was pouring out. So we sat in the living room and sang Lecha Dodi and all of Kabbalat Shabbat out loud. Just watching my brother sing in his broken and sometimes not understandable Hebrew with such a smile on his face, brought a smile to mine. Despite the shortcomings that many people think Judaism has, I think it is so beautiful. We went to Shul on Shabbos morning and it happens to be a massive Shul. Seeing everyone who walked over to Daven (pray) for three hours was just inspiring to me. Is every Jewish person perfect? Not at all! But when I can see the beauty so clearly, that’s when I know it is right for me.

Every Jewish holiday stems from years and years of familial traditions and historical stories of success. Nothing is meaningless. History has clearly shown that so many people have tried and still try to kill the Jews. But somehow we are still here. We are still thriving. That has to mean something.

I’ll admit it -- sometimes I accidentally turn on the bathroom light on Shabbos then I panic and quickly shut it off. Sometimes I forget what time I finished eating meat and I eat dairy chocolate less than six hours later. Some religious Jews may hear that and said “what an embarrassment, she’s not observing Hashem’s laws!” The fact that people can say that, and really mean it, is ridiculous and embarrassing. Ripping toilet paper without thinking on Shabbos is not the be all end all of being an observant Jew. I know people who have heard that they are not doing things in the way of G-d, so they say things like “Okay so I just won’t do anything at all if nothing I do is right!” They leave Judaism. They start a completely different lifestyle, when all they’ve known their entire lives is Judaism.

Wanna know what I say? People can say whatever they want about what I do. They can tell me my skirt is too short or I should not sing in front of men and because that’s my reality, I clearly do not care about Hashem and everything that has to do with Judaism. What I say back to myself is that I am not the one doing anything wrong, they are by being so judgmental. That’s their issue, not mine. I cannot drop such a special and important thing in my life just because one clueless and naive person disapproves that I don’t wash Netillat Yadayim in the morning.

ANYWAY. This made absolutely no sense, I’ve just been thinking a lot about the beauty of Judaism and how resilient we all are. I do not blame people for going off the derech. I can understand why they do, and I do not think they are bad people because of it.

I just know that I can rise above the bigoted opinions of the haters, and live such a meaningful and peaceful religious life.

Phew.

#judaism #jewish #was this offensive?#gosh i hope not #religion

21 notes · View notes

klinejack · 7 years

Text

clarz

replied to your post

“hi divvy! i know you are MAD right now, so don't answer this until you...”

thanks so much for answering this! tbh i love the fact that you're religious and that you clearly love it so much. i went to a very catholic college, so that kind of thoughtful and deep connection with religion and tradition is important to me, and i love seeing it in other people. it's an important part of who you are! and part of the reason i asked is because you mentioned disliking the performance thing in your initial post, and i really connect with that. when i was growing up, the church i went to was pretty plain and traditional (despite very liberal politics and interpretations of scripture.) most of the other people i knew who went to church were evangelical and/or southern baptist, and i always disliked that their churches had like, full rock bands at services, and poppy contemporary melodies to "hymns." i understand that they're trying to make church fun, but it always made me suspicious and felt disingenuous. i don't think religious services should be a chore, certainly, but i also don't think that they should be "fun" in that way. that's not the purpose of religion. i don't think religion should become more like entertainment or performance, because it's supposed to be a space that's completely different from the rest of the world. it makes it feel less holy to me. so i definitely relate to how you feel there. also, how did you end up feeling about the service in the moment? (and i'd love to hear about the ma'apilim sometime)

SORRY I DIDN’T ANSWER THESE BEFORE CUZ I REALLY WANTED TO BUT PROCRASTINATION IS MY MIDDLE NAME (jk it’s tzviya but try saying that ten times fast. or just one time. slow.)

