Shofar, sho good

Rosh Hashanah really snuck up on us this year and so we did what we do best: nothing. Matthew felt guilty though so I told him to take Lowell, find the nearest Hasid and let him hear his first shofar. In our neighborhood on Rosh Hashanah there are literally hundreds of young Hasidic men walking the streets stopping people and asking them if they are Jewish. If you say that you are, they'll offer to say the blessing with you and blow a shofar several times. Bella and I hung back and watched while Matthew wheeled Lowell up to a pair of guys working Grand Army Plaza. They said the blessing and then one of them blew his shofar, if not a hundred times, then pretty darn close. Lowell looked up at him the entire time with a studious little frown and his trademark staredown gaze. I tried to will a camera out of thin air but, alas, I failed. You'll have to trust me that it was cute as hell. We walked home and Matthew reminisced about going to synagogue in Oakland during the High Holy Days and how good it felt to be there and how it was one of the few times that he felt absolutely at home. (There was also a bitching red ferrari in the story but I am not sure what that was all about). We both can't help feeling a little agony over how to make Lowell feel part of both of our traditions. I want him to be able to feel at home in a larger community but I don't know how we do that coming from dueling dogmatic cultures/religions that to some extent exclude outsiders. It's tough to believe in two one-true-faiths. It doesn't help of course that Matthew and I are total flakes when it comes to faith and religion. It would be easier if we were athiests. It would be easier if we were both the same something or very angry ex-somethings. Or if we converted to something entirely different. This is our cross to bear though and at least we can teach him a lot about a vital part of all religions: doubt.