I was raised to believe that there are four things one does not talk about at the dinner table or with company: money, sex, politics and religion. I have found this rule to be very helpful while navigating myself through the world thus far. Growing up in Northern California religion and God were rarely discussed in public. So I was a bit shocked coming to Texas where it is often discussed openly. People even use it in their marketing materials, which I must admit I find a bit shocking. I was not raised with religion. My mother was raised in Kentucky as a very strict Southern Baptist. She wasn't even allowed to attend the local bowling alley because they served beer there, even though she was only ten and would undoubtedly not be partaking. Her family was very religious yet there were things that they did to each other that I found most un-Christian. And so I was cynical from the get go. But in my late teens I felt like I was missing the community that religion seemed to give to people, so I experimented. I went to temple with my Jewish friends and mass with my Catholic ones. I even attended a Catholic high school. But I remained unconvinced. I found hypocrisy to be rampant and troubling. As Ghandi said, "I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ."
I ended up settling on atheism. The idea of faith is an attractive one and I want to believe, but I just don't. It was easy in California to call myself tolerant. I was never tested. But here I was and I did not like what I saw in myself. I was tolerant as long as everyone believed that same way I did, which is obviously not tolerance at all. So I decided that Texas was good for me. I am learning to accept that people I love and care about often will not agree with me about religion and that is okay. In fact it is good because it forces me to stretch myself.
Recently someone I like made an anti-semitic comment in my presence and I was dumbfounded. To make matters even more complicated it was a client. This person either did not know that my husband and my children are Jewish or did not care. I found the insult to be so shocking and depressing. I couldn't remember the last time someone had made such an obvious racial slur in my presence. And I should have said something, but I didn't. And now I feel guilty and am beating myself up that I did not. I feel as if I let my children down.
Why can't we all be tolerant of each other? And I ask this of myself as much as I ask it of others. And so I will make one more new year's resolution to make all the the people I come into contact with feel more accepted as they are and to speak out against injustice where I see it. A diet would be so much easier.
I debated about whether or not to post this. But when Ben started asking me about Martin Luther King after school today, I decided that we are better served by conversation than silence. And since I never like to have a post without a photo--here is Ben on the day of his bris (on his 8th day of life) with his great-grandparents, Lelah and Elmer. Elmer has since passed away.
