44th Birthday, reflection and reconciliation.
As I stand at the threshold of my apartment on Friday evening, lighting the Shabbat candles, there’s a moment when time seems to suspend. The small flames dance, casting gentle shadows across my table set for dinner. In this sacred pause between the chaotic week and the sanctity of Shabbat, I feel a profound return to balance, a healing of the fractures that have existed within me since childhood.
My journey with Judaism has been complicated. Although I was born to a Jewish mother, making me Jewish by birth according to tradition, my father's German Presbyterian background cast a long shadow over my relationship with my heritage, my soul, and my feminine nature. Growing up, I heard him mutter words against Judaism, subtle criticisms that planted seeds of inner conflict within me. This wasn't overt antisemitism, but rather a quiet drip of prejudice that altered my sense of identity. I found myself hating a part of myself as my father overtly disdained my mother. This "mother wound" grew into deep hatred for myself as a woman. It wasn't until I became a mother myself and later found my way to Chabad, along with the divine Rabbi and Rebbetzin who have become guiding lights of love and divine connection, that I began to reconcile with my soul. Piece by piece, through my return to my Jewish identity and witnessing my son’s Bar Mitzvah, I’ve gained the ability to hold space within my own being and true self.
As a complete being made unto Hashem, divinely protected and sanctified, I realize that I have never been without Hashem's love and guidance. It was hiding in plain sight, evident in every "no" and every protected redirection. All along, Hashem wanted more for me—a true return to my roots and the divine plan for my life.
In our home, spirituality took precedence over religion, and consciousness over tradition. We discussed energy and universal truths while my Jewish roots remained largely unexplored. This created a peculiar duality—I was technically Jewish but disconnected from the practices, prayers, and wisdom that might have anchored me. The divine feminine and masculine energies that find such beautiful expression in Judaism were instead fragmented, leaving me searching for wholeness in various spiritual practices without finding a true home.
The fracturing wasn’t just theological; it manifested in my relationship with myself. How could I fully embrace who I was when part of my heritage had been subtly denigrated? The self-hatred I developed wasn’t immediately apparent, even to me. It showed up as discomfort in Jewish spaces, hesitation to identify myself as Jewish, and a strange yearning for connection paired with anticipatory rejection, as I had rejected my Jewish soul on a deep level inherited from my father. As I consciously healed my mother and father wounds, I realized I was also healing the divine masculine and feminine wounds I carried—not only as their daughter but as a daughter of Hashem, a divine daughter of Earth reclaiming my true essence through awareness, compassion, and internal and external reconciliation for the wounding of the divine counterparts within me and those I experienced in my family, as well as in my subconscious unhealed relationships as an adult woman.
I also carried the weight of my mother’s broken heart from her first marriage to a Jewish man—inheriting not just her DNA but her wounds. Later, I found myself following a similar pattern, marrying a non-Jewish man. Through reflection, I came to understand that the issue wasn’t Jewish men versus non-Jewish men, but rather the fractured masculine energy that permeates our culture, regardless of religious background. These patterns revealed to me my desperate need for healing of both masculine and feminine energies across all traditions and relationships. Living authentically as a Jewish woman, I hold a deep belief that Hashem has a Jewish marriage and restoration in store for my future. With all my heart and soul, I embrace this vision. When this moment arrives, I will truly understand and appreciate its significance—not just as a personal milestone but as a profound healing journey for my family tree, lineage, and ancestors. It represents a reconciliation from brokenness to wholeness and complete love, illuminated by Hashem's guiding light that has always been present. I am grateful to be the one born in this time, ready to follow this path, and I will continue to do so. Amen.
My healing began when I finally allowed myself to honor my Jewishness fully, not as something separate from my spiritual seeking, but as its natural expression. In the rituals and rhythms of Jewish life, I discovered that the divine feminine wasn't something I needed to find in other traditions. She was already present—in Shabbat, in the celebration of the new moon, in the waters of the mikveh. The Shechinah, the feminine presence of God that dwells among us, had been waiting for me all along.
Reconnecting with Judaism has, perhaps most profoundly, opened an unexpected avenue for healing my relationship with my father. By fully embracing my Jewish identity—the very aspect he had subtly dismissed—I discovered the strength, and perhaps more importantly, the wisdom to forgive him. I realized that his criticisms were more a reflection of his own wounds and limitations rather than truths about Judaism or myself. By honoring my maternal heritage, I also found a connection to what I now perceive as the ultimate Father—the divine masculine presence in Judaism that offers not rejection, but loving protection; not criticism, but guidance. I hold deep love and respect for my parents and their journey, while also acknowledging the heartbreak I feel for them and their inner struggles that prevented them from connecting to love and accepting it. I am alive, and I know in my soul that it is G-d's plan for me to heal these wounds, to stand firmly rooted in Hashem's love and plan for me, and to rebuild a family tree with deep, sacred roots in my Jewish identity and the Torah.
On the nights when I am home and not at Chabbad, the table where I now have Shabbat dinner has become more than just furniture; it is an altar to the integration of my fractured self. Each time I bless the candles, I reclaim the light of my Jewish soul, which was dimmed by childhood confusion. My heart, mind, and body reconnect and heal more deeply each time I light the candles and say the prayer. My soul comes back together in the flame, and I realize it has been burning within me my entire life, and even before I was born. I subtly remember that I am infinitely connected to Hashem and that I have never been alone or wandering, even though I sometimes forget that when the flames of the world and the voices that don't align with God's word bring confusion, disconnection, and isolation to the forefront. Like a flame that can never be extinguished, I return to the inner flame within my soul, burning in my heart, guiding me home. Peace returns with a soft knowing that all is well. When I break bread, I symbolically piece together the shattered parts of myself and my heritage, nurturing a newfound wholeness and connection.