I completed my conversion to Judaism in the Hebrew month of אייר, Iyar. One of my favorite Midrash teachings is that the Hebrew spelling of Iyar- aleph, yod, yod, resh- is an acronym for Ani Adonai Ropheca– I, Adonai, am your healer. There are so many reasons why the end of my conversion was so timely and ideal, this being one of them. It means that when I reflect on that leg of my life’s journey, I can reflect on a season of healing for which I am incredibly thankful.
As time has gone on, I have continued to lean on this idea of the Divine as a healer. I think about it almost every day, and I pray about it every time I say or sing Mi Shebeirach. Many times, my heart and mind are centered on two entities: the neshama for which I am praying, and the undefined entity that I call the Divine, God. Tonight, for the very first time, I felt the complexity of just about every emotion imaginable alongside those two entities.
This week I had to do something really hard. I had to do it to take care of myself, and I had to do it in order to live by the Jewish values I uphold. Unfortunately, it had to do with someone who has greatly wronged me. The context of that wronging and the experiences it has brought forth is for another post an unknown time down the line. For the last eight months, this person has incited fear, sadness, and anger within me. For the last eight months, I’ve been unable to say his name. That is, until tonight. My synagogue did away with our paper Mi Shebeirach list a while ago. Instead, we as congregants now speak the names of those we wish to pray for. Tonight I said his name aloud, speaking it into existence, giving him a presence in a space I value as infinitely sacred. I said it aloud so that my community and I would all pray for him, for his refuah shleimah. His soul is one that I hope finds peace, and his mind is one I hope finds clarity. His body is one I hope finds strength so that it may act righteously. I want him to be okay. As confusing as that has been to decipher for the last several months, I hold it to be true and genuine.
Despite this sincerity, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t regret sharing his name tonight. The sanctuary of my shul is my space. To allow him into it felt wrong. It felt uncomfortable to physically let his name out and to emotionally hold space for him in my spiritual home. Selfishly, I regret sharing his name. Spiritually, I meant it ever so genuinely. I said it with all of the sadness, fear, and anger that his existence has brought into my life. But I also said it with all of the hope I have for this young soul’s future. Holy sadness, holy fear, and holy anger. Holy hope. It was all true and sacred in that moment, as it remains now. It is both sacred and human to experience the three-ness of that moment. The entity of God, the entity of this person, and the entity of my own emotions. Each could be infinite on their own, but can only coexist in the most intentional, special spaces and times.
We are not in the month of Iyar yet, but the Divine is still a healer. I am still healing, and my hope is that another person out there is, too. I look back on my journey to Judaism and see the many stages of healing it lead me through. Now, I can also reflect on my time as a Jew and see the healing that identity has brought me. Ani Adonai ropheca. I, Adonai, am your healer. In the month of Iyar or otherwise, I am starting to see what it means to experience a refuah shleimah and what value it holds to wish such for another soul. With that I say Shabbat Shalom.
Humble Chutzpah 