drugs in cheese

“What kept the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles together?” Ming asked our good friend.  I think it’s Splinter, but also drugs in cheese.

We were at temple for Shabbat service, talking quietly as folx in kippot entered the room.

“Wasn’t it a rat?  Splinter,” our friend replied.

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Ming replied.  I was sitting right between them.  “Splinter, and pizza.”

“Also they were all named after Renaissance painters,” I said.

I imagined them with their different colored scarves to differentiate them.

surfers

“Also they said Kowabunga, for some reason, like they were surfers?” I added.

“Yeah, in New York.  They were subway surfers,” our friend said.

She’s from San Diego and was actually a surfer, not a cartoon character or ninja of any kind, as far as I know.

“How does that work, to be subway surfers?” I asked.

“You just say Kowabunga! and go like this,” our friend said, and made an arm gesture like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

We giggled.

“Can you do that arm gesture?” I asked Ming.

He tried, and it was cute.

drugs in cheese

“It’s true it might be the pizza because drugs in cheese, right?  What are they.  Quesophetamines?” I asked.

We giggled more.

“Quesocaine?” I asked.

I imagined the ooey gooeyiness of melted cheese, and how I can’t have cheese, bread, or tomato sauce.  Basically when it comes to pizza, I’m screwed.

“Quesotonin,” our friend said.

bombing

Then we were giggling like mad in the shul, which was not appropriate because recently there were so many bombings in Gaza.  I realized that way more people were showing up for service than my previous time, and they were bringing their kids.

Whoa nelly.  Those people were scared and needed each other, showing up for solidarity and community.  They were worried about their peeps overseas and feeling all the mixed emotions of being loyal, half-loyal, or disloyal to Israel, doing a religion connected to lethal domination and horrific bloodshed.

But I am an outsider, mostly clueless.  I add up a few Jewish things and connect some dots.  What I learned at Passover Seders over the years, I join together with what I learned a few weeks ago at Sukkot.  I’ve half-learned a song or two.  But this is not my culture.

I can look the part with my curly dark hair, stout body, and cute head covering.  But I am Mexican-American, Nueva Mexicana on my mom’s side, and just white on my dad’s.  No Jewishness is there that I know of.  Certainly not a banding together based on it, my whole life, like many of the people I was standing with in prayer.

rabbis

I like how various rabbis explain things differently.  The one in charge of this Shabbat service emphasized a part where angels are invited in.  She emphasized how Shabbat is something you receive like a blessing–you have to be open for it.  We sang peace songs.  But I missed any mention of quitting colonialism, atonement for apartheid, or how to stop the war.

I enjoy learning bit by bit, even though it’s not mine, and I might not share views on Middle East politics with many of the people in the room.  Interfaith alliances are more common than not, at this particular synagogue.  Yes, we chose this temple for a reason.  Our queerness is ok here, and our trans friend is welcome.

Being an interfaith couple is almost the norm, though people might assume I’m the one who’s Jewish.  I pushed Ming up to the front for the candle lighting, while I remained seated with our friend.  She’s sad because her bestie is self-destructing with alcohol, on his way to rock bottom.  Or the bestie is already there unbeknownst to us, in a pool of his own vomit and blood on the street, as far as we know.

Our worried friend has been comforted by songs, friendship, drugs in cheese, and all that pizza and worship have to offer.

overwhelm

I had to get up and leave–there were so many people.  Nope, I didn’t sign up for standing room only.  Someone wheeled out a cart of additional chairs from the back.

I fled and visited the bathroom, got a drink of water, and sat in a side place where I could hear what was going on at the service but not be part of it.

I wish to be Splinter to some young people I know.  Part of me wishes they would accept me as an elder, ask me for advice, and value me in a specific role.

Maybe they’re not looking for a Splinter, or maybe I don’t fit the bill.  If I was more confident, or their idea of beautiful?  I feel so stable and low drama.  Maybe I’m overlooked.  But I’m a very useful witch to have around.

pizza

Do you like the drugs in cheese?  Do you attend religious services?  Is community like drugs?  What helps you feel safe and comforted?

I feel always off balance–never quite the intended audience, for most foods or for religion.  But I keep showing up.

And I keep listening to young housemates, loving them on their terms I hope, even if they don’t give me a sacred role.