While my neighbors were putting their Christmas trees to the curb, in what seems like a ritual of replacement, I was preparing to plant for Tu BiShvat.
Tu BiShvat is a reminder that we spend our lives planting seeds. Time and effort are needed for our efforts to bear fruit. Wait patiently. One day, like the seed, we will be blessed.
This morning I met again with my usual cohort of Jewish clergy who study sacred texts together each week in the coffee shop.
When I was a kid, my family did not keep kosher. The closest we got was the story my mother told about how, when she was growing up, her father once yelled at her as she poured a glass of milk to go with her BLT sandwich: “We don’t mix milk and meat!”
A version of this post was published on the RACblog on February 12, 2014, in advance of the celebrations this summer around the 50th anniversary of the Civil Rights Act of 1964.
I am from blintzes, from Crest toothpaste and kippot tucked into a dresser drawer.
I am from no eating in the bedrooms, singing all the time, comfy couches, a grandfather clock on the wall and challah French toast.
I was born into a Catholic family and given a Catholic education, but for as long as I can remember, Judaism has always fascinated me.