HERE WE GO:

1- i love finding other people who feel close to their religion, no matter what it is. i remember in teacher’s college i just naturally gravitated to the only catholic girls in my classes i guess simply because i enjoyed talking to them? we weren’t there learning to teach religion, but i’m always fascinated by what other people feel about it. i’ve found myself thinking on more than one occasion that i feel more comfortable with people who have that side to themselves, like me, rather than people who don’t interact/think about/believe in any of that kinda stuff. (im being purposefully vague because it’s a huge generalization, but nonetheless true-ish for me, i often find myself sharing much more common ground with palestinian muslims, for example, than a french canadian montrealer). i guess especially because religion is not something i consider a defining trait of mine, and im just in constant evolution with respect to that. judaism is so much more than just a belief in god or a practice of the rituals and commandments.

2- how fascinating to find someone in my age bracket who feels the same way about music in prayer. my problem has always been that i LOVE music, and its so personal and emotional that i DO see it fitting seamlessly with prayer but... it’s the setting that has always bothered me. it just never felt right for me in a synagogue. like you said, it’s just a different space. i don’t know about church and ‘making it fun’ but i definitely can imagine plenty of religions use music to draw in otherwise disinterested people who find prayer “boring” or pointless. music is awesome! i just wish people could feel the music in their soul as a separate entity from external music, like from an instrument. idk i guess i just really love singing XD and i wish it wasn’t always a performance or a competition of voices, because i think prayer should be personal. even if it’s between a community, its still voices connecting to each other. i’m reminded of Hannah’s prayer, in the book of Samuel (the prophet- his mother), she’s at the temple on one of the annual pilgrimages with her family and she’s depressed because she doesn’t have any children and her husband’s other wife just keeps popping out babies left and right. so she goes to be alone somewhere in the temple, and she’s weeping and praying to god for a child. Eli, the high priest, comes in and sees her shaking and moving her lips real fast so he goes, “hey, you shouldn’t be drinking in here” and she’s like “im not drunk, i’m praying”. so that’s the first place we read about a person actually praying, and not out loud. this was like a huge revelation to the priest cuz clearly he’d never seen that before, and now the tradition has become to pray like hannah. (as an aside, if u ever see the propaganda videos made by the nazis, they use footage of synagogues to show how loony tunes those jews are with their muttering and their rocking back and forth). cuz like, prayer is supposed to be out loud? ahaha anyway i forgot where i was going with this but... oh ya, okay, so prayer didn’t really exist (as we know it, in judaism- and therefore christianity/islam/western monotheism) until that point- it was all about the sacrifices. and the temple ritual was replete with music and instruments like the shofar, timbrels, lutes, blabla other ancient instruments. but since then, we’ve been meant to use our voices alone. so says tradition, i guess.

3- so i did go to services on yom kippur (kol nidre) but not at my shul. i went with my sister to the chabad house near my parents, and it was....not great. but it was compounded by a lot of factors- i got a wicked cold the day or two before, so my nose was running a marathon and i was coughing like a 90yr old with emphysema. i got my period that morning so i was on an extra steep emotional rollercoaster that i just somehow could barely control. so we sat on the other side of the mechitzah (the separation barrier between men and women), the rabbi/cantor stood at the head in the middle so we could all see, and we all prayed out loud, no hush on the women’s side or anything (pretty typical from what i remember of camp/school prayer services). but of course the tunes were not quite what i’m used to, and there was a bit of annoying stuff that just irks me as a perfectionist (like they use a lot of yiddish pronunciation of the hebrew words, injecting a bunch of oy oy oys and ahoyhoyhoys in random places, in fact i leaned over to my sister at one point and was like ‘did ned flanders write this nigun (tune)?’), but altogether i guess it was better than watching an orchestra perform the prayer? idk it was pretty bad, on an emotional level, but not in hindsight. im very good at ruining things for myself through sheer stubbornness. i must have embarrassed my sister just by existing next to her, poor girl, she really wanted me to like it. i’m glad it’s over, and hopefully by next year ill be back in nyc or some other city so i wont have to worry about it.

