Who should lead?

This week I turned 22 years old. The day of my birthday was also Rosh Hashannah. With being officially another year older and the mark of a new year in the Jewish tradition, it got me thinking a lot about my life and the direction in which it's going. I essentially came to the conclusion that I have reached a specific period of my life of equal freedom and independence. While I am young enough to be free of many responsibilities I will have to face in the future, I am still old enough to make "big girl" decisions.
While this may be obvious to many, this conclusion was important for me this week as I face an incident with my closest friends. Without going into specifics, I am doing something that my friends do not approve of. There are many problems with this and how they are judging me. For one, what I am doing is something they have done time and time again, without any regret. They have never understood why before now, I haven't acted like this. But apart from all this, because of this argument, I've been pondering what role the advice of friends plays in my life.

I have always been one to give advice to friends. Even on things I didn't know much about, I thought I would be doing a disservice not to try and help them by sharing my thoughts.  Because of this, I gladly welcome my friends' advice and thoughts. I want to know that they care about what is going on in my life, they have thoughts about it and made conclusions, and they share those with me.
However, I have never expected them to follow my advice to the letter. Perhaps I am hurt when I think I gave great advice and they completely disregard it, but I am often not surprised and I don't take it too personally.

My friends are not only upset with me that I am not following their advice, but they are angry at me. They are avoiding me. It makes me feel like our friendship was built on my being little miss perfect and now that they don't approve of what I am doing, they don't approve of me. I know everyone wants and often seeks approval, but I have a particular problem with needing approval, especially from family and my closest friends. I am torn between craving approval and want to make decisions for what I feel is best in my life.

But more than that, where is the line between listening to your friends and listening to your heart? There is always the cliché of "listen to your friends, they often know what's best for you!" which I agree with to a certain extent. Yes, it is always great to get a third party perspective. Yes, they often have great insights you may have overlooked. And sometime it feels like they know you better than you know yourself. However, when should I listen to my own instincts? What about what I want?

I ended up having to turn to my grandma for advice. Besides my closest friends, I haven't told the whole story to a lot of people out of fear of judgement. But with my grandma, I know she loves me unconditionally, and she is naturally inclined not to pass judgment, especially in regards to the type of situation I am currently in. Her conclusion was that I should do what feels best for me and my friends should support me. This whole thing may end with me needing a shoulder to cry on, and my friends should be there if/when that happens.

I am still hopeful that this will all blow over, but I am waiting anxiously until that happens.

Child of Israel?

     Due to the deterioration in my grandmother's memory (which I discussed in this post), I have started going to OU Hillel, the Jewish Student Center at my school. Now this is not as out of left field as it may seem.
     My grandmother was raised in a Jewish family and is extremely proud of her heritage. She converted to Christianity when she was in her teens and from what I understand, it was a gradual, informal conversion. To others, it may seem difficult to reconcile two halves of my grandma. On one hand, she is so proud of her heritage and people that she has no problem saying things like "I've never met a Jew I didn't like" or that her favorite people are Jewish. On the other hand, she is proud that she knew who Jesus was before anyone ever talked to her about him and she talks about how important it is to believe in Jesus. Growing up, I thought this was normal. It took me a long time to realize that not everyone had a grandma who was both Christian and passionate about Jews going to heaven.
     My grandma has been forgetting more and more. It got to the point that she couldn't remember what country her grandma emigrated from. That may not seem like the biggest deal, but if you had heard her go on and on about Jews from Russia and communism, you would understand that this was a huge deal. I realized that I had hit a brick wall when it came to learning about my Jewish heritage from her. I also recognize that she is my one ally in my passion for understanding Jewish culture. If I wanted to develop my knowledge, I had to seek outside sources and community.
     So I started going to OU Hillel. I had never gone before because when I learned that I wasn't eligible for Birthright (a free trip to Israel for people who are the right amount of Jewish), it made me feel like I wasn't eligible to be in the organization. However, Hillel has been welcoming, fun, and enlightening.

Me at a Shabbat Night: Painting with an Israeli Twist

     I didn't think that I would really learn that much about my grandma seeing as their focus seems to be on Israel and religion. I was proven wrong. One day, I was telling my grandmother about a dinner I went to at Hillel. I was telling her about the food we ate and I mentioned we had a soup, but I couldn't remember the name. "Oh it had these doughy balls in it," I said. "Matzoh ball soup?" she asked. I told her that that was it! Matzoh ball soup. A few tears were brimming in her eyes. "My grandma made the best matzoh ball soup," she said. It seems kind of stupid for this moment to mean so much. And yet, I know I will never forget it. I went 21 years without my grandma ever telling me about what Jewish foods her grandma made her. But here I am eating Matzoh ball soup, not knowing that the mere memory of eating this food seventy years ago could bring her to tears.
     So I will keep going back to Hillel in the fall. I hope to learn as much as I can and maybe I will learn more about myself in the process.

Holding On to You

My grandma says that meeting Jason Alexander was one of the highlights of her life.
I'm glad I was there with her. Two funny, short Jews.

           My grandmother’s memory has been slowly deteriorating for a few years now. But it has gone from forgetting a few things to so much worse. It went from forgetting a girl from high school she used to talk about every now and then, to having to be reminded of my cousins’ names. I think this sharp decline was brought on by my grandfather’s health taking a sudden turn for the worst.

There is one memory I have of her that makes me happy every time I think about it. It’s so small and random, but I think it’s because it was a small glimpse into a side of my grandma that most people don’t get to see.

Before I tell you this story, you must understand why it stands out amongst two decades of stories I have of my grandma. She is not a “silly” woman. She is very thoughtful and serious. I think my grandma would have made a great counselor because she is fascinated by people and considering what it is that makes them tick. She isn’t harsh, but she isn’t one to joke around. I can’t imagine her being young and goofing around, and I think it’s because she didn’t get to ever do that much.

            When I was a senior in high school, I was trying to pick the song which would be my last dance solo song before I graduated. My grandma kept insisting on “Bring on the Men” from the musical Jekyll & Hyde. My mom and I kept telling her I wouldn’t do it because it is sung by a prostitute talking about how much she loves sex, sometimes threesomes, at all times of the day. Not necessarily appropriate for an 18 year old at a dance competition surrounded by children.

            “But it’s so fun and catchy! It makes me want to dance every time. Here just listen to it.” She popped her CD into her kitchen radio.

            “Ma, I’ve heard it a million times,” I said. But she wouldn’t listen.

            So we sat around my grandma’s kitchen listening to “Bring on the Men”. She just stared at me, beaming one of her biggest smiles. “It just makes me want to dance!” she repeated. And she started bopping up and down. She swayed from side to side with jazz hands. It’s one of the only times I’ve seen my grandma act goofy.

            The other day, I brought up the song and she couldn’t recall it. I told her about her dancing to it, and she stared blankly at me. I played it for her. Not a sign of recognition. “It sounds fun, though.” She said. “Yeah,” I said. “It does.” I turned away so she couldn’t see the tears welling up in my eyes.

            My grandma isn’t perfect. She has never claimed to be. She isn’t the funniest person I know or the most understanding. She is so loving. She is so kind. She is generous to a fault. I love her more than she’ll ever know. I try to tell her how much I love her, but it is overshadowed by her love for me.

            Right now she lives twenty miles away, and yet I don’t feel like I can reach her. I wish I could have the grandma back who listens to songs about a prostitute and tried to do everything for everyone. Instead, I am losing her a little every day. It’s like only having half of the person I love so dearly and I’m constantly searching for the other half.

            But I am grateful I have as much of her as I do. I am grateful for everyday she is with me, even if she isn’t the woman I have always known.