Exploring Jewish Identity and Beliefs

I was raised in the synagogue by two Jewish parents, steeped in Judaism,

Hebrew school, Shabbat school, and services. I was a very religious kid.

I wanted to be a rabbi. Then it happened.

I was 13, prepping for my Bar Mitzvah, when my grandmother was

suddenly hospitalized.

As I was about to enter the elevator to visit her, my rabbi steps out.

You see, my rabbi had briefed us on every religion under the sun,

but avoided Christianity.

His aim was to show the superiority of Judaism.

So I said to him, if Judaism is superior, why not learn about Jesus Christ to show

our ultimate superiority?

He started spitting right on the hospital floor. I was shocked.

Spitting on a clean hospital floor?

What kind of answer is this to an intelligent question?

So I tried again.

He spits more and says, don't you ever say that name unless you

use that name as a curse word that we have for him.

Which translated is, may his name be blotted out.

My curiosity was catalyzed, so I tried to discuss this with my dad.

Same thing, but this time, you were born a Jew. You will die a Jew.

This Jesus thing is not for you. One more try.

This time with a Hebrew scholar from my synagogue, Mr. Schultz.

I was sure I would get a reasonable answer from him about Jesus.

All I got was some bloomy mises, that is, old wives tales that

Jesus' mother was a hairdresser and his father a goy.

What kind of answer is this? What kind of answer is spinning?

What kind of answer is, who I will be when I die?

Seven years later, I start my escape from Judaism.

My Yiddish mama set me up with the Chabad rabbis to learn Kabbalah.

She was hoping that the mystical face of Judaism would mesmerize me into being

a solid practicer of Judaism. Just the opposite.

The Kabbalah rabbis said that a descent into darkness would release

my trapped Jewish divine sparks.

Now, I was raised kosher to know the difference between clean and unclean.

And all of this Kabbalah seemed unclean.

I would not practice this to learn about Kabbalah, yes, but to engage in it, no.

My final release,

in discussing with Chabad Rebbes, the coming of Moshiach, they pointed to a picture

of Menachem Schneerson over the dining room table.

I was told that he was Moshiach and would declare himself as such very soon.

So I asked, where was he born?

In the Kilei Av, Ukraine, they said.

I said, no, Moshiach is to be born in Bethlehem, Bethlehem.

The rabbi sitting across from me, at least over 300 pounds,

started smashing his fists on the table, headed right towards me, unleashing his

inner goblin. Now...

moving my suspending,

who I will be when I die, and a murderous rabbi ready to kill me,

it dawned on me that contorted mores of Jewish occult spirituality

touted with insecure avoidance superiority were actually much more fragile than

I ever could have imagined.

The rabbinic tapestry of evil unraveled provided for me fuel for my final escape.

That's right.