What The Rabbi Said To Me

Last April, the rabbi and I sat down, he behind his desk, me facing him.

"So, Karla, what brings you here today? Tell me what has transpired that you're now sitting across from me."

For a moment, I was taken aback. How could I possibly explain everything in one sitting? I glanced over my shoulder at my cousins, the Berkowitzes, who smiled and nodded their heads in encouragement. I looked to my other side, at my husband and son, who waited expectantly for me to begin. I had to collect my thoughts. After all, how was it that I was now sitting in a rabbi's office, the synagogue bright with the Los Angeles sunshine, with relatives I didn't know I had two years ago?

"My mother and her twin brother had been adopted." I began, "My sister and I looked for over twenty years to find our mother's birth family without success. Three years ago, through an extraordinary chain of events, someone from my mother's birth family--my cousin--contacted me and the whole story began to unfold. My grandmother was Jewish and, according to the DNA tests from my male cousin, my grandfather was Jewish as well. As I did more research, I found my relatives, the Berkowitzes."

I paused. "I was raised as a nominal Protestant. In my mid-thirties, I had a conversion to Catholicism. I'm not here because I'm thinking of converting to Judaism, but because I want to know more about the heritage and faith of my ancestors. It's such a rich legacy and it seems tragic that all of it was discarded in one generation. I've been trying to incorporate some Jewish cultural traditions into my life, like baking challah, to somehow, in some small way, honor my ancestors. So, the reason I'm here is to learn more about my maternal heritage."

The rabbi was quiet for a moment as he thoughtfully considered what I'd told him. Then, he slowly leaned forward and we looked at each other.

"You are a Jew," he said simply. "Now, I have no idea if those words will make you want to jump up and rejoice or make you recoil in horror or something in between the two, but the fact is, you are a Jew. I'm not talking about religious conversion. Of course, those with no Jewish relatives who make a sincere religious conversion, we also consider to be fully Jewish. But, being Jewish is not simply following a religion. It is not a race. It is a people. The fact is that your grandmother was Jewish, your mother was Jewish, and you are as well."

The rabbi's words reminded me of a joke a Jewish friend told me: A hijacker took over an El-Al plane, the Israeli airline. Gun in the air, he looked around the cabin and demanded, "Who here is a Jew?" The passengers looked at each other. Then, one man spoke. "That's a very complicated question."

We moved on to the main sanctuary itself. The rabbi spoke of a number of things, but I realized I was starting to feel overwhelmed by all the knowledge I desired, the vastness of my ancestors' religious traditions and teachings. He brought out the Torah, an act which made me feel deeply privileged. He explained how each Torah is written by hand, usually by one person, using vegetable dye on vellum. Nothing man-made. The vellum pages are sewn together with a needle made of quill, as metal could represent an armament of war. And, if the scribe makes a mistake on the last letter of the last page, the Torah copy must be discarded and a new one begun. I stood looking down at the ocean of Hebrew letters, not able to identify one of them. Yet, my grandmother was born to a family who spoke Yiddish as their primary language.

I remember my feelings at the moment: everything was new, yet on some level, familiar. Things seemed distant, and at the same time, I knew I had to bring them close enough that I could learn. For myself, for my son, for my ancestors.