Moments of redemptions do not promise the coming of the messianic age. They occur nevertheless, moments when the unimaginable occurs, even in the midst of darkness and death.
For all of the eleven months of the Jewish period of mourning and beyond, I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to move beyond the unbearable pain I felt all the time. Of course, I was completely distraught—and the intensity of my agony corresponded to the magnitude of my love.
I pray for a messianic world in which cultures no longer demand that our bodies conform to their ideal—white, male, female, tall, thin, and so on. This is so far from current reality that I have made it a practice to imagine such a world. A Moses with Whoopi Goldberg’s skin color. An actor with Gandhi’s build in the role of Superman. Gender-nonconforming holy people, as is the case among Native Americans.
And that is the world we live in—the world created by the unintentional destruction of the pipes conveying the divine light. Thus, we live in a world filled with hidden light, and it is up to us to liberate the divine sparks from the shells that hide them, by repairing the world, by righting injustice, by treating everyone and everything with loving compassion, by discerning the divine light at the core of every dark shell.
Few symbols are “just” symbols. We may be born with our aesthetic and somatic sensibilities, or they are part of our early, powerful conditioning, or both. Symbols do not only stand for abstract concepts; they evoke powerful subliminal responses
And so, I have made a new best friend—the voice of the woman on my google maps app. I may spend more time listening to her than anyone else in my life. She allows me to relax and engage in some contemplative reflections while I’ m driving because I no longer have to worry about navigating my way around.
It is thus no accident that Rabbi Waxman is the first woman and the first out lesbian to head a rabbinical school and a Jewish denomination in Jewish history. While this leap forward is not surprising, it is significant nevertheless. We often try to imagine what the world would be like if it were run by women, and Waxman’s inaugural address yesterday provided a clear taste of how gender can make a difference.
I am, however, very interested in what happens after death to people whom I love. When my daughter Hana took her own life over three years ago, my agony was excruciating, and what would have been her 29th birthday tomorrow has already hit me hard. Part of my grief stems from imagining the pain she must have been experiencing that led her to suicide. But in 2011, part of my pain came from the abrupt end of our relationship. I would never see her again, never talk, never be able to watch her grow.
I would be happy if there remained many names of God, but I affirm the underlying hope for a world in which all peoples, however diverse, would feel sufficiently united to care about one another, to build peace and end war, to do the difficult work of cultivating empathy for the other, to do without some of their own discretionary pleasures to help others acquire some of their necessities.
The play raises profound questions about what it means to survive. If the cost of survival is abandoning one’s lover and denying one’s own identity, is that really survival? If being murdered is the price of affirming one’s identity, what is survival worth? There are no correct answers to these questions. When camp inmates were able to make choices (and they were rarely able to do so), it is not for us to judge choices made in unspeakable circumstances.