4- MA’APILIM!!!!! okay so this was my absolute favoritest thing as a kid and i can’t wait to describe it to you. one night in camp, every summer, the counselors and cits would wake us up at like 3am by barging into our cabins chanting (screaming, really) “MA’APILIM, MA’APILIM BEH-MASSAD, BEH-MASSAD. MATCHIL HALAYLA MATCHIL HALAYLA BEH-MASSAD, BEH-MASSAD.” which translates to : “ma’apilim at massad (the name of my camp) starts tonight.” i’m singing it in my head as i type XD. so they’d be screaming and we’d be tumbling bleary eyed out of bed to grab our socks and sweatshirts and run over to the flagpole (keep in mind i was 8 when i first experienced this, and we’ve had kids as young as 6 at camp). once we had all gathered in line with our bunkmates, the counselors and cits put on a little “skit”.

basically they acted like they were nazis and jews, and did a little skit of some basic bad holocaust stuff (don’t ask me to remember the exact details we’re talkin at least 20 years since i last did this) to scare the pants off of us. kids would always cry already at this point from the shouting. we’d all kinda follow into this “play” (sorry idk what else to call it), and marched over to the gym where we watched a fake hanging on the stage. they literally. hanged someone. in front of us. a fake noose, of course, duh, i remember my counselor showing it to me, but traumatizing to say the least (i still remember the name of the counselor they “hanged”- not sure this ever happened more than once but ill never forget it).

then we’d all hustle down to the waterfront, again “playing” the role of holocaust victims/survivors after these little “skits” had sort of put us in the headspace, and we play along, imagining we’d just experienced these things and were now running from it. it was terrifying and exhilarating as a small child, and an even more unbelievably emotional thrill ride as i got older and became pseudo-obsessed with holocaust lit and facts in general in my life (it never did go away but everything changes with age). ANYWAYS so down at the waterfront we got a speech from another counselor playing a member of the haganah (the main jewish defense force in palestine leading up to independence, which ben gurion later turned into the IDF). sidebar for a little history: in the 40s the yishuv (jewish agency) and the haganah began a mission called aliyah bet, “the second immigration,” an illegal smuggling operation to bring refugees from the holocaust into palestine under the noses of the british, since almost all countries in the world had barred their doors to jewish immigration from europe (a high level member of the canadian government is famously recorded as having answered, when asked how many jews they should let in, that “none is too many”). volunteer seamen from the US and canada and other countries crossed the ocean on cargo ships hastily refurbished to fit hundreds of people, picking up thousands of refugees in europe to smuggle them onto the beaches of haifa and tel aviv. paul newman has a lovely half nekid scene of this in the movie Exodus when he jumps off the ship in the middle of the night and swims up onto the beach- one of my fave movies ever and pretty much the story of aliyah bet (albeit with tremendous hollywood embellishment and only mild accuracy). these refugees who became illegal immigrants (caught or not) were known as “ma’apilim”- the root of the word is to “climb” or to “rise up”, and is found in the bible referring to the israelites who were still eager to enter the land even after the negative report of the spies.

okay so basically this was the idea. we were “playing” these illegal immigrants who had just escaped the holocaust, and were now facing another threat in the form of the british who were doing their best to keep them out of palestine. k so we’re down at the waterfront. all the kids get divided into small groups of about 10 or so, with one or two counselors at the helm to be our “haganah operatives” and guides to the end. what end, you say? so the camp is spread out into 2 areas, the main camp where the younger kids cabins were, and the dining hall and the gym and the waterfront, etc. then there’s a road in the middle of the camp, and beyond it a hill leading up to the senior cabins and some sports fields at the top. the goal was for each group to make it through camp to the top of the hill without getting caught by the “british,” played by the cits who were roaming around camp.

