A Question of Religion, part 1

I was aroused in the early morning by a thunderstorm. The crackle of lightening, and the roar of thunder echoed through my open bedroom window. I rose from my bed. The air was cool on my face as I watched the rain dance lightly on the concert patio floor next door. Today was special. At ten o’clock, my Tai Chi class will be gathering at Evanston Beach.

People in Chicago say wait ten minutes and the weather will change. My plan for the next two hours was to witness this change. As the morning sky roared again, I thought it would take a miracle to see the sun today.

It was nine o’clock when the rain stopped. The moist air began to smell warm as the sun peeked through a cloud for just a second. I felt there was hope, and just maybe I will be able to practice my Tai Chi at the beach.

I parked my car at the Evanston Park entrance. I feared I might be the only one attending the class. I decided I would take a walk along the lakefront if no one showed. As I waited, I rubbed sunscreen on my face and hands, and searched for my hat to protect my eyes from the sun.

At ten, the instructor arrived at the beach. I believe she was glad to see someone came after the storm. Moments later two other people from another Tai Chi class arrived. We were a small group of three, but the rains had stopped, the air was warm, and the sun was shining.

For one hour, we moved deliberately, waving our arms and stepping with one goal in mind. I concentrated on the seagulls as they swooped down for fish, and the purple martins catching mosquitoes in the air. As I listened to the water crash into the rocks, I felt at peace with myself. When the class dispersed, I decide to walk the lakefront anyway. My instructor decided to join me. It was like having my own private guide as we strolled through the lakefront neighborhoods dressed with large mansions.

After walking for a half an hour, my instructor said, “May I ask you a personal question?”

“No problems what do you want to know?”

“How did you become a Jew?”

“That question is a long story, but I will give you a short version.”

A little embarrassed, she said, “I don’t mean to pry, but I heard you talking about the Passover Seder.”

“I’m asked that question a lot, so I’m prepared to answer. In fact I wear this mitzvah so others will know I’m of the Jewish faith and not a Christian.”

“Well, I guess I shouldn’t feel so bad for asking you.”

“My grandmother has Native American ancestry. And oddly enough one of the items in her kitchen was a seven-candle menorah. She would tell me, “Find a good Jewish man, and get married.” I thought, “I’m a black woman. How am I going to find a Jewish husband?”

My instructor commented, “What does being part Native Indian has to do with being a Jew?”