I don’t have a lot to say on religions. I’m not a fan of them. I find that often people use them as a means for conveying exactly how they should live based off of someones interpretation instead of thinking about it themselves. A lot of the time, religion seems like its more of an escape.
I imagine that theologically, there’s more to it if you really dive into understanding religion and its practices on the whole. But my experience with religion has taught me to believe in whatever I want to, whether that’s the Easter Bunny, Santa Clause, a naked bisexual lady-God that desperately wants to please me, or a teddy bear deity that’s ordering me to build it a massive tree house.
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Regardless, I’m Jewish, or rather my family is Jewish. I am proud of my Jewish heritage but I choose not to practice it. It’s not for me. I don’t agree with religions and they’re not something I honestly care for, even though I am proud to be Jewish.
That may sound like a contradiction, but I don’t find it as such.
I’m proud to have the Jewish sense of humour. I’m proud of our strong sense of self. I rarely find Jewish girls I like, but I’m proud that Jewish girls have their own reputation where ever it may lead them.
I’m a Distorted Jew. I’ve commented on this before and I’m sure that if you search up “Distorted Jew” in my search engine, you’ll find it (Or you could just Google it… I’m the second entry).
My beliefs are more comedic partially because I’m insane and while I can speak logically and seriously on the matters of theology, I prefer to take a light-hearted approach to my own beliefs.
As such, I believe in Santa Clause and I’m Jewish. I also love Gospel. Further, I’m not too much a fan of gefilte fish… however it’s spelled…
Then again, I’m not too sure how many Jews really are.
This is all defeating the point of why I’m writing this blog in the end, mind you, because a few days ago, I attended a Passover dinner with my Grandmother (on my Dad’s side) and my Dad. My brother couldn’t as he was working.
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I believe that spending time with family is very important.
Truth be told, I don’t do it enough. That’s something I am ashamed of and there’s not a lot I know I can do about it. I can make a promise on this blog that I’ll make an effort to spend more time with them… but I won’t so I won’t make that promise.
I know how I am. Family are family and because they’re blood, you can always make that connection even if you haven’t seen them in ages, and yes even if they’re pissed at you for not seeing them or calling them earlier.
That said, a Passover dinner is an odd thing for me. Nana had the prayer book out, my Dad’s old Haggadah he used when he was younger.
Now, I can’t read Hebrew and I don’t even pretend to. It’s my family’s religion but it’s not my faith, and it likely never will be. I know my cousins practice it, and because of it, I know my grandmother is quite proud of them. Whether this affects her opinion of myself and my brother, I can’t say. I’d hope it wouldn’t, but somehow I imagine it does.
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At a Passover dinner, you get things like Matzah Ball soup (a chicken or vegetable broth with meatballs made out of our Matzah bread), usually some meat of some sort, and then an ice cream dessert. Or at least, that’s how it works at our Passover.
When I was younger, I could remember going to other people’s events, and there were games where someone would hide Matzah and you’d win a little bit of money if you found it. There was singing and drinking and laughing and everyone was thankful for being Jewish and being alive. They were thankful for having the loved ones and friends they could spend the time with.
But our Passover was a quiet event. I don’t imagine it would have been any more lively had Michael, my brother, been there at the time. There were no games and drinking was done only between 3 people and a bottle of Yalumba, the same Yalumba I had in a mug earlier this week (scroll down to find “Yalumba in a mug!”).
In a way, it’s sad that on one side of the family, it takes a religious event or a broken down piece of equipment to get people together.
But I guess that’s just how it is.