Dear T and S,
You may not remember me. After all, it’s been over 30 years since we last saw each other. Nevertheless, I remember you.
I existed. I was not particularly happy. I was not particularly sad. I was mostly alone, but I had one good friend. That friend brought me to S’s congregation.
I, a gentile, was welcomed with open arms. I was made to feel wanted. I was surrounded by people who, while not perfect, cared for each other. I was surrounded, too, by people in recovery.
They were in recovery from substance abuse.
They were in recovery from codependency.
They were in recovery from broken and damaged relationships.
I dove head first into this community. I had originally joined it because of my interest in Judaism, and because my friend, who was also in recovery, was a part of this community. Once I started coming regularly to Kabbalat Shabbat and Shacharit, though, I became part of this community, too.
I started to learn.
I learned how to read Hebrew.
I was immersed in the music.
I was immersed in the stories.
Eventually, I started to teach. I taught adults what I had learned about reading Hebrew. I joined in the recovery meetings as an adult child of an alcoholic (and though I did not know it at the time, as the adult product of being an abused and neglected child). I joined in the celebrations and the music, oh, the music! Somewhere in all of this, I converted.
I babysat for you. I house-sat for you. I was welcomed into your family and your life. You made me a safe place.
You were not perfect parents, but you loved your kids. T was a patient and loving mother to your children and was always kind to me. S was a patient and loving father to your children and welcomed me.
You gave me examples of what good-enough parents were.
When I went abroad for a year, you threw me a going-away party.
When I returned, you welcomed me back with open arms.
Eventually, we grew apart. This is only natural. People change. I changed. You changed, but not as much as I had changed.
You opened my life to new relationships and to new ways of thinking. You affirmed my beliefs about people who were “different.” You welcomed people of all colors, all sexual orientations, all genders. You introduced me to many wonderful people.
I finished school and got my first job. When I started this job, I stopped having as much time and energy to join in the activities of the congregation. Eventually, I lost contact with everyone.
I don’t know whether people missed me or wondered what had happened to me. I was eyes-deep in witnessing childhood trauma on a daily basis, and I think that damaged our relationship. I was not as prepared for this career as I had thought I was, but my focus changed from healing myself to protecting children, and when that happened, I grew away from the congregation.
I found new friends. I found my best friend. It was important to me to foster this new relationship, so I stopped coming to Friday night services, instead spending time with my new friend.
Eventually, I moved away and I stopped believing in gods.
I still consider myself Jewish. I am an atheist Jew, but a Jew nonetheless.
I was saddened to find out that the congregation that took me in no longer exists, except in my dreams. I miss you all. Some of you have died, including that good friend who brought me to you.
My relationships with you helped me heal as much as I was able to back then.
Thank you.