idk if i have to describe camp further for people who don’t know the concept, but basically we’re all in the middle of the damn woods with nothing around us for miles except the lake and the camps on the other side of it or down the road. ill never forget my first ma’apilim (tbh most of my description is from then, which is why its so fuzzy cuz these memories are 20+ years old), i was so lucky to get the tripper as our group leader (the tripper is the “nature dude” in camp, the survivalist ;). he immediately led us underneath the gym (which of course was just insane to my small mind... UNDER the gym??) to plan our route and give us instructions. we organized a roll call and signals, we practiced walking in a single file line silently and dropping to the ground on his signal. we smeared dirt on our faces for camo in the woods. it was *mason voice* intense. k so then as you can guess, we snuck our way up the hill through the woods. sometimes we’d encounter other groups, once in awhile i remember getting caught by a cit, and they’d take all or some of us to the “jail” on the basketball court” where we’d have to wait for a jailbreak (idk how that worked but it did, i remember it happening but not in any detail). a famous prison break that DID happen was at acre prison in 1947 when the irgun (another paramilitary jewish group) blew up the prison and broke out 28 of their members and 214 arab prisoners. if im not mistaken they briefly refer to it in exodus by recreating a prison break. exciting times. ANYWAYS fuck im such a tangential bitch sorry XD, by the end of the night we’d all make it to the top- “jerusalem”- and we’d have hot chocolate and say morning prayers as the sun rose over the hill.

i feel like my description is a little lacking, but hopefully u get the basic picture. ma’apilim wasn;t even the heaviest part of camp- that was tisha b’av- the fast day when we commemorate the destruction of the temple and every other traumatic destructive event the jewish people have gone thru. that night they’d prepare the camp with candles in sand filled paper bags lining all the paths. after dinner we’d walk with our bunks on the path and watch little skits in different parts of camp- scenes from these moments in jewish history, like the holocaust, pogroms in europe, the spanish inquisition, terror attacks in israel, etc. after walking the path we’d all convene back at the waterfront, where they’d set out a small reconstructed “temple” on a makeshift raft in the lake, and a banner on the beach that said “yizkor”- remember. then they’d light both on fire and we’d sit and watch them burn while singing appropriately somber songs like eli eli, by hannah senesz. after that we’d go back to the gym and lie on the floor in small groups huddled around candles. we’d listen as some people chanted the book of eicha (lamentations), and would slowly fall asleep (depending on our age, of course). anyone that was still up after that was over got to stay in the gym if they wanted to watch exodus- a 4 hour movie. the next day we’d fast all day (only those who wanted- 13 y/o +) and treated it basically like shabbat- no regular activities.

MAN did i get some wild shit imprinted on me from camp!! but i don’t regret one second. i only wish other people could have the experience i did, but i dont even know if they still do that there. they probably do, but this old lady has no excuses to step foot in a summer camp anymore :(

as a completely coincidental aside and not at all as a self promo, idk if u knew this but i’ve been working on a documentary for over a year now and this whole thing is a major part of the plot. i interviewed a lady who was a passenger on the exodus, and about 4 or 5 people who were volunteers from montreal/new york/new jersey/toronto that picked up and smuggled the refugees. the stories are incredible. i just hope the rest of the world will get to hear it from their mouths one day. all we need is 100k to finish the film XD

#clarz #OMG I FORGOT TO POST THIS #i thought i would add to it but this is a fucking essay so ima leave it at that #PLEASE ASK ME MORE QUESTIONS IF U WANT #ANYBODY #i love talking about this shit and i have nobody to do it with :))))#personal #jewish stuff #judaism #holocaust mention #death mention cw #hanging mention cw #nazi mention cw

1 note · View note

emma-poole · 7 years

Text

Still, like pooled water. Five years old. The dairy leaves me congested. Cheese turns my head into a cotton ball. My mother takes me to a holistic doctor in the neighborhood. His name is Stephen. Stephen has gentle hands and kind eyes. I am intrigued by his office, the soft, muted colors. He asks my mother about my diet, has me lay down on a padded table while he palpates different body parts with his fingertips. The whole left wall is lined with windows. Sun pours in through the glass and lights up my baby hairs. I look like a reclining angel. A congested angel.

