My Great Aunt Celia, my Grandma Braff’s youngest sister, came to this country and decided in doing so, that the minute her feet touched real USA dirt she would become a Yankee, embracing each and every miraculous minute she bumped into (she moved quickly so bumping into things happened quite often). Celia swore she would be an American first, a Jewish woman second, and only out of REAL necessity, continue to refer to random Romanian superstitions. Celia’s two older sisters were quite worried that Celia would act before think, and I remember, as a young kid how Celia was referred to as Celia Rosu (Celia the Red) as she always placed too much red lipstick on her lips and then placed dabs of it on her cheeks. Whenever we would have holiday dinners together, people tried their best to zig or zag a Celia would come in for a kiss of hello or a kiss of goodbye. It was easy to tell who Celia found.
While living in Romania as a young Jewish girl, my Great Aunt Celia, experienced discrimination that many minorities were prone to, living in a very Christian nation. Celia felt obligated to adhere to the many expectations God had set in place for she was reminded she was one of the Chosen, and as a young girl, I was told, Celia followed every Jewish tradition perfectly. However when Celia came to this country, she decided that as an American she had more power, she possessed more will, she no longer had to follow along, but could ask why. And so she did. Celia had a difficult time with the High Holy Day of Yom Kippur, not the fasting part, necessarily, but the whole idea of the Book of Life, the idea that repentance, grievances, and atonement could all be easily wrapped up, and somehow with a growling stomach, from fasting, and eating chicken soup, God would grant you another year. Often times, maybe days later, Celia would purse her lips pointing to a relative, and say”She told God she would not gossip, just listen to her now.” He told people he would not schnor (to take advantage of the generosity of others), look at him begging. Celia, would look up at the Heavens, pick a particular spot where she knew God was sitting, and say, they lied to you, perhaps this book thing is not such a good idea. Then she would take some spittle from deep inside her throat, turn to the right turn to the left, and then face forward, and add sorry God, ending all of this with a Pooh-Pooh-Pooh! And with whomever was in Celia’s company, she would add, “So, tell me I’m wrong!”
I have struggled this year, this new Jewish year, and i am wondering why, more often than not. Is one Book of Life all that matters, if I am okay, then the world will be better? Are my struggles of greater value then others? If I do right, but all around me many prefer to hate, to fight, to divide, should I be satisfied. I am not sure we all actually do not share the same Book of Life. I will continue to ask why and wonder, I too will spot that particular spot in the sky, and ask the God i believe in “So, tell me I’m wrong!”