Six months later, after a strict elimination diet of no dairy and wistful trips down the grocery store cheese aisle, I return to the office. He holds a milk carton up to my right hand to see how my energy reacts. My hand accepts the milk. I can eat dairy, but gradually. Everything in moderation. We discover my healing colors are purple and green. I feel validated, as I've always been drawn to earth tones and have a special affinity for anything purple. I lay on a bed in a room covered with lighting slides in my heart colors. I dream of my father and ice cream. The color green wakes me up, though I can't remember falling asleep. Slow, like molasses dripping off a metal spoon. The blank space before a memory forms. No more cotton head just limbs of honey. Malleable, five years formed. Is this why I place rose quartz on my heart when I feel sad? If left long enough, the crystal will take on the body's heat, becoming warm to the touch.

13 years later I move into my college dorm. I adorn my twin extra long bed with purple pillows and a sage green comforter. Fire is prohibited but I place scented candles in empty corners and turn my new space into home. I've become skilled at this. Friends remark that my room feels cozy. They lean on my throw pillows and borrow jewelry I never wear. I cry myself to sleep almost every night of freshman year, remembering a boy with blue eyes and large hands. I used to stare at the bumpy ridge of his cuticles and wonder how something could be so beautiful. He comes to me in dreams, which becomes torturous. In movement class, we roll around on the ground proclaiming our pain. Agony slips out my throat onto the rubber floor. I am howling in front of my classmates, body folded into grief. If we had babies, do you think their eyes would be brown or blue? Green maybe, you'd whisper. You liked me in green. Said it brought out my eyes.

We never made it to your cabin that summer before I left. Your mother got sick and began to lose her mind. She wrapped household appliances in paper and gifted them to you for your birthday. You sat with me in your backyard, confused and ashamed of the illness inside your mother that seemed to take all the good parts of her captive. I comforted you by talking about my father. It'll be ok, I told you, cradling your weeping head. Soft, like silk on bare skin. You kiss me. Your mouth is salty and warm. I can taste you seeking refuge in me, desperate to empty yourself of the pain you conceal so well between pursed lips and a puffed-up chest.

Months later, you tell me the distance is too much. You harden into a stranger I don't recognize, blame me for leaving you, despite having known the circumstances all along. I reach out for you in my sleep, beg the universe to bring you back to me. My heart is a fist lodged into the center of twisted muscle. Constant, relentless ache. You become cold, hostile, and mean. Breathing turns into a task, forgetting, a goal. But I want to remember. I am obsessed with re-living our memories, see the two of us outside the day you told me about your mom. Your eyes matched the sky, clear and blue, as your mouth trembled. Chin up, my son. Why do we teach boys not to cry? What becomes of the women who turn into surrogates of their mothers?

Hard, like a peach pit stuck in a wind pipe.

Suffocating, like heartbreak.

The year after I move to New York, my grandmother dies. She passes peacefully, after a quick and accosting bout with dementia. I go to see her in the final days. Her hospice room overlooks green grass and sprawling trees. There is bad art on the wall, but the windows make everything softer. Sun pours in and lights up her tiny frame. She is all skeleton, skin translucent over bird-like bones. Her head hangs at a forty five degree angle. I search her eyes for recognition but she is elsewhere, death waiting patiently to claim the last lucid parts. I imagine myself in a rocking chair with her on my lap, her tuft of thin white hair velvety against my chest. I would rub her back and cradle her small bones in my warmth, tell her it's ok to let go, that there are people waiting for her on the other side. A son and husband she has waited years to see again. She used to walk into the kitchen when I had guests over and present framed pictures of my uncle Michael and Grandpa Joel. Her first love and firstborn. She'd stand there like a child presenting her most prized possession and pass the picture around to my slightly uncomfortable but very gracious friends.

My nana always wore lipstick and had eyes the color of deep water. She marked water glasses, dogs, and humans with her pink mouth print wherever she went. People told her she looked like Marilyn Monroe, which she loved, since they shared a name. She was beautiful, kind, stubborn and heartbroken. A part of her died the day she lost her husband and later her son, which is why standing in that room, days before her death, it felt right that her time on earth would soon end. As her body decayed, I knew her consciousness was expanding.

Rocking her, I'd whisper thank you for showing up. For all the graduations, plays, family dinners and stories. And for letting me be your roommate the summer after my freshman year of college when I came to you, stung over the loss of my first love, looking for comfort and a familiar place. I slept in the water bed all of June, July and August, occasionally sneaking in and out of the window that faced the yard. I even brought a boy into your house that summer, but you didn't know. Instead, you threw me a surprise party for my 19th and invited all my close friends. They brought me candy nipple tassels which we somehow convinced you to take a bite of.

Remembering isn't fair, because it is never as accurate as the heart wants. Details become grainy, smells are lost. Except in that house, your house, the same one we stayed in when mom moved us back North from Florida to Niskayuna, New York, the town she grew up in, you live on. If I close my eyes and imagine it, I can smell rotisserie chicken warming in the oven, the pink bathroom enveloped in a waft of floral perfume. It smells like Nana in here, we’d say.

I wonder if the people who live there now ever experience signs of before. I hear they remodeled it, changed so much that it barely resembles the brick house I knew. I think she'd be happy knowing a family inhabits the place that hers grew in.

I love you so much, I'd tell her. Now off you go.

Calm, like wind rustling leaves. She is nowhere and every where.

I visit Israel the summer of 2014. The old cities with their cobblestone streets and white washed buildings feels like stepping into a movie. In Jerusalem, girls and women dressed in long skirts tilt their heads against the wailing wall. They tuck their secrets into paper notes they wedge between the wall’s stones. I wonder what their bodies look like under the layers of clothing, if any of them have mothers who tucked them into bed at night with amethyst under their pillows. Do they marry men who nurture them or whose mothers they become ghosts of? I want to feel devotion the way they do.

I think of Camp Coleman, a Jewish summer camp in Georgia my sister and I attended in grade school. The best part of camp was the blob, a giant inflatable raft that sat on the lake. One person sat on the edge of the blob while the other jumped off a ledge and upon landing, sent the person on the edge of the raft zooming up into the air. I liked the horseback riding, movie nights and camp food. But I also liked the daily services and hymns sung in Hebrew. I had a crush on a boy named Evan. He had blonde curls and brown eyes and we slipped notes to each other in the dining hall. It was the first summer I ever tried Nair, since some of the girls shaved their legs, which gave me great envy. I found out I was allergic to Nair and had to sit out of camp activities for a week because of the boils on my legs.

I walk over to the wall. Closing my eyes, I place my palm on the cool stone and remember. I think of my grandmother, whose faith she turned to when life became harsh. Come with me to shul, she'd say, the more Jewish word for temple. I think of my mother, my grandmother’s gift to me, and our childhood home that she filled with plants and nourishing food. I am forest green and deep purple, embodied in my memories. This city is blue. Like my grandmother’s eyes. The first boy I loved. And my mother’s.

The stone beneath my hand has become warm. I tear a piece of paper out of my journal and scribble the names of those dearest to me on it. Folding it up, I tuck it into the nearest empty space.

1 note · View note

jones573 · 7 years

Text

The Basics of the Grays

Sadie, Abe and Dinah are triplets (Sadie and Dinah are identical), and spent their childhood and adolescence in captivity by suspicious baddies who exploited the triplets powers for criminal enterprises and scientific exploration. It was pretty shitty for them, for many reasons. Dr. Naomi Gray, an undercover US agent, eventually infiltrated this organization and worked for them long enough to be trusted with knowledge of the triplets. She was appalled at their treatment and especially horrified by Dinah’s use- Their captors were essentially trying to create a ‘cure’ for powers/Gifts, at the expense of Dinah’s own body. She began to plan an extraction to free the three of them with her superiors in the government- But it became apparent that even though the triplets would have much better living conditions, they would still be tools, just to a new master. The government (shockingly) was also interested in replicating Dinah’s immunity to other powers, just as they were interested in Sadie’s invulnerability and Abe’s spatial manipulation. So the Naomi delayed her government’s intervention until her own plan could come to fruition, and she eventually escaped with the kids/teens.

The story has considerable variables here- Maybe they go on the run for awhile, living anonymously. Maybe they went public with their story and stood trial for the crimes Abe and Sadie had committed as minors, and made themselves such public figures that the government couldn’t risk forcing them back into captivity. Generally speaking, Dr. Gray dies at some point in the period after their initial escape, perhaps when their captors attempt to come after them. It is also standard that Dinah is presumed ‘dead’ by the others at some point, or maybe never even made it out of the initial escape. The post-captivity but pre-settled-adults phase of life is usually where I play these characters, so depending on the needs of the plot, things are pretty flexible.

In ‘canon’, Abe and Sadie go on to join SAFEGuard (their universe’s ‘Avengers/SHIELD’ hybrid- Organized superhero teams across the globe that work with governments but are not necessarily funded or controlled by them), and Dinah potentially does as well. Eventually she establishes the Gray Foundation outside of Chicago (pretty much Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters, but w/out the ties to the X-men), and over time a rift over the Foundation’s purpose and students grows between her and her siblings. (This is pretty much only relevant for RP purposes with the funeral plot, found HERE.)

Their Names/Background/Relationships To Others:

I do not know if the triplets were naturally conceived, though I suspect not- It isn’t like white scientists have ever had moral issues with forcing reproductive procedures on poor black women, and the fact that they were a multiple birth does suggest fertility procedures were used. It could be that they were kidnapped from their birth family, though- Dr. Gray was never able to solve the encryption for the records and files she stole, and all information pertaining to the triplet’s medical and scientific history was destroyed so as to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands. As a result, they are unsure of their age or birth order. (Regardless, the triplets bear their birth mother or family no ill will for what happened to them and cannot remember anything but their captors.)

I imagine they had codes or numbers initially, but as their powers began to manifest, Abe and Sadie earned nicknames- Twitch and Tank, respectively. Dinah was occasionally called ‘Patient Zero’, though some of their handlers called her ‘The Treatment’ to fit the ‘t’ theme of Twitch and Tank. It wasn’t until Dr. Gray’s involvement in their life that they chose their current names- As a Jewish woman, she pretty much just listed Hebrew names for them until they decided ones they liked. After her death they also adopted her last name. The triplets would also consider themselves Jewish once they had the context to understand that, though the degree to which they are observant depends on the sibling and the point in their life. (Dinah is generally the most regular about going to shul, but Abe goes through periods of religious fervor every few years.)

When it comes to their sexualities, it should be assumed that like pretty much all of my characters, the Grays could be attracted to anyone of any gender. (I find that easiest to write since that’s my own perspective and because it gives me the most flexibility since I don’t know who else is in the RP!) Since most of their emotional arcs revolve around their family dynamic, I really don’t have anything but the vaguest idea of their romantic lives- I suspect in ‘canon’, Abe would most likely consider himself straight because toxic masculinity is a thing and why would he ever think otherwise (though that could obv be different for an RP). I think Dinah has definitely dated a lady or two, though I think ultimately her devotion to the Foundation overtakes any personal relationships in her later life. It is ‘canon’ that Sybil has a crush on Dinah, in pretty much any iteration of their interaction, but I doubt anything comes of that, since the concept of Sybil is ‘a fundamentally bad person no matter what happened to her or how nice she is’ and Dinah’s concept is ‘a fundamentally good person no matter what happened to her or how mean she is’, but that’s a whole ‘nother story. As I’m writing this, I’m sorta thinking Sadie might be aromantic but I will have to consider it more.

(It should also be noted that the Grays exist in the same ‘world’ as all of my other Gifted characters and plots- with the exception of Amelia and her related characters- so they often know each other and overlap. Since Sybil is the most similar to them -at one point she was even raised by the same organization, but I have since changed her origins- she is generally who they are most likely to know, though they have also worked with Mags.

#grays

0